Page 44 of The Perfect Accomplice

Killing her was just as easy. The power he felt as he cut off her oxygen and dug the leather into her skin was more than any he’d ever felt before. His only regret was that it ended too quickly. He left without looking at her, not wanting to see her accusatory eyes. But even before he was out the door, he knew he needed to do it again.

But he had trouble thinking of a good candidate and went a full day before finally settling on a new target. She was chosen more out of convenience than animosity. Chloe Henshall wasn’t cruel or condescending at all. In fact, he’d always found her to be thoughtful and kind. But that was what made her such an excellent choice. She was trusting and wouldn’t have any hesitation about letting him into her home. She’d done it many times before.

Admittedly, this one was harder. While he strangled her in her own living room, and her little dog, Missy, barked and whined from behind the kitchen door, he couldn’t help but feel a measure of shame. It didn’t stop him from finishing the job. But afterward, he’d moved her into a closet so that her husband, who was rich and clueless but equally nice, wouldn’t walk in on her body.

That’s when the man decided that from now on, all his victims would deserve what they got. He wanted the ecstasy that came from snuffing out these lives, but he couldn’t handle the guilt that came later if they weren’t awful enough to justify his actions.

He’d felt no such guilt with Sydney Ashe, so he used her as a model going forward. And the second that she became his guiding light, his next target fell into place immediately: Margot Howell—a snappish, self-involved social climber who cared more about her reputation than those in her life.

She proved her worthiness for him even as he watched her from behind that plant in the coffeehouse. Without putting anything in the tip jar, she barked at the barista who handed over her drink because she hadn’t added the “t” at the end of Margot, as if that was either obvious or important. Then she pushed past the other waiting customers and strolled out through the other door.

The man left, too, following her down the sidewalk from a safe distance. Margot was oblivious to him and apparently, to most everything else around her. This stretch of Franklin had cute cafes, a charming bookstore, a flower shop, and a newsstand.

But she ignored all of that, as well as the happy couple that walked past her, holding hands. The man, about fifteen paces behind Margot, gave them a knowing grin and they returned it. Margot, up ahead, didn’t even look down at the baby being pushed along in the stroller, who stared up at her curiously. When the man walked by the little cherub, he made a silly face, and she burst out in a giggle fit.

Margot returned to her office in an upscale strip center and pushed the door open. As the man walked by, he noted that the door closed slowly. He could hear Margot berating her assistant for some failure or another but disregarded the urge to glance inside. He didn't want to be noticed, and he didn't need any more proof.

Margot had more than earned what was coming to her.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Ryan Hernandez had a splitting headache.

Usually when he got one, it made him immediately think of Jessie and wonder when her last migraine had been. But his wife hadn’t had any major pain in her head in weeks, so he allowed himself to focus on his own discomfort. He grabbed a couple of ibuprofen from the desk in the research office and popped them, hoping they’d kick in soon.

It was no surprise that his brain would show signs of wear and tear. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was after four already. They’d been at this all day, ever since they’d parted ways with Albert Short, whose alibi had borne out.

They’d cleared one guy but that still left at least a dozen other credible suspects. The job was so daunting that they’d brought in Detectives Susannah Valentine and Sam Goodwin, who had just closed their own case, to help. Even Captain Parker was pitching in, despite having to simultaneously manage the aftermath of the homeless encampment attack yesterday. When she had walked into research an hour ago to check on their progress, they didn’t have much to offer.

“Not to put too much pressure on you, but I got another call from Decker,” she said. “He’s getting questions from the press, especially since it came out that one victim was married to a Hollywood bigwig, and another was the wife of a tech mogul. I told him that you would have already let me know if you had anything new, but I promised I’d check in anyway. So here I am. Anything to share?”

Ryan knew it wasn’t Parker’s fault. She was getting pressure from above, so she was putting it on them. When he was captain of Central Station, he often did the same thing. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated. It felt like she always came calling at the most inopportune time. And because she didn’t yet have a strong relationship with Homicide Special Section, her check-ins sometimes felt intrusive. He knew it was something he would have to get over, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“We’ve already had a few potential suspects come in for interviews,” he told her, making sure to keep the impatience out of his voice. “The hypnotherapist, Claudine Monterey, just left. We’re following up on her alibi, but it looks like we may have to cross her off. The dog walker, Charlie Warner is on his way in now. Me and Jessie will talk to him as soon as he arrives.”

“We also expect the pet therapist, Cassandra Canine to arrive in the next hour,” Jessie added.

“I thought you said she wouldn’t share her client list,” Parker replied.

“She claims she won’t,” Jessie confirmed, “but she is willing to talk about Chloe Henshall specifically. We’re hoping that once we get her in the room, we can convince her to be more forthcoming.”

Ryan knew that if anyone could talk her into a change of heart, it was Jessie. Her ability to empathize with witnesses, and even suspects, was part of what made her such a good profiler.

“Maybe you can put some pressure on her therapeutic aide to spill some personal details about her clients,” Parker suggested.

"That's interesting, actually," Jessie said. "Ms. Canine said she hasn't been able to get hold of him. The guy's name is Henry Pogue, and it's his day off. He was supposedly going hiking today so we're not jumping to conclusions, since he could just be out of cell range. But Jamil is ready to ping his location if need be."

“Okay,” Parker said. “Any other strong contenders?”

“A few,” Ryan told her. “You want to fill the captain in, Jamil?”

“Sure,” the head researcher said. “We finally got a response from Paolo Asanti, the personal trainer who did regular in-home sessions with both Erin Podemski and Chloe Henshall. He said he’s seeing clients at the gym he’s affiliated with today and would come in after his last session. Detective Hernandez found that response. . . unacceptable and sent Detective Valentine to have a chat with him.”

“Also,” Beth added, “other than a perfunctory conversation this morning requesting he come in today, we have yet to hear back from Karl Van Hart, the owner of Hollywood Green Thumb, the gardening service that all three victims used.”

“That lead maybe feels like it should be a priority,” Parker noted, her eyebrows raised.

"We were going to head over to his office right after talking to the dog walker," Ryan explained, again feeling irked at the captain's second-guessing.

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