The Perfect House
She clearly didn’t consider Jessie one. She broke into a grin and gave her a big hug.
“Long time, no see, FBI lady,” she said enthusiastically.
Jessie gasped for breath at the viselike embrace, only speaking once she was released.
“I’m not FBI,” she reminded Kat. “It was just a training program. I’m still affiliated with LAPD.”
“Whatever,” Kat said dismissively. “You were at Quantico, working with the authorities in your field, learning fancy FBI techniques. If I want to call you an FBI lady, that’s what I’ll do.”
“If it means you won’t crack my spine in half, you can call me whatever you want.”
“Speaking of, I don’t think I could do that anymore,” Kat noted. “You seem stronger than before. I’m guessing they didn’t just work out your brain while you were there.”
“Six days a week,” Jessie told her. “Long trail runs, obstacle courses, self-defense, and weapons training. They definitely kicked my butt into halfway decent shape.”
“Should I be worried?” Kat asked with faux concern, stepping back and lifting her arms into a defensive stance.
“I don’t think I’m any threat to you,” Jessie admitted. “But I do feel like I could protect myself around a suspect, which was definitely not the case before. Looking back, I was lucky to have survived a few of my recent encounters.”
“That’s awesome, Jessie,” Kat said. “Maybe we should spar sometime, go a few rounds, just to keep you sharp.”
“If by go a few rounds, you mean a few rounds of shots, I’m in. Otherwise, I may take a little break from the daily running and hitting and such.”
“I take it all back,” Kat said. “You’re still the same wuss you always were.”
“Now that’s the Kat Gentry I’ve come to know and love. I knew there was a reason you were the first person I wanted to see when I got back in town.”
“I’m flattered,” Kat said. “But I think we both know I’m not the person you’re really here to see. Should we stop stalling and head in?”
Jessie nodded and followed Kat into Transitional Prep, where the sterility and silence put an end to the visit’s playful vibe.
*Fifteen minutes later, Kat led Jessie to the door that connected to the NRD security wing to some of the most dangerous people on the planet. They’d already gone to her office for a debriefing about the last few months, which had been surprisingly uneventful.
Kat informed her that once Crutchfield had threatened an imminent meeting with her father, the already tight security had been increased even more. The facility added additional security cameras and even more identity verification for visitors.
There was no evidence that Xander Thurman had tried to visit Crutchfield. His only guests had been the doctor who came every month to check his vitals, the psychiatrist he almost never spoke to, an LAPD detective who hoped, futilely as it turned out, that Crutchfield would share info on a cold case he was working, and his court-appointed lawyer, who showed up only to make sure he wasn’t being tortured. He barely engaged with any of them.
According to Kat, he hadn’t mentioned Jessie to the staff, not even to Ernie Cortez, the easygoing officer who supervised his weekly showers. It was as if she didn’t exist. She wondered if he was pissed at her.
“I know you remember the drill,” Kat said, as they stood at the security door. “But it’s been a few months so let’s just review the security procedures as a precaution. Don’t approach the prisoner. Don’t touch the glass barrier. I know this one will get thrown out the window, but officially, you’re not supposed to share any personal information. Got it?”
“Yep,” Jessie said, happy for the reminders. It was helpful to get her in the proper frame of mind.
Kat swiped her badge and nodded at the camera over the door. Someone inside buzzed them in. Jessie was immediately overwhelmed by the surprising flurry of activity. Instead of the usual four security guards, there were six. In addition, there were three men in workmen uniforms walking around with various pieces of technical equipment.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Oh, I forgot to mention—we’re getting a few new residents at mid-week. We’ll be full up in all ten cells. So we’re checking the surveillance equipment in the empty cells to make sure everything’s working right. We’ve also increased the security staff on each shift from four officers to six during the day, not including me, and from three to four at night.”
“That’s sounds…risky,” Jessie said diplomatically.
“I fought it,” Kat admitted. “But the county had a need and we had available cells. It was a losing battle.”
Jessie nodded as she looked around. The fundamentals of the place seemed the same. The unit was designed like a wheel with a command center in the middle and spokes extending out in every direction, leading to inmate cells. There were currently six officers in the now-cramped space of the command center, which looked like an extremely busy hospital nurses’ station.
A few of the faces were new to her but most were familiar, including Ernie Cortez. Ernie was a massive specimen of a man, about six foot six and 250 well-muscled pounds. He was in his thirties and just starting to show bits of gray in his close-cropped black hair. He gave a big grin when he saw Jessie.
“Vogue chick,” he called out, using the affectionate nickname he’d given her on their first meeting when she’d shown up and he tried to hit on her, suggesting she should be a model. She’d shut him down pretty fast but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge.
“How’s it going, Ernie?” she asked, smiling back.
“You know; same old. Making sure pedophiles, rapists, and murderers mind their P’s and Q’s. You?”
“Mostly the same,” she said, deciding not to get into the particulars of her activities the last few months with so many unfamiliar faces around.
“So now that you’ve had a few months to get over your divorce, you want to spend a little quality time with the Ernster? I’m planning to go to Tijuana this weekend.”
“The Ernster?” Jessie repeated, unable to stop herself from giggling.
“What?” he said, faux-defensively. “It’s a nickname.”
“I’m sorry, Ernster, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have plans this weekend. But you have fun at the jai alai track. Buy some Chiclets for me, okay?”
“Ouch,” he replied, grabbing at his chest as if she’d shot an arrow in his heart. “You know, big boys have feelings too. We’re also, you know…big boys.”
“All right, Cortez,” Kat interjected, “enough of that. You just made me throw up a little in my mouth. And Jessie has business to attend to.”
“Hurtful,” Ernie muttered under his breath as he returned his attention to the monitor in front of him, Despite his words, his tone suggested he wasn’t all that broken up. Kat motioned for Jessie to follow her to the spoke with Crutchfield’s cell.
“You’ll want this,” she said, holding up the small key fob with the red button in the middle. It was the “in case of emergency, break glass” device. Jessie considered it a kind of digital security blanket.
If Crutchfield was messing with her head and she wanted to leave the room without letting him know the impact he was having, she was to push the button hidden in her hand. That would alert Kat, who could remove her from the room for some official, made-up reason. Jessie was pretty sure Crutchfield was aware of the device but she was glad to have it nonetheless.
She grabbed the key fob, nodded to Kat that she was ready to enter, and took a deep breath. Kat opened the door and Jessie stepped inside.
Apparently Crutchfield had anticipated her arrival. He was standing up, only inches from the glass wall dividing the room in half, smiling broadly at her.
CHAPTER SIX
It took Jessie a second to rip her eyes away from his crooked teeth and evaluate the situation.
On the surface, he didn’t look that different than she remembered. He still had the blond hair, shorn close to his head. He still wore the same mandatory aqua-blue scrubs. He still had the slightly pudgier face than one would expect of a man who was about five foot eight and 150 pounds. It made him look closer to twenty-five than the thirty-five years old he was.
And he still had the probing, almost stalking brown eyes. They were the only hint that the man across from her had killed at nineteen least people and perhaps twice that many.
The cell hadn’t changed either. It was small, with a narrow sheetless bed bolted to the far wall. A small desk with an attached chair sat in the back right corner beside a small metal wash basin. Behind that was a toilet, set off in the back, with a sliding plastic door for a modicum of privacy.
“Miss Jessie,” he purred softly. “What an unexpected surprise running into you here.”
“And yet, you’re standing there as if you expected my imminent arrival,” Jessie countered, not wanting to give Crutchfield even a moment’s advantage. She walked over and sat down in the chair behind a small desk on the other side of the glass. Kat took up her usual position, standing alertly in the corner of the room.
“I sensed a change in the energy of this facility,” he replied, his Louisiana accent as pronounced as ever. “The air seemed sweeter and I thought I could hear a bird chirping outside.”
“You’re not usually this full of flattery,” Jessie noted. “Care to share what has you in such a complimentary mood?”
“Nothing in particular, Miss Jessie. Can’t a man just appreciate the small joy that comes from having an unexpected visitor?”
