A Trace of Hope Read online

  With carpooling resolved, Keri had to admit that there must be another reason she was sitting anxiously in her car in the LAPD West Los Angeles Pacific Division parking lot. The truth was it was probably multiple reasons.

  One had nothing to do with work and she tried to push it out of her head. Despite the fact that it was an argument with him that had precipitated Evelyn’s suicide attempt, Stephen was still pursuing primary custody. He’d hired a big-time law firm that was already drowning Keri in paperwork. She had yet to hire a lawyer.

  The other issues that had her insides churning were at least work-related. First and foremost, she wasn’t sure just how safe her job really was. She had hinted at it to Susan but her employment as a member of the LAPD was still not secure.

  Her original suspension was a result of her killing Brian “the Collector” Wickwire,” the man who had abducted Evelyn. If she were to be drugged with truth serum, Keri might admit that, in a fit of rage, she had choked Wickwire to death, even as he was already at death’s door due to a massive head wound suffered when they both fell ten feet onto concrete during a fight.

  But there was no way to prove it. Besides, the only person who seemed interested in doing so up until recently was Jackson Cave, who wanted to keep Keri off the force so she couldn’t interfere with his business. So he’d used his police contacts to get her investigated by Internal Affairs.

  And yet, with Cave now dead and the Chief of Police intent on closing the investigation, it was somehow still ongoing, if mostly dormant right now. That meant there was someone else out there with enough power to keep it alive despite the wishes of the most powerful cop in the city and despite Keri’s legendary status as the Saver of Lost Children, including her own daughter.

  Beyond that unpleasantness, there was also the fact that somewhere in that police station, in her very unit, was a mole, someone who was passing information to the very people who had been hiding Evelyn all those years. And even though she had her daughter back now, it still meant she didn’t know who she could trust when things got bad. That made her very nervous.

  A knock on her window snapped her back to reality. She looked up to see Ray standing by the door. She opened it.

  “I’ve been standing here for a good five minutes watching your mouth contort itself all different ways,” he said. “Are you having some kind of seizure?”

  “Is that the kind of comment I should expect from a supportive boyfriend?” Keri demanded, trying to sound put out.

  “I thought that around here I was just a supportive partner,” he replied, assuming a mock secretive tone.

  “Are we even partners anymore?” she asked.

  It was a reasonable question. When Keri had gone on leave after Evelyn’s suicide attempt, Ray was temporarily partnered up with Frank Brody, who had been about to retire.

  Brody, a slovenly excuse for a human being and perhaps the laziest detective Keri had ever encountered, generally seemed more interested in finding the right condiments for his hot dog lunches than finding witnesses for his cases. But she had to admit that he had stepped up when she went on leave, postponing his retirement so that Ray could re-team with Keri upon her return, rather than be forced to get a new, long-term partner. Now that she was back, this was to be his last week on the job.

  “I think Frank will be happy to make way for you,” Ray said. “I’ve replaced you as his least favorite work colleague.”

  “Well, I guess I better get in there and see if I can regain the title,” Keri said, closing her car door and walking toward the station with a purposeful stride that didn’t reflect how she felt inside.

  When she stepped through the doors, she was met with a surprise. The whole station team was crowded into the lobby and began applauding her.

  “What the…?” she said, looking at Ray.

  “Sorry,” he replied, shrugging. “They made me keep it a secret.”

  “What is this for?” she asked, when the clapping had died down.

  “It’s for never quitting,” shouted Detective Manny Suarez. “No matter how many times you got knocked down.”

  “And for getting the bad guys,” Lieutenant Hillman added. “You know how many cases we closed because of that Vista bust? Thirty-two. That made our whole year in January.”

  “Now we can really rest on our laurels,” Frank Brody said.

  “So, nothing different for you then, Brody,” Keri jabbed.

  Everyone laughed and with the glory of the moment punctured, folks began to shuffle out of the lobby and back to work.

