Читать книгу The Perfect Affair - Блейк Пирс - Страница 7

It was hard to stay focused.

With so much testosterone bouncing around the apartment, Jessie was still slightly apprehensive that a shootout might break out any moment.

She tried to force the simmering animosity out of her brain as she walked through the place. She needed to have a clear head from this point forward. The coroner might focus on the state of the body and the crime scene folks might look for blood spatter or fingerprints. But she needed to be aware of everything that contributed to the psychological makeup of the victim. Even the smallest detail could lead to the killer.

The apartment was fairly unremarkable. It was clear to her from the décor that both residents were female even though the gender of the victim’s roommate hadn’t been mentioned. One of them was clearly way more personally conservative than the other. The wall art was a confusing amalgam of watercolors and religious iconography next to Gustav Klimt prints and incendiary Mapplethorpe photos.

As she walked down the hall, Jessie got the distinct sense that the more outré roommate was also the one with more money. Her style seemed far more dominant. When they passed the smaller bedroom, she glanced in and saw a cross on the wall above the dresser.

So the one who could afford the bigger bedroom died.

Sure enough, they continued on to the larger bedroom at the end of the hall, from where she could hear voices.

“You up for this, criminal profiler lady?” Costabile asked derisively.

“She’s been…” Ryan started to say but she cut him off.

“I’m good,” she answered.

She didn’t need him standing up for her professional virtue. And she definitely didn’t want another tough guy competition when she was trying to concentrate. Ignoring whatever stare-down was going on behind her, she took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom.

Before even looking at the body, she allowed her eyes to scan the room. There were more of the bold decorating choices on the walls and a disco ball lamp beside the bed. A chair in the corner was on its side and magazines were scattered on the floor, hinting at a struggle. The desk was mostly empty, though there was a clean, rectangular spot surrounded by a layer of dust, a sure sign that a laptop had recently been there.

“TV is still here,” Ryan noted. “So is the gaming console. Seems like an odd decision for a thief to leave that stuff.”

“Laptop is gone though,” Jessie noted. “Anyone find a cell phone?”

“Not yet,” Officer Webb said.

“Did you get her number from the roommate so we can try to track it?” she asked, trying not to let her impatience show.

“The roommate has been a little on the hysterical side,” Costabile said. “We’ve had trouble getting much of anything out of her other than her name, Elizabeth Polacnyk. The EMTs have her in the ambulance outside. They were going to sedate her.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. “But don’t let her leave until we’ve had a chance to speak to her.”

Costabile still looked put out but nodded for Officer Lester, who was still near the front door, to convey the demand. As he did, Jessie finally turned her attention to the girl on the bed. She was already in the body bag, though it hadn’t been zipped up. The sight of it was infuriating to Jessie.

“Did anyone take photos before her body was disturbed?” Ryan asked, speaking aloud the question in Jessie’s head.

A crime scene tech raised his hand.

“I managed to snap a few just before she was loaded in the bag,” he said.

The deputy medical examiner on the case walked over.

“Hi. I’m Maggie Caldwell. We tried to hold off on bagging,” she said apologetically. “But we were instructed otherwise.”

The accusation hung in the air, unspoken.

“Like I said,” Costabile said defensively, “seemed like an open-and-shut case; didn’t want to waste resources.”

Jessie tried to keep her voice even as she replied.

“I’m sure you have decades of experience on the job, Sergeant,” she said. “But are you in the habit of making the command decision to disturb a murder scene before the detectives arrive, regardless of what resources it requires?”

“Valley Bureau isn’t as flush as you Downtown types,” he barked. “We don’t have the luxury of lingering lovingly over every dead runaway we find.”

As Jessie’s temper flared, she found her voice getting calmer and slower.

“I wasn’t aware that police procedure in this part of town now placed budget savings over crime-solving. I’d love to see where that line is in the new regulations. Additionally, I didn’t realize that the murders of teen runaways weren’t worth investigating. Did I miss that day at LAPD regulations school?”

“Are you questioning my professionalism?” Costabile asked, taking a step toward her.

“I’m just asking questions, Sergeant,” she answered, not backing up. “If your conscience is suggesting something deeper, that’s for you to work out. I would note that if this girl is a teen runaway, she’s doing pretty well. It’s clear that she’s got a well-paying job that allows her to live in a sizable apartment, buy art, and, based on her nails and hair, get expensive salon care. Are you sure you’re not making assumptions about her background?”

Costabile looked like he didn’t know which challenging question to address first. After a moment of frustrated huffing, he responded.

“The girl was found in a cheerleader uniform with the skirt down. Feels pretty trashy to me. My guess is she’s a working girl.”

“No chance that the skirt was pulled down by her assailant?” Jessie mused. “Your officer said she was seventeen. No chance she’s a high school cheerleader? No chance she’s an actress in costume? We’re sure she’s a trash whore? You seem to be making a lot of assumptions for an experienced law enforcement professional, Sergeant.”

Costabile took another step forward. He was now face to face with her. Jessie worried that Ryan might try to intervene but he held back. She suspected he knew what she was doing. Costabile spoke at her under his breath.

“So you’re gonna come in here with your hipster, hot-to-trot profiling rep and call me out as bad at my job? That’s where we’re at now?”

He was almost growling but Jessie didn’t care.

“If the shoe fits,” she whispered. “Also, if you think you can intimidate me with your man boobs and garlic breath, you’re mistaken. I’ve gone toe to toe with guys who kept human body parts as souvenirs, so your cheap bullying tactics don’t impress me. Now get the hell out of my face.”

Costabile’s nostrils flared. The blood vessel on his forehead looked like it might pop at any second. Jessie watched him closely. Part of her wanted to knee him in the crotch. But her analytical side was still testing him, trying to determine exactly what was going on here and why procedure wasn’t being followed. Something was very off. If he got angry enough, maybe the guy would inadvertently reveal something.

