Page 21 of The Perfect Illusion

What they were able to see was the killer’s methodical method of placing the pageant accoutrements on Martinez. They seemed to be enjoying the process. In that moment, the sight lit a fire in Jessie’s gut that was more powerful than her exhaustion.

But that fire was temporarily extinguished as the hours dragged on. The thought of how long she’d been up—over twenty-four straight hours now— made her eyes suddenly grow heavy. She checked the time. It was 6:09 A.M. This felt like the perfect opportunity for another coffee break. She stretched her arms above her head and then stood up.

“I’m going to get some more liquid fuel,” she said before turning to Brady. “You want anything?”

“I’ll take another cup, thanks,” he told her. “You know how I like it?”

She did, primarily because it was so objectionably memorable. Last night, she’d watched in horror as the detective had dumped a huge serving of cream in his mug before adding a half dozen sugar packets. Of course, as almost always happened with Brady, a solid quarter of the beverage had ended up on his clothing. The “o” in the word “Chico” on his sweatshirt was completely brown.

“I remember,” she assured him, then added for the benefit of the researchers on speakerphone. “You two should take a breather too.”

“I’m going to, but I’ll have to grab something for Jamil,” Beth said. “He’s a little fixated right now.”

“On what?” Jessie asked.

“You asked us to check other possible connections between the victims and we haven’t done that yet,” she explained. “Since things have slowed looking at pageant people, he shifted over to look at other options while I stick with this. He’s deep into it.”

“Understood,” Jessie said as she headed for the door. She expected nothing less from Jamil. And she knew from experience that suggesting he take a break was like yelling into the wind. “Keep me posted.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Beth added. “Detective Hernandez wanted us to pass along word that he won’t be able to help you guys out today as he’d hoped. Apparently he and Detective Nettles hit a snag in their case and they’re going to be stuck here at Central Station for most of the day.”

Jessie had actually forgotten about the late-night offer from her husband. That felt like an eternity ago.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know,” she said, opening the door. “I guess it’s just you and me, Brady.”

“I think we’ll get by,” he replied with a grin that she found impressive considering the all-nighter they’d just had.

She left the conference room and headed down the hall to the break room. Even though this was a police station, the place was deathly quiet. Admittedly, it was very early and West L.A. station wasn’t the madhouse that her place of work, downtown’s Central station, was. But she was still a bit surprised.

The break room was empty so she didn’t have to compete for the cream or the sugars. As she prepped Brady’s cup, she tried to switch gears mentally to give her brain a break. She thought about Kai Cody and whether they could eliminate him as a suspect.

A quick search showed that he had no history of violence. He’d never even got into a fight on the baseball field. Past news stories following his courtship of, and subsequent marriage to Rebecca, made their romance sound like a Cinderella story. Yes, he was thirteen years older than her, but that didn’t seem to be an issue. Every indication they had so far was that the couple was happily married.

Jessie wondered if the Cinderella romance thing might be a motive for someone else. It wasn’t inconceivable that some disturbed person who was a fan of either Cody or Martinez had gotten jealous. But it seemed unlikely. After all, the couple had been married for two years now. An envy-related attack would have probably come soon after the wedding. Besides, that theory didn’t explain why Patricia Hollinger was killed.

She walked back down the hallway to the conference room, this time armed with two large cups of coffee. She opened the door with her elbow and stepped inside. Immediately, she sensed a different energy in the room. Brady was sitting upright instead of slouching. And she thought that she could almost hear an excited crackle through the speakerphone.

‘What’s going on?” she asked.

“Jamil just said he thinks he found a new lead,” Brady explained. “I was about to come get you when you walked back in.”

“Well, I’m here now,” she said, trying to keep cool as she walked over with the coffees. “What have you got, Jamil?”

“I just did a general search for shared contacts of both victims,” he explained. “other than in pageant circles, there was minimal overlap. But I did notice something that didn’t jump out at me before. Both these women were previously divorced. They both married young. Hollinger to her high school sweetheart, who went on to play college football. He’s a TV analyst now. Martinez married a male model she met on a photo shoot. Neither marriage lasted more than two years.”

“Did they have the same lawyer?” Brady asked excitedly.

“No, which was a disappointment to me too,” Jamil answered with a tone that Jessie knew well. It was as close as the researcher got to genuine excitement. It was clear that he was anticipating telling them something good. “But then I checked the attorneys for their exes. It’s the same guy.”

“Who?” Jessie asked, her own sense of anticipation building.

“His name is Benjamin Moran,” Jamil said. “He represents wealthy men, especially younger ones. He has a lot of clients who are actors, athletes, and tech bros. And he’s got a reputation for playing hardball. The word ‘gold digger’ comes up a lot in his court filings. He seems to like to use colorful, even inflammatory language. In fact, both of his initial filings involving these women use the same phrase—‘gold-digging beauty queen.’ That seemed relevant.”

“I would say so,” Brady agreed. “It would be interesting to find out if Mr. Moran simply used that term because it served his professional purposes, or if there’s a more personal element to it. What do you think, Jessie?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “In fact, this lead feels as strong as any of the pageant connections. I say we chat him up first thing. What’s the earliest we can knock on his door without him claiming harassment?”

“You might not have to wait,” Beth told them, her own voice suddenly enthusiastic. “It looks like Moran is a big social media enthusiast. And he just posted a photo ten minutes ago. It’s a selfie of him in the gym at his country club. The caption reads: Shoulder day. Loving the burn!”

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