Page 62 of The Perfect People

“I’ve had a bit of experience in dangerous situations.”

More lights turned on and the voices were getting closer. They heard the nearby gift shop door being unlocked.

“I guess we should call the cops, huh?” Chris said.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Hannah agreed. “But the locals can call nine-one-one. I may be able to get us a more direct line.”

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day.

Jessie removed her sunglasses as Ryan took the curve where the Interstate 10 Freeway ended at the ocean and curved north to become the Pacific Coast Highway. She wanted to better appreciate the view for this last stretch of sand and ocean before they arrived at the beach house to pick up Hannah at noon.

After getting the story of what happened on the pier, they’d still agreed to let her stay at the beach house. That is, once they’d coordinated with the Santa Monica Police Department to have a unit stay outside the place overnight and this morning until everyone left. SMPD, who’d benefited from HSS’s investigative assistance on more than one occasion, agreed without hesitation. The other condition for letting her stay was that they keep all doors locked and the security system activated until daybreak.

That part had worked out well. Unfortunately, despite Hannah and Chris both giving detailed descriptions of the gangly guy to SMPD, no one matching it had been found in the area. The guy had simply disappeared. Hannah wasn’t sure how the guy knew her name, though she suspected he’d been secretly listening in on their beach conversations before she’d first noticed his presence.

As they drove, Jessie tried not to play with the bandages covering the exposed sections of skin, where she’d had multiple small pieces of embedded glass removed. She and Ryan had been at the hospital until 9 a.m., and she’d gotten thirty-one stitches over her body. They’d agreed not to mention any of that to Hannah unless she noticed and specifically asked.

Nor would they bring up the bump on the back of her head, especially since, according to the doctors, it hadn’t resulted in a concussion. Once again, she’d gotten lucky on that front. To his credit, Ryan didn’t harp on it.

But she knew he was thinking the same thing that was starting to weigh on her too: how many more times could she go out on cases like this, incur a head injury, and escape without suffering a concussion that might result in permanent damage?

Any answer to that question was short-circuited by a call from the office.

“It’s Jamil,” she said, and put it on speaker. “Hey, I’m here with Captain Hernandez.”

“Great,” he said. “I’m in the research office with Beth and Detective Valentine. We have some updates for you if you’d like.”

“I hope nothing you tell us is going to prevent you from attending that makeup survivors’ guilt group session this afternoon?” Jessie said by way of reminding him. “We both missed yesterday but that doesn’t mean we can’t go today.”

“I don’t think this will prevent attendance,” Jamil responded. “I’ll go if you do. Will Hannah be able to make it?”

“I’ll have to see if she’s up for it,” Jessie said. “She had kind of a rough night, but I’ll let you know.”

“Shehad a rough night?” Jamil countered. “You smashed through a glass door and nearly got stabbed with a chunk of the stuff!”

“Yes, but I’ll have you know that one of the EMTs on the scene last night thought I was a professional tennis player, so apparently I can handle it,” Jessie said wryly. “What’s the update? How’s Lola Dorman doing?”

“She’s recovering well,” Beth volunteered. “The hospital is going to keep her at least one more night. She still can’t really speak. They think there may be some minor vocal cord damage but nothing permanent. Otherwise they expect a full recovery.”

“There’s more good news,” Jamil added. “You’ll be happy to know that those music star clients of Shasta Mallory who raised a stink in the press conference at police headquarters yesterday have changed their tune. They held another press event today and this time they were full of praise for HSS, the department in general, and Chief Decker.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ryan said.

Jessie noted the relief on his face.

“In addition,” Susannah said, speaking up for the first time, “I saw an interview with Nicole Boyce’s husband, Lachlan Restrepo, on a local station this morning. He looked pretty devastated, but he talked about being glad that her killer was brought to justice and hopefully being able to get some closure. I was worried that when we eventually heard from him, he was going to be irate, but he seemed more hollowed out than anything. As for the killer, we’ve gotten some new details on him since we talked last.”

“Let’s hear them,” Jessie requested.

“You already know the basics—that his name is Wade Cronin, that he moved here from Bakersfield three months ago, and has been living at the Gardena apartment of a high school friend, but our friends here in research learned some more about his work history.”

“Let me guess,” Jessie said. “He was a plumber?”

“How did you know that?” Jamil asked.

“That’s what he told me just before he tried to cut me open on that balcony.”

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