The Perfect Impression by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
It was late when Jessie finally pulled into the garage.
The EMTs had let her drive herself home after checking her out and giving her some pain meds they said not to take until she got home (but which she popped a few minutes early). They wanted her to see a throat specialist, but said it could wait until tomorrow. That was good to hear, because she wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open much longer.
She walked into the house quietly, not certain who was home or even awake. Since both Hannah and Ryan were limited to using rideshares and cabs these days, only her car left the house regularly. Unless she checked camera footage, she never knew who was around until she got inside.
Once she got to the kitchen, she put her keys on the counter and got some milk, which she warmed up in the microwave in the hope that it would soothe her throat. She was equally relieved and apprehensive when she saw a light coming from under Hannah’s door. At least she was home safe. But it also meant the reckoning was imminent.
She thought about calling Ryan to see if he’d be home soon so she wouldn’t have to face this alone. Then she immediately chastised herself for her cowardice. But the idea reminded her that he had called when she was at the Ferro house. Everything had been so crazy in the aftermath that she’d completely forgotten about it.
The microwave beeped and she took out the milk. Then she pulled out her phone and saw that he’d left a voicemail, along with a text asking her to call when she was able. She was just about to do that when Hannah’s door opened. She looked skittish until she saw who it was.
“I heard the microwave and freaked for a second because I didn’t realize anyone was home,” she said, relieved.
“It’s just me,” Jessie said. “You okay?”
Hannah gave her a questioning look.
“Are you okay?” she asked, turning on the living room light. “Your voice sounds funny.”
“I had a little run-in with a suspect,” Jessie answered, glad that at least her sister was concerned about someone else’s well-being, if not her own. “He got a little handsy with my neck. But I’ll be fine eventually. It’ll just look like I’m wearing purple paint on my throat for a few weeks.”
“You should be more careful,” Hannah said without a hint of irony.
Hearing those words from her made something snap inside Jessie. The idea that Hannah was giving advice on avoiding dangerous situations would have been funny if it wasn’t so unhinged.
“Are you kidding?” she asked before she could stop herself. “You’re one to talk.”
Hannah’s expression went from concerned to defensive in the blink of an eye.
“I gather you’ve been talking to Kat,” she replied casually.
“You gather correctly,” Jessie countered, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“What did she tell you?”
“What I wish you had—confronting the drug dealer, sneaking into her office, breaking into a pedophile’s house. Why didn’t you come to me when you knew this was getting out of control? I thought we had really built up some trust.”
“Trust?” Hannah shot back with unexpected venom. “Is that why you put a tracking app on my phone?”
Jessie, taken aback, didn’t have a response. Hannah didn’t wait for one anyway.
“Yeah, did you think I was an idiot? I turned off my location sharing and you still somehow showed up randomly where I was? You should get a refresher from Ryan on how to properly do a surveillance drive-by because I spotted you all the time.”
There was no good answer for that so Jessie gave one that she knew wasn’t great even as she said it.
“In light of what you’ve been doing lately, maybe I should have checked it more often. For now, until we can work out what’s going on with you, I guess the best solution is for you not to go anywhere alone other than school.”
“Are you grounding me?” Hannah demanded, almost as shocked as she was angry.
“That’s not the word I would use to describe keeping a teenager safe who likes to spend her free time tangling with child rapists. But you can call it what you want.”
Hannah stood there silently, shaking uncontrollably. Then she choked out a sound somewhere between laughing and crying.
“This is crap,” she snarled. “You know that you can’t lock me up in this house forever. Even if you could, I turn eighteen soon. Then what?”
“Hannah, I don’t want to lock you u—” Jessie pleaded but was cut off when her sister turned on her heel and slammed her door.
For half a second, Jessie considered storming in after her, but then thought better of it. She was too angry. Hannah was too hurt. It would only make things worse. Using all her willpower, she walked back to the kitchen and took a long sip of warm milk.
Her thoughts turned unexpectedly to Kat. She was still unbelievably pissed at her friend’s deception. But after what just happened, she had a flash of how hard it must have been to keep this secret.
She could almost understand why Kat had been so reticent to say anything. Yes, she was worried about jeopardizing their friendship. But she must have also feared this very outcome, a brutal fight between two people she cared about deeply.
Jessie took another sip of milk as she tried to decide if she should reach out to her or let it lie, at least for one night. The decision was made for her when she heard a car door close in front of the house. She checked a security camera and saw Ryan hobbling up the path to the front door.
She hurried to open it and greet him, realizing suddenly how desperately she needed to see his reassuring smile and look into his warm, brown eyes. She undid the multiple locks and security codes as quickly as she could, then yanked open the door. She knew the second she saw him that something was horribly wrong.
“What happened?” she whispered.
He looked wiped out. But that wasn’t it. His face was drawn and his eyes were red. She could tell he’d been crying.
“You didn’t listen to my voicemail?” he asked as he shuffled past her and sat down in the closest chair in the front room.
“No, sorry, I didn’t get a chance,” she said. “My case blew up and then the same thing happened here with Hannah. Tell me.”
