Page 15 of The Perfect Betrayal

She didn’t want to call Peterson’s friends into Central Station, where she worked, for interviews. That was downtown, over an hour’s drive from Redondo Beach at this time of night.And she didn’t want to conduct questioning at the Sheriff’s station, where she feared Riddell would try to dominate things. There was still research work they could do, but it was probably better to wait until tomorrow and start fresh on the questioning.

"Mr. Stanton," she said, "I understand the delicacy of the situation, but we'd prefer it if, after tonight, you re-open the club. We don't want to be too disruptive to people's lives, and we can pursue our investigation while you conduct normal business."

None of that was true. She didn’t care about disrupting these people’s lives. But she was sure she’d have a much better chance of getting answers if Peterson’s friends were talking about him while sipping their second scotch in their familiar clubhouse rather than in a sterile interrogation room. Stanton didn’t need to know any of this.

“Of course, Ms. Hunt,” Stanton said apologetically. “I’ll send out an e-mail tonight to that effect.”

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling warmly to show there were no hard feelings. She needed Stanton as an asset and not an impediment.

“In that case, I’m calling it a night,” Riddell said. “No point in dawdling around here without a lead.”

“You don’t want to review the background info on Peterson’s friends?” Jessie asked, taken aback.

“Why?” he asked flatly.

It took her a second to find the right words in response.

“So we can—you know—be better prepared when we talk to them tomorrow?” She failed at keeping the disdain out of her voice.

“You can send me a copy of what you have, and I’ll look it over tonight,” he said dismissively. “But I’m not going to spend my night poring over documents when the real action comes tomorrow.”

Jessie replied before she could stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

“Youhaveheard of the concept that the more time that passes, the harder it becomes to solve crimes, right?” she asked, the contempt thick in her tone.

"Listen," he said, noting her disregard but evidently untroubled by it. He was apparently used to it. "I don't know how things work over at HSS, but here at the Sheriff's Department, we don't twist ourselves in knots unless there's an obvious reason. And while I'msuperappreciative of all the help the LAPD is providing, this case is still in my jurisdiction, so my rules apply. And I’m going home.”

Then he turned and walked off without another word, leaving Jessie standing pathetically next to Oliver Stanton. She felt frustration rise in her chest and tried to check it before it turned to full-on fury. She found herself wanting to pull a Daran Peterson on the guy. If there had been a knife present, she'd have been tempted to jam it into Riddell's back a few times. Instead, she turned to Stanton and offered a thin smile.

“Thanks for all your help,” she said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded politely and she headed for the exit, trying not think about how—if she got to her car fast enough—she might be able to run over Riddell before he reached his.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Her nerves were jangling.

Even after all her planning, she could still feel her hands shaking slightly as she walked through the bar. It was frustrating. After all, the detailed planning was supposed to prevent her from feeling this way. She’d told herself that the more organized she was, the calmer she would be in these situations.

But in retrospect, she realized she’d been kidding herself. Unless she was a total sociopath—which she definitely wasn’t—then of course coordinating the details of a murder would unsettle her. It had happened with Daran Peterson, even though he hadn’t been able to tell until it was too late. And it was happening again now.

Luckily, unlike with Peterson, this time she didn’t have to be “on.” That would come later. Right now, as she maneuvered through the crowd at Naja’s Place, the raucous bar on the Redondo Beach pier’s boardwalk, she was wearing jeans and a hoodie that hung over her cap, which was not the same one she wore with Peterson yesterday.

She slid onto a barstool next to the person she was looking for but made sure to turn her body away from him. She didn't want to "meet" him until the time was right. Right now, she just wanted to listen.

He was talking to another guy who was a bit older than him. She had to wait a few minutes as they chatted about some sports team that she didn’t know or care about. But eventually they moved on to the topic that was of interest to her. He started talking about his sailboat and how he intended to take it out later this evening.

She smiled silently to herself. That was what she needed to know. The rest was just a matter of preparation. She glanced down at her hands and noted that they had stopped shaking.

She knew what she had to do. And though she was still scared, some small part of her was actually looking forward to it.

CHAPTER NINE

Jessie opened the car windows to fight off the exhaustion.

Between Ryan’s recovery from being poisoned a month ago and her own struggles with sleep—a result of her concerns about her increasingly uncontrollable urges—she found it hard to keep her eyes open on the drive home.

After two minutes of that, she gave up. The noise and exhaust fumes were almost as bad as the fight to stay awake. She closed the windows and decided to try something else.

---