Page 53 of The Perfect Betrayal

Hillenbrand nodded. The man’s name was Joel Cisco.

After that, everything got easier. She declined the position in Florida. Instead, she decided to pursue a PhD at LMU but took this semester off. With nothing to distract her now, she found that researching Cisco was easy.

She learned about his business as a financial advisor and the ongoing investigation into whether he had stolen from clients even richer than he was. She found out about his wife, an innocuously pleasant woman named Lana. She drilled down on his circle of friends, many of whom were from the South Bay Yacht Club, where he was a member.

She hung out at the club’s bar, wearing disguises and keeping a low profile as she eavesdropped on these guys’ conversations. She watched them take an endless array of girls—many close to a decade younger than them—onto their boats for parties. She even spoke to some of those women after they returned. Few of them had nice things to say about the way they were treated.

She looked into the backgrounds of these friends and found that each of them had a history of impropriety with women, ranging from solicitation to stalking to outright assault. Some had settled sealed legal claims from women. While she didn’t have any hard evidence of anything involving Heather, Monica could draw conclusions. But she needed to be sure.

That’s why, four months ago, she'd purchased a wig with flaming red hair and altered her makeup to look as little as possible like Heather. Then, she approached Cisco at a Manhattan Beach restaurant bar. She knew that his marital status wouldn’t be an impediment, as she’d seen him take multiple young women onto his boat.

She flirted with him aggressively and within an hour they were in a room at a nearby hotel. In the room, they partook of the mini bar. When Cisco went to the restroom, she slipped hima dose of sodium amytal, which would eventually knock him out. But that was a secondary benefit. The drug, which was banned in many jurisdictions and hard to come by, also had a reputation as a truth serum of sorts. And in this case, it worked.

Just before he passed out, with her phone recording the conversation, Monica cajoled Cisco to recount any yacht parties that went off the rails. Though drowsy, he was also uninhibited and at least somewhat forthcoming. While he never confessed to anything specific, he made reference to him and his friends “doing a bad thing” one night about three years ago. It was clear, though he did his best to restrain himself, that he still recalled the night vividly.

Before he drifted off, she got him to list the names of everyone who’d been “bad” with him and even concede that the “bad thing” was his idea, with support from his “best bud” Robbie Chandler.

After he zonked out, she stripped him naked. She slept fitfully on the small couch against the wall. When morning came, she undressed so that she was only in the lingerie she’d worn for the occasion. Then she got into bed beside him and woke him up. He was groggy and confused. She told him that they’d had a great night together, that he was amazing in bed.

“But this has to be the only time,” she said regretfully as she got out of the bed and quickly put her clothes back on. “I let my passion get the better of me last night but now, seeing you with that ring on, I realize that I can’t be responsible for breaking up a marriage.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything like that,” he replied, now convinced that they’d hooked up and apparently recalling nothing about his semi-confession. “We can just keep it casual.”

“I just can’t,” she said, “but I have your number if I ever change my mind.”

She considered taking the recording to the authorities. But she doubted they’d do anything. After all, she had drugged the man into his confession. And even then, admitting to "doing a bad thing," wasn't a smoking gun. There was nobody. He could claim that the bad thing was cheating on his wife or snorting coke or any number of other things. Even if the cops were interested, Cisco and his friends had shown an ability to skirt responsibility for their misdeeds. No, she had to handle this herself. So she did.

She came up with a plan. And to make it a reality, she prepared accordingly. She trained relentlessly to get in the best possible shape so that she would be desirable to the group known as the “yacht club bros.” She worked on different makeup styles that ensured she didn’t conjure up memories of her sister for them. She bought three more wigs for when she needed them. And she swam. All the time. Her plan required her to be both unflappable and full of stamina in the water.

Then, after so many months of prep work, she finally put the plan into action. She’d chosen this last Tuesday, not only because it was Heather’s birthday, but because she was now the same age—24—that Heather had been on the night she disappeared. It felt appropriate.

She’d planned to kill each of the yacht club bros on successive night. But in retrospect, that was naïve. Of course, the cops would figure out the connection among the guys. The morning after the first kill, she went to the yacht club and parked outside to spy on events there. The second that she saw the profiler Jessie Hunt walking around, she knew time was short. And of course the guys would scurry for protection the second they understood they were in danger.

So she’d been forced into this situation where she had to jump ahead to the grand finale to exact vengeance on the man she knew to be the ringleader in whatever happened to Heather.She called Cisco and told him that she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head, that she wanted a repeat of their night four months ago.

Under normal circumstances, the man might have been suspicious of such an offer. But because they’d “hooked up” months before his friends had started dropping like flies, he apparently felt a level of unjustified safety in her presence. But he wasn’t completely clueless.

He told her that it wasn’t safe for him to hang out at the South Bay Yacht Club right now and instead suggested they meet at his sailboat in the marina for what he called a “slumber party.” Fighting off the urge to throw up, she’d agreed.

That was why she was lying on the deck of the Bodacious Tata now, while Joel Cisco was down below, roofied and tied up. Very soon, she would wake him, and get his confession, torturing him if necessary, and maybe even if it wasn’t. Then, after he came clean, she’d kill him anyway. It was the only way to get justice for Heather. Whatever happened to her after that, she was okay with it.

The silence of the boat was broken by what sounded like a dull moan from down below. Apparently, Cisco was starting to wake up on his own. It was perfect timing, as the first rays of the sun were just starting to peek out over the hills.

Monica stood up, pulled off the red wig she’d been wearing, and tossed it onto the deck. She wouldn’t need it anymore. Then she started down the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Jessie reminded herself to breathe.

She was standing on the deck of the Coast Guard Coastal Patrol Boat Halibut, watching as it cut through the water. She squinted and held her hand up to block the sun, which had started to rise.

She glanced at her phone. It was 6:14 A.M. She noticed that she had a voicemail. It was from Dante Moore, the administrator of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility, whom she’d asked to reach out if he had anything new on Mark Haddonfield. She tried to play the message but there was no cell service out here. She’d have to wait until they got back closer to shore. Besides, she needed to focus on this case.

It had taken longer than they would have liked to find Cisco’s boat. After eventually identifying it, the Coast Guard managed to locate the last signal from Cisco’s boat, the Bodacious Tata. But someone had apparently turned off the sailboat’s Automatic Identification System, or AIS beacon around two in the morning.

As a result, the Coast Guard had to use its last known bearing in combination with reports from other vessels in the area to try to lock in a location for the boat. They were now, finally, barreling toward what they believed was the right vessel. She thought she saw it in the distance. Riddell took up a spot next to her.

"The captain says we'll reach Cisco's boat in about five minutes," he said. "He wants to know how we want to play it. Come in loud and make an announcement over the PA system. Or try to sneak up on them and have some divers sneak over?"

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