Something in the way he said that last line made Jessie’s scalp tingle, as if there was more to the comment. She sat quietly for a moment, allowing her mind to work, unconcerned about any time constraints. She knew Kat would let her handle the interview however she chose.
Turning over Crutchfield’s words in her head, she realized they might have more than one meaning.
“When you talk about unexpected visitors, are you referring to me, Mr. Crutchfield?”
He stared at her for several seconds without speaking. Finally, slowly, the wide, forced smile on his face twisted into a more malevolent—and more believable—smirk.
“We haven’t established the ground rules for this visit,” he said, suddenly turning his back on her.
“I think the days of ground rules have long since passed, don’t you, Mr. Crutchfield?” she asked. “We’ve known each other long enough that we can just talk, can’t we?”
He walked back to the bed attached to the back wall of the cell and sat down, his expression slightly hidden in shadow now.
“But how can I be certain that you’ll be as forthcoming as you’d like me to be with you?” he asked.
“After ordering one of your flunkies to break into my friend’s apartment and scaring her to the point that she still can’t sleep, I’m not sure you’ve fully earned my trust or my willingness to be accommodating.”
“You bring up that incident,” he said, “but you neglect to mention the multiple times I’ve assisted you in cases both professional and personal. For every so-called indiscretion on my part, I’ve compensated with information that has proved invaluable to you. All I’m asking for are assurances that this won’t be a one-way street.”
Jessie looked at him hard, trying to determine how accommodating she could be while still keeping a professional distance.
“What is it exactly that you’re looking for?”
“Right now? Just your time, Miss Jessie. I’d prefer you not be such a stranger. It’s been seventy-six days since you last graced me with your presence. A less confident man than myself might take offense at the long absence.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “I promise to visit you on a more regular basis. In fact, I’ll make sure to stop by at least once more this week. How does that sound?”
“It’s a start,” he replied noncommittally.
“Great. Then let’s get back to my question. You said before that you appreciated the joy that comes from having an unexpected visitor. Were you referring to me?”
“Miss Jessie, while it is always a delight to revel in your company, I must confess that my comment was indeed in reference to another visitor.”
Jessie could sense Kat stiffen in the corner behind her.
“And who are you referring to?” she asked, keeping her voice level.
“I think you know.”
I’d like you to tell me,” Jessie insisted.
Bolton Crutchfield stood up again, now more visible in the full light, and Jessie could see that he was rolling his tongue around in his mouth, like it was a fish on a line that he was toying with.
“As I assured you the last time that we spoke, I would be having a chat with your daddy.”
“And have you?”
“I have indeed,” he answered as casually as if he were telling her the time. “He asked me to pass along his regards, after I offered yours.”
Jessie stared at him closely, looking for any hint of deception in his face.
“You spoke to Xander Thurman,” she reconfirmed, “in this room, sometime in the last eleven weeks?”
“I did.”
Jessie knew that Kat was bursting to ask her own questions in order to try to confirm the veracity of his claim and how it might have happened. But in her mind, that was secondary and could be addressed later. She didn’t want the conversation to get sidetracked so she followed up before her friend could say anything.
“What did you discuss?’ she asked, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice.
“Well, we had to be rather cryptic, so as not to reveal his true identity to those listening in. But the gist of our chat was about you, Miss Jessie.”
“Me?”
“Yes. If you’ll recall, he and I chatted a couple of years ago and he warned me that you might one day visit. But that you would have a different name than the one he’d given you, Jessica Thurman.”
Jessie flinched involuntarily at the name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud by anyone but herself in two decades. She knew he saw her reaction but there was nothing she could do about it. Crutchfield smiled knowingly and continued.
“He wanted to know how his long-lost daughter was doing. He was interested in all kinds of details—what you do for a living, where you live, what you look like now, what your new name is. He’s very anxious to reconnect, Miss Jessie.”
As he spoke, Jessie told herself to breathe slowly in and out. She reminded herself to unclench her body and do her best to look calm, even if it was a facade. She had to appear unperturbed as she asked her next question.
“Did you share any of those details with him?”
“Just one,” he said impishly.
“And what was that?”
“Home is where the heart is,” he said.
