The Perfect Lie
“Some of her possessions have already been booked as evidence,” Wayne said. “But we can give you an itemized list.”
“Anything jump out at you?” Ryan asked.
“A few things,” the officer replied. “No sign of forced entry. There was money in her purse. Her phone was on the bedside table.”
“If you don’t mind,” Jessie asked, “before you give us the rest of the rundown, I’d like to take a moment to evaluate the site without any preconceptions.”
Officer Wayne nodded. Jessie took a long deep breath, allowed her body to relax and began to profile the victim. The living room was sparsely decorated with furniture that looked to have been purchased from IKEA. There was limited artwork and no visible photos. The only personal touch was a framed NASM personal training certification on the wall.
She walked into the almost untouched kitchen. There were no dirty dishes in the sink nor clean ones on the drying rack. One clean, folded dish towel rested on the counter. Next to it were several pill containers, each marked with days of the week, each painstakingly laid out in order. Jessie didn’t touch them but from what she could tell, the pills inside looked like supplements and multivitamins. She noticed that neither the pills for Monday nor Tuesday had been taken. This was Wednesday morning.
She looked around the rest of the kitchen. The paper towel roll was almost full. Opening the cabinets revealed dozens of cans of beans and ground turkey, lots of protein bars and multiple vats of whey protein powder.
The refrigerator was half empty but the contents included two gallon-sized jugs of milk, several containers of Greek yogurt and a massive plastic bag of spinach. The freezer was a mix of frozen blueberries, strawberries and acai and a Tupperware container of what looked like chicken noodle soup. Taped to the outside of it was a Post-it that read “from Mom, 11/2018.” That was well over a year ago.
The three of them wandered down the hall toward the bedroom where the body was waiting. The smell of rotting flesh enveloped Jessie’s nostrils. She allowed herself a moment to accept it, then made a pit stop in the bathroom, which wasn’t as tidy as the rest of the house. It was clear the resident spent much more time in here.
“What was the victim’s name?” she asked. It had been on the document Ryan had given her at the station but she had purposely avoided noting it until now.
“Taylor Jansen,” Officer Wayne said. “She was…”
“Sorry, Officer,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to be rude but please hold off on any other details just a bit longer.”
She looked closely at Taylor’s dresser. For as much as she didn’t seem to care about keeping her kitchen stocked, the opposite was true of the bathroom. The counter was littered with makeup including an open eye shadow case and multiple lipsticks. Two hairbrushes and one comb were shoved in a corner next to a small vial of perfume.
The medicine cabinet was full of over the counter medication like Advil, Benadryl, and Pepto-Bismol, but there were no bottles of prescription drugs. The shower had several quarter-filled bottles of shampoo and conditioner, some facial cleanser, a leg razor, shaving cream, and a bar of conditioning soap.
Jessie stepped out of the bathroom and the strong smell, which had been temporarily masked by the scents in the bathroom, hit her again. She glanced back down the hallway, noting again the complete lack of anything personal on the walls.
“Before we go into the bedroom,” she said, turning to Wayne, “let me know how much of this I have right. Taylor Jansen is single, white, attractive and in her late twenties to early thirties. She works close by and travels often. She has few friends. She’s extremely detail-oriented. And she has enough money to be living somewhere much nicer than this.”
Wayne’s eyes went wide briefly before he responded.
“She was thirty exactly,” he said. “Birthday was last month. She is white and looks to have been very pretty. She does work close by, at a gym less than a full block from here. We’re reconfirming her relationship status. But her co-worker, the one who found her, says she wasn’t currently involved. He’s downstairs in a black and white giving his statement again if you want to talk to him. I can’t speak to the travel and financials but maybe he can.”
“We’d love to talk to him as soon as we’re done here,” Ryan said before turning to Jessie. “You ready to go in?”
She nodded. It wasn’t lost on her that with a few exceptions, her description of Taylor Jansen could have been of herself too. She would turn thirty in a few weeks. Her downtown apartment was as Spartan as this one and not because she hadn’t had time to decorate it. She could count her good friends on a couple of fingers. And setting aside her recent marriage to a man who had tried to kill her, she was not, despite her conversation with Ryan, currently involved. If she died tomorrow, would another profiler’s thumbnail analysis of her be any different than the woman behind that bedroom door?
“You want any?” Wayne asked as he applied some eucalyptus-scented cream just below his nostrils. It helped fight the nasty smells that were about to grow stronger.
“No thanks,” Jessie said. “As bad as it is, I need all my senses at full strength when I go to a scene. Blocking out one smell might mask another important one.”
“It’s your stomach,” Wayne said, shrugging as he opened the door.
Almost immediately, Jessie regretted her decision.
