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Jessie glanced at Ryan, who appeared to be trying to will her to stay quiet with the power of his stare. Though she didn’t want to rein herself in, the intensity of his gaze gave her pause.
“Captain,” she said slowly, “I don’t like how this investigation has been run. It’s been sloppy and unprofessional at best and…more than that at worst. But am I formally alleging something untoward on the part of members of Valley Bureau? Not at this time, sir.”
“All right,” Decker said, leaning back in his chair again. “That was just about the most hedged non-accusation I’ve ever heard. And I’m going to choose to remember it as full-throated support for your colleagues in the LAPD. That’s what my notes will reflect for the record.”
“Yes, sir,” she said reluctantly.
“I’m deferring to the wishes of the team in Valley Bureau and officially pulling HSS from the case. That frees you both up to handle this. A country club tennis coach in Hancock Park was found dead on the court this morning. It looks like he was bludgeoned with a racket. The head of security is expecting you within the hour.”
He tossed a thin file across his desk at them.
“Yes sir,” Ryan said, grabbing the file as he stood up.
Jessie stood up too and followed him to the door without a word. She was almost out when Decker called her back.
“Hunt,” he said firmly. “Just so we’re clear on this. Valley Bureau is handling the Penn case. You are not. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” she said with the level of enthusiasm she felt.
Ryan was waiting for her outside the office. Despite her strong desire, Jessie refrained from yelling at him right then and there.
“Way to have my back,” she hissed in a loud whisper.
“I did have your back,” he insisted. “You were this close to Decker calling in Internal Affairs to start a full-on investigation.”
“Would that be so bad?” Jessie challenged. “This seems like exactly the kind of thing that I.A. should be looking into. Chatty Cathy obviously thought so too.”
“No, Jessie. She didn’t. That’s why she called me. Chatty Cathy’s calls have consistently been about trying to solve cases, not catching dirty cops. For all we know, she could have inside knowledge about these cases because she’s dirty.”
Jessie couldn’t believe what Ryan was saying.
“So you don’t want these guys—whoever’s directing Costabile—brought to justice?” Jessie demanded.
“Of course I do,” Ryan retorted. “But that wasn’t my priority and it wasn’t Chatty Cathy’s either. Solving the case was. There was a finite window to solve this one before it got swallowed up and now the window has closed. It’s happened with other cases she tipped me off to and it’s happened here. I’m not happy about it but it’s out of my hands now.”
Jessie started to protest but Ryan cut her off.
“Decker was very clear,” he reminded her. “Pursuing this after he formally took us off it would have serious repercussions. Plus, we have no idea who’s involved. I’m concerned about what these people are capable of if we keep pushing.”
They stared at each other, both furious, neither speaking. Ryan finally relented.
“I have to go to the bathroom. When I get back, I’m hoping we can put this behind us and go investigate this ridiculous case about the tennis coach beaten to death with a racket. I’ll see you in five minutes.”
Jessie watched him go, fighting the urge to cuss him out in front of everyone. When he disappeared from sight, she took several deep breaths and turned back to the bullpen. As she did, she swore she saw about a dozen sets of colleagues’ eyes suddenly dart elsewhere.
Pretending not to notice, she returned to her desk, sat back down, and caught sight of the phone logs she was no longer supposed to review. Despite what Decker said, she couldn’t help but glance over the names for any initials that matched the Post-it list. There were none. But she did notice something else.
The same name appeared on both a canceled check from the bank and a cell phone call: Helen Vance. The initials didn’t match any from the Post-it. But it was the first time she’d come across the same person on two separate lists. She punched the name into the LAPD database. When her computer screen showed the result, she had to force herself not to gasp.
Helen Vance didn’t have a record. But apparently she did have another name. In addition to Vance, she apparently also went by her full married name, Helen Vance-Zellers and even sometimes just by Helen Zellers—H.Z. Helen was married to a man named Matthew Zellers—M.Z.
M.Z. + H.Z. The crossed-out initials.
Jessie looked up to make sure no one had noticed the jolt of electricity that had just shot through her entire body. Everyone seemed oblivious. She scribbled down the contact info for the couple and then closed the browser tab.
Ryan was walking back from the restroom with a look of grim determination on his face. She knew what that meant. He was preparing himself for the unpleasant task of convincing her that they needed to move on and not rock the boat. She decided to save him the effort.
“I have to go,” she said, standing up to meet him. “Can you get started on the tennis coach case without me?”
“You have to go? That’s all the information you’re giving me?” he asked incredulously.
“I have to take care of something. If it comes up, you can tell people that I said it was about Hannah.”
“Is that true?” he asked.
Jessie stared at him, not sure how best to answer that.
“It’s the reason I’m giving you,” she finally said. “That’s the best I can do.”
She grabbed her bag and headed out of the bullpen, refusing to look back at what she was certain was Ryan’s disapproving face.
