in her hand. That had to mean something. He might be her killer. He might not. But he was involved somehow.
An hour later, after leaving a note for the still-sleeping Hannah and wishing Kat good luck with her that day, Jessie met up with Trembley at the station. She’d wanted to stop by the hospital to visit Ryan but there wasn’t time. Trembley was unusually quiet as they drove to the Social Rehabilitative House to meet with Petra Olivet.
“What’s wrong?” she finally asked.
He looked over at her, seemingly unsure whether to come clean.
“I just feel like I dropped the ball a little yesterday,” he said. “Especially with Boatwright, I think I let his star power intimidate me a bit. I keep playing the interview back in my head and I don’t like the memory very much.”
Jessie tended to agree but didn’t feel the need to rub salt in the wound. She would have been far more troubled if he’d been unaware of it.
“Don’t sweat it, Trembley,” she said. “It’s a new day and a chance to start fresh.”
Trembley nodded, then seemed to remember something and quickly switched topics.
“I did a little research on our gal Petra after you texted me that Bray had found her,” he said excitedly. “Want to hear what I found?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, so Detective Bray deserves major credit for finding this girl at all. She had a brand new identity created on her behalf. The only reason Bray found anything was because the last name of the person paying for her stay at the hospital was Stanard, which is Petra’s mother’s maiden name.”
“Very cloak and dagger,” Jessie mused.
“That’s not the half of it,” Trembley replied. “But first things first. I reached out to a few industry friends last night and eventually found my way to an actual crew member from the film Petra worked on with Corinne. It was her ill-fated attempt to recapture that romantic comedy magic. The movie was called Clumsy Hearts. The thing was a mess from the start. Her co-star bailed at the last minute and they had to get a replacement who she had no chemistry with. The shoot went over schedule and over budget. And Corinne was a tornado of abuse the whole time. The guy I talked to wasn’t there the day she went after Petra but heard it was brutal. He was told the girl quit that day; that she left the set sobbing. I can’t formally confirm the suicide attempt. But what is clear is that ten days later she was admitted at the Social Rehab House under the name Beth Stanard. Her full middle name is Elizabeth. She’s been there ever since.”
“I’m surprised she wasn’t moved out of town,” Jessie said.
“Me too,” he agreed. “That’s something I hope she can explain for us, assuming she’s up for explaining anything.”
Jessie looked at Trembley, who had a broad, proud smile on his face. She decided a little positive reinforcement was in order.
“That’s great work, Trembley,” she told him.
“Thanks,” he replied, sounding like a little boy being praised for getting an A on a test.
She didn’t love that the dynamic between them made her feel like his teacher, or worse, his mom.
*
From a distance, it didn’t look like a hospital.
L.A. County Social Rehabilitative House for Women was nestled into a canyon amidst the hills of Elysian Park, less than a five-minute walk from Dodger Stadium. It was set back from the main road behind a thicket of trees that obscured the size and nature of the facility.
They parked in the gravel lot and walked toward the main entrance. It wasn’t yet 9 a.m. and the temperature was already in the high eighties. The whole campus looked like a 1920s-era hacienda-style resort.
The once-white stucco buildings had long since turned a dirty tan. Willow trees draped themselves over the roofs as if about to dust them. While there were bars on the windows, Jessie didn’t see any perimeter fencing, which only made her more curious how they secured less voluntary residents.
She found out quickly. They had to be buzzed in through the main entrance and then again from the entry vestibule into the office proper, where a nurse sat behind thick glass.
“May I help you?” she asked disinterestedly.
“Yes,” Trembley said, holding up his badge and ID. “We have an appointment to speak with Beth Stanard.”
“One moment please,” the nurse said, checking both her computer and a paper file before looking up, seemingly satisfied. “Please place your weapons in the drop box to your