“Hello all,” Decker said wearily. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you in person. I had hoped to come by the station to welcome Ms. Hunt back into the fold, but as you might imagine, my new duties as interim chief keep me stuck at headquarters much more than I would like. Until the mayor makes his decision on the new, full-time chief, in consultation with the Police Commission and the City Council, my time is spread quite thin.”
“That’s okay, Chief,” Jessie said, still getting used to using that title for Decker instead of captain, “I appreciate the personal touch. I hope they’re not grinding you down too much over there at headquarters.”
Decker laughed softly, something he rarely did when he sat behind the desk Ryan was currently at. “Let’s just say it’s testing a different skill set than I’m used to, Hunt,” he replied carefully. “But enough about me. Let me get to the business at hand and the reason I requested your presence. We just got word less than half an hour ago about a woman found dead at her home in Beverly Hills. Her name is Julianne Faraday, wife of Henry Faraday.”
“Never heard of him,” Valentine blurted out.
“He’s a high-powered attorney,” Decker explained, seemingly untroubled by the outburst. “Not sure the relevance of that at this point. It’ll be up to you to make that determination. Anyway, there was no obvious sign of violence at the scene or to the body. She’s being transported to the medical examiner’s lab to determine the cause of death.”
Jessie shook her head in confusion.
“I’m sorry, Chief,” she said, “but I’m trying to see how this is a Homicide Special Section case, especially when Beverly Hills isn’t even in LAPD jurisdiction.”
“That’s where I was headed next, Hunt,” Decker answered. “Faraday is the second woman from the neighborhood to die in the last week under these circumstances. The last one was three days ago, also no obvious wounds on the body. In that case, the autopsy revealed that she was injected with some kind of slow-acting poison.”
Jessie and Valentine exchanged a look. Both knew where Decker was headed next, though neither spoke. He continued, “Her name was Lydia Philbin. If this second victim was also poisoned, we may have a serial killer situation on our hands. That’s why I wanted you brought in on this one, Hunt. I understand that you just got back, but this feels like it’s right up your alley. And since we’re talking poisoning, likely via a needle, rather than our more typical stabbings, shootings, or garrotings, it didn’t seem like it would be as physically threatening a situation for you, perhaps an ideal case to dip your toes back in the investigative waters.”
Jessie wasn’t sure that she agreed but kept silent on that front. Instead, she focused on another point.
“What about the jurisdictional issue?” she pressed.
“Right,” Decker replied. “This won’t come as a shock to you, but when I called to see if the Beverly Hills Police Department might be willing to hand off lead investigative duties to HSS, they jumped at the chance. Apparently, the idea of interrogating multiple rich, powerful community members about the deaths of two of their own wasn’t something they were hugely enthused about. They were more than happy to pass the buck when offered the opportunity. BHPD will remain in a support role, but you two will be the primary investigators on these cases with full authority to pursue whatever leads you deem appropriate. Hold on—”
He paused, looking at something off to his right.
“I’m sorry to do this,” he said brusquely, “but I’m being told the mayor is on the other line, so I have to go. Keep me apprised.”
The Zoom screen went unceremoniously black, letting them all know their place in the pecking order. Ryan picked up where Decker left off. “Your liaison at the scene will be BHPD Sergeant Norman Stafford. He’s waiting there for you now. I’ll text you the Faraday’s address. I suggest you leave immediately.”
He stood up to emphasize the point. Jessie and Valentine did the same.
“Any last minute questions?” he asked.
They both shook their heads.
“Good,” he said, walking toward the door. “With Jessie’s wrist still in a cast, I recommend you do the driving today, Susannah.”
“Yes, Captain,” she replied.
Jessie couldn’t help but notice that there was no flirtatiousness in her voice these days.
“And it should go without saying,” he added as he opened the door for them, “but despite what Chief Decker hopes, we don’t know who or what you’ll be dealing with, so if there ends up being any chases or fisticuffs, I expect you to take lead on that, Susannah. Your partner isn’t cleared for that sort of thing yet. Understood?”
“Got it,” Valentine said as she left the office.
Jessie started to follow when Ryan grabbed her gently by the forearm. “I mean it,” he said quietly. “You’re not back at a hundred percent yet. Don’t put yourself at risk.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“I’m serious,” he whispered.
To highlight his point, he gently tapped his forehead, an unnecessary reminder that her own skull, and the brain inside it, were still damaged goods. She nodded, biting her lip to avoid saying the thought that took center stage in her apparently unsound mind.
If this is your version of a pep talk, coach, you better go back to the drawing board, because that sucked.
CHAPTER FOUR
The drive to Beverly Hills couldn’t have been much more awkward.
Jessie hadn’t seen Susannah Valentine since the night she was rescued from the mine cave-in. Valentine and Ryan had arrived in a helicopter soon after Kat and Hannah pulled her broken body from the collapsing debris. But Jessie had been disoriented and in pain and didn’t even remember if they spoke. Now, they had no choice.
“How’s the wrist?” Valentine asked, nodding at Jessie’s left hand from the driver’s seat as she weaved in and out of rush hour traffic.
“Getting there,” Jessie said. “It still aches by the end of the day, but the doctors say it’s mostly healed. I can do just about everything with the hand. They just want to keep the cast on to protect against re-injury while the area is still vulnerable.”
“And the ribs?”
“Still sore,” Jessie conceded. “Nothing like an explosion sending you flying ten feet through the air to mess with your body’s structural integrity. But I’m wearing a wrap around them, which helps. It’s almost like a bullet-proof vest for my ribs.”
Valentine nodded. There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“And the ankle?” she finally asked desperately.
“That’s a lot better,” Jessie answered. “When Andy hit me there with a crowbar as I tried to escape, I thought she cracked the bone, but it just ended up being a really bad bruise. It’s only slightly discolored now. I still feel it when I run sometimes, but otherwise, that particular injury can be pretty much crossed off the list.”
Valentine ignored all traffic laws as she drove along the shoulder of the street for a full block, passing the row of backed-up cars at the red light, then cut in front them all when it turned green. She ignored the flurry of honks as she punched the accelerator.