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CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Jessie rode the wave of anger.
She knew that once it faded, the consequences of what she was doing now—going to see the Zellers—would hit her. And if she started thinking about the fact that she was following up a lead on a case she was expressly prohibited from pursuing, she might lose her courage.
So she channeled the anger as long as she could. As she made her way to the Zellers’s Beverly Hills mansion, she tried not to let doubt creep into her head. Everything in her gut told her this was more than just a robbery gone wrong.
The call from Chatty Cathy seemed to reinforce that. But despite all the suspicious behavior on the part of the guys from Van Nuys Station—mishandling the crime scene and body, homing in on only one suspect, and so much more—the truth was, she didn’t have anything definitive to say they were wrong.
Yes, the crime felt more personal than a robbery. And Michaela’s lifestyle and work—both on and off the books—suggested she interacted with some unsavory types. But none of that was proof of anything. Pete Vasquez had the laptop stolen from her apartment. Based on that alone, she had to acknowledge that he was a legitimate suspect.
Was it possible she was overcomplicating things? Was she making it personal because Michaela reminded her so much of Hannah? If the victim was a twenty-six-year-old Latina from East L.A. instead of a teenage girl from the Valley, would she still be pushing like this? The question made her squirm uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.
Luckily, she didn’t have to think about it any longer. The Zellers’s home was up ahead. She forced all other thoughts from her head and focused on the people she was about to meet. They lived on Benedict Canyon Drive, north of the Beverly Hills Hotel, just before the street began to climb and turn into a steep, winding hill road.
The house was set back off the street, with a long driveway. As she pulled in, Jessie reminded herself of the couple’s background. Matthew Zellers was a producer on the long-running TV crime procedural Catch & Convict. Helen was a party planner. They’d been married for seven years, were in their late thirties, and had no children. Matthew had never been arrested. Helen’s sole run-in with the law was at a college protest nearly two decades ago.
Jessie pulled up to the house and walked to the front door, taking in the massive plantation-style entrance, complete with enormous white pillars. She rang the bell and waited, fully expecting it to take a while for someone to get all the way to the front.
But within ten seconds the door opened to reveal an attractive, petite woman with blonde ringlets wearing tights and a sports bra. She looked like she’d been in the middle of a workout.
“Can I help you?” she asked, slightly out of breath. There were droplets of sweat on her forehead.
“I hope so. I’m Jessie Hunt with the LAPD. I’m looking for Matthew and Helen Zellers.”
“Well, you found half of them,” the woman said. “I’m Helen. Did you say you were with the police?”
“Yes. I’m a profiler for the department. I was hoping I could ask a few questions.”
“Sure. Come on in,” she said, waving Jessie inside. “I was just finishing my leg day. Do you consult for the show? Matt didn’t say anyone would be coming by today.”
“No, Mrs. Zellers. This is unrelated to your husband’s work. I was actually hoping to speak to both of you.”
Helen was walking quickly ahead of her down the hall, which opened into a large kitchen. She seemed unfazed by a random person showing up requesting to question her. Jessie wondered how often it happened.
“Matt’s upstairs working. I’ll call him down,” she said, opening the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of thick green liquid. “Did you want some celery juice while we wait?”
“No, I’m good,” Jessie assured her.
Helen nodded as she grabbed her phone.
“Hey, sweets,” she said when a male voice answered. “There’s an LAPD profiler down here who wants to talk to us. Can you come down for a sec?”
The voice said something Jessie couldn’t pick up.
“I don’t know,” Helen replied before turning to Jessie. “What’s this about?”
“I’d rather explain it to both of you together.”
“She’ll tell us when you come down,” Helen said into the phone. “Just hurry up. The anticipation is killing me.”
The voice responded and there was a click.
“He’ll be right down,” Helen said, motioning to one of the barstools at the kitchen island. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Thank you,” Jessie said, selecting one.
“This is all very exciting,” Helen said enthusiastically. “The biggest item on my list for the day was to get my nails done. And now I have a real-life profiler in my house. What did you say your name was again—Clarice? I’m just kidding.”
