by Meg Gardiner
Caitlin expected that. But this was different. In these photos, the acid rage that had eaten Hayden Maddox from the inside was nowhere even a shadow. The screaming, strutting ham actor on the home videos, the casually euphoric killer dancing away from death—none of that showed.
She approached the whiteboard. In one shot Hayden was about seven years old, angelic, arms around his black Lab.
In another, he stood with his mom in a third-grade classroom. Bring Your Parents to School Day. One father had on a dentist’s white coat. Another wore a hard hat. Gretchen wore her LAPD uniform. Her hand squeezed Hayden’s shoulder. He was gazing up at her. His smile seemed strangely desperate and poignant. In that smile Caitlin saw fear, and a longing for approval and security.
She had a photo like it in an album somewhere at home.
Stop it. That kid had curdled and hardened into someone relentlessly dangerous. But as she examined his expression—the anxious longing he poured out—she couldn’t help feeling a twisted compassion for the boy in the photo.
Could I take his life? What would be left of me afterward?
She stepped back mentally. If Hayden saw compassion on her face, or heard it in her voice, he would use it against her. Because Hayden thought compassion was a weakness.
He tormented children because, in part, he had observed that children’s pain upset most people. He would try to turn that distress against anybody who came for him. He would use Hannah to manipulate people’s compassion to his advantage. To stage his ultimate victory.
She had to keep him from winning that.
And if he forced her into a corner?
Don’t let it come to that.
But time was short. How, in the sprawling darkness of Los Angeles, could they possibly locate him?
Solis approached, a printout in his hand. “Hayden’s uncle, Trey Laforte.”
“The Ranger who’s gone off the grid,” Caitlin said.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Solis held up the printout. “Laforte was here the day the fake detective interrogated Hannah.”
Caitlin grabbed it. “Hell no.”
The printout showed a photo of a man signing a visitors’ logbook. The camera was overhead, the image poor quality, but the man wore black jeans, a polo shirt, and a blazer. Sunglasses tucked in the V of his collar. He was smiling, appeared to be chit-chatting with the desk clerk. The time stamp was a few minutes before Hannah had disappeared from the cafeteria.
“Hannah watched videos that were recorded at the front desk. She didn’t recognize this man,” Caitlin said.
“This isn’t from the front desk,” Solis said. “He came into the complex through an entrance that’s used almost exclusively by officers and staff.”
Caitlin handed Emmerich the printout.
He examined the image. “Laforte acts like he knows the clerk.”
“He’s been here before, visiting his sister. I’ve put a call in to the clerk, but I’m guessing if she remembers Laforte coming that day, he claimed it was to see Officer Maddox.”
Caitlin shook her head. “Hannah told us. When Alvarez asked her if the detective looked like the Midnight Man, she said he kind of did. But ‘older and tireder.’” She flicked a finger at the photo. “Of course he does. He’s the Midnight Man’s uncle.”
She studied the photo. Trey Laforte had the same strong build and striking features as Hayden and Gretchen.
“Hell,” she said.
“What?” Emmerich said.
She turned to the whiteboard. The Maddox family picnic photo. Judging by Hayden’s age, the snapshot had been taken almost a decade ago. Caitlin now knew why something in Gretchen’s eyes seemed familiar.
“Officer Maddox.” She tapped the photo, her jaw slackening. “She’s cut her hair short. It’s brunette now. And she’s lost a bunch of weight.”
“You’ve met her?” Solis said.
“No, but I’ve seen her.”
“Where?”
“Here in this room.” She spread her arms. “When Emmerich delivered the UNSUB’s profile to the task force. The room was packed—uniforms, staffers, officers and detectives from other units.” An image of Gretchen bloomed in vivid shades. “She wore a coral twin set. I thought—that’s a mom.”
Rainey approached. “Got her current ID photo?”
Solis, ruffled, found a terminal and pulled it up.
Gretchen Maddox had lost the sparkle and with it, her youthfulness. She couldn’t be much older than Rainey but looked like she’d lived several additional lifetimes.
“She was here,” Caitlin said. “She’s not assigned to the task force, but she attended the briefing. She heard us describe who we were after.”
Solis said, “That’s not out of the ordinary …”
Rainey said, “The next day—she attended the press conference, too.”
“Lots of officers were there,” Solis said. “Strength in numbers.”
But his keenness to find a non-suspicious reason for Gretchen Maddox’s repeated appearances was ebbing. Especially with the photo of her brother, Trey Laforte, clenched in Emmerich’s hand.
“Christ,” Solis said. “I know.”
Emmerich said, “I can think of only one reason why Trey Laforte would impersonate a detective and question Hannah.”
“Gretchen Maddox suspected Hayden’s involvement in the killings. Told Trey and got him down here to gather information on the sly,” Solis said dully.
Rainey said, “Maya Cathcart clawed her attacker. I wonder if Gretchen asked Hayden where the bloody scratches on his face came from.”
Solis ran a hand over his stubble. “So she got Trey to play detective and ask Hannah if the Midnight Man had any gouges on him? Yeah. At least.” He shook his head. “Goddammit. We still can’t locate either Laforte or Officer Maddox.”
Emmerich said, “Given how Hayden attacked his father, I’m less concerned they’re aiding Hayden than I am they’re in danger.”
Solis almost laughed. “What have we come to, hoping one of our own is ‘just’ in danger, and not aiding a serial killer?” His face was dark. “I’ll issue BOLOs on both Gretchen and Trey.”
As he walked off, Rainey took the photo from Emmerich. “They may not be aiding and abetting Hayden. But if Gretchen and Trey have suspected things for days, and Trey inserted himself into the investigation to surreptitiously interrogate a little girl … what else have they done?”
45
For a moment longer, Caitlin stared at the photo of Trey Laforte. She needed to think. She had to find some means to locate Hannah, because time was sliding away. But her wheels were spinning. She wanted to go for a hard run, to hit the streets and pound some clarity into her thoughts, step by step, breath by breath.
A sketchy idea whispered across the back of her mind.
She gestured to Rainey. “Walk with me. Coffee.”
They left the jagged energy of the war room and headed down the corridor for the vending machine.
“You’ve got to be right about Trey and Gretchen,” she said. “They jammed themselves sideways into the investigation because they became afraid that Hayden was responsible. And they didn’t stop at interrogating Hannah. You know what else they—or at least Trey—probably did.”
Rainey gave her a narrow stare. “It’s what kicked things off tonight. That billboard in the Guillorys’ neighborhood.”
“Exactly. As soon as you saw it, you had doubts that the Midnