The Perfect Lie. Блейк Пирс
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walked over to get a closer look at the victim. The team from the medical examiner’s office, who had been about to put her in a body bag, took a respectful step back.
Taylor Jansen’s face was blue and puffy. Her eyes were closed. The abdomen she’d clearly worked so hard to keep tight and flat was now distended—a result of the gases that had built up inside her after death. Even in this condition, Jessie could tell that she had been beautiful.
“Has anyone touched her?” Ryan asked.
“Other than to get prints, no,” Wayne assured them.
“She looks like she died taking a nap,” Ryan noted. “No wonder the initial call was suicide. Maybe not all those pills in the cases in the kitchen were vitamins. I’m very curious to see the toxicology report.”
Jessie leaned in close and noted the dull bruises on Taylor’s wrists and neck. Because of the skin discoloration and bloating, it was hard to tell how old they were. But if she had to guess, they’d been there well before two days ago.
“Was that window near the front door always open?” Jessie asked. “Or did someone do it after she was found?”
“According to her co-worker, it was slightly open when he arrived. He said he knocked on the door and tried to open it. But it was locked so he used the window to get in.”
Jessie nodded, turning away from Taylor’s body and walking over to her closet. She pushed open the sliding door and glanced inside. It looked like three-quarters of her wardrobe was comprised exclusively of workout gear and lingerie. She turned back to Ryan and Officer Wayne.
“We definitely need to talk to her co-worker,” she said.
Vin Stacey looked miserable sitting in the back of the patrol car parked outside the complex.
“Is he being held?” Jessie asked the bored-looking officer standing beside the car.
“No. We just asked him to stick around until you all could come down and talk to him.”
“Does he know he doesn’t have to wait in the car? Because he looks like he thinks he’s being detained.”
“We didn’t specifically clarify the nature of our request,” the officer admitted sheepishly. “We just asked him to wait in the vehicle for additional questioning.”
“So he thinks he’s under arrest?” Jessie said incredulously.
“I don’t know what impression he has, ma’am. We just made the request.”
Jessie looked over at Ryan, who didn’t seem anywhere near as irate as she felt.
“You cool with this?” she demanded.
“No,” he said. “But I can’t deny I’ve used the tactic before. It’s a way of keeping someone around without having to formally arrest him.”
“But I thought he wasn’t a suspect anymore,” Jessie countered.
“Everyone’s a suspect. You know that.”
“Okay,” Jessie conceded. “But meanwhile, he’s sitting there with the whole world walking by, thinking he’s been arrested for something.”
“I guess we should clear that up then,” Ryan said flatly.
Jessie frowned at him before opening the back door.
“Mr. Stacey?” she asked, losing the edge she’d just had. Her voice was all honey now.
“Yes,” he answered shakily.
“Why don’t you come on out of the vehicle? I’m sorry you had to wait so long. My colleague and I were upstairs investigating. We were hoping to ask some follow-up questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ve answered everybody’s questions,” he pleaded. “I don’t know why I’m in trouble.”
“You’re not in trouble, Mr. Stacey,” she promised. “Come on out. My name is Jessie Hunt. I’m a criminal profiler for the LAPD. This is Detective Ryan Hernandez. I see a coffee shop on the corner there. Let us buy you a cup and we can talk. How would that be?”
He nodded and eased himself out of the vehicle. It was only then that Jessie realized just how massive he was. Standing at his full height, he was easily six foot two. Jessie guessed that he was 220 pounds. He was wearing a form-fitting long-sleeved workout shirt that hugged his prominent abs. His biceps looked like they might rip through the fabric at any moment.
Despite his imposing manner, she sensed gentleness in his bearing. Glancing more closely at him, she noticed that he wore a tight necklace with a rainbow charm and his fingernails were painted a sparkly purple.
“So I’m guessing you’re a trainer at Taylor’s gym too?” she said, trying to lighten the mood slightly as they walked to the coffee shop.
He nodded but didn’t respond. Ryan followed a step behind, clearly sensing that his presence might inhibit her attempts to cultivate a connection with Stacey. As they walked, Jessie noticed the man rubbing his wrists gingerly.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I still can’t believe it. I feel like my insides have been scooped out. Waiting there, just knowing that a person who had such a lively spirit was now just this cold, lifeless object only feet away from me. It hurts just to think about it. And your people only made it worse.”
“That was unfortunate,” Jessie acknowledged.
“Did you know that the officers put me in handcuffs when they got to Taylor’s place?” he pressed. “I was just sitting out there, waiting for them. And one of them cuffed me while the other had his hand on his gun holster the whole time. I was the one who called 911!”
“I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Stacey,” she soothed. “Unfortunately, when officers first arrive on the scene, they have to take precautions that might seem excessive after the fact.”
“They kept me cuffed for a half hour, long after they got my ID, checked to see if I had a record, which I don’t, and confirmed that I worked with Taylor. This was all while she lying dead her bed. I think we both know that if you had called 911 and been waiting there, they would have treated you differently.”
“Right,” she said, nodding sympathetically as they entered the coffee shop. She looked at the officer who had been trailing for him and indicated for him to stay outside.
“So you worked with her, you said. You were both trainers?” she continued, trying to move on from Stacey’s indignation.
“Yeah—at Solstice.”
“The gym right across from her apartment?” Jessie asked, remembering the fitness club she’d seen when they arrived.
“Nice commute, right?” he said.
They ordered coffees and sat down at a nearby table. Ryan joined them but didn’t speak.
“So before we get into how you found her, Mr. Stacey…”
“Call me Vin,” he said.
“Okay, Vin,” she obliged. “Before that, I want you to tell us about Taylor. What was she like? Friendly? Quiet? Easygoing? Intense?”
“I wouldn’t call her easygoing. She was polite but professional with the other trainers and staff. She was warmer with her clients but there was still a very businesslike vibe. That was her thing. Some clients like their trainer to be a chatty best friend. That’s kind of my thing. Others want someone who is no nonsense and will help them achieve their goals. She was the go-to person for that.”
“What kind of clients did she mostly have?” Ryan asked, speaking for the first time.
Vin looked at Jessie hesitantly, as if he needed her approval to respond. She nodded reassuringly and he went on.
“She had all kinds. But I’d say that over half were married women in their thirties and forties. Lots of wealthy stay-at-home wives trying to lose the baby weight or keep firm enough to prevent