Page 8 of The Perfect Deception (Jessie Hunt #40)

Jessie made her way over to the bedside, preparing herself.

This would be the first dead person she'd seen in over two months. That was a long time for her. After a deep, slow breath, she let her eyes land on the woman in the bed.

Cassandra Dominik—other than the blood—looked like she was sleeping. Her eyes were closed. Her arms and legs were sprawled out comfortably like she’d been in the middle of a happy dream. She wore pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt that read Yoga Queen.

Other than the long gash in the front of her throat and the massive pool of blood under her head, neck, and shoulders, she looked quite peaceful. Over the last few hours, the blood had begun to seep off the side of the bed, dripping down the sheets and forming a puddle on the floor beside the bed about the circumference of a large frying pan.

Jessie took a moment to acknowledge the woman’s passing and the fact that, despite her peaceful expression, this most certainly had not been an act of peace. When her killer sliced her throat, they cut short a life. Cassandra didn’t look to be much older than Jessie’s 32 years but she wouldn’t be celebrating any more birthdays.

Jessie felt a tinge of anger bubble ever so slightly in the base of her gut. She noted the feeling, identifying it for what it was, then set it aside. This was her first real test after two months in treatment and she felt like she was working through it okay, at least so far.

Of course, she recognized that part of her self-control came from the knowledge that Cassandra Dominik likely didn’t suffer for long, if at all. Even though the final outcome was the same, that detail somehow helped her process the death a little better.

In fact, it had her wondering why the killer had committed the act in this manner. There was no repeated stabbing or slashing, just one straightforwardly brutal cut. Apparently seeing the victim suffer wasn’t a priority for whoever did this. It seemed that they wanted to minimize, or at least not exacerbate, the pain and fear Dominik felt. That almost suggested that the murder was, in a weird way, not personal. Jessie contemplated that it might only be a means to an end rather than the end itself.

“Is anyone going to do anything about my wife!”

The panicked voice came from a room down the hall.

Jessie, pulled out of her thoughts, looked over at Sergeant Hauk.

“That’s Maplewood,”

he said.

“Like I said, he’s been waiting a while to talk to someone about her. I can go over there and tell him that you’ll be there soon.”

Jessie shook her head.

“I’m ready to talk to him now. Gallager will have any other answers we need from in here. Detective?”

She preferred to use Ryan’s formal title in professional situations where they didn’t know everyone well. She didn’t need anyone altering their interactions with her because she was married to the detective on the case.

Ryan nodded.

“Yeah, let’s go see him now.”

The guest bedroom was across the hall and two doors down. Hauk gave a quick knock, and then opened the door.

“Mr. Maplewood, this is the team investigating what happened. Detective Hernandez and Ms. Hunt come from an elite LAPD unit called HSS, which specializes in cases like this. There’s no one better to take it on.”

Jessie stepped inside to find Maplewood seated in a desk chair by the window. He looked like his online photos, with tightly cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and deeply tanned skin. But unlike in the photos, his hair was disheveled and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

A large male officer stood in the corner of the room. Officially, he was there to offer support for Maplewood, but unofficially he was also there as a precaution, to prevent the man from either hurting himself or making a run for it.

“We’re sorry for the delay, Mr. Maplewood.”

Ryan’s voice was calm and empathetic. He clearly hoped that Maplewood would follow suit.

“We needed to see Ms. Dominik first. But now we’re ready to address your concerns. You said that you think your wife is missing.”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

Maplewood wasn’t following Ryan’s lead. He was agitated and combative.

“What makes you say that?”

Ryan’s composure didn’t waver.

“When I talked to her before I caught my flight home, she was here. She wanted to stay up until I got home but I told her it would be too late, so she agreed to go to sleep.”

"Okay. Could she be somewhere else in the house?" Ryan posed the question delicately. Obviously if she was elsewhere in the mansion, she was in bad shape. Otherwise, she would have heard the sirens and made her presence known by now.

Maplewood shook his head.

“After I called 911, I started looking everywhere for her. This house has 31 rooms and I checked them all. Plus, I called her phone a dozen times. She didn’t answer and I couldn’t hear it ringing anywhere.”

Jessie decided to try a different tack.

“We understand that you were out of town on business.”

Maplewood looked briefly surprised by the turn in questioning but answered.

“Yes. I had a major meeting at my bank’s headquarters in Chicago. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just trying to get a sense of things,”

she said vaguely.

“When was the last time you spoke with Olivia?”

Maplewood looked at his phone.

“It was at 8:07 there, so 6:07 here.”

Jessie proceeded cautiously.

“Is there any chance that she decided to go out after you talked? 6 P.M. is a long ways from bedtime. Is she the type to go dancing with friends or go catch a movie at a girlfriend’s house?”

“Not the dancing.”

He sounded certain.

“Maybe the movie but she would have mentioned it to me. Even if it was a last-minute decision, she would have texted me while I was on my flight to fill me in. I would have gotten the message when I landed.”

As Maplewood spoke, another thought formulated in Jessie’s head. Was it possible that Olivia had invited Cassandra Dominik over here, but not to watch a movie? Maybe they were extra close, which might explain why she didn’t tell her husband about the visit. Could they have had a romantic encounter that ended badly? Rather than broach any of those questions, she tried a roundabout route.

“Was Cassandra married?”

Maplewood nodded.

“Her husband’s name is Michael. I know him slightly. He’s a hotel company executive.”

“Have you tried reaching out to him?”

Ryan asked.

“Why?”

he seemed genuinely befuddled by the question.

Jessie didn’t say what she wanted to say, which would have bee.

“to tell him his wife is dead.”

Instead, she said.

“maybe he would know why his wife was here.”

“I can call him now,”

Maplewood said blankly. His eyes were focused on the middle distance. The moment was clearly taking its toll on him.

“That’s okay,”

Ryan told him.

“We’ll do that. Just give us his number.”

As James Maplewood scrolled through his phone for Ryan, Jessie stepped away and looked out the bedroom window. It was the middle of the night and other than the streetlights, the neighborhood was dark. She wondered if there were any lights on at the Dominik house. The thought made her wonder something else. If Michael Dominik’s wife wasn’t home at 1:30 in the morning, why hadn’t they heard from him?

She turned to Ryan.

“Let’s not call Dominik just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s pay a visit to his house first. I feel like we might find some answers there.