“What the hell does that mean?” she demanded, her heart suddenly beating rapidly.
“I told him the location of the place you call home,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You gave him my address?”
“I wasn’t that specific. To be honest, I don’t know your exact address, despite my best efforts to uncover it. But I know enough for him find his way to you if he’s smart. And as we both know, Miss Jessie, your daddy is very smart.”
Jessie gulped hard and fought the urge to scream at him. He was still answering her questions and she needed as much information as she could get before he stopped.
“So how long do I have before he knocks on my door?”
“That depends on how long it takes for him to put the pieces together,” Crutchfield said with an exaggerated shrug. “As I said, I had to be a bit cryptic. If I had been too specific, it would have sent off warning signs with the folks who monitor my every conversation. That wouldn’t have been productive.”
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you told him? That way, I can figure out the likely timetable for myself.”
“Now where’s the fun in that, Miss Jessie? I’m quite taken with you. But that strikes me as an unreasonable advantage. We have to give the man a chance.”
“A chance?” Jessie repeated, disbelieving. “To what? Get a head start on gutting me like he did my mother?”
“Now that hardly seems fair,” he replied, seeming to get calmer the more agitated Jessie became. “He could have done that back in that snowy cabin all those years ago. But he didn’t. So why assume he means you harm now? Maybe he just wants to take his little lady to Disneyland for the day.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not as inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she spat. “This isn’t a game, Bolton. You want me to visit you again? I need to be alive to do that. I won’t be very chatty if your mentor chops up your favorite gal pal.”
“Two things, Miss Jessie: first of all, I understand that this is disruptive news, but I’d prefer you not take such a familiar tone with me. Calling me by my first name? That’s not only unprofessional, it’s unbecoming of you.”
Jessie seethed silently. Even before he told her the second thing, she knew he wasn’t going to tell her what she wanted. Still, she remained silent, literally biting her tongue in case he had a change of heart.
“And second,” he continued, clearly enjoying watching her squirm, “while I do enjoy your company, don’t presume that you’re my favorite gal pal. Let’s not forget about the ever-vigilant Officer Gentry there behind you. She’s a real peach—a rotting, rancid peach. As I’ve told her on more than one occasion, when I depart this place, I intend to give her a special send-off, if you take my meaning. So please don’t try to jump the gal pal line.”
“I…” Jessie began, hoping to change his mind.
“Our time is up, I’m afraid,” he said curtly. With that, he turned and walked over to the tiny niche of the cell with the toilet in it and pulled the plastic divider across, ending the conversation.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jessie kept her head on a swivel, on the lookout for anyone or anything out of the ordinary.
As she returned to her place, following the same circuitous route as earlier in the day, all the security precautions she’d been so proud of only hours earlier now seemed woefully inadequate.
This time around, she tied her hair into a bun and hid it under a baseball cap and the hood of a sweatshirt she bought on the way back from Norwalk. Her small backpack purse was attached in the front so that it hugged her chest. Despite the added anonymity they might have provided, she didn’t wear sunglasses out of concern they would limit her line of sight.
Kat had promised to review the tape of all Crutchfield’s recent visits to see if they’d missed something. She also said that if Jessie could wait until work ended, she’d make the drive to DTLA, even though she lived in far-off City of Industry, and help ensure that she got back safe. Jessie politely declined the offer.
“I can’t count on having an armed escort everywhere I go from now on,” she’d insisted.
“Why not?” Kat had asked only half-jokingly.
Now, as she walked down the corridor to her apartment, she wondered if she should have taken her friend up on the offer. She felt especially vulnerable with the bag of groceries in her arms. The hall was deathly quiet and she hadn’t seen anyone at all since entering the building. Before she could dismiss it out of hand, a crazy notion popped into her head—that her father had killed everyone on her floor so that he wouldn’t have to deal with complications when he approached her.
Her peephole light was green, which gave her some assurance as she opened the door, looking down both ends of the hall for anyone who might jump out at her. No one did. Once inside, she flicked on the lights and then turned all the locks back before disarming both alarms. Immediately after, she rearmed the main one in “home” mode so that she could move about the apartment without setting off the motions sensors.
