Page 38 of The Perfect People

“Okay, a tan, mustached Elvis impersonator,” Susannah said as they reached the top of the stairs. “That doesn’t sound that odd for one of these parties so far.”

“No,” Shaw agreed, “but then he started massaging Nicole’s shoulders, without asking or anything.”

“Did she know him?” Jessie asked.

“Not according to them,” Shaw said, “but at first she didn’t mind. They were even joking about how her husband would be jealous. But then the guy suddenly started choking her, out of the blue, for no reason. They said they started yelling for help and some guys came over, pulled the man off her, and shoved him outside.”

“They didn’t try to subdue him or hold him until police arrived?” Susannah wanted to know.

“I asked the same thing,” Shaw said. “They claimed they were too in shock to think about that, and that they were focused on making sure Nicole was okay. By the time anyone thought of going after him, the guy was gone. And besides, Nicole didn’t want to call us anyway. They said she was worried that we’d shut the party down because of all the illicit substances being consumed on the premises. She claimed she was more scared than hurt and that a few shots of bourbon would have her all better. So that was the end of it, at least that’s what they thought until this morning.”

They had stopped outside what Jessie assumed was Nicole Boyce’s bedroom.

“I assume you got all their names and contact info?” she said.

“Yes, and I told them they should expect to be called in later for more formal interviews with the investigative team. I just didn’t want to try to corral themandkeep tabs on the crime scene when I wasn’t sure when you’d be arriving.”

“That’s okay,” Jessie said, speaking before Susannah could contradict her. Technically, the officer should probably have insisted on keeping the women there, but her notes were comprehensive and under the circumstances, she’d made a judgment call. Jessie didn’t want her to get a tongue-lashing over it. “Why don’t you head back downstairs? We’ll be fine from here.”

Shaw nodded and returned the way she’d come.

“Getting soft in your old age?” Susannah asked once Shaw had retreated down the stairs.

“She’s clearly already beating herself up for not following protocol, Susannah,” Jessie said. “Sometimes you don’t have to dress down an officer. She’s a good cop and she’ll be an asset on the case, assuming we don’t push her away.”

“Fine,” Susannah muttered as they walked into the bedroom, “maybe you can get her a lollipop later, too.”

Jessie didn’t respond. When Detective Valentine got like that, there was no point. They walked through the bedroom, with its open sliding door leading to the balcony overlooking the tiny first-floor courtyard, and joined Pugh in the bathroom, where Nicole Boyce lay on her back.

Her eyes were closed, and her sun-bleached blonde hair was messy, as if it had gotten tangled when she tried to break free from her attacker. She was wearing a pink bikini. A white sarong rested just off to the side of her. Jessie wondered if it had come loose during the struggle.

If she’d been wearing clothes, Nicole Boyce would have looked like a normal thirty-something woman. She was of average height. And though she was quite attractive, the constant exposure to sun and saltwater had given her a slightly weathered appearance that had perhaps aged her prematurely.

Her body, however, had battled the years impressively. She might have been retired, but she looked like she was still capable of competing in her sport. Her arms and legs, even hours after death, were incredibly toned, and her stomach was flat and hard.

Jessie kneeled down next to the body of Nicole Boyce, and somehow felt that even though they’d never met, she understood her. This was a woman who, even after wrapping up a party at 4 a.m., had so much passion for what she did that she planned to go surfing that same morning at six. This was a woman who got a kick out of making her husband jealous, who liked a few shots of bourbon, who didn’t mind friends leaping into her bed at all hours, who was willing to sacrifice skin care for sun and sand and sea spray.

Nicole Boyce was a “live life to the fullest” kind of person and now she was lying lifeless on her bathroom floor. Seeing her like this made Jessie’s gut churn with rage. She stood up.

“We’ve got to get this guy,” she said quietly to Susannah. “This won’t stand.”

“I know,” the detective agreed. “I get that we’re about justice but right now I feel like dishing out some of that vengeance Chantilly Mace was talking about yesterday.”

Jessie nodded.

“Speaking of yesterday’s victim,” Jessie noted, “we may as well say out loud what we both know to be true after looking at these two women.”

“What?” Susannah asked.

“We’re dealing with a serial killer.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jessie could feel her partner’s frustration rubbing off on her.

They were in a small conference room at the Manhattan Beach police station, which had been set aside for them. And after four hours of reviewing notes, adding possible leads on a whiteboard, and making calls, Susannah Valentine seemed to be near her breaking point.

“No video cameras at the house,” she said irritably, “in fact, no security of any kind. No one saw this Elvis guy leave. No one saw him come back in, at least not in the same get-up. But people could come and go whenever they wanted so he could have just wandered in at any point if he liked. But according to Pugh, there were no fingerprints or DNA on Nicole Boyce’s neck, just like with Shasta Mallory. And since he wore gloves during the neck massage, that’s a dead end too. So we’ve got nothing.”

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