  “Fun’s over,” Hillman shouted over the crowd, making it official. “I need Missing Persons in Conference A for a status meeting.”

  Keri followed Ray into the conference room and took a seat as the rest of the team assembled. The unit wasn’t big but they were close-knit and, until the Ghost’s warning about a mole, Keri had felt comfortable trusting her safety to almost any of them.

  They were led by Lieutenant Cole Hillman, a gruff, graying, paunchy man in his early fifties with deep worry lines and a penchant for short sleeves with loose shirt-tails. Sitting casually to his right was Brody, who made up for his boss’s harried demeanor with an unconcerned and worry-free disposition that almost shouted “I’m retiring in a week.”

  On the other side of Lieutenant Hillman sat Detective Manny Suarez, whose sleepy eyes and forty-something stubble masked a keen intellect and tough, relentless investigative skills. And despite his diminutive size at barely five foot five, he was a pit bull. Keri had seen him take down men a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than him using little more than elbows, knees, and fury.

  Beside him sat Kevin Edgerton, the unit’s resident tech genius. He was the one who typically used his unparalleled computer skills to uncover the connections the rest of them couldn’t immediately see. Tall and lanky, he looked like he rarely brushed his brown hair. He had just turned thirty and in recent months, Hillman had been pushing him to do more field work in the hopes of making his street instincts as sharp as his online ones.

  To his left was Garrett “Grunt Work” Patterson. In his mid-thirties, Patterson was slender and bookish and wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was even more reticent to go in the field than Edgerton. But unlike with Edgerton, Hillman seemed to have accepted that Patterson had reached his peak.

  The guy was a solid tech man but his real gift was his willingness to spend countless hours devouring the driest, most mind-numbing data for patterns than might be useful. Property records, financial reports, even cell phone numbers made him giddy in a way that Keri found borderline disconcerting. She didn’t love how he sometimes seemed to forget that they were dealing with crimes and not just statistical thought experiments. Empathy wasn’t really his strong suit.

  Finally, there was Jamie Castillo, sitting one seat over, next to Ray. She wasn’t quite staring daggers at Keri. But she didn’t have a warm, welcoming smile on her face either. She was still clearly pissed that she hadn’t been looped in when Keri had faked her death after the Black Widower sent her car over that Malibu cliff.

  Keri had badly wanted to tell her the truth back then and still ached to now. She was almost certain that there was no way Officer Jamila Cassandra Castillo, who said she joined the police force because she was inspired by Keri, was the mole. But when it came to Evelyn’s safety and finding out who had put it at risk, almost certain wasn’t enough. So she held her tongue.

  “Okay, everyone,” Hillman began. “It’s nice to have the whole gang back together, even if it’s only for a little while. Brody, since this is your last week, we’re switching you out to avoid leaving you with any pending cases at the end of the week. You’ll team with Castillo on any cases that look like quick hits.”

  “After thirty-five years of service, this is how you reward me?” Brody whined. “By pairing me with some rookie female who doesn’t have her detective’s badge yet?”

  “Believe me, Brody,” Castillo said, “the feeling’s mutual. The thought of spen
ding the next week in a car with you, your sauerkraut hot dogs, and your uncontrollable gas is enough to make me want to walk a beat again.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Hillman said, cutting her off. “You two are doing a great job of throwing us off the scent of your secret affair. Now shut up so I can get through this. Patterson, as usual you’ll hold down the fort here with me at HQ. Suarez and Edgerton, keep looking into that string of missing homeless vets downtown. What are we up to now?”

  “Four in the last month, Lieutenant,” Suarez said. “All of them have gone missing in the same six-block radius.”

  “Keep me posted,” Hillman said before turning to Keri and Ray. “And now for what everyone’s been waiting for, the reunion to end all reunions. The partnership that gets my gastric juices all unsettled, it’s Sands and Locke together again.”

