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“I know we’re not worried about it getting out that we’re still investigating the case. That ship has sailed. But don’t forget, even if this guy did sleep with Michaela, that doesn’t mean he killed her. Let’s try not to add any lawsuits for defamation to our pending disciplinary action.”
Jessie nodded her understanding, if not her agreement. She wasn’t worried about lawsuits right now, just getting to the truth.
The receptionist stopped outside the last, slightly ajar door at the end of the hall and knocked softly.
“Yes?” someone said in a soothing voice.
“Dr. Kallas, it’s Maya. I know you’re working on charts but you have some visitors who need to speak with you.”
“We’ll take it from here,” Ryan said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Jessie followed close behind. As she entered she took a deep breath and pushed all the chaos of the day out of her mind. She needed to focus completely to determine if Richard Kallas was just a scumbag or something far worse.
Kallas stood up as they entered. He had an untroubled smile on his face. The second she saw him, Jessie knew he was the same man from Michaela’s photo. Kallas was handsome in a creepy, manufactured way.
His brown hair was shockingly full and vibrant for a man who looked to be in his early forties, without a hint of gray. Jessie suspected it was aided by a transplant and colored often. His skin was golden and his teeth were brilliant white. He looked to be in great shape, with a trim waist and muscles that strained at his dress shirt.
Behind him on the wall, Jessie saw a collection of photos from marathons and Iron Man competitions, just above a series of what appeared to be vintage scalpels and surgical blades, some of which looked more like weapons than precision tools. In some of the pictures, his face looked dramatically different from the man standing before them now.
Part of it was simple aging. But part of it was also due to artificial attempts to defy age. The real-life Kallas had smooth skin and no visible wrinkles near his eyes or on his forehead, both of which made him look weirdly like a plastic Ken doll.
His nose and chin were different from some of the photos as well. Both had been sculpted. The chin was broader and squarer and the nose was smaller and sharper than before. The skin below his cheekbones looked tightened as well, giving him the permanent appearance of someone sucking them in. Even his ears looked slightly different, as if they’d been tweaked so as to not stick out as far.
No wonder Agent Dolan’s FBI people hadn’t been able to match the photo she gave him to the man in front of them now. Being asleep in that picture couldn’t have made it easy. But in addition, if Kallas had most of the work on his face done recently, after his driver’s license photo was taken, it might be hard for even a computer make the match.
“What can I do for you?” he asked politely. “I gather you’re not here for a consultation?”
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked.
Kallas smiled even more broadly than before. He glanced over at Maya, who was hovering by the door.
“You can go home, Maya. I’ll close up,” he said, turning back to Jessie and Ryan. “Because neither of you seem to need much work…yet. You are both gorgeous physical specimens. It looks like you stepped out of a fashion magazine, or at the very least, a department store catalogue.”
“Thanks,” Ryan muttered.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Kallas said, stepping around his desk to get a closer look at them. “The gentleman has a few forehead wrinkles that could be easily buffed out. But at your age, they come across as distinguished. Maybe come see me in five years. And the lady looks shockingly good considering what—and forgive me for saying this—is clearly some recent trauma.”
“Why do you say that?” Jessie asked, wondering if plastic surgeons and profilers shared some of the same skill set.
“Well, the lines around the eyes are more pronounced than one would expect in a woman your age. I’m guessing you’re about thirty. But their configuration suggests stress and lack of sleep rather than normal skin degradation. You’ve been through a lot, especially recently. But still, I wouldn’t recommend doing anything for another half a decade or so. It would look desperate at this early stage. I could do something about the scars though.”
“The scars?”
He nodded at her forearms, which were marked by multiple confrontations with both serial killers and more everyday criminals.
“Those are easy,” he said. “The one near your throat would require more work. It’s quite angry.”
Jessie forced herself not to cover the scar with her hand. The handiwork of her father and a hunting knife when she was six, it ran along her collarbone from the base of her neck all the way to her right shoulder. Other than psychological distress, it was the one enduring gift he’d left her with. Kallas’s casual mention of it made her skin crawl.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said, trying not to sound curt. “Tell me, Dr. Kallas, do you go by Richard or Dick?”
“Well, that strikes me as quite a personal question. I’ll answer if you tell me if you prefer Jessie or Jessica?”
Despite her best efforts, Jessie couldn’t stop from gasping slightly.
“How do you know who I am? I haven’t introduced myself.”
“Which you must admit is a bit rude,” Kallas said. “But don’t worry. I’m not some mind-reader. I’m a law-abiding, well-informed citizen. And you, Ms. Hunt, are in the news quite a bit, a law enforcement celebrity of sorts. It’d be hard not to recognize you. I don’t recognize the gentleman but I’m going to assume he is also some kind of cop. Maybe an FBI agent? Federal marshal? So many choices.”
“This is Detective Ryan Hernandez, LAPD Central Station. And to answer your question, I go by Jessie.”
“Ah, then let me answer yours,” Kallas said, leaning back to rest his backside on the edge of his desk. “Professionally, it’s Richard. My dear departed mother went with Dickie, which was not my favorite. Friends use Dick, sometimes with more enthusiasm than I would prefer. Are we going to be friends, Jessie?”
“I kind of doubt it, Richard,” she told him.
“That is truly disappointing,” he replied sadly.
But the cold, calculating look in his eyes suggested he already viewed them as foes.
