Page 3 of The Perfect Illusion

“Hey,” Jessie objected. “They do brain work too. You make it sound like my husband is a dock worker or something. He solves crimes just like I do.”

“You know what I mean,” Kat said with a dismissive wave before quickly switching subjects to avoid further ire. “Heard from Hannah lately?”

Jessie decided to let her friend off the hook.

“We were texting last night,” she said of her sister, who was currently in the last quarter of her freshman year at UC Irvine, about an hour away. “She’s planning to come home this weekend.”

“Any more word on her romantic situation?” Kat asked, turning slightly pink.

She was clearly a bit embarrassed to be asking about a nineteen-year-old’s love life, but she still couldn’t help herself. Jessie noted that the long vertical scar on the left side of her face—the result of an IED explosion during her time as an Army Ranger in Afghanistan—remained white.

“She’s pretty cagey about that stuff these days,” Jessie said as she slowed down suddenly on the mostly empty street to see if any of the few vehicles behind them would do the same. None did. “I think things are a little sketchy with that frat boy she’s been on and off with. I try not to pry.”

“But she’s good otherwise?” Kat asked, keeping an eye on the passing cars for any paid assassins she might recognize. “You know I consider myself her Aunt Kat, so I have to stay up on things.”

“She views you the same way,” Jessie assured her, “although maybe not as much when she was interning for you at the detective agency last summer. Aunt and boss are an odd combo. But to answer your question, she’s doing great. I know her classes this quarter have been harder than the last two, but she seems to be handling them okay. I hope to learn more on all fronts this weekend.”

“Maybe I’ll delay my move-out by a day so I can get the skinny,” Kat said, before adding, “Just kidding. I know she’ll want to sleep in her old room without me cramping her style.”

Jessie didn’t reply as she was focused on crossing four lanes of traffic in quick succession so she could make one final turn onto the street with the farmers market.

“You better get out here,” she said when she saw the traffic backup in front of them. “I’m going to be stuck here for a minute and I assume you’ll want to keep moving to avoid detection.”

“You know me too well,” Kat said, already opening the door of the still-moving vehicle. “I’ll catch you tonight back at the house.”

She slammed the door closed before Jessie could respond and quickly jogged over to the plaza, which was filled with multiple vendor stands. In less than five seconds, she had completely disappeared from view, which was exactly what she'd intended. Even Ash Pierce would find it challenging to keep up with her in that crowd.

As Jessie waited for the light to change, her thoughts drifted to how she needed to clean up the house a little for Hannah's return. One piece of that process was finding a spot for the bankers box sitting on the living room floor. Of course, it wasn't just any old box.

This particular one contained the personal effects of a serial killer named Mark Haddonfield, who had been adamant that she receive it after his recent death. But even after looking at every item in the box multiple times, she still had no idea why Haddonfield had been so insistent that she get it.

She still recalled the cryptic message that Haddonfield had said to both Hannah and herself before his death: If you want to be independent, you have to go to the mattresses. She didn’t know what that meant. But his insistence on repeating the phrase told her it was somehow significant.

She was debating whether to review the contents again tonight when her phone rang. Glancing down, she saw that it was Captain Parker, who ran Central Station and oversaw HSS.

“Hey Captain,” Jessie said, putting the call on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Parker asked in her typically gruff, no-nonsense way.

"On my way into the station," Jessie said. "I should be there in less than ten minutes."

“Change of plans,” Parker said. “I need you to head to Brentwood.”

“Brentwood?” Jessie repeated, surprised. “Isn’t that a little out of our station’s jurisdiction?”

“When it comes to unconventional murders, our jurisdiction is pretty much everywhere, Hunt, and this one is pretty unconventional.”

CHAPTER TWO

“What does that mean?” Jessie asked.

Parker wasn’t known for being dramatic, so this situation must be especially unusual.

“I don’t have many details,” Parker conceded. “All I know for sure is that some beauty queen was killed in her house and then posed like she was in a pageant or something.”

“Okay. That definitely sounds different, but is it really so wild a murder that West Los Angeles Station can’t handle it?” Jessie asked, referring to the station that typically dealt with cases from the tony Brentwood neighborhood.

“They are handling it,” Parker said. “But the detective in charge was so eager for our assistance that he agreed to let HSS take the lead. He specifically asked for you and Detective Hernandez but since your husband is working another case right now, you’re all I could offer.”

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