“Alan Trembley’s dead,” he said simply.
Jessie could barely process the words before Ryan continued in a defeated monotone.
“It was the Night Hunter. We tracked him to a hostel in Santa Monica. We thought we were just following old leads. But he was there. He even used Garland Moses’s name when he signed the guest register. He stabbed Trembley in the neck with an X-Acto knife.”
Jessie slumped down in the chair opposite him, too stunned to speak.
“Are you sure?” she finally asked softly.
“That it was the Night Hunter?” he replied, looking at the floor. “Yes. He looked at me from across the street outside the hostel. It was like he knew me. He had that long scar across his forehead. He smiled at me. And Jessie, I froze. I…lost my nerve. By the time I recovered, he had walked away into the crowd. There was nothing I could do.”
Jessie wanted to comfort him but she was still trying to process the other thing he’d said.
“I meant, are you sure Trembley’s dead?”
Ryan looked up. His eyes softened.
“I’m sorry, Jessie. Yes, he’s gone.”
He reached out for her hand and squeezed it tight.
Jessie could feel her brain, overloaded with horror, grief, adrenaline, exhaustion, and the pain medication that was beginning to kick in, start to shut down. In a desperate effort to fend that off, she made a request.
“Tell me what happened.”
He could tell she needed something to focus on so he did, though it was clear to her that he dreaded going through it all again. He’d likely had to repeat the story multiple times for investigators and Decker. When he was done, they walked together to the living room, where they could at least rest on the couch. But before they could plop down, Ryan’s phone rang.
“It’s Jamil,” he said. “You mind if I answer?”
“Of course not. Put it on speaker,” she insisted.
“Hey, Jamil,” Ryan said, nodding. “I’m here with Jessie. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you both,” he said. “I know it’s a rough time and I wouldn’t call unless it was important.”
“That’s okay,” Ryan assured him.
“All right then,” Jamil said. “I was doing what you requested earlier, going through the system to find locations the Night Hunter frequented between six and nine times, hoping to discover additional patterns. And I discovered one.”
“Go ahead,” Ryan instructed.
“I found that his car was identified in the immediate vicinity of Jared Hartung’s place eight times in total, seven before his murder and once right afterward, then never again.”
As he spoke, Jessie felt an odd sensation, like a feather was tickling the back of her brain. She wanted to identify its source but knew that it would come easier if she didn’t force it. Jamil continued talking and she tried to focus in on his words.
“Then the exact same thing happened with the Holt girl—eight recorded sightings in the nearby area, seven before she died and one after.”
The tickle in her brain had turned into an intense itching, so strong that she wanted to reach into her skull and scratch it.
“There’s only one other place where he—” Jamil started.
All at once, the itching gave way to an abrupt burning feeling, as if someone had lit her brain on fire, and with the unbearable heat came a light so bright she couldn’t believe she’d never seen it before.
“Hold on,” Jessie interrupted suddenly, turning to Ryan, “you didn’t tell me the male victim’s first name was Jared.”
“I didn’t?” he replied. “Does it matter?”
Jessie couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
“The Night Hunter has been in hiding for decades, only to emerge three months ago to kill a guy named Jared Hartung. Then things get quiet again until four weeks ago, when he kills a girl named Jenavieve Holt. Do I have all that right?”
“Yes,” Ryan said, not sure where she was going with this.
“So what happened recently to make him come out of the shadows?” she asked, waiting only a moment before answering her own question. “Garland Moses was murdered. It made national news. We know he must have seen it because that’s the name he gave at the hostel. And I bet he used the very same name at every place he’s stayed since coming here.”
“But why?” Jamil asked.
“Because he’s toying with us; sending us messages,” she said, realizing in that moment that it was more than just that. “Garland’s death must have awoken something in him, something so strong that he couldn’t hold it back any longer. So he came here to act on it.”
“But what’s the point?” Ryan asked. “If the nemesis he battled for so long is dead, where’s the challenge?”
Jessie looked at him, a cold chill running up her spine. She was hesitant to say the words because it would make them irrevocably real.
“First he killed Jared Hartung and waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “When that didn’t get our attention, he killed Jenavieve Holt—whose name was spelled with a J instead of the usual G. And if we don’t catch him soon, he’ll do it again. He’ll torture and murder someone else, someone with the initials J.H. He thinks he’s found a new nemesis, Garland Moses’s protégé, Jessie Hunt—J.H. He’s speaking to me through the murders.”
Ryan shook his head vehemently.
“You don’t know that,” he insisted. “It could just be a coincidence.”
“It’s not,” she said, only now putting the final piece of the puzzle together.
“How can you be sure?” Ryan demanded.
“Jamil,” she said, her voice unexpectedly calm, “I interrupted you earlier. You were starting to say something about the locations where his car was spotted. Why don’t you finish your thought?”
“Right,” Jamil said, his voice shaking slightly. “There was only one other place with as many vehicle sightings as the Holt and Hartung residences, six so far, by my count.”
“Where?” Jessie asked, though she knew the answer.
“Your house.”