Page 36 of The Perfect People

When their laughter finally subsided, Jessie decided that now was as good a time as any to test the Sergeant Drake Breem waters.

“I know we didn’t have a ton of success getting answers yesterday,” she said, “but what did you think of the MBPD folks we worked with?”

“Solid team,” Susannah said with a shrug. “That’s where Jamil came from, right?”

“Yep.”

“You’d never know he worked there,” Susannah noted. “He’s a lot more straitlaced than some of them.”

“Compared to who?” Jessie asked, following the path the detective was laying out for her.

“That Sergeant Breem for one,” she said. “When he was trying to smooth things over with Chantilly Mace, I thought he was going to try to get us all into a sharing circle or something.”

“What were your impressions of him, other than being in touch with his emotions?” Jessie pressed.

“What do you mean?” Susannah asked, glancing over at her suspiciously.

“I mean, do you have any general thoughts about a law enforcement type that Chantilly called a ‘silver fox,’ who gets his job done in a professional manner, but still likes to catch a sweet wave from time to time,andseems to have lived through enough stuff not to let his eyes bulge out of his head when a detective who looks like a lingerie model walks through the door?”

Susannah quickly returned her eyes to the road and Jessie noted that her grip on the wheel had suddenly gotten tighter.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she said unconvincingly.

“Wow,” Jessie said with a laugh, “I don’t have to be a criminal profiler to see through you.”

Before she could tease her partner any more, her phone rang. It was Ryan. She put the call on speaker.

“What’s up?” she asked. “You’re on speaker.”

“I wanted you both to hear this from me before you started getting news alerts,” he said. “There’s been another murder in Manhattan Beach. The victim was also strangled to death, also after a huge party at her house. Have you ever heard of Nicole Boyce?”

“I don’t think so,” Jessie said, looking over at Susannah, who shook her head no as well.

“Well, apparently she’s pretty well known down there,” Ryan said. “She’s a former model and professional surfer who has her own surf wear line now. Apparently she owns a boutique in the area. That’s all I really know at this point, other than that she’s a big deal in the surfing community and ESPN is already running stories about her death. That, coupled with the press conference later this morning involving Shasta Mallory’s other music clients, could make this a very complicated day. I’m sending you the address now.”

After he hung up, Jessie turned to Susannah.

“I guess the time for casual girl talk is over,” she said. “We should get down there ASAP. Maybe you should turn on your siren.”

***

Jessie stood on the sand in front of Nicole Boyce’s house.

It was still technically in Manhattan Beach, though it was right on the border with Hermosa Beach, where the Strand was briefly broken up by a set of stairs. The house was more akin to Ilana Owens’ than to Shasta Mallory’s in size and design.

Two stories high and fairly narrow, with homes on either side that boxed it in, it also looked to be on the older side, and very well-worn. Even before going inside, Jessie got the impression that Boyce was less interested in residential upkeep than some of her neighbors.

“You ready?” Susannah asked. “I want to get cracking before news crews show up and make our lives hell.”

“Let’s do it,” Jessie said as they approached the front door. She couldn’t agree more. This was already bound to be a circus once the media got involved. When they learned she was handling the case, that would only up the ante.

They were both better prepared for a day spent beachside than they had been yesterday. Though each of them still wore pants, they were looser and more casual than those they’d have employed on a case in downtown office buildings. Jessie had on a cream, button-up top to deflect the sun and Susannah had gone with a restrained-for-her lavender, polo-style shirt that was only half a size too small.

They passed under the police tape, showed their IDs to the officer at the front door, and went inside, looking for Sergeant Breem. He was nowhere in sight, but Jessie saw another familiar face making notes on a pad by the kitchen counter, and immediately walked over.

“Officer Shaw?” she said.

Looking up to meet her gaze was a young woman in her mid-twenties. Though physically unimposing—about five foot two and 110 pounds soaking wet—Jessie knew that the appearance was deceiving. Officer Carrie Shaw was not to be trifled with.

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