The Perfect Disguise (Jessie Hunt #10) - Blake Pierce Page 0,76

into his forehead. He crumpled to the ground, confused and nauseated. For a few seconds, he tried to steady his hands on the ground and push himself back up. But the second blow, this time to the back of his skull, changed all that.

*

“Go to the guard gate,” Jessie ordered Trembley, even though she wasn’t technically in charge. “Tell Paul and whoever else is there who we’re looking for. Then call for backup. Detective Bray and her people can probably get here quicker than ours.”

“Okay. Where are you going?”

“The editing facility—that’s where Boatwright is. Between his name on the mirror and what we just learned, he’s the obvious next target. I’ll secure him. Maybe have the guards call him directly too.”

They split up and Jessie ran as fast as her still-tender body would allow. By the time she reached the entrance to the edit facility, she knew she’d guessed right. On the pristine, sand-colored cobblestone walkway leading to the door, she found a small pool of blood. She burst through the doors.

“Boatwright!” she yelled. “Miller Boatwright!”

Halfway down the hall, a youngish-looking guy with glasses and black hair shooting everywhere stepped into the hall.

“What the hell?” he demanded. “People are working in here.”

“Do you know where Miller Boatwright is?” she demanded.

“He’s supposed to be in here, bullying me into ruining my movie.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Who the hell are you?” he shot back.

“I’m Jessie Hunt with the LAPD. Boatwright may be in danger. So answer my question before I haul you in for interfering with my investigation.”

“Jeez,” he said, chastened. “Fine. He’s probably been gone ten minutes.”

Jessie ran back outside without responding. Once there, she closed her eyes, trying to clear her head.

Where would they be? Locations are significant to the killer. What place on this lot would have the most symbolic significance?

And then it hit her. They would be in the place where the killer had been wronged. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the photos she’d taken in Annex D. When she reached the table read script, she checked the location details.

The initial reading of the script had been in conference room 2 in the Katz Building, which according to the studio lot map was kitty corner to her current location. Looking up, she saw that it was less than seventy-five yards away. She moved in that direction, texting her destination to Trembley as she went. She didn’t want to call. At this point, there was no telling if the suspect might be listening nearby.

*

Calliope Mott, or as she was better known these days, Callie Hemphill, watched as Boatwright slowly came to.

She was seated in the corner of the room, enjoying the moment. It would take a minute for Boatwright to understand his situation. He was lying on a tall, empty filing cabinet about six feet off the ground. It had been a challenge to get him up there using the elaborate pulley system she’d set up earlier that day. After that, she’d used bungee cords to restrain him so that he couldn’t move much. Then she wrapped a rope around his neck. The other end of it was attached to thick, exposed pipe in the ceiling.

She’d spent quite some time on the calculations and determined that once she shoved him off the cabinet, his feet would dangle four to six inches off the ground as his neck was strained beyond what it could endure. Even if she was a little off, she had an additional rope available in case she needed it, just like the one she’d used on Corinne. The bungee cord pulled across his torso would keep him in place until she was ready. She didn’t want him slipping off the cabinet and accidentally hanging himself before she was ready.

This was the best part—the anticipation. She’d felt the same way when she hid in Corinne’s trailer, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out. It reminded her of the feeling when the coke really kicked in, back in the early days of her career.

Callie’s mind drifted back to those early days when she’d first arrived in Hollywood, going on three, sometimes four auditions in a day. She remembered that magical moment when the director and producers of Petals and Petulance had actually stood up and applauded after her audition; the pure joy she’d felt when they called and told her she’d snagged the lead role in the film, beating out hundreds of other aspiring actresses.

She remembered that it was only two days later when

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