The two of them glared at each other. Costabile was hunkered and wheezy; Jessie silent and taut. She was happy to stay like that all evening if it broke him. After a good five seconds, he exhaled, intentionally breathing on her. He plastered a forced smile onto his face and took a step back.

“I have to say, Ms. Hunt, you are an even bigger bitch than I’d heard you were.”

“What’s her name?” Jessie demanded almost before he could finish his insult.

“What?” he said, startled by her sudden response.

“The girl,” she pressed, nodding at the bed. “Do you even know her name?”

“Her name is Michaela Penn,” Officer Lester said, rescuing his superior from potential embarrassment. “We’re still digging up info but it looks like she went to a local Catholic girls high school. She became an emancipated minor almost two years ago and graduated early. She was waitressing part-time at Jerry’s Deli in Studio City.”

“Thanks, Officer,” Jessie said, before adding one more line for Sergeant Costabile’s benefit. “Sounds real trashy.”

She turned and really looked at Michaela closely for the first time since entering the room. The first thing that jumped out at her was just how young the girl looked. She may have been seventeen, but with her short, dark hair and pale, now-bluish skin, she looked closer to fifteen.

She glanced up at a photo of the girl on the dresser and tried to reconcile it with the lifeless form on the bed. The Michaela in the picture was beautiful in a delicately pixie-ish way. She reminded Jessie of a girl from those Japanese anime cartoons.

Her deep blue eyes were huge but unemotional, as if she’d learned to hide her emotions long ago. Only the slight half-smirk at the edges of her lips hinted at what might be hidden beneath. She gave off the vibe of an unlit firework, like she was just biding her time, ready to explode at any moment.

“Can you unzip the bag?” Ryan asked as she moved over next to Jessie. As they waited he muttered under his breath. “I hope permanently alienating the most connected uniformed officer in the Valley was worth whatever you were trying to uncover by insulting him. Because he’s never going to let this go.”

“Jury’s still out,” she murmured back.

The cops had moved away but Maggie Caldwell, the deputy medical examiner, remained close by after she unzipped the bag.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to touch the body but Costabile was adamant that we move quickly. If you’d arrived five minutes later, she’d have been packed up in the van.”

“Any idea what the rush was?” Ryan asked her.

“No,” Caldwell said nervously. “But I don’t think it was all his idea. He was on the phone with someone who seemed to be giving him instructions. It was after he hung up that he really tried to push things along.”

Jessie moved closer to the girl. Her cheerleading uniform, red, with white script and black trim, was nondescript. The writing said only “Central H.S.” The skirt was pulled down to her thighs.

“Lester said she already graduated, right?” Ryan recalled. “So why the uniform?”

“I’ve lived in this area for twenty years and I don’t recognize that school or those colors,” Caldwell said. “I don’t think it’s real.”

“Maybe it was a costume,” Jessie suggested. “Waitressing and acting are hardly mutually exclusive.”

“Possible,” Ryan agreed. “I hate to say it, but Costabile could be right too. It could be an outfit she wore for…a client. That wouldn’t be unheard of around here.”

Jessie nodded, voicing her own theory.

“Whatever she was doing, unless she had a trust fund, it was more than just waitressing. This place is nice. The art isn’t cheap and it’s clear that she had a comprehensive skin and hair regimen that involved professional assistance. She wasn’t struggling. Do we know if she was sexually assaulted?” she asked Caldwell.

“Too early to tell. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

“We should definitely talk to the roommate soon,” Ryan said. “Maybe she can let us know if Michaela had received any threats recently.”

Jessie nodded in agreement as she looked more closely at the knife puncture wounds. There were five in the chest and another four in the abdomen.

“Did anyone find the murder weapon?” she asked.

“There’s a butcher knife missing from the kitchen set,” Officer Lester, who had overheard the question, volunteered. “But we haven’t been able to locate it.”

“That’s weird,” Ryan noted.

“What?” Lester asked.

“Well, if this was a robbery gone wrong, you’d expect the perpetrator to be surprised to find Michaela in her room. The general disarray in this room suggests a struggle. But if the perp didn’t know she was here, how did he get the knife? It’s hard to believe he ran back to the kitchen to get it and then came back to the bedroom again.”

“Maybe he knocked her out and then got the knife?” Lester offered.

“But if he knocked her out and this was a robbery, why not just take the stuff and go?” Jessie wondered. “There wouldn’t be any resistance at that point. To go grab a knife, return to the bedroom, and stab an unconscious girl nine times. That doesn’t sound like typical robber behavior. That’s cold-blooded. And yet…”

“What?” Lester prodded.

“A laptop was taken,” she said, nodding at the empty desk. “And we don’t have her phone here. So she was robbed. The question is: was that an afterthought? Was it staged or were those things taken for a specific reason? Whatever the case, it’s hardly open and shut.”

That last comment made Costabile, who’d been standing quietly in the corner for the last few minutes, perk up.

“I thought you were done casting aspersions for a few minutes,” he said acidly. “But I guess it was too much to hope for.”

Jessie was about to retort when Ryan stepped in.

“We’ll let it lie for now,” he said. “After all, we still need to talk to the roommate. Come on, Jessie.”

They started for the door. But Ryan stopped just as they were leaving. Leaning in so that only she and Costabile could hear him, he muttered one last thing to the man.

“But I have to tell you, Sergeant, if you think we’re done asking why you’re handling this case in such rushed, slipshod fashion, you are sadly mistaken. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but this case stinks. If you think you can keep a lid on it, you’re kidding yourself.”

Costabile didn’t reply. But he did give Ryan a big, toothy, malevolent grin that suggested he felt otherwise.