The Perfect Affair. Блейк Пирс
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on the state of the body and the crime scene folks might look for blood spatter or fingerprints. But she needed to be aware of everything that contributed to the psychological makeup of the victim. Even the smallest detail could lead to the killer.
The apartment was fairly unremarkable. It was clear to her from the décor that both residents were female even though the gender of the victim’s roommate hadn’t been mentioned. One of them was clearly way more personally conservative than the other. The wall art was a confusing amalgam of watercolors and religious iconography next to Gustav Klimt prints and incendiary Mapplethorpe photos.
As she walked down the hall, Jessie got the distinct sense that the more outré roommate was also the one with more money. Her style seemed far more dominant. When they passed the smaller bedroom, she glanced in and saw a cross on the wall above the dresser.
So the one who could afford the bigger bedroom died.
Sure enough, they continued on to the larger bedroom at the end of the hall, from where she could hear voices.
“You up for this, criminal profiler lady?” Costabile asked derisively.
“She’s been…” Ryan started to say but she cut him off.
“I’m good,” she answered.
She didn’t need him standing up for her professional virtue. And she definitely didn’t want another tough guy competition when she was trying to concentrate. Ignoring whatever stare-down was going on behind her, she took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom.
Before even looking at the body, she allowed her eyes to scan the room. There were more of the bold decorating choices on the walls and a disco ball lamp beside the bed. A chair in the corner was on its side and magazines were scattered on the floor, hinting at a struggle. The desk was mostly empty, though there was a clean, rectangular spot surrounded by a layer of dust, a sure sign that a laptop had recently been there.
“TV is still here,” Ryan noted. “So is the gaming console. Seems like an odd decision for a thief to leave that stuff.”
“Laptop is gone though,” Jessie noted. “Anyone find a cell phone?”
“Not yet,” Officer Webb said.
“Did you get her number from the roommate so we can try to track it?” she asked, trying not to let her impatience show.
“The roommate has been a little on the hysterical side,” Costabile said. “We’ve had trouble getting much of anything out of her other than her name, Elizabeth Polacnyk. The EMTs have her in the ambulance outside. They were going to sedate her.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “But don’t let her leave until we’ve had a chance to speak to her.”
Costabile still looked put out but nodded for Officer Lester, who was still near the front door, to convey the demand. As he did, Jessie finally turned her attention to the girl on the bed. She was already in the body bag, though it hadn’t been zipped up. The sight of it was infuriating to Jessie.
“Did anyone take photos before her body was disturbed?” Ryan asked, speaking aloud the question in Jessie’s head.
A crime scene tech raised his hand.
“I managed to snap a few just before she was loaded in the bag,” he said.
The deputy medical examiner on the case walked over.
“Hi. I’m Maggie Caldwell. We tried to hold off on bagging,” she said apologetically. “But we were instructed otherwise.”
The accusation hung in the air, unspoken.
“Like I said,” Costabile said defensively, “seemed like an open-and-shut case; didn’t want to waste resources.”
Jessie tried to keep her voice even as she replied.
“I’m sure you have decades of experience on the job, Sergeant,” she said. “But are you in the habit of making the command decision to disturb a murder scene before the detectives arrive, regardless of what resources it requires?”
“Valley Bureau isn’t as flush as you Downtown types,” he barked. “We don’t have the luxury of lingering lovingly over every dead runaway we find.”
As Jessie’s temper flared, she found her voice getting calmer and slower.
“I wasn’t aware that police procedure in this part of town now placed budget savings over crime-solving. I’d love to see where that line is in the new regulations. Additionally, I didn’t realize that the murders of teen runaways weren’t worth investigating. Did I miss that day at LAPD regulations school?”
“Are you questioning my professionalism?” Costabile asked, taking a step toward her.
“I’m just asking questions, Sergeant,” she answered, not backing up. “If your conscience is suggesting something deeper, that’s for you to work out. I would note that if this girl is a teen runaway, she’s doing pretty well. It’s clear that she’s got a well-paying job that allows her to live in a sizable apartment, buy art, and, based on her nails and hair, get expensive salon care. Are you sure you’re not making assumptions about her background?”
Costabile looked like he didn’t know which challenging question to address first. After a moment of frustrated huffing, he responded.
“The girl was found in a cheerleader uniform with the skirt down. Feels pretty trashy to me. My guess is she’s a working girl.”
“No chance that the skirt was pulled down by her assailant?” Jessie mused. “Your officer said she was seventeen. No chance she’s a high school cheerleader? No chance she’s an actress in costume? We’re sure she’s a trash whore? You seem to be making a lot of assumptions for an experienced law enforcement professional, Sergeant.”
Costabile took another step forward. He was now face to face with her. Jessie worried that Ryan might try to intervene but he held back. She suspected he knew what she was doing. Costabile spoke at her under his breath.
“So you’re gonna come in here with your hipster, hot-to-trot profiling rep and call me out as bad at my job? That’s where we’re at now?”
He was almost growling but Jessie didn’t care.
“If the shoe fits,” she whispered. “Also, if you think you can intimidate me with your man boobs and garlic breath, you’re mistaken. I’ve gone toe to toe with guys who kept human body parts as souvenirs, so your cheap bullying tactics don’t impress me. Now get the hell out of my face.”
Costabile’s nostrils flared. The blood vessel on his forehead looked like it might pop at any second. Jessie watched him closely. Part of her wanted to knee him in the crotch. But her analytical side was still testing him, trying to determine exactly what was going on here and why procedure wasn’t being followed. Something was very off. If he got angry enough, maybe the guy would inadvertently reveal something.
The two of them glared at each other. Costabile was hunkered and wheezy; Jessie silent and taut. She was happy to stay like that all evening if it broke him. After a good five seconds, he exhaled, intentionally breathing on her. He plastered a forced smile onto his face and took a step back.
“I have to say, Ms. Hunt, you are an even bigger bitch than I’d heard you were.”
“What’s her name?” Jessie demanded almost before he could finish his insult.
“What?” he said, startled by her sudden response.
“The girl,” she pressed, nodding at the bed. “Do you even know her name?”
“Her name is Michaela Penn,” Officer Lester said, rescuing his superior from potential embarrassment. “We’re still digging up info but it looks like she went to a local Catholic girls high school. She became an emancipated minor almost two years ago and graduated early. She was waitressing part-time at Jerry’s Deli in Studio City.”
“Thanks, Officer,” Jessie said, before adding one more line for Sergeant Costabile’s benefit. “Sounds real trashy.”
She