Page 5 of The Perfect People

“I’ll be like a gentle, soothing rain,” Jessie promised, marching down the hall as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog.

***

“We have to callallof them?” Beth Ryerson, HSS’s junior researcher repeated incredulously.

“It’s something I should have had you guys do the day after Melissa Ferro was killed,” Jessie said. “I guess I just hoped that the new evidence from the crime scene—the video footage, the autopsy, something—would have cracked the case open. But there’s no excuse now.”

“So just to be clear,” Jamil Winslow, the head of HSS research said, “you want us to reach out to every person who was in potentially mortal danger when you caught the killer involved in their case?”

“Correct,” Jessie told him.

“So in the case where a woman tried to poison her husband on a private jet and inadvertently poisoned someone else and went to prison for it, we need to warn the husband she didn’t successfully kill?” he checked.

“You’re getting it.”

“Ms. Hunt,” Jamil said, polite as ever, “you do realize that in many of these cases, the person these killers were hoping to eliminate next wasyou, right?”

“It’s an irony that I’m well aware of, Jamil,” Jessie said. “But it’s also clear to me that if our copycat wanted to make me his next victim, that would kind of defeat the point of this whole endeavor for him. These murders are his way of sending a message to me. He’ll only come after me when he’s done sending messages. Also, I’ve told you a million times to call me Jessie, Jamil. Now can you guys do this?”

Jamil looked over at Beth, who shrugged in return. It was her way of acknowledging that he was the one who knew the answer to that question better than she did. Jamil Winslow didn’t look imposing but everyone in HSS agreed that he was the unit’s resident genius.

Short and skinny with thick glasses and a perpetually serious expression, he made up for his lack of physical prowess with his mental ability. At just twenty-five, he was already an expert atfiltering through massive databases, sorting surveillance video into manageable buckets, and making complex financial records understandable, all seemingly in the blink of an eye.

“In theory, yes, we can reach out to all these people,” he said. “Partly because it’s not crazy busy with other cases right now. And sadly, because we have no leads on this one. But it will be a daunting undertaking. We’re talking alotof people. It could take a while.”

“Do it anyway,” Jessie said. “The idea that there are vulnerable citizens out there who could be safer if only they knew they were in danger—we have to do whatever we can for them.”

Beth sighed heavily and Jessie turned to face her. The junior researcher had only been with the unit for a few months but she’d already more than proven her mettle. When she showed signs of apprehension, Jessie knew to take it seriously.

Like Jamil, Beth Ryerson was twenty-five. Unlike him, she was a daunting physical specimen.Over six feet tall with brown hair that she liked to keep in a ponytail, Beth was a former college volleyball star at UC-Santa Barbara. Unfussily attractive, she never wore makeup, and her razor-sharp mind was often hidden under a relaxed demeanor. Her perpetual chill was a total contrast to Jamil’s constant, jittery intensity. She almost always had a sunny disposition. But she wasn’t smiling now.

“What is it, Beth?” Jessie asked.

“There’s another concern with reaching out to so many people,” she said reluctantly. “The more folks we contact, the more risk there is that some of them might speak to the press. We’ve been lucky so far that the media hasn’t made any connection among the cases, probably because the general public wasn’t aware that these victims were on past serial killers’ hit lists in the first place. But that could change if reporters start getting calls from people who’ve been warned by HSS.”

“Frankly,” Jamil added, “I’m surprised that the Clone Killer hasn’t already reached out to the media himself.”

“He will when it serves his purposes,” Jessie assured him. “He’s striking fear in victims right now. His next step is to strike fear in the whole city. He doesn’t want to play that card until he’s ready. As to your concern, Beth, it’s legitimate, but it’s a risk we’ll have to take. If making these calls saves even one life, it’s worth it.”

Just then, Ryan bolted through the research office door. The second Jessie saw his face, she knew her relaxed day was over.

CHAPTER THREE

“Another victim?” she asked, her heart sinking even as she knew it might be the best chance to catch the bastard.

Ryan shook his head.

“Not in the Clone Killer case,” he said. “But a new one came in. We just got a call from the Manhattan Beach Police Department. A woman named Shasta Mallory was found dead there this morning at her beachfront mansion.”

“Manhattan Beach?” Jessie repeated. “That’s not in LAPD jurisdiction.”

“No, but they’ve specifically requested the assistance of HSS,” Ryan told her. “Apparently the victim is a big-time music manager who was throwing some blowout Labor Day weekend party at her place last night. Some of her clients are major stars and they’ve put pressure on the local police to bring in HSS—specifically you—to help. They basically begged me to make you available. Since you didn’t have anything else on your plate, I couldn’t in good conscience say no.”

Jessie couldn’t blame him for agreeing to the request but shared his reservations nonetheless.

“Okay, but what happens if something breaks on the Clone Killer front while I’m working this case?” she asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he replied. “In the meantime, we can’t just stay in a holding pattern, not having you take other cases on the chance that something might happen with this one. We’ve been dealing with this situation for months now. We’ll address any new developments as they arise.”

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