  The rest of the unit gave a smattering of sarcastic applause. Ray, though sitting, pretended to bow. Keri gave everyone the finger.

  “Looks like that sprained finger is all healed up,” Suarez said, smiling.

  “Be careful, Suarez,” Keri said. “Everything’s healed—ribs, leg, shoulder. So I’m in prime hobbit ass-kicking shape.”

  “Luckily,” Hillman interrupted, “since you’re in such good shape now, I have something to help you hit the ground running. I got a call about a half hour ago from a local university about a sorority girl gone missing. Her name is Tara Justin. There was some kind of pledge prank last night so they don’t think it’s serious and she may have just gotten lost. But they called it in just to be safe. Seems like an easy case to get your feet wet again, Locke. You up for it?”

  “Sure,” she said, standing up. “Let’s do it. Where are we headed?”

  “That’s the one wrinkle,” Hillman said. Keri could tell from his tone that it was more than just a wrinkle.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The university is LMU.”

  Keri stared at him, trying to keep her expression neutral. Loyola Marymount University was the school she used to teach at, where she’d worked as a professor when Evelyn had been abducted, when it had all first gone wrong.

  CHAPTERTWENTY EIGHT

  Keri let Ray drive, in part so she could think, in part because her fingers and toes had felt numb since they left the station. Hillman had offered to give the case to Brody and Castillo if she wasn’t up for it but she had simply shaken her head and walked out of the conference room toward the car.

  Now, as they approached the school’s main entrance, she wondered if she should have taken him up on the offer. Keri hadn’t been on the LMU campus since she’d “resigned” her position five years ago. Technically, it was voluntary. But the parents of the student she’d slept with, who thought he was in love with her and dropped out of school, had threatened to sue the school unless something was done.

  It was the final blow to her slow-motion professional car crash, which began when Evelyn was taken. It got worse when she and Stephen became emotional strangers afterward, exacerbated by her heavy drinking and decision to seek sexual solace in the arms of other random men. When Stephen left her and she started showing up at class drunk, it was only a matter of time. The sad little affair with a needy student was only the nail in the coffin of her career and, for a while it seemed, her life.

  This would be the first time she’d been on campus since security escorted her and her one banker’s box off school grounds all those years ago. As they turned left off Lincoln Boulevard onto LMU Drive, Keri tried to ignore the dull feeling of nausea that tickled her gut.

  She had to admit that the place still looked as gorgeous as she remembered. Resting on a series of hills in Westchester, the campus had a view of the entire city and overlooked the Pacific Ocean, which was only about two miles away. The school’s strong Jesuit tradition was visually contrasted by the casual, beachy vibe of the place.

  Ray checked in at the guard gate and parked at University Hall, the administration building, which was a long office complex monstrosity set down the hills and off from the main campus. They passed through the maze of hallways, Keri leading the way to their destination by memory. As they got closer, Ray leaned over.

  “You good?” he asked.

  Keri nodded and he left it at that. When they arrived in the Dean’s office, his secretary looked up and her eyes grew wide. Keri remembered her and could tell it was mutual.

  “How may I help you?” the woman asked.

  “We’re here to see Dean Weymouth,” Ray said, taking the initiative. “I’m Detective Raymond Sands. This is my partner, Detective Keri Locke. I believe our lieutenant called ahead.”

  “Ah, yes,” the secretary said, trying to act as if everything was normal. “I’ll let him know you’re here. Just give me a moment, please.”

  She stepped into the office behind her and Keri and Ray exchanged a familiar look.

  It’s game time.

  The secretary returned after a few seconds and ushered them in. Keri had only been in this office once before, the day she’d met with Weymouth, the university’s lawyer, the parents of the boy she she’d slept with, their lawyer, and her official faculty rep.

  “Thank you for coming,” Dean Weymouth said, standing up to greet them. “Please sit down.”