CHAPTER FIVE
The stench was overwhelming. The woman must have been dead for last two, maybe three days. She was lying on the bed with the covers off, wearing workout pants and a sports bra. There were no obvious signs of a struggle in how she was positioned or in the room generally. Nothing looked to have been knocked to the floor. Nothing was broken. Her clothing didn’t appear to have been disturbed. She had no obvious cuts or marks.
Of course, that didn’t prove anything. If this was foul play, the perpetrator would have had lots of time to clean up the room and Taylor before leaving. Fingerprints on items in the room, including the body, might offer some help on that front. But at least visibly, nothing had been disturbed.
Jessie 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 their husbands from leaving them for their secretaries.”
“That was her bread and butter?” Ryan said.
“Yeah. She was really great at empowering those women and making them feel as if they were in control of their own destinies. I’m a single, gay black man and sometimes she made me want to marry a middle-aged white guy just so I could take charge of my life.”
“So were you close?” Jessie asked.
“Not that close,” he said. “We’d get coffee—here sometimes actually, or go for a drink. I walked her home a couple of times late at night. But I wouldn’t say were friends—more casual work friendly. I think she liked me because I was one of the few men in that club who didn’t hit on her all the time.”
“Were any of them especially aggressive?” Ryan asked.
“I’m not sure I’m the best judge of what women consider aggressive these days,” he admitted. “All I can say is that she never seemed intimidated by any of them. She had no problem shutting a guy down hard if he got out of line.”
“Do you know her relationship status?” Jessie asked. “You told the officers upstairs that she wasn’t involved.”
“I said I didn’t think she was currently involved. I know she was dating some guy a few months ago. But after it ended she got really secretive about her romantic life. And it wasn’t my place to push so I can’t claim to be an expert.”
“Vin,” Jessie asked, deciding to cut to the question she knew they’d be tangling with the rest of the day, “do you think Taylor might have killed herself?”
He responded immediately and with an intensity they hadn’t yet seen from him.
“No way. Taylor just wasn’t that kind of person. She was driven, focused. She was one of those people who had concrete goals. She wanted to start her own gym. She never would have short-circuited herself. She was what I like to call a marrow sucker.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked.
“She sucked the marrow out of life. She never would have ended hers.”
They all sat quietly for a moment before Ryan returned to a less philosophical topic.
“Do you know the name of her ex?” he asked.
“No. But I think one of the female trainers at the club might. I remember that she said she saw him drop Taylor off once and recognized him.”
As Vin answered, Jessie’s eyes went to the coffee shop entrance, where a clearly homeless man walked in. He had a long beard and shoes with soles that were so loose they flopped every time he lifted a foot.
That wasn’t what caught her attention though. Something red was dripping from the man’s left hand and his right hand was hidden under his jacket. He was muttering to himself as he moved among the other customers, seemingly bumping into some of them intentionally.
“What’s that trainer’s name?” Ryan asked. His back was to the door and he hadn’t noticed the man yet.
“Chianti.”
“Are you serious?” Ryan asked, laughing involuntarily and spitting up a bit of his coffee.
“I don’t know if that’s her birth name,” Vin said, smiling for the first time. “But at the gym she goes by Chianti Rossellini. It’s not my place to judge.”
“Why do I think that’s not actually your philosophy, Vin?” Jessie said archly as she kept half an eye on the homeless man.
Vin raised his eyebrows provocatively.
“I hate to break this up this gossip session…” Ryan said.
“You can do whatever you want, brown eyes,” Vin interrupted, batting his own.
Ryan didn’t respond to that, instead plowing ahead.
“But we need to ask you about when you found Taylor. You told the officers the window was open?”
Vin’s face immediately fell.
“Just a little bit, yes. I knocked first and checked the door, which was locked. But when she didn’t respond I opened the window wider and climbed in. I guess I could have called 911 first. But I thought if she was hurt and needed help, I shouldn’t just stand there waiting around.”
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Vin,” Jessie said. “You were worried about a friend. I’m sure the evidence will support that.”
“Thank you,” Vin said, his voice cracking slightly.
Jessie would have had a stronger emotional reaction to him if she wasn’t so fixated on the homeless man with the small stream of blood dripping from his arm. He was now rocking back and forth from heel to toe and his right hand was moving under his jacket, which appeared to be damp with a thick liquid. It looked like he was hitting himself in the hip. His lips were still moving but whatever he was muttering was now inaudible, though the middle-aged woman in line ahead of him kept glancing back nervously.
“Hey, Ryan,” she said nonchalantly, “Take a casual look over your left shoulder at the bearded guy in line.”
Ryan glanced over, as did Vin.
“The one who can’t stop moving his body or his lips?” Ryan asked.
“Yep,” Jessie confirmed. “He’s bleeding from his left arm and I think he’s holding something with his right hand under the jacket.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure. But I noticed a dark, wet stain in the hip area of the jacket. So I’m assuming it’s whatever made his other hand bleed. Also, he seems pretty agitated. He was bumping into other customers and not on accident.”
“It could be something,” Ryan said quietly. “Or he could be like half the folks we passed on the street on the way over here.”
“That’s true,” Jessie agreed, “though the whole ‘blood’ thing adds a little drama. Also, all the baristas look terrified and I bet they have homeless folks come in here all the time.”
“Fair point,” Ryan said, wincing slightly as he stood up. “I think I might get in line for a refill. Jessie, maybe you could quietly grab that officer from outside and ask him to come in as a precaution?”
Jessie nodded and stood up herself, trying to hide the twinge of pain she felt in both her back and her leg after having been immobile for several minutes. As she moved to the shop entrance, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Ryan had taken up a position right behind the mumbling man. She pushed open the front door and waved to the uniformed officer she’d chastised earlier.
“I think we may have a situation in here,” she said. “The bearded man standing in front of Detective Hernandez might have a weapon under his jacket. We’re not sure but we could use some backup just in case.”
She had barely finished her sentence when a loud scream erupted from inside. She turned around to see the middle-aged woman in line clutching her right shoulder with her left hand. Behind her, Ryan was struggling to rip a hunting knife out of the hands of the mumbling man. But despite his size advantage, it was a losing battle.
The other man had a frenzied anger about him and Ryan clearly wasn’t at full strength. Within moments, the man had freed himself. Ryan lost his balance and fell to the floor as the man regrouped and lunged at him.
Jessie hurried back inside, unbuttoning her gun holster as she moved toward them. She was just removing her weapon when there was a flash of movement in front of her. It was Vin Stacey, who leapt at the mumbling man, smashing his forearm into the man’s jaw and sending him careening back against the counter.
The knife flew out of the dazed man’s hand and slid across the floor. Vin stood over him, ready to proceed if necessary. It wasn’t. A moment later, the officer was on the man, turning him onto his stomach and cuffing him. Jessie reholstered her gun and knelt down beside Ryan.
“You okay?” she asked urgently.
“Yeah. I’ll recover, although I’m not sure my pride will.”
Vin walked over and extended his hand.
“Want a little help, brown eyes?” he asked, batting his eyes flirtatiously.
CHAPTER SIX
Jessie’s confidence was shaken.
As she and Ryan waited in the lobby of Solstice Health & Fitness while the general manager found Chianti, she kept flashing back to that three-second window before Vin had knocked the homeless man to the ground.
In that brief stretch of time, Ryan had fallen, a man had tried to kill him and Jessie had failed to act quickly enough to prevent it. If not for the quick action of a human tank with fast feet and a bit of a crush, Detective Ryan Hernandez might be dead right now.
Before taking the woman the homeless guy had stabbed to the hospital, one of the EMTs had looked Ryan over and given him the all clear. But Jessie couldn’t help but wonder if either of them was really ready to be back in the field yet.
Her internal debate was interrupted when the general manager motioned for them to come onto the fitness floor. As they did, she forced those concerns from her mind, trying to stay focused on the case at hand. As they walked over, Jessie glanced around the gym, trying not to let the pounding house music give her a headache.
The main room was massive, with a seemingly endless array of cardio machines. Off to the left was the weight “room” which was so vast she couldn’t even see where it ended. To the right were two dozen mats intended for stretching and, right now at least, for chatting while scrolling through phones.
The GM, a bushy-mustached man named Frank Stroup, stood waiting beside a skinny but ripped blonde woman in her late twenties wearing what Jessie considered far too much makeup for the gym. Her teeth were unnaturally bright and her breasts were squeezed together by a sports bra that looked several sizes too small.
“Detectives,” the GM said, forgetting that only one of them had that title, “this is Chianti Rossellini. I’ll leave you to your questions. Please let me know if I can be of any more help.”
Jessie nodded politely. He hadn’t been of much help at all actually. Other than giving the basics on Taylor’s employment history, he seemed to know little about her life. The facility may have been huge but Jessie thought it odd that the guy didn’t have more to say about a trainer that Vin suggested worked with some of their wealthiest members. They had intentionally avoided mentioning her death to him. But even so, Jessie would have expected him to at least be curious about why she’d been out for the last two days.
As he walked off, Chianti stared at them with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. She seemed to think she was in trouble for something. But her body language suggested she wasn’t sure for what.
“Ms. Rossellini,” Ryan began, managing not to start giggling mid-sentence, “how well do you know Taylor Jansen?”
“You can call me Chianti,” she replied, unaware just how challenging that might be. “I know her some. I mean, we work at the same gym. We interact most days. But I wouldn’t say we’re friends or anything. Taylor is very focused on her clients and doesn’t spend much time on chitchat. What’s this about anyway? Has she done something wrong?”
“These are just routine questions. No need for you to concern yourself beyond that,” Jessie said, not ready to reveal the truth until it served their purposes. “What can you tell us about her ex-boyfriend, the one who sometimes dropped her off here?”