Page 13 of The Perfect Accomplice

Nikki nodded, making a note on her phone. Jessie waited until she was done to ask the question that had been noodling in her head.

“You said she hated going to her mother’s for dinner,” she noted. “Why was that?”

“She said that her mom was overbearing,” Nikki explained, “and since the book became a hit, she was also competitive, always trying to one-up her.”

“How so?” Jessie wondered.

“I guess that ever since Erin got out of college and came back to L.A., she’d have these semi-regular dinners with her mom, who lives in Pasadena,” Nikki said. “But according to Erin, what had once just been exhausting experiences that she felt obligated to attend had morphed into something worse. They became an excuse for her mom to offer a litany of Erin’s failures and her own victories. I mean, I never met the woman, so I don’t know how accurate Erin’s take was, but that was her perspective. She dreaded going but felt bad for her mom ever since her dad divorced her, so she suffered through the meals.”

“How often were these dinners?” Ryan asked.

“Usually every two weeks,” Nikki said. “I know she was there last Sunday.”

“That’s very helpful,” Ryan said. “We’re almost done here. I was just wondering what you did after you left work last night.”

It wasn’t the most subtle attempt to lock down Nikki’s alibi, but the young woman seemed oblivious to the implication as she looked at her phone again.

"Oh yeah," she said, her memory jogged as she looked at the screen. "I went to the grocery store and got gas because I was almost out. Then I went home and made dinner. That's when I got the text from Erin. I ended up burning the chicken cutlet I was trying to pan roast. I set off my smoke alarm and everything. I'm not a very good cook. So I gave up and ordered a pizza. Then, I spent the evening streaming episodes of Parks and Recreation. Pretty exciting stuff, huh?”

“It actually sounds like a nice night to me,” Jessie told her sincerely. “Do you mind if we check your checking account records and geolocation on your phone and car to confirm all that?”

“Why—” Nikki started to ask before she figured it out. “Oh, I see. Of course. Whatever you need.”

Thanks,” Ryan said. “We’ll have Officer Medina help you get that information to our research team.”

He handed Medina a card with Jamil’s contact information as Jessie got to her feet. “Thanks for all your help, Nikki,” she said.

They waited until they were outside the closed door of the bedroom before anyone said anything else.

“What can I do for you now?” Sergeant Cutter asked.

“I think we’d like you to continue to supervise the scene,” Ryan said. “Keep us apprised of any developments. Stay on top of the coroner and pass along any updates from him. If you can make sure that Nikki gives our folks in research everything they need as well, that would be great. Not just her alibi, but also the passwords to Erin’s socials and e-mail so they can start reviewing them for possible threats that Nikki might have missed or dismissed.”

“And please keep on her for that list of all of Erin’s home service providers,” Jessie added. “Not just gardeners and pool guys, but the security alarm company, internet maintenance techs. If she has a personal in-house masseuse or yoga instructor, get that too. Anyone who came over here. It seems pretty clear that whoever did this had access to the home.”

“Will do,” Cutter promised. “What do you plan to do?”

Ryan looked at Jessie, and she could tell he was wondering if they were on the same page.

“I was thinking that we should talk to Mommy Dearest,” she suggested.

When he smiled, she knew that he’d had the same idea.

“Really?” Cutter asked, surprised. “You think her own mother would kill her out of jealousy?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Jessie told him with a sad shrug. “I’m sure you’ve seen it too. Even in families, competition can turn poisonous. We need to find out if it turned murderous.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hank Costabile nearly sideswiped a car.

He knew he should probably slow down, and maybe not take right turns so sharply either, but he was so pissed that it was hard to force his foot to ease back off the accelerator.

It was difficult to maintain his cool when he, a decorated former police sergeant, was being tailed by a pair of cops in an unmarked vehicle. The whole thing was insulting. Did they think he didn’t know? That he was okay with it?

He understood why they were tailing him, even if it disgusted him. They’d almost certainly been assigned the gig by the chief of the Los Angeles Police Department himself, Roy Decker. The old man was once captain of Central Station, where Jessie Hunt’s Homicide Special Section unit operated. He had a soft spot for the profiler and apparently worried that Hank might want to do her harm now that he was out of prison. He wasn’t far off base.

After all, Hunt was the reason that Hank had been imprisoned in the first place. Her self-righteous busybody mentality had cost him eighteen months of his life. And if not for a technicality that got his conviction overturned on appeal, it would have cost him decades more. He wasn’t sure he would have made it that long.

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