Page 7 of The Perfect People

“It’s worth a shot,” Susannah said with a shrug. “If me fitting in down there helps get us an edge, I think we should use it.”

“I agree,” Jessie said. “I just have one question for you.”

“What?” Susannah asked hesitantly.

“Did you remember to bring your bikini?”

She just barely managed to avoid the detective’s attempt to punch her shoulder.

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time they arrived at the Manhattan Beach Strand forty-five minutes later, Jessie was half-wishing she’d brought a bikini of her own.

It was barely 11 a.m. and the temperature was already approaching ninety degrees. Jessie had to remind herself that they were the lucky ones. If it was this hot here, that likely meant it was closer to 105 downtown, where Ryan and the rest of the HHS team were stuck. They parked in the alley behind the address they’d been given.

“Should we just go in the back way?” Susannah asked.

“I think we should enter through the front door,” Jessie suggested. “That’s more than likely how the killer got in, right? Mixing in among the partygoers. I’d like to try to get into the murderer’s head from the very beginning.”

“Fine by me,” Susannah said, “let’s go around.”

They walked the half block down the alley until they got to the small residential street leading to the beach. Once they rounded the corner they were greeted by the unobstructed warm breeze and salty scent that accompanied it.

Just in front of them was the Strand. Beyond that was the beach, which was an endless sea of humanity, along with countless umbrellas, towels, and beach coolers, with multiple crowded volleyball courts mixed in. Past that was the Pacific Ocean, already packed with people. Jessie could see the waves, oblivious to it all, collapsing in on each other, creating a frothy surf that bubbled tantalizingly white.

She and Susannah stepped onto the Stand and walked in the direction of the mansion where the murder occurred. The Strand was the name of the pedestrian-friendly, north-south cement path that often came within a casual newspaper toss of many homes in the towns of Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach. It was popular with tourists, runners, moms pushing strollers, or simply locals taking a walk with their morning coffee.

Looking at the long line of impressive homes along the Strand, Jessie silently noted again what always struck her when she came to this neighborhood: the place oozed rich. It didn’t have the same ostentatious, perfectly manicured persona of a place like Beverly Hills. But the casual, beachy vibe couldn’t mask the wealth of the people who lived here or the reality that many of the houses she and Susannah walked by cost close to eight figures, with some going for multiple times that.

It wasn’t hard to find the residence they were looking for as it was surrounded by police tape and had an officer standing guard out front. The home was narrow but tall—three stories high with front-facing windows and large terraces on each level that took up the entire front of the home.

Jessie couldn’t help but notice the giant sliding door that led from the courtyard patio into the house. If that had been wide open last night, any number of people could have shuffled in and out without being noticed.

They approached the officer and Susannah flashed her badge. The cop, a young blond guy who looked like he’d rather be in the water than sweating through a dark, navy uniform in an unshaded courtyard, sullenly waved them through.

“Who’s in charge?” Susannah asked him sharply, annoyed at the officer’s lack of civility.

“Sergeant Breem,” he answered. “He’s in the living room.”

“I know him,” Jessie said as they walked up the steps toward the front door. “He was involved the last time I worked a case down here.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he like?”

Jessie struggled with how to answer. Her feelings about everyone related to that time were colored by the fact that she’d been down here investigating the murder of her friend and mentor, the celebrated criminal profiler Garland Moses. It turned out that he’d been killed by her own ex-husband, Kyle Voss, as a form of vicious payback.

“He’s a good guy,” Jessie finally said. “Very experienced. Chill. He’s a surfer. He’ll be an asset.”

They opened the front door and stepped inside. At first glance, it seemed like a tornado had passed through the interior of the home. Sofas were turned over. A coffee table was on its side, with two broken legs lying nearby. Plates and cups were everywhere. Beer bottles—some broken—were strewn all over the floor. Pieces of food rested on every surface, from countertops to tables, to the parquet dance floor, to the carpet, where it had been ground in. There were several puddles of liquid, some of which Jessie didn’t want to guess the contents of.

In the far corner, near the kitchen, another officer was talking to someone with his back to them. The officer stopped speaking and nodded in their direction. The other person turned around. It was Breem.

Sergeant Drake Breem looked just as Jessie remembered him: a deeply tanned, weathered but wiry guy in his forties with shaggy gray hair that was just this side of acceptable for a law enforcement officer.

“Jessie Hunt,” he said, breaking into a wide smile as he walked toward them. “It’s been too long. How the hell are you?”

“I’m good,” she said, accepting the unexpected hug she got instead of a handshake. “Sergeant, this is Detective Susannah Valentine. She’s on our team at HSS. Detective, this is Sergeant Drake Breem of MBPD.”

“Nice to meet you, Detective,” Breem said, extending his hand to Susannah for a more traditional handshake. Jessie noted that he looked her straight in the eyes and never made any attempt to glance below her collarbone. That was a rarity for her partner, especially when it came to male cops.

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