“What can I do for you?” he asked politely. “I gather you’re not here for a consultation?”
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked.
Kallas smiled even more broadly than before. He glanced over at Maya, who was hovering by the door.
“You can go home, Maya. I’ll close up,” he said, turning back to Jessie and Ryan. “Because neither of you seem to need much work…yet. You are both gorgeous physical specimens. It looks like you stepped out of a fashion magazine, or at the very least, a department store catalogue.”
“Thanks,” Ryan muttered.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Kallas said, stepping around his desk to get a closer look at them. “The gentleman has a few forehead wrinkles that could be easily buffed out. But at your age, they come across as distinguished. Maybe come see me in five years. And the lady looks shockingly good considering what—and forgive me for saying this—is clearly some recent trauma.”
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked, wondering if plastic surgeons and profilers shared some of the same skill set.
“Well, the lines around the eyes are more pronounced than one would expect in a woman your age. I’m guessing you’re about thirty. But their configuration suggests stress and lack of sleep rather than normal skin degradation. You’ve been through a lot, especially recently. But still, I wouldn’t recommend doing anything for another half a decade or so. It would look desperate at this early stage. I could do something about the scars though.”
“The scars?”
He nodded at her forearms, which were marked by multiple confrontations with both serial killers and more everyday criminals.
“Those are easy,” he said. “The one near your throat would require more work. It’s quite angry.”
Jessie forced herself not to cover the scar with her hand. The handiwork of her father and a hunting knife when she was six, it ran along her collarbone from the base of her neck all the way to her right shoulder. Other than psychological distress, it was the one enduring gift he’d left her with. Kallas’s casual mention of it made her skin crawl.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said, trying not to sound curt. “Tell me, Dr. Kallas, do you go by Richard or Dick?”
“Well, that strikes me as quite a personal question. I’ll answer if you tell me if you prefer Jessie or Jessica?”
Despite her best efforts, Jessie couldn’t stop from gasping slightly.
“How do you know who I am? I haven’t introduced myself.”
“Which you must admit is a bit rude,” Kallas said. “But don’t worry. I’m not some mind-reader. I’m a law-abiding, well-informed citizen. And you, Ms. Hunt, are in the news quite a bit, a law enforcement celebrity of sorts. It’d be hard not to recognize you. I don’t recognize the gentleman but I’m going to assume he is also some kind of cop. Maybe an FBI agent? Federal marshal? So many choices.”
“This is Detective Ryan Hernandez, LAPD Central Station. And to answer your question, I go by Jessie.”
“Ah, then let me answer yours,” Kallas said, leaning back to rest his backside on the edge of his desk. “Professionally, it’s Richard. My dear departed mother went with Dickie, which was not my favorite. Friends use Dick, sometimes with more enthusiasm than I would prefer. Are we going to be friends, Jessie?”
“I kind of doubt it, Richard,” she told him.
“That is truly disappointing,” he replied sadly.
But the cold, calculating look in his eyes suggested he already viewed them as foes.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Jessie felt a shiver run down her spine.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to depend on her gut to the exclusion of all else. But something told her the man in front of them was very dangerous. It was nothing overt. But in a way she couldn’t quite verbalize, his manner was just…off. That didn’t mean he was a killer. But he definitely wasn’t, as he described himself, just a “law-abiding, well-informed citizen.”
“Are you married, Richard?” she asked, trying to shake him out of the cockiness he clearly felt here at the home field of his office.
His brow furrowed slightly, probably as much as was possible considering all the Botox in his forehead.
“Sadly no,” he admitted. “Three engagements but never made it to the altar. Why do you ask? Are you in the market?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I’m spoken for.”
“Of course you are,” Kallas replied. “How could you not be? I mean, despite the incarcerated ex-husband and the serial killer daddy, you’re still quite a catch, though I imagine the emotional support required of your partner would be significant.”
Jessie managed not to glance at Ryan. Kallas continued.
“So, if you’re not here looking for a date, I have to wonder the reason for this visit. Forgive my curiosity but I’ve had two law enforcement types in my office after work hours for several minutes now and I’m still not clear why. Care to share?”
“Of course,” Ryan said, taking a slight step forward so that he was physically between Kallas and Jessie. “We have a few questions for you about a woman named Missy Mack. Are you familiar with her?”
Without any hesitation, Kallas smiled and gave a soft chuckle. It was not the reaction Jessie expected.
“Do you mean Michaela Penn?” he asked. “Of course I know her.”
“In what capacity?” Ryan asked.
“Well, I can’t get into too many specifics because of HIPAA requirements, but she’s a patient.”
“She’s a patient of yours?” Jessie asked incredulously.
“Technically, she’s a potential surgical patient. She’d come in for several consultations but we hadn’t come to any final determination about actions going forward.”
“What kind of actions?” Jessie pressed.
“As I said, privacy regulations prevent me from getting specific,” Kallas replied, adopting an apologetic tone. “You’d need a waiver from Ms. Penn before I could speak about her care.”
Ryan glanced over at Jessie. She knew what was coming and trained all her attention on Kallas.
“Michaela Penn is dead,” Ryan said bluntly.
Kallas’s permanent smile disappeared.
“What?” he said.
“Michaela Penn was murdered two days ago. So according to HIPAA disclosure provisions, you are able to share her information with law enforcement.”
Kallas shook his head, not so much in refusal but because he seemed not to have fully processed the information.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You said Michaela’s dead?”
“That’s correct,” Ryan said. “When did you see her last?”
“I don’t know,” he said, putting his hand to his forehead and rubbing it vigorously. “I think it was recently. I’d have to check my records to be sure.”
“Go ahead,” Ryan said. “We’ll wait.”
Jessie watched Kallas closely as he returned to his desk. While there was no “correct” way to respond to the news of someone’s death, he was behaving within the normal range of expected reactions.