She put the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and searched the place, nightstick in hand. She had successfully applied for a firearms permit before she left for Quantico and was supposed to get her weapon when she went to the station for work tomorrow. Part of her wished she had just picked it up when she stopped by to get her mail earlier today. When she was finally confident that the apartment was secure, she began to put the groceries away, leaving out the sashimi she’d picked up for dinner instead of pizza.
Nothing like supermarket sushi on Monday night to make a single gal feel special in the big city.
The thought made her chuckle to herself briefly before she remembered that her serial killer father had been given a guide to her place of residence. Maybe it wasn’t a complete roadmap. But from what Crutchfield had said, it was enough for him to eventually find her. The big question was: when was “eventually”?
*Ninety minutes later, Jessie was punching a heavy bag, sweat pouring off her body. After finishing her sushi, she had felt restless and cooped up and decided to work out her frustrations in a constructive way at the gym.
She’d never been much of a workout fiend. But while at the National Academy she’d come to an unexpected discovery. When she worked out to exhaustion, there was no space left inside her for the anxiety and fear that consumed her so much of the rest of the time. If only she’d known this a decade ago, she could have saved herself thousands of sleepless nights, even the nights filled with endless nightmares.
It might also have saved her a few trips to see her therapist, Dr. Janice Lemmon, a renowned forensic psychologist in her own right. Dr. Lemmon was one of the few people who knew every detail about Jessie’s past. She’d been an invaluable resource in recent years.
But she was currently in recovery from a kidney transplant and wasn’t available for sessions for a few more weeks. Jessie was tempted to think she could dispense with the visits altogether. But while it might be cheaper to go with workout therapy alone, she knew there would surely be times she’d need to see the doctor in the future.
As she went in for a series of jabs, she recalled how, prior to her trip to Quantico, she’d often wake up covered in perspiration, breathing heavily, trying to remind herself that she was safe in Los Angeles and not back in a small cabin in the Missouri Ozarks, tied to a chair, watching blood drip from the slowly freezing body of her dead mother.
If only that had just been a dream too. But it was all real. When she was six years old and her parents’ marriage was on the rocks, her father had taken her and her mother to his remote cabin. While there, he revealed that he’d been abducting, torturing, and killing people for years. And then he did the same to his own wife, Carrie Thurman.
As he manacled her hands to the ceiling beams of the cabin and intermittently stabbed her with a knife, he made Jessie—then Jessica Thurman—watch. He tied her arms to a chair and taped her eyelids open as he finally cut her mother open for good.
Then he used the same knife to slice a large gash across his own daughter’s collarbone from her left shoulder to the base of her neck. After that, he simply left the cabin. It was three days later when, hypothermic and in shock, she was discovered by two hunters who had just happened by.
After she recovered, she told the police and FBI the story. But by then, her dad was long gone and any hope of catching him was gone with it. Jessica was put into Witness Protection in Las Cruces with the Hunts. Jessica Thurman became Jessie Hunt and a new life began.
Jessie shook the memories out of her head, switching from jabs to knee kicks intended for an attacker’s groin. She embraced the ache in her quad as she slammed it upward. With each blow, the image of her mother’s pale, lifeless skin faded.
Then another memory popped into her head, that of her former husband, Kyle, attacking her in their own home, trying to kill her and frame her for the murder of his mistress. She could almost feel the sting of the fireplace poker he jammed into the left side of her abdomen.
The physical pain of that moment was only matched by the humiliation she still felt at having spent a decade involved with a sociopath and never realizing it. She was, after all, supposed to be an expert at identifying these kinds of people.
Jessie switched it up again, hoping to push the shame out of her mind with a series of elbow shots to the bag near where an assailant’s jaw would be. Her shoulders were starting to shout at her in displeasure but she continued pummeling the bag, knowing that her mind would soon be too tired to be distressed.
This was the part of herself she hadn’t expected to discover at the FBI—the physical badass. Despite the standard apprehension she felt when she arrived, she had suspected she’d do well on the academic side of things. She had just spent the previous three years in that environment, immersed in criminal psychology.