The accusation hung in the air, unspoken.
“Like I said,” Costabile said defensively, “seemed like an open-and-shut case; didn’t want to waste resources.”
Jessie tried to keep her voice even as she replied.
“I’m sure you have decades of experience on the job, Sergeant,” she said. “But are you in the habit of making the command decision to disturb a murder scene before the detectives arrive, regardless of what resources it requires?”
“Valley Bureau isn’t as flush as you Downtown types,” he barked. “We don’t have the luxury of lingering lovingly over every dead runaway we find.”
As Jessie’s temper flared, she found her voice getting calmer and slower.
“I wasn’t aware that police procedure in this part of town now placed budget savings over crime-solving. I’d love to see where that line is in the new regulations. Additionally, I didn’t realize that the murders of teen runaways weren’t worth investigating. Did I miss that day at LAPD regulations school?”
“Are you questioning my professionalism?” Costabile asked, taking a step toward her.
“I’m just asking questions, Sergeant,” she answered, not backing up. “If your conscience is suggesting something deeper, that’s for you to work out. I would note that if this girl is a teen runaway, she’s doing pretty well. It’s clear that she’s got a well-paying job that allows her to live in a sizable apartment, buy art, and, based on her nails and hair, get expensive salon care. Are you sure you’re not making assumptions about her background?”
Costabile looked like he didn’t know which challenging question to address first. After a moment of frustrated huffing, he responded.
“The girl was found in a cheerleader uniform with the skirt down. Feels pretty trashy to me. My guess is she’s a working girl.”
“No chance that the skirt was pulled down by her assailant?” Jessie mused. “Your officer said she was seventeen. No chance she’s a high school cheerleader? No chance she’s an actress in costume? We’re sure she’s a trash whore? You seem to be making a lot of assumptions for an experienced law enforcement professional, Sergeant.”
Costabile took another step forward. He was now face to face with her. Jessie worried that Ryan might try to intervene but he held back. She suspected he knew what she was doing. Costabile spoke at her under his breath.
“So you’re gonna come in here with your hipster, hot-to-trot profiling rep and call me out as bad at my job? That’s where we’re at now?”
He was almost growling but Jessie didn’t care.
“If the shoe fits,” she whispered. “Also, if you think you can intimidate me with your man boobs and garlic breath, you’re mistaken. I’ve gone toe to toe with guys who kept human body parts as souvenirs, so your cheap bullying tactics don’t impress me. Now get the hell out of my face.”
Costabile’s nostrils flared. The blood vessel on his forehead looked like it might pop at any second. Jessie watched him closely. Part of her wanted to knee him in the crotch. But her analytical side was still testing him, trying to determine exactly what was going on here and why procedure wasn’t being followed. Something was very off. If he got angry enough, maybe the guy would inadvertently reveal something.
The two of them glared at each other. Costabile was hunkered and wheezy; Jessie silent and taut. She was happy to stay like that all evening if it broke him. After a good five seconds, he exhaled, intentionally breathing on her. He plastered a forced smile onto his face and took a step back.
“I have to say, Ms. Hunt, you are an even bigger bitch than I’d heard you were.”
“What’s her name?” Jessie demanded almost before he could finish his insult.
“What?” he said, startled by her sudden response.
“The girl,” she pressed, nodding at the bed. “Do you even know her name?”
“Her name is Michaela Penn,” Officer Lester said, rescuing his superior from potential embarrassment. “We’re still digging up info but it looks like she went to a local Catholic girls high school. She became an emancipated minor almost two years ago and graduated early. She was waitressing part-time at Jerry’s Deli in Studio City.”
“Thanks, Officer,” Jessie said, before adding one more line for Sergeant Costabile’s benefit. “Sounds real trashy.”
She turned and really looked at Michaela closely for the first time since entering the room. The first thing that jumped out at her was just how young the girl looked. She may have been seventeen, but with her short, dark hair and pale, now-bluish skin, she looked closer to fifteen.
She glanced up at a photo of the girl on the dresser and tried to reconcile it with the lifeless form on the bed. The Michaela in the picture was beautiful in a delicately pixie-ish way. She reminded Jessie of a girl from those Japanese anime cartoons.
Her deep blue eyes were huge but unemotional, as if she’d learned to hide her emotions long ago. Only the slight half-smirk at the edges of her lips hinted at what might be hidden beneath. She gave off the vibe of an unlit firework, like she was just biding her time, ready to explode at any moment.
“Can you unzip the bag?” Ryan asked as she moved over next to Jessie. As they waited he muttered under his breath. “I hope permanently alienating the most connected uniformed officer in the Valley was worth whatever you were trying to uncover by insulting him. Because he’s never going to let this go.”
“Jury’s still out,” she murmured back.
The cops had moved away but Maggie Caldwell, the deputy medical examiner, remained close by after she unzipped the bag.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to touch the body but Costabile was adamant that we move quickly. If you’d arrived five minutes later, she’d have been packed up in the van.”
“Any idea what the rush was?” Ryan asked her.
“No,” Caldwell said nervously. “But I don’t think it was all his idea. He was on the phone with someone who seemed to be giving him instructions. It was after he hung up that he really tried to push things along.”
Jessie moved closer to the girl. Her cheerleading uniform, red, with white script and black trim, was nondescript. The writing said only “Central H.S.” The skirt was pulled down to her thighs.
“Lester said she already graduated, right?” Ryan recalled. “So why the uniform?”
“I’ve lived in this area for twenty years and I don’t recognize that school or those colors,” Caldwell said. “I don’t think it’s real.”
“Maybe it was a costume,” Jessie suggested. “Waitressing and acting are hardly mutually exclusive.”
“Possible,” Ryan agreed. “I hate to say it, but Costabile could be right too. It could be an outfit she wore for…a client. That wouldn’t be unheard of around here.”
Jessie nodded, voicing her own theory.
“Whatever she was doing, unless she had a trust fund, it was more than just waitressing. This place is nice. The art isn’t cheap and it’s clear that she had a comprehensive skin and hair regimen that involved professional assistance. She wasn’t struggling. Do we know if she was sexually assaulted?” she asked Caldwell.