Jessie Hunt 13-The Perfect Impression Blake Pierce (most popular ebook readers .TXT) 📖

“He couldn’t say for sure. But his rough guess was between six and tenweeks.”

Jessie sat down next to him at the table, letting the new informationwash over her.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” she said quietly. “I’ve beenstruggling to find a motive. This could be a good one.”

“For who?” Peters asked. He sounded angry.

“A husband who didn’t want another kid,” she suggested. “A lover whodidn’t want his infidelity revealed. That lover’s jealous wife or girlfriend; afriend who resented her—the options are limitless.”

“Wonderful,” Peters muttered. “I took this assignment to avoid stufflike this. And now I’m neck deep in it.”

Jessie understood the sentiment, though she didn’t share it. She’dgotten into this kind of work specifically because of stuff like this. Shewas the child of a serial killer, one who killed her mother in front of herwhen she was six. Then he left her for dead in a snowed-in cabin, tied up forthree full days before she was rescued, staring at the lifeless remains of thewoman who raised her. There was no way of ever truly escaping the darkness forher.

Maybe it was that very past which made it inevitable that she wouldpursue a career trying to get into the heads of the worst among us; to betterunderstand them in order to stop them. Her destiny was further sealed when herfather reentered her life. But he didn’t come back just for her.

He also butchered a couple in front of both Jessie and the couple’s ownadopted daughter. Only later would she learn that the girl, Hannah Dorsey, washer half-sister; that their shared serial killer father had brought themtogether as part of his sick, operatic vision of family renewal.

And it was only after she took Hannah in, becoming her formal guardian,that Jessie began to rethink whether she wanted her personal life defined bythe daily battle against evil. When that evil, in the form of her sociopathic ex-husband,murdered her mentor, almost killed her boyfriend, and tried to do the same toJessie and Hannah, she decided to pull back. That’s why she now taught at UCLA,only occasionally taking cases for the department.

But on those occasions when she accepted a case, she had to be all in.It was the only way she knew how to work. And it was what the victim deserved,whether they were the casualty of a serial killer or a crime of passion.

Looking across the table at Detective Colby Peters, she wondered if hewas up for this. As imperfect a partner as he was, she needed him. There weresimply too many suspects and too much ground to cover on her own.

“I get that this isn’t the kind of case you like,” she said gently, “andI wish you didn’t have to work it. But here we are. You and I are the only oneswho can get justice for Gabby Crewe. It doesn’t matter if she was a perfectperson, or even a good one. She was a human being who didn’t deserve this. Andsomeone, maybe someone in this hotel right now, did it to her. While she lieson a slab, that person is alive, breathing, maybe taking a nap in a comfortablebed. That is unacceptable to me. And I aim to do something about it. How aboutyou?”

He lifted his head, and though he still looked shaken, he nodded.

“Good,” she said emphatically. “Then let’s review what we know. Maybe betweenthe two of us, we can crack this thing before the ferry arrives and the clockstarts ticking faster.”

Peters took a deep breath. It seemed to help him. He looked lessdefeated already.

“How did your interview with Aldridge go?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, that,” she said, realizing she hadn’t shared any details fromthat charming experience. “He’s a first rate jerk. Under normal circumstances,I’d have him tossed in a cell just to teach him a lesson. But more importantly,he told me that his wife bailed yesterday on an afternoon ferry, angry with himabout something. He got belligerent when I asked what about, which seems vastlymore suspicious now than it did a few minutes ago. I had him write up hismovements last night so hopefully we can confirm them later.”

“So where does that leave us?” Peters asked.

“With over a half dozen credible suspects, most of whom claim to havebeen drunk, no cameras to verify anyone’s whereabouts, and no keycard logs toestablish a timeline. Unless the medical examiner comes back with a smokinggun, we’ll have to stitch this thing together with unreliable testimony.”

She looked at Peters. Thanks to her litany of horribles, the detective’sbrief stretch of resolve seemed to be fading. She tried to remedy it quicklybefore he was too far gone.

“Let’s start with staff,” she said. “It’s easier to account for theirtime. We don’t have any reason to suspect most of them. Barksdale, Leena at thefront desk, the security guys—none of them have obvious motives, and nowitnesses mentioned of them being near Gabby’s room.”

“Except for Tex the waiter,” Peters noted.

“True,” Jessie said. “We can’t eliminate him. He admits being near theroom at multiple times during the likely window of death.”

“Right,” Peters agreed. “He said he dropped off the room service trayat ten thirty-six and was on the same floor with another order when he foundMelissa Ferro screaming as she ran out of the room at eleven twenty.”

Jessie didn’t consider that definitive.

“But according to the logs of the only department at this hotel thatkeeps them, almost all of his time in between those visits can be accounted forin the kitchen or on other room service runs. It’s not impossible thatsomewhere in there, he went into Gabby’s room and stabbed her, but it’d betight and it’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t get at least a little bloody.”

“Okay, so we set him aside for now,” Peters said. “To my mind, the onlything we know for sure is that Gabby Crewe died sometime between when sheplaced the room service order and when Melissa Ferro found her.”

“Be careful,” Jessie cautioned. “We can’t dismiss the possibility that Ferrodid it herself and is giving us a bogus timeline.”

“Ugh,” Peters groaned. “I feel like we’re sinking in quicksand