“If she had any, she didn’t mention them to me. You have to understand, we didn’t really talk about what she did that much. She knew I wasn’t super comfortable with it. And I think she just wanted to put it out of her head once she got home. So I doubt she would have brought up that kind of thing with me unless someone had done something really scary, like come to the apartment. We talked about movies, reality TV, friends from school. It never got too heavy.”
A nurse walked in and, seeing Lizzie awake, immediately walked over to check her vitals.
“Am I going to be okay?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” the nurse answered without hesitation. “You don’t have any injuries. The EMTs brought you in because you were in shock. The doctor will do another evaluation. But I imagine you’ll be able to leave in a few hours. Your recovery would be expedited by more rest and fewer disturbances.”
Her last comment was accompanied by a raised eyebrow at Jessie, who had spent enough time recovering in hospitals under the care of protective nurses not to take offense.
“Last question and then I’ll let you rest,” she promised them both. “What do you know about Mick’s father?”
Lizzie got quiet for a second. Clearly she knew something.
“She didn’t talk about him much,” she finally said. “And I only saw him once. He came to school one day at St. Ursula. He was stumbling around campus, really drunk, looking for her. He was calling out her name. You could hear it echo across the quad. The nuns had to call the cops.”
“Did she ever talk about that incident or anything else related to him?”
“She just said that after her mom died, he started drinking a lot and got violent. I know he lives in some cabin in the mountains now and she seemed glad that he wasn’t around.”
The nurse gave an irritated grunt that indicated she was about to make a fuss. Jessie closed her notebook to prove she was done.
“Where will you stay?” she asked the girl. “How can I reach you if I have more questions?”
“My parents live in Thousand Oaks,” Lizzie answered. “I’ll probably crash with them for a while.”
Jessie thought about how nice it must be to have the luxury to fall back on parents who would love and protect you when you were in crisis. It sounded like Michaela hadn’t had that in a long time. Now that Jessie thought about it, neither did Hannah.
Neither did I.
CHAPTER TEN
Jessie felt dirty.
She had pulled over into a covered parking garage where she could take out her laptop and discreetly check out the work of Missy Mack. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for.
After randomly searching through a few film titles, she came across something called the Internet Adult Film Database. She punched “Missy Mack” into the search bar and a list of movies came back. She could quickly see what Lizzie had been talking about.
There were fourteen total films in her filmography. But the first few listed seemed to only include an individual scene with Missy. They also had bland names like High School Gang Bang and BabeFest #29. Each of those was made with a different production company.
It was only once she started working with Filthy Films that the creativity of the titles, and her total screen time, improved. The last six films on the list, all Filthy Films productions, included the likes of Nympho Cheerleader Zombies, The Naughty Babysitters Club, Teacher’s Pet, and Candy Wants Candy, in which she seemed to be the main character.
It took some more digging to find the actual office address of the company and the real names of the people who ran it. But after some searching, with the assistance of the records team back at Central Station, she had a lead. As she pulled out of the garage and headed in that direction, she made a phone call.
Kat picked up on the second ring. Katherine “Kat” Gentry was one of Jessie’s closest friends, which was odd, considering how they first met. Kat was the former head of security at the Non-Rehabilitative Division—NRD for short—of the psychiatric prison facility where Bolton Crutchfield was incarcerated. The two had initially butted heads when Jessie tried to interview the notorious serial killer as part of her thesis for her master’s degree in Criminal Psychology.
Eventually the animosity faded as their mutual respect grew. Jessie revealed the truth about her childhood ordeal and her parentage. Kat shared details about her time as an Army Ranger in Afghanistan and the incident that led to the prominent scar on the left side of her face.
Somewhere along the line, a friendship blossomed. Then Crutchfield escaped. It didn’t matter that Kat wasn’t even in town when he broke out or that another security officer had secretly helped the killer. She got blamed and fired.
After taking some time off, she had recently recast herself as a private detective. Jessie tried to throw work her way as often as she could, partly out of friendship and partly because she felt responsible for what happened. Somewhere deep down, she’d always suspected that Crutchfield had escaped, at least in part, so he could better play his cat-and-mouse game with her.
“Hey. What’s up?” Kat asked.
“Are you working any cases right now?” Jessie wanted to know.
“Nice to hear from you, Jessie. Hope you’re well. I’m doing okay, thanks for asking.”
“Sorry about that,” Jessie said, chastened. “How are you?”
“I’m married now. Met a great guy. I was tailing him as a possible adulterer. But it turned out he was just a drug dealer. I was so impressed with his marital fidelity that I jumped him. He’s leaving his wife for me.”
“I said I was sorry,” Jessie repeated. “Don’t rub it in.”
“I guess I forgive you. But maybe next time lead with the pleasantries.”
“Noted,” Jessie said, uncertain whether to proceed with her question.
“Okay,” Kat said. “Now that you feel appropriately guilty, if you must know, I am between cases. I have a surveillance gig that starts this weekend. But right now, it’s pretty quiet.”
“Can I throw a job at you, one that I can’t promise will be reimbursed by the fine folks at LAPD?”
“Jessie,” Kat said patiently, “if I don’t get paid, then that’s what we call a ‘favor,’ not a job.”
“You’ll get paid one way or another. If they won’t foot the bill, I will.”
Kat didn’t question the guarantee. She was well aware that as a result of Jessie’s divorce from her wealthy but murderous husband, Kyle, she was financially secure enough to make such pledges.
“Now we’re talking,” Kat said with enthusiasm. “What can I do you for?”
“I want you to check into a guy named Keith Penn. He used to live in the San Fernando Valley but now he has a cabin in Lake Arrowhead.”
“Sure. Want to give me the back story?”
“His daughter, Michaela, was murdered last night, stabbed nine times. She was only seventeen. Turns out she led a complicated life. I’m still trying to get a handle on it. But word is Keith was an abusive drunk. As a result, Michaela ended up getting emancipated.”
“Sounds like a real charmer,” Kat said. Between her time guarding serial killers and rapists and her stint in Afghanistan, she’d seen almost as much of the world’s ugliness as Jessie had.