Page 39 of The Perfect Crime

“What’s wrong?”he asked once they were out of hearing range of the researchers.

“I know we have to run down all these leads,” she said, “and we should definitely hold Sawyer as long as we legally can.But I think our energy is better directed elsewhere.My impressions of Sawyer, based on what I saw and what Jamil told us, is that he’s a pretty scattered guy.I feel like the surviving spouses would have taken note of that over the hours the he was in their houses.Our killer is cruel and perhaps deranged, but he doesn’t come across as scattershot.He seems in control of his emotions and—to the extent possible for a double murderer—his faculties.It just doesn’t fit.”

“Then why was he staring at you at that press conference?”Ryan asked, “and why did he run?”

"I don't know," Jessie admitted."Maybe he was just extremely curious?Maybe he thinks I'm part of the secret cabal tracking his brain signals?Or maybe heissomehow involved in all this.But with him not talking, it’s going to be hard to find out anytime soon and it’s already 12:06 P.M.Time is starting get short.If he’s not our guy, and if thatStrangers on a Traintheory involving Blackwell and Forrester doesn’t pan out, then our killer could be out there, planning his next kill right now.We have to keep pushing.Lives may depend on it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

He re-wound his DVR to watch it again.

He knew it was vulgar to play the press conference on repeat, but it wasn’t like he was on television every day.

Well, technically,hewasn’t on TV, only the “suspect.”The authorities never mentioned him by name or even his description, which reassured him that despite what he felt were clear signs of his involvement, they were stuck.

He glanced over at the door to his office to make sure it was still locked.Of course, since no one but him could unlock it, nothing had changed.Relieved, he settled into his office chair to luxuriate in what was on the screen.

As he did, he felt comfortable for the first time in what felt like months.His life had been filled with one kind of stress for four months, and then all at once, it became consumed by an entirely different, but equally crushing, kind of pressure.

If someone had asked—but how could they?—he would have told them that participating in this experience with his victims was the first time he’d felt any sense of relief, even comfort, in what seemed like forever.He knew that he was going to have to act again soon.It was the only way to relieve his pain, even if it was a temporary reprieve.

It wasn’t like hewantedto do these things.He knew he was inflicting untold emotional damage on the survivor who was left, bound and helpless, beside the lifeless body of their partner.But then again, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it?These people had to be made aware.They had to know.

That’s why the Whitakers were chosen.He’d seen the way they were in the restaurant, so lovey-dovey.It would have been adorable if it wasn’t so sickening.Same for the Vegas in the movie theater.All that persistent hand-holding, even when there was no cause for it.That kind of arrogant display couldn’t go unpunished.When it came right down to it, he never really had a choice.

Something on the screen in front of him caught his eye, and he paused the press conference, which was ending.How had he not noticed this before?

When the profiler stepped away from the podium, the handsome man with the dark hair to her left gave her hand a squeeze.She looked at him appreciatively.It was clear that those two were more than just co-workers.They were a couple.

And they were engaging in exactly the kind of display that had led him to take action against the other couples.Maybe the dark-haired man thought he was being sly, but to anyone paying close attention, his act screamed of romantic entitlement.And it would not stand.

He had been planning to go out the mall later today, in order to look for his next examples.But that was no longer necessary.He grabbed his laptop and typed two words into the search bar.

Jessie Hunt.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Hannah was still feeling the heat.

Even hours after the incident on Skid Row, she could still feel Kat’s residual anger at her for just jumping out of the car and into danger.

They were in the detective’s car again now, slowly driving behind Rex Stiller, who had just hopped in a rideshare outside his office and was being driven along South Hill Street.As Kat weaved in and out of traffic, Hannah sat in the passenger seat, hoping the woman’s frustration would eventually subside.

"I already apologized," Hannah said, even though Kat hadn't spoken in ten minutes, which may be why she felt it was necessary."I shouldn't have just leapt out like that.It was wrong and dangerous.Can you please let it go now?"

“Ihavelet it go,” Kat insisted.

“Well, it sure doesn’t feel like it,” Hannah said.“You’ve been giving me the silent treatment since 3 P.M.”

“Maybe your guilty conscience has been so loud that you couldn’t hear me talking,” Kat replied drily.

Hannah turned to face her.

“Okay, first of all, you haven’t said a thing, so that line is B.S.,” she said, feeling frustration rise in her gut.“Secondly, ‘guilty conscience’ isn’t really a thing with me, remember?I went to a psychiatric rehabilitation center for months because we determined that I didn’t have much conscience at all.I had to manufacture one to make sure that I didn’t go out and murder the a-holes who pissed me off.”

“Language, young lady,” Kat interjected sarcastically.

“And lastly,” Hannah continued, ignoring her, “if I hadn’t chased after Stiller, we never would have learned that he was visiting ‘Randy,’ who we now know is his addicted, homeless son, Randall.The guy wasn’t looking to score drugs or women.He was bringing his struggling son lunch.Isn’t that information useful as we evaluate whether he’s cheating on his wife?”

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