Page 43 of The Perfect Illusion
“Of course, Victoria, “the woman apparently named Rachel said. “I’m sorry. A lot of stuff just came up lately. Have a nice evening.”
Rachel reached out with her left hand and held the door open for them as she offered another tight smile.
“As I’m sure you heard, you can go in now.”
Jessie returned the smile, feeling for the receptionist, who was apparently trying to maintain some professional dignity in the face of a boss who didn’t think she’d earned it. She stepped into the office, followed by Brady. It had the same spa energy as the outer office, though the music was gone, the lighting was a little brighter, and the giant window facing the Hollywood Hills slightly mitigated the feeling of intimacy.
Victoria Sterling stood up to greet them. The woman was tall, easily equal to Jessie’s 5’10” height. She had a statuesque bearing, reinforced by an expensive lavender skirt suit and elaborate updo of her silver-blonde hair. The quick bio that Jamil had given them on the drive over revealed that she was 44 years old, a former advertising executive who had switched professions after an ugly divorce left her reeling. She was now re-married to a professor of art history at UCLA.
"So what's this all about?" she asked, coming around from behind her desk and sitting in a high-backed chair. She motioned for them to take the two chairs opposite her own. The setup reminded Jessie of a couples therapist’s office more than that of a matchmaker.
“We thought you might already know,” Jessie prompted as she sat down.
Sterling nodded.
“I can guess,” she admitted. “Does it have anything to do with the reports I saw on the news about the deaths of Patricia Hollinger and Rebecca Martinez?’
Jessie silently noted that Sterling hadn’t mentioned Caroline Walters. That made sense. If she wasn’t involved in her death, she’d have no idea about it yet, only a few hours after it happened. And if she was responsible, mentioning it would essentially be an admission of guilt.
“That’s correct,” Brady said, also not mentioning Walters. “You must have been thrown when you learned that two women that you paired up with clients had been killed on consecutive days.”
“I absolutely was,” she confirmed.
“Then we have to wonder, Ms. Sterling,” he said. “Why not reach out to us to make us aware of the connection?”
Sterling looked surprised by the question.
“I didn’t realize there was a connection,” she said. “I just assumed it was an awful coincidence. And in any case, it’s not my place to get involved in the personal lives of my clients beyond their specified preferences. This felt like it would be an invasion of their privacy.”
Jessie found herself irked by the woman’s seemingly cavalier attitude.
“I could understand not reaching out to the husbands in the immediate aftermath of their wives’ murders,” Jessie said. “That might be seen as an invasion of privacy. But not contacting the authorities? That seems odd.”
Sterling shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Well, when you put it that way, I see your point,” she conceded. “But frankly, I just wasn’t in the headspace to make that logical leap. This is a little embarrassing to admit, but I was more focused on how this news would impact my business than what my civic responsibilities were. Having said that, you’re here now and I’m willing to help. How can I do that?”
While Jessie was put off by the admission that Sterling was more annoyed by how these deaths would affect her own professional situation than the impact on the actual human beings involved, she did at least appreciate the woman’s forthrightness. She decided to take advantage of the modicum of guilt Sterling appeared to be feeling now.
“You pair older, wealthy men with younger, attractive women,” she noted. “That kind of work seems like it might lead to a lot of hard feelings.”
“From whom?” Sterling wanted to know.
“I’m guessing from the young women who have yet to be matched and are missing out on the good life,” Jessie proffered. “Maybe from the ex-wives of these men, who likely resent being replaced by a newer, younger model. Or even from the men themselves, when some of the young ladies you match them with turn out to be busts, perhaps leaving them feeling frustrated and burned. Have you encountered any of those situations?”
Sterling offered her a condescending smile before replying.
“Not so much for the latter two,” she said. “The men I work with know this is a process and that it doesn’t always pan out at first. And I’ve never had an issue with an ex giving me grief. In these situations, I don’t think their anger is generally focused on me. I have had some potential matches—the young women you referenced—get antsy when they’re matched with a client and then it falls through. They often view it as defeat being snapped from the jaws of victory. There can be some resentment. But I typically remind them that a frog of a relationship is often soon followed by a princely one. I’ve certainly never had any of them express the kind of anger that would make me think they were capable of harming anyone.”
“Still,” Brady pointed out, “is it impossible to think that one of them might consider eliminating the competition so that they could slide into her spot?”
“Highly unlikely,” Sterling replied. “Impossible? I suppose not.”
“In that case,” Brady continued. “Would you be willing to share your files on the women who were either passed over or were matched up only to have it not pan out?”
Sterling didn’t look enthused by the request and seemed to be doing mental math in her head.
“I suppose,” she finally said, “but how far back are we going? Before I re-imagined this company as Elite Introductions, it operated under another name, Real World Communications. Do I need to include missed matches from back then too?”