  In his early sixties, lean and bearded, Weymouth was much as Keri remembered him. He even wore the same three-piece-style suit that she always thought a bit much for an academic environment. His broad smile was so convincing that no one without prior knowledge could have guessed his shared history with Keri based on his demeanor.

  “Thanks for seeing us, Dean,” Ray said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll stand. In a situation like this, every second is crucial and we’d like to get started right away if we could.”

  “Of course, and I’ll help in any way I can. But do you really think it’s as time-sensitive as all that? I mean, officially, yes, this girl is missing. But as I believe you were made aware, this was part of a sorority event—unsanctioned, mind you—that often results in students temporarily falling off the radar. My understanding is that the only reason you were called was due to a hyper-vigilant sorority sister.”

  “Better too vigilant than not vigilant enough,” Keri said, speaking for the first time. “I’m sure you’d agree, Dean.”

  “Most assuredly, I would. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you again under such… dissimilar circumstances to our last meeting, Profess...um, Detect…what should I call you these days?”

  “Detective Locke is fine, thanks. The PhD is on ice for the time being.”

  “No doubt. So what I can I do for you?”

  “Why don’t we walk to save time?” Keri suggested, turning on her heel and leaving the office as she continued. “We’re going to want to meet with all the girls in the sorority as soon as we leave you. I understand that this may just be a pledge hazing ritual that went a little sideways. But until we’ve got Tara Justin securely back on campus, we need to treat this like any other case.”

  Keri led the way back down the hall toward the elevator. Ray followed, with Dean Weymouth rushing to keep up. He motioned for his secretary to follow and she jumped up from her desk, grabbing a pen and notepad to scribble furious notes.

  “We’ll need all her student and academic records as well,” Ray added.

  “Is that really necessary?” Weymouth asked, breathing heavily as he tried to catch up.

  “Probably not,” Ray admitted. “But since we’re cops we tend to stick to the whole ‘too vigilant’ thing. Better safe than sorry.”

  “We’ll also need contact information for her family,” Keri said. “Do you know where she’s from?”

  “I only glanced at her student record,” Weymouth admitted. “It appears she’s local but much of the other information was nonspecific, frustratingly so.”

  “That’s odd, don’t you think?” Keri noted. “I thought these kids had to give you everything short of DNA analysis to get in.�
��

  “That might be an overstatement, Detective Locke. But I will admit that it is unusual to have such an imprecise student record.”

  “Send everything to this guy,” Ray said, handing him Garrett Patterson’s number. “He’ll figure out what’s going on there.”

  “As to the sorority,” Weymouth said, handing the number over to his secretary as they reached the elevator, “they don’t have an official house. None of the LMU fraternities or sororities does. But they do have a rented house where many of the girls live. It serves as an informal house of sorts. I’ve arranged for their Greek Advisor to be there when you meet with the students. We have a strict policy about protecting those in our charge from anything untoward.”

  The elevator door opened. Keri and Ray stepped inside and turned to face the Dean, who had a self-righteous half-smile on his face. His unspoken callback to Keri’s “untoward” behavior of the past hung in the air.

  She knew something like this was coming at some point—a subtle dig at her disreputable history at the school. And though she she’d been dreading it, Keri found that now that it was out there, it didn’t have the sting she’d anticipated.

  For whatever reason, maybe years of dealing with the horrors of missing children and the human scum who harm them, a jab from an overdressed academic didn’t have the impact she had expected. Still, Keri Locke wasn’t the type to let it pass. She opened her mouth to respond but Ray beat her to it.

  “We’ll take that under advisement, Dean Weymouth,” he said in a tone as cold as ice. “We respect your policy, of course. As I’m sure you’ll respect that we have the right to fully interrogate anyone over the age of eighteen as we see fit. That might be in the presence of an advisor. It might not. It might be in groups. It might be solo. It might be on campus. It might be down at the station. After all, we at the LAPD have a strict policy of upholding justice, no matter what. You dig?”