Page 23 of The Perfect People

“Sometimes field work is required in order to find answers we can’t get in the lab or the lecture hall or the interrogation room, Jessie,” he chided sharply. “Not everything is about looking into a suspect’s eyes and discerning whether they’re lying. You can’t always count on instinct to get you where you need to go.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked a little boy standing off to the right of him, holding a snow cone.

Mark realized that he’d been speaking out loud, conversing professionally with an imaginary Jessie who wasn’t around to respond. He felt a rush of heat come to his cheeks as the kid, no more than six, stared up at him in curious confusion.

“Mind your business and get the hell out of here, you little brat!” he hissed.

The boy stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds, his eyes welling up. Then he dropped his snow cone and ran off, wailing loudly. Mark quickly turned his back so that he was facing away from Hannah and her friends. He pretended to look up in amazement at the Ferris wheel.

He couldn’t believe what an idiot he was. Now there was a small boy about to tell his parent about the mean, tall man who’d yelled at him. The last thing Mark needed right now was attention. As casually as he could, he ambled back up toward the entrance to the pier, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

By the time he stepped onto Ocean Avenue and merged in with Friday’s late afternoon crowd, he felt reasonably confident that he’d avoided the worst of it. Still, he kept walking north.

That was the direction he needed to be going in anyway. That was where the beach house was, after all, and he had prep work to do. He had to scout the next kill while there was still light. This one was going to be bloody, and he wanted it to go just right.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jessie knew she shouldn’t be annoyed.

Susannah was just trying to help. Moreover, she was doing what any responsible partner would under the circumstances. It was unfair to hold a grudge.

After they handed off Richie Boy to the local officers that Breem sent, Susannah had insisted that before they pursue any other leads, they make a pit stop at MBPD’s preferred urgent care clinic to get her head checked out, just to make sure she hadn’t suffered another concussion.

After ten minutes in the waiting room without any sign that they were going to be seen soon, Detective Susannah Valentine used her china-shop-bull powers for good, making a scene that got them expedited to an exam room with a doctor, who did a comprehensive workup. An hour later, they left the clinic with an all-clear, which Jessie pretended she expected all along but was secretly relieved about. The grudge was gone.

Just as the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon in front of them, they returned to Shasta Mallory’s place, where according to a call from Sergeant Breem, Jelly was waiting to be interviewed. The member of Chantilly Mace’s entourage who had walked into the bedroom just after Paisley discovered Shasta’s body was apparently insisting on sharing what she knew. Though Jessie was skeptical that she would be the holy grail of witnesses, they didn’t have any other promising leads, so she wasn’t about to blow her off.

“Where is she?” Susannah asked Breem after they negotiated their way through the throng of rubberneckers in the sand beyond the police tape and reentered the living room of the mansion. The sergeant, who had been standing on the dance floor, mid-conversation with a young officer, glanced over at her with a stoic half-grin.

“Nice to see you again too, Detective,” he said mildly. “I hope you’ve had a lovely, productive afternoon. Mine has been okay. Thanks for asking.”

Susannah looked briefly chastened.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just frustrated by all the brick walls we keep hitting. Please, tell us more about your afternoon, Sergeant Breem.”

“Well, the surf was surprisingly strong. It was really tempting to see it and not be able to partake,” he answered sincerely. “But those are the sacrifices we make for the job, right?”

“I guess?” she replied uncertainly.

Jessie watched this back-and-forth with unbridled delight. Seeing Susannah Valentine try to restrain her “pedal to the metal” impulses with Breem, even temporarily, made her want to grab some popcorn and settle in for the show. The sergeant was clearly enjoying himself as well, but after a moment, he decided to let the detective off the hook.

“Anyway, enough about the beauty and power of the afternoon waves,” he said. “Let’s get to the nitty-gritty. I just heard from Pugh in the coroner’s office. He wanted me to let you know that he’s narrowed Shasta Mallory’s time of death down slightly, from twelve-thirty a.m. to two-thirty a.m. Hope that helps.”

“At this point, we’ll take every data point we can get,” Jessie said.

“Well, I wish you luck getting more of those from Jelly. She’s in the upstairs office where you did your questioning earlier today.”

“And what should we be expecting?” Jessie asked. “Do you really think she has anything material to offer?”

Breem shrugged.

“She was there just after Paisley Sorrento found the body this morning,” he noted, “but in my experience, folks who aggressively try to insert themselves into investigations and post about their tangential connections to them on social media probably aren’t the most valuable witnesses. But I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I’m no beggar,” Susannah said, already marching up the stairs to the office.

Jessie and Breem watched her go before looking at each other.

“She’s always like this, huh?” he said, almost admiringly.

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