Jessie looked back at Crutchfield. Ever so slowly, with a huge grin on his face, he took his index finger and traced a small circle on the right side of his forehead.

“Who’s there?” Gayle repeated.

“It’s Jessie Hunt. I need to speak to your husband.”

As she waited for a response, she and the escaped serial killer stared silently at each other.

“Hold on,” Gayle said. Jessie heard her undoing the locks.

A second later, the door opened and Jessie turned to see Gayle Martindale Jerebko, dressed in what looked to be a silk kimono.

“Please come in,” she said in a surprisingly pleasant tone.

Jessie glanced back to her left. But all that stood there now was the tree. Crutchfield had vanished.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

“What is this all about?” Milton Jerebko demanded angrily.

Gayle had just led Jessie into the living room, where her mind was still reeling from what had just happened outside. She hadn’t had time to process what Crutchfield’s gesture meant when Jerebko stormed in, red-faced and fuming.

“At least let the woman sit down,” Gayle chastised, motioning for Jessie to take a seat on the couch.

The Crutchfield encounter had rattled her to the point that she wasn’t acting shaken. She was really feeling it.

Use that, Jessie. Get your game face on. You can deal with what just happened later. Right now, you have a job to do.

She wanted to appear harmless and nonthreatening and decided to channel her current uncertainty into the task at hand.

“I just have a few more questions,” she said meekly, following Gayle’s lead and sitting gingerly on the couch.

“Because of you and your LAPD buddies, my world is in shambles!” Jerebko shouted.

“What do you mean, sir?” Jessie asked, regrouping slightly. “I thought you’d already told your wife about the affair and that your constituents would be understanding.”

Jerebko stopped for a second, clearly not expecting that response.

“Yes, well, it turns out that repairing a marriage after admitting an infidelity is made doubly difficult when the media pores over every detail of that infidelity. And while my constituents are understanding of flawed politicians, they don’t love having their noses rubbed in it. And then there are the kids.”

“Yes,” Gayle agreed, “this has been very hard on the children.”

Jessie turned her attention to her, trying to look calm and not like she had between five and ten minutes to prove her theory.

“What about you, Mrs. Jerebko? This can’t be easy, trying to keep a stiff upper lip, dealing with the indignity caused by your husband’s inability to control his middle-aged infatuation.”

“Hey!” Jerebko protested.

“You’re handling it a lot better than I would have,” Jessie continued, ignoring Milton as she gave her full attention to Gayle. “You know, when I found out my husband was having an affair, it was all I could do not to bump off his mistress. Of course, he ended up doing that himself and trying to frame me for it. So…totally different situation. Still, I feel for you.”