CHAPTER FIVE

Jessie couldn't take it anymore, so despite the slight risk involved, she punched Ryan in the arm.

"Hey," he protested from the driver's seat. "These Hollywood Hills streets are crazy. Do you want to make me crash?"

"Exactly," she shot back. "There are endless hairpin turns, and you"re taking all of them at twenty miles over the speed limit. I know you"re doing it just to freak me out, like you always do when we get up here. But it"s not as amusing as you think it is. So please slow down or I will punch you again."

"It's a little amusing," Ryan insisted, fighting off the chuckle in the back of his throat.

"What's going to be amusing is how pathetic you look sleeping on the couch tonight if you don't reel it in, Hernandez," she warned.

"Okay, okay," he said, slowing down dramatically. "Besides, we're here."

He came to a stop in front of the address Parker had given them and grinned, delighted with himself.

"Do you think that pissing me off and making me carsick is the way to my heart?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm just trying to keep things spicy, Ms. Hunt," he said, hopping out of the car. "Anger is just the flipside of passion, right?"

"When's your next session with Dr. Lemmon?" Jessie wanted to know.

"Next week," he said, "why?"

"Because I think you should run that theory by her and see if she approves of your methods. You might be surprised."

She got out of the car and headed for the house without another word, happy to let him ponder if she was really mad or just messing with him. As she walked up the path to the front door, she did her best to put her mild nausea out of her head and focus on what was in front of her: a crime scene.

Like many Hollywood Hills homes on the cliffside of the street, the front of the house wasn't especially memorable. It looked like a standard ranch-style house, likely built in the 1960s or 70s, at least based on the Brady Bunch-home style architecture. But as she knew from visiting many of these homes in the hills, looks were often deceiving.

If this house was anything like the others she'd encountered, the back would be much more impressive. Built into the side of the hills, these houses were often three or four stories, only going downward instead of up.

An officer stood guard at the front door, just inside the yellow police tape that warned onlookers away. Jessie showed him her identification just as Ryan caught up.

"Right," the young officer said, "Sergeant Cutter has been waiting for you. Go on in. Everyone is in the living room, down the hall to the left."

Jessie ducked under the tape and followed his directions with Ryan right on her heels.

"You're not really mad at me, are you?" he whispered as they walked.

"That depends on how you drive back down the hill," she told him.

Before he could respond, the hallway opened up to reveal a giant living room with floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall. They highlighted a gorgeous view of the canyon and beyond that, downtown Los Angeles.

In the living room were multiple officers and crime scene techs. They all looked up when Jessie and Ryan entered. One of them, a thin, thirty-something guy with tightly shorn blond hair moved toward them.

"Thanks for coming," he said, extending his hand and shaking both of theirs. "I'm Sergeant Mack Cutter. I've been holding down the fort until you could get here."

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant," Ryan said, and Jessie nodded in agreement.

"Same," Cutter said. "Sorry it"s under these circumstances, but I"ve always wanted to work with the two of you. This is an honor."

"Thanks," Jessie replied. "Mind if we dive right in?"

"Of course," Cutter said. "The victim is outside by the pool. The crime scene unit is collecting evidence out there and in here. There's no sign of forced entry. She had a security system, which wasn't triggered, though there are no cameras. The coroner just left; said he'd have preliminary findings in a few hours but left his card if you want to get in touch before then. He wrote his initial impressions on the back."

He handed over the card for Dr. Michael Roone, whom Jessie had never worked with. Jessie flipped it over to find several notes scrawled on the back. They read rough time of death between 6 p.m. and midnight. Cold weather complicates assessment. Clear evidence of strangling, likely cause of death, though not definitive yet.

"Well, that gives us somewhere to start, at least," she said, handing the card to Ryan.

"There"s more," Cutter noted. "We"ve got the victim"s assistant, who discovered the body in a back bedroom. Where would you like to begin?"

Ryan looked over at Jessie deferentially. "Thoughts?" he asked.

"Maybe we start outside," Jessie suggested. "I'd like to get a clear sense of the nature of the crime before our impressions are complicated by the assistant's perspective."

"Sure thing," Cutter said. "I'll take you out there."

They followed the sergeant through the living room, past a mantle with a collection of photos that Jessie assumed were of Erin Podemski's family, friends, and even her dog. There were also multiple copies of her book on various shelves in what looked to be French, German, and what Jessie thought was Russian. They moved into the kitchen, where a door led to the pool deck.

As Cutter opened the sliding door for them, they were buffeted by the wind, which cut straight through Jessie. She zipped up her jacket, noting that it felt much colder back here than it had out front. Cutter directed them to a chaise lounge chair, where a crime scene photographer was taking close-up pictures of Erin Podemski's neck.

"Give us a minute, Joe," Cutter requested.

The photographer stepped away, and for the first time, Jessie got a clear view of the victim. Erin Podemski was lying in the chair, slumped over to her right. She was wearing black sweatpants and what looked to be a purple cashmere sweater. She had on UGG slippers. Her skin was pale with small blisters, common among the dead after about twelve hours. It was 10:08 a.m. right now, which helped explain the coroner"s preliminary time of death of 6 p.m. to midnight.

Her face was partially obscured by her black hair, but her eyes were open and showed red dots, clear signs of petechial hemorrhaging, common in strangulation victims. Jessie didn't see any fingernail marks, but the woman's neck was covered in abrasions and deep indentations, likely from the murder weapon. Jessie already knew from information provided by Jamil on the drive over that the woman was 28 years old. In person, that looked about right.

Jessie took a moment to close her eyes before proceeding. Oftentimes, it was easy to focus on the minutiae of the crime scene and the body at the expense of the victim"s humanity. She had to guard against that.

But in this case, it wasn"t hard. Erin Podemski was a woman who had clearly been relaxing by her pool when her whole world was suddenly upended. The fear and panic she must have felt in the moments before she died made Jessie" heart ache. No matter how many times she saw a situation like this, it was gutting. The day that changed, Jessie knew she was in trouble.

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and resumed studying the woman in front of her. Podemski had a pleasant, modestly attractive face, which seemed to be devoid of any surgical enhancements. She was about five foot five and slim. She didn't look like she would have had the strength to fight off an attacker, although it appeared that in this instance, she might have been surprised by her assailant before she could mount any defense.

"Her assistant said she found her lying upright in the chair," Cutter said quietly. "She shook her shoulder, hoping she might just be sleeping. That's when she slumped over like that."

"Maybe now's a good time to talk to the assistant," Jessie said. "I'm not sure there's much more to learn out here right now."

"I'll take you there," Cutter said, leading them back inside.

"Have you already interviewed her?" Ryan asked.

"Only briefly to get the basics," he said. "We didn't want to ask any leading questions, so she's been on ice—poor phrasing— since then."

"What can you tell us about her?" Jessie asked.

"Name is Nicole Fleetwood but she goes by Nikki," Cutter answered as they passed through the living room and through a door leading to the bedroom wing. "She"s twenty-two; got out of college last May. Has been working here for just a few months. She"s pretty shaken up, or was when I last saw her."

He stopped at a closed door with an officer posted out front.

"What does that mean exactly—"pretty shaken up?'" Jessie asked.

"I mean that after she got over the initial shock of the situation and we got her in the bedroom, she broke down in tears and couldn"t speak another intelligible word."

Jessie looked over at Ryan and could tell he was thinking the same thing. With what appeared to be a serial killer on the loose, they couldn't afford an incoherent witness.