A Trace of Crime Page 13

  “They had the same religious overtones, like the guy was a zealot. Also, our guy never showed up at the first ransom drop here either. And in the second note we got, there was no request to meet up, just like with the second one you got. Also, our girl was about the same age—eleven, name was Noreen Appleton. From a small town called Elkhurst just outside Columbia.”

  “This is Ray Sands, Sheriff. How come we never heard about your case when we were looking for similar ones?” Ray asked.

  “I’m embarrassed to say it. But we got a confession from a vagrant and we closed the case. The guy was new to town and had been arrested a few times for petty stuff so there was already some animosity toward him from locals.”

  “But you had doubts?” Keri asked.

  “I did. It never quite sat right with me. I didn’t know how the guy would access a typewriter to write those notes. And he didn’t talk in the flowery way they were written. I doubt he even knew most of the words in them. And we never found a body. But we had the confession, so it wasn’t an unsolved case and there was no reason to post the letters in the database.”

  “You say you never found a body?” Keri asked.

  “Nope. We scoured the county, even used cadaver dogs, which was a real expense for us. Had to bring them in from St. Louis. But it didn’t make any difference in the end. And our suspect refused to say anything. At the time, we thought he was protecting himself—no body, hard to make a case. But looking back, I think he might just not have known anything.”

  “Detective Manny Suarez here. How many notes did you ultimately get?” Suarez asked.

  “Just the two. We never heard from him after that. I don’t know if he lost interest or moved on or what. Of course, if it was the vagrant, that makes sense because we arrested him so maybe he never had time to write a third one. But I don’t really buy that.”

  “Was he convicted?” Hillman asked.

  “He was. Jury took less than thirty minutes. First degree murder—even without the body, he got thirty years to life. Didn’t last long though—wasn’t a fan of confinement. We found him in his cell the morning he was supposed to be transported to the state prison. He’d shaved off a piece of his metal meal tray and used it to slice up his wrists.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Hillman said.

  “Yeah, me too. It’s one of those I wish I could have back, you know? Especially if my corner-cutting has put another girl at risk.”

  “Why do you think he confessed if he didn’t do it?” Keri wondered.

  “I’ve asked myself that many times. Part of me thinks he just did it for the attention. I could tell he liked having all the cameras around. But once he saw the girl’s family in court, he seemed to lose his enthusiasm. I think he knew he was adding to their suffering. His apology at sentencing was really heartfelt, which was odd considering he wasn’t guilty. Maybe he was atoning for other sins.”

  The room was quiet after that as everyone let the thought sink in.

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Hillman said eventually. “I think that answers everything. Maybe you could send us copies of your ransom letters. There might be something useful in them.”

  “Will do. I wish y’all the best of luck. And that little girl too,” he said before hanging up.

  “Well, you know what this means?” Brody said. He’d been silent through the entire conference call so Keri was surprised that he had input now.

  “What’s that, Frank?” Hillman asked.

  “It means this guy has committed crimes in multiple states. It’s federal now. We can hand this thing over to the FBI and let them deal with this dog of a case.”

  “Jeez, Brody,” Keri said, repulsed and unable to conceal it. “Aren’t you retired yet? Please tell me you’re gone soon because you’ve already basically checked out.”

  “What? Because I know a loser case when I see one? At least we can get it off our ledger. One less unsolved case for West LA Division. I’m actually being a team player here.”

  “I’m not sure about the team player part,” Hillman said, picking up the phone and dialing. “But he’s right. I do need to call the FBI. There’s no guarantee that this is the same suspect but we have to alert them in case. They’ll probably want to send a team to Elkhurst too.”

  “But the second we do that, they’ll shut us out,” Keri warned.

  “Not necessarily,” Hillman said. “They’ll want to take point for sure. But they’ll need us to fill them in and I suspect they’ll want us for tactical support and to establish a rapport with the family.”

  “Like the one Locke established with Tim Rainey?” Brody asked sarcastically.

  Ray stood up and stared down at Brody, who was lounging sloppily on a couch.

  “Shut up, Frank,” he said in a quiet, terse voice. “Know your limits or I’ll help you find them.”

  Ray Sands was the only detective in the unit whose balls Frank Brody was reluctant to bust. Aware that he’d gone too far, he got up and hurried out, mumbling something about having to take a piss.

  “Thanks,” Keri said. “But I had that.”

  “I know you did but I worried that your version of ‘had that’ was going to be to kick him in the throat. I just wanted to save you a suspension.”

  Before she could reply, Hillman hung up.

  “The feds say they’ve been waiting for us to call,” he said. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  *

  FBI agents Winchester and Crowley sat in the conference room, listening as the Missing Persons Unit updated them on everything they knew about the case so far. Winchester was the younger of the two, likely under thirty-five. Attractive in a blocky kind of way, he clearly spent a lot of his time working out. He wore a tight dress shirt that accentuated his bulging chest and arms. Keri wasn’t impressed. He kept interrupting to ask things they were about to tell him anyway.

  Crowley seemed to have more potential. He was older, likely in his late forties, and had enough stubble growth to suggest he sometimes forgot appearances when work became all-consuming. His shirt and jacket were wrinkled, almost as if he’d slept in them the night before. He stayed mostly quiet and the comments he did make were on point.

  “This is an odd one,” he acknowledged when they were done with their presentation. “I have to say, we’ve gotten our fair share of ransom notes and lots of letters from religious fanatics. But I don’t think they’ve ever overlapped before.”

  “And they’re not overlapping here either,” Winchester said with unjustified certainty. “What I think we’ve got here is a guy faking being a nut job to keep us off the scent.”

  Even though she’d only just met him, Keri had had enough of this guy, especially if he was just going to regurgitate the stale theories of her colleagues.

  “Then why didn’t he take the money the first night in the park, when he had the tactical advantage?” she asked, trying to keep the disdain out of her voice.

  The rest of the unit, even Brody, nodded in agreement.

  “Maybe something wasn’t right,” Winchester said defensively, “something only he knew about.”

  “Okay,” Keri countered. “Then what about the second note? He didn’t even offer a drop location. How was he going to get his money?”

  “He was probably going to do it via the phone number he gave the Raineys. But something went wrong with it.”

  “So according you,” Keri said, her blood rising, “the same guy who kidnapped Jessica without anyone seeing, who managed to avoid surveillance at the FedEx store, who didn’t leave a single clue to his identity also forgot to buy a working cell phone?”

  Ray stared at her hard, a warning that she was in dangerous territory. Alienating an FBI agent was never a smart move.

  “It’s possible,” Winchester grumbled.

  “Possible,” Crowley said, trying to lower the temperature in the room. “But not likely.”

  “Okay,” said Winchester. “So maybe it’s not about the money. Maybe he’s just some p
ervy sex freak. You read those letters. This guy is seriously into discussing sin.”

  Keri grunted despite herself. Now Hillman shot her a look. She was amazed he hadn’t shut her down yet. Part of her suspected he felt the same way about Winchester and enjoyed seeing him get taken down a peg.

  “Detective Locke,” Crowley said with just a hint of amusement, “I gather you feel differently?”

  “I do. He may be a freak but I doubt it’s of the pervy sex kind.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” Winchester demanded.

  “Just look at the letters, Agent. Yes, they’re about sin—but hers, not his. He doesn’t want to rape this girl. That would be a violation of his warped faith.”

  “What does he want then?” Crowley asked.

  “Just what he says he wants—to purify her through blood.”

  “You really believe that?” Winchester asked, skeptical.

  “Why wouldn’t I? What’s that famous line—when someone shows you who they are, believe them. He’s showing us who he is, even if he’s trying to fight it.”

  “What makes you think he’s trying to fight it?” Crowley asked.

  “It’s like I said to the unit that first night—if he was totally committed to this, he wouldn’t have offered to return her to let Tim Rainey purify her. He has to know her father won’t kill her. But if he can convince himself that it’s possible, then he’s not violating his beliefs by letting her go. That means there’s still some vestige of his humanity fighting against his murderous impulses.”

  “If that’s true,” Crowley said, “maybe we can use that. Maybe we can appeal to what’s left of that humanity.”

  “Maybe,” said Keri skeptically. “But I see some problems with that.”

  “What?” Winchester demanded, almost belligerently.

  “We have no idea how to get in touch with him,” Keri said, refusing to be baited by the guy’s tone. “All his interactions have been one way. He sends letters. He sends texts and dumps the phone. There’s no way to connect with him if we can’t communicate with him.”

  “Good point,” Crowley agreed. “What’s the other?”

  “The other what?”

  “You said you saw ‘problems,’” he reminded her. “Was there another one?”

  “Yeah. Even if we knew how to get in touch with this guy it might not do any good.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  “Because if what that Missouri sheriff told us is right, we may not be getting any more letters. They only got two. Then they never heard from him again. It was like he could only hold the darkness at bay for so long before he gave in. If that’s the case, we may already be too late.”

  *

  Jessica knew it was daytime. She could see minuscule slivers of light between the cracks in the concrete room. She was tempted to yell for help again but she knew it was a waste of time. Those tiny cracks weren’t enough for her voice to penetrate. Besides, she was too tired to try.

  Most of her energy the last few hours had been focused on finding a way to loosen her left hand, still handcuffed to the pole in the middle of the room. She had tried pounding at it with the bucket that had held the stew. She had visions of freeing herself and then hitting the guy over the head with the bucket when he came in the room.

  But all she had done was bruise her wrist. And she was reluctant to try again, because in the hours since then, she’d had to use the bucket as a toilet. So instead, she’d managed to tear off a shard of plastic from her water bottle and fashion it into a thin pin. For over an hour now, she’d been poking it into the handcuff keyhole, trying to somehow unlock it.

  So far it hadn’t worked. All she had to show for her efforts was a burlap dress drenched in sweat and some cut up fingers. She was just debating whether to give up when she heard a noise. It took a moment for her to realize it was a voice—the man’s voice.

  He was somewhere just outside the door and it sounded like he was talking with someone. It didn’t take long for her to grasp that he was in a heated argument with himself. She couldn’t make out full sentences but she could hear phrases like “rotting essence,” “purification ritual,” and “mercy for the lamb.”

  It dawned on her that he was arguing about her, debating with himself about whether he should kill her or not. One voice, calmer and quieter, seemed to be making the case for sparing her life. The other voice, louder and more frenzied, believed that the time had come to “release her from the prison of her bodily wretchedness.” That voice seemed to be winning.

  Jessica stopped trying to free her hand and scrambled back to the other side of the metal pole, as far from the door as possible. She eyed it warily, waiting to see if he would open it. But after a few more seconds, the voices receded, as if he were walking down a hall. She took a deep gulp of air, only now aware that she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

  As she took a second breath, she sensed something off in the air. There was a putrid scent that reminded her of the time her family had gone on a trip to the mountains. When they’d stepped into their rented cabin, they were immediately overwhelmed with a similar rancid smell.

  It turned out that a raccoon had somehow gotten into the cabin but couldn’t find his way back out. Her father had discovered the rotting body curled up under the bed in the master bedroom.

  A wave of simultaneous realization and horror washed over Jessica. She turned to the darkened corner of the room and saw that she was now at least five feet closer to the body of the dead girl than she had been before. Just that small difference in distance was enough for the stench of the girl’s rotting body to overwhelm her nostrils.

  Jessica scurried back to the other side of the pole and reached for the bucket. Oblivious to what was already inside it, she leaned over and threw up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Keri needed a break. Her back ached and her eyes were starting to blur involuntarily.

  For the last five hours she and the rest of the team had been poring over FBI and local police reports from all over the country. They had been going through every case that had even one similar hallmark to the Jessica Rainey one, looking for a break. So far, they’d come up empty.

  Agents Crowley and Winchester, now officially in charge of the case, had given the unit access to the FBI case files. It may have sounded like a form of cooperation and goodwill. But in truth, it was just a way for them to dump the grunt work on the local cops while they went out in the field to look at locations the LAPD had already vetted.

  According to Hillman, they had already been to the school and to the Rainey house to interview the family and were now on their way to Chace Park. Keri doubted they’d find anything new but she was glad to have them out of her hair.

  She stood up, stretched, and went to the break room to grab some coffee. Looking out the window for the first time in hours, she saw that it was now dark. The clock read 5:57 p.m.

  Seeing the time jogged her memory. There was an uncomfortable call she needed to make and if she didn’t do it before 6 p.m., it would be even more awkward.

  Because she’d used a big chunk of the money from the sale of her houseboat to pay the Black Widower for the tip about the warehouse brothel, she didn’t have enough left for the private investigator she’d wanted to hire to surveil Jackson Cave. But there was one person with nearly unlimited resources and, in theory, the desire to use them: her ex-husband, Stephen.

  With all her own leads exhausted, Keri’s plan was for the PI to track Cave’s movements and calls to see if they might reveal something about Evie. She already knew the lawyer was involved.

  Thinking back, she recalled all his connections to the case. He had been the attorney for the Collector, who had originally kidnapped her daughter almost six years ago. Just this last fall, he had tipped off the older man who was holding Evie that Keri was on to him. And he’d almost certainly hired the Black Widower to kill the older man and return Evie to the shadows. Somehow, Jackson Cave was the
key to all of it. And she needed to know what he knew.

  The PI she wanted to hire was a guy named Curt Wadlow. Keri knew him because their work had overlapped on several cases. She liked and respected him. He and his small team were meticulous and careful, which was essential when going after someone as wily and powerful as Cave. But that talent didn’t come cheap.

  She could pay Wadlow’s $5,000 deposit. But he’d warned her that the kind of surveillance that would be required to go after someone like Jackson Cave would quickly add up, potentially going as high as $20,000 in the first month. And that was after the discounted rate she knew he was giving her. She just didn’t have it.

  That where her ex came in. She and Stephen Locke had divorced nearly five years ago. While Keri’s life fell apart for a while after that, his only seemed to improve. He’d been made a partner at his Beverly Hills talent agency. He had married one of his clients, a perky but talentless starlet named Shalene. They had a child, a little boy named Sammy who was about three now.

  Keri resented him but not so much due to his new life as because of how easily he had seemed to shed his old one. He had moved on without ever looking back and didn’t seem even slightly weighed down by the dissolution of their marriage or even the loss of his own daughter.

  Sometimes Keri thought she was being uncharitable. But then she’d remember how less than a year ago, she’d gone to him pleading for his assistance to hire an investigator. Not only had he rejected the request, he’d told her she needed to move on, that he was worried about her mental health.

  The meeting had ended in shouting, mostly from her. She said some things she wished she could take back. Of course, that was before Keri had seen Evie with her own eyes, coming within fifty feet of her before her daughter was ripped away a second time.

  So Keri stepped outside into the unusually cold early evening Los Angeles air and prepared to call a man she despised and beg him for the money to find his own daughter. She knew he usually got home around 6 p.m. and if he was home when she called, he likely wouldn’t pick up. Better to get him when he was alone.