Blake Pierce - The Perfect Lie

“Look who’s back,” Detective Callum Reid said enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were returning today. Now we’ve finally got some class back in the joint.”

“You know,” Jessie said, deciding to embrace the vibe of the group, “you could be classy too, Reid, if you didn’t let one rip every ten seconds. It’s not a high bar.”

Everyone busted out laughing.

“It’s funny because it’s true,” Trembley said happily, his unkempt blond curls bouncing as he laughed. He pushed up his glasses, which perpetually slid down his nose.

“How you feeling, Jessie?” Hernandez said when the noise had died down.

“I’m getting by,” she answered, trying not to sound cold. “You look like you’re on the mend.”

“Getting there,” he said. “I’ve still got a few aches and pains. But as I keep telling the Captain here, if he’d let me in the game I could make a real difference. I’m tired of riding the bench, Coach.”

“That never gets old, Hernandez,” Decker said grumpily, clearly tired of the team analogy. “Hunt, I’ll give you a few minutes to get resettled. Then we’ll go over your case load. I have a bunch of unsolved homicide files that could use a fresh eye. Maybe a profiler’s perspective will shake things up. I expect the rest of you to give me case updates in my office in five minutes. It looks like you have the spare time.”

He headed for his office grumbling to himself. The rest of the team assembled their files as Hernandez plopped down across from Jessie.

“You don’t have anything to report?” she asked.

“I don’t have any cases of my own yet. I’ve been backing these guys up on everything. Maybe now that you’re back, we can tag team Decker and get him to send us out on something. The two of us together make up one almost totally healthy person.”

“I’m glad that you’re in such good spirits,” Jessie said, desperately trying to stop herself from saying more but failing to do so. “I wish you’d have let me know you were all good earlier. I steered clear because I thought you were working stuff out.”

Hernandez’s smile faded as he took in what she said. He seemed to be weighing how to respond. As she waited for his reply and despite her annoyance, Jessie couldn’t help but admit the guy had maintained himself pretty well while recovering from a grievous injury and a divorce.

He looked put together. Not a strand of his short black hair was out of place. His brown eyes were clear and focused. And somehow, despite his injuries, he’d managed to keep in shape. He might have lost five pounds off his usual six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, probably related to difficulty eating right after getting his stomach sliced open. But at thirty-one, he still had the toned look of a man who worked out often.

“Yeah, about that,” he started to say, snapping her back into the moment. “I wanted to call, but the thing is, some stuff has been going on and I wasn’t sure how to talk about it.”

“What kind of stuff?” she asked nervously. She didn’t like where this was headed.

Hernandez looked down, as if deciding how best to broach what was clearly a touchy subject. After a full five seconds he looked back up at her. Just as he was opening his mouth, Decker burst out of his office.

“We’ve got a gang-involved shooting in Westlake North,” he shouted. “The scene is still active. We already have four fatalities and an unknown number of injuries. I need SWAT, HSS, and gang units en route now. This is all hands on deck, people!”

Immediately, everyone began tearing around the bullpen. Many headed for the tactical gear center, where they grabbed heavier artillery and bulletproof vests. Jessie and Hernandez looked at each other, unsure what to do. He started to get out of his seat when Decker shut him down.

“Don’t even think about it, Hernandez. You’re not getting anywhere near this thing.”

Hernandez slumped back down in his chair. They watched the action around the station with jealous interest. After a few minutes, things quieted down and then remaining staff went back to work. Seemingly only moments ago, the bullpen had been bustling with activity, filled with well over fifty people. Now it was a ghost town. Including Jessie and Hernandez, there were fewer than ten left.

Suddenly Jessie heard a loud thud. She looked over to see that Captain Decker had dropped a half dozen thick files on her desk.

“These are the cases I want you to review,” he said. “I had hoped to go over them with you but obviously I’m going to be busy for the next few hours.”

“Any updates on the shooting?” she asked him.

“The shooting has stopped. Everyone scattered once our cars arrived. We’re up to six fatalities, all from rival gangs. Another dozen or so are injured. We’ve got about thirty officers and a dozen detectives canvassing the area. And that doesn’t even include SWAT.”

“What about me?” Hernandez asked. “How can I help, Captain?”

“You can follow up on your colleagues’ cases until they get back. I’m sure they’ll be very appreciative. I’ve got to get back to this gang thing now.”

He hurried back to his office, leaving the two of them alone except for the mounds of paperwork.

“I think he’s being mean on purpose,” Hernandez muttered.

“Did you want to finish what you were saying before?” Jessie asked him, wondering if she was pushing too hard.

“Not now,” he replied, losing the lightness in his voice. “Maybe later, when we’re out of the office and everything isn’t so…heightened.”

Jessie nodded in agreement, though she was disappointed. Rather than pout or stay in that unpleasant head space, she turned her attention to the case files in front of her.

Maybe focusing on the minutiae of some murders will clear my head.

She chuckled silently at her own gallows humor as she opened the first file.

It worked. She became so immersed in the details of the cases that almost an hour passed without her noticing the time. It wasn’t until Hernandez tapped her on the shoulder that she looked up and realized it was mid-morning.

“I think I might have found us a case,” he said, holding up a piece of paper provocatively.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be hunting for new cases,” she replied.

“We’re not,” he admitted. “But there’s no one else here to take it and I think it’s the sort of thing Decker might actually let us take on.”

He held out the paper. Not as reluctantly as she probably should have, Jessie took it. It didn’t take her long to realize why they might have a shot at convincing Decker to let them take it.

The case seemed pretty straightforward. A thirty-year-old woman was found dead in her Hollywood apartment. The young man who first reported finding her was initially held on suspicion when a neighbor reported seeing him enter the apartment through a window. But he asserted he was a co-worker who was checking on her after not hearing from her for two days. There were no obvious signs of violence and the initial impression on the scene was that this was likely a suicide.

“It seems like they have things pretty well in hand. I’m not sure what we can offer….”

“I hear a silent ‘but’ in there,” Hernandez noted, smiling.

Jessie didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but found herself grinning slightly too.

“But… there is a reference to older bruising on her wrists and neck, which might suggest previous abuse. That’s probably worth checking out. And according to her co-worker, she worked as a personal trainer at a high-end fitness club, where she specialized in high-profile clients. It’s possible some of them will make a stink if they think LAPD isn’t putting enough resources into the case.”