The Perfect Lie. Блейк Пирс
that criticism. Plus, it seems pretty ideal for easing us back into the field. There’s no sign of violence. If it was murder, we’re probably talking poisoning or something along those lines. It seems like a largely stabbing-free case.”
“He was pretty adamant that we stick to desks for a while,” Jessie reminded him.
“I think he’ll go for it,” Hernandez insisted. “Besides, he’s so distracted with the gang shooting, he might say yes just to get rid of us. Let’s at least try.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jessie said. “But I’m not making the pitch. If he cuts anyone’s head off, it’s going to be yours.”
“Coward,” he teased.
Jessie had to admit that Ryan Hernandez was good.
He barely had to say more than the words “wealthy clients,” “Hollywood,” and “likely suicide” before Decker was ushering them out the door to pursue the case. Those buzzwords hit all their boss’s weak spots: his fear of bad publicity, his ongoing goal not to alienate his supervisors, and his deep desire not to have Detective Hernandez pester him relentlessly.
His only rule was simple.
“If it starts to look like this is a murder and the perpetrator used any kind of force, call me for backup.”
Now, as Hernandez drove them to Hollywood, he looked almost giddy with excitement. So did his foot.
“Careful on the gas there, Earnhardt,” she warned. “I don’t want to get in an accident on the way to the scene.”
She said nothing about their discussion from earlier, deciding to let him bring it up when he was ready. It didn’t take long. After the initial rush of being in a car on the way to crime scene faded, he glanced in her direction.
“So here’s the deal,” he started, his words tumbling out much faster than normal. “I should have reached out to you more often after everything went down. I mean, I did at first obviously. But you were badly hurt and not very chatty, which I completely understand.”
“Do you?” Jessie asked skeptically.
“Of course,” he said as he exited the 101 freeway at Vine Street. “You had to kill your own father. Even if he was a psycho, he was your dad. But I wasn’t sure how to broach that with you. And there was the fact that your psycho dad stabbed me. That wasn’t your fault but I was worried you would think I blamed you. So I was thinking all those things while having my stomach leak blood periodically and being heavily doped up on pain medication and trying keep food down. And right when I thought I was ready to discuss all that in an adult way, my wife formally served me with divorce papers. It was already going to happen. But there was something about getting those legal documents, especially while I was still in the hospital—it kind of wrecked me. I went down this black hole. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to rehab. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, which is exactly what I should have been doing.”
“I can recommend someone if…”Jessie started to offer.
“Thank you but I’m all set actually,” he interrupted. “Decker finally ordered me to see someone—said I was in danger of not coming back at all if I didn’t get my shit together. So I did. And it helped. But by then, it had been about six weeks since the attack and it felt weird to just call you out of the blue. And to be honest, I wasn’t 100% sure I was okay…psychologically, and I didn’t want to lose it while talking to you seriously for the first time after we both almost died. So I pushed it off some more. And then there’s the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You know, our whole ‘friendly co-workers but also friends who sometimes get awkward because maybe there’s something there’ thing? I’m not imagining that, right?”
Jessie took a long beat before responding. Answering this honestly would change things. But he was laying it all out there. It felt gutless not to do the same.
“No, you’re not imagining that.”
He laughed uncomfortably, which turned into a full-on, eye-watering cough.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m just…I was nervous to mention that last part.”
They sat in silence for a minute as he navigated the traffic on Sunset Boulevard, trying to find a spot to park.
“So that’s the deal?” she finally said.
“That’s the deal,” he confirmed as he pulled into a spot.
“You know,” she said gently. “You are nowhere near as cool as I first thought you were.”
“It’s all a front,” he said, half-joking but clearly only half.
“I kind of like it. It makes you more…approachable.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Well, we should probably talk about this a little more,” she replied.
“I think that would be the mature thing to do,” he agreed. “You do mean after we check out the dead body upstairs, right?”
“Yes, Ryan. Dead body first. Awkward conversation later.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It was like a light turned on in Jessie’s head.
The second she shut the car door and looked at the building that currently housed a dead woman, her mind cleared. All thoughts of serial killer fathers, orphaned half-sisters, and semi-romantic possibilities faded into the background.
She and Ryan stood on the sidewalk near the corner of Sunset and Vine, taking in the area. This was the heart of Hollywood and Jessie had been here many times. But that was always to go to dinner, a concert, or to see a movie or live show. She’d never really focused on it as a place where regular people worked, lived, and apparently died.
For the first time she noticed that among the office towers, restaurants, and theaters many of the buildings were just like the mixed-use ones in her neighborhood, with retail businesses on the ground floor and apartments or condos on the ones above.
Just up the street, she saw a ten-story apartment complex with a Trader Joe’s below it. Just across the street was a Solstice Fitness Center at the base of a building easily twenty stories tall. She wondered if residents got complimentary memberships but doubted it. That place was unbelievably pricey.
It looked like the victim’s complex was slightly less upscale. It had several restaurants and a yoga studio on the first floor. But there was also a Walgreens and a Bed, Bath & Beyond. As they walked along the sidewalk to the main entrance, they had to sidestep a line of homeless people camped out along the wall of the building. Most weren’t awake yet, though one older woman was sitting cross-legged, muttering to herself.
They passed her without comment and arrived at the entrance to the building. Compared to Jessie’s building, the security here was a joke. There was a glass vestibule entrance that required an access card and another to summon the elevator. But when Jessie and Ryan were approaching the entrance, a resident held the door open for them and swiped the elevator sensor without asking them a thing. Jessie noticed fixed cameras in the vestibule and on the elevator but they looked cheap. Ryan pushed the button for the eighth floor and within seconds they were stepping out, never having been challenged.
“That was easy,” Ryan said as they walked down the exterior hall in the direction of the police tape and several officers milling about.
“Way too easy,” Jessie noted. “I realize I’m a crazy person when it comes to personal security. But this place is pretty pathetic, especially considering the neighborhood.”
“It’s a lot safer than it was twenty years ago,” Ryan reminded her.
“True. But just because you don’t have hookers and drug dealers in plain sight on every corner doesn’t mean it’s Disneyland now.”
Ryan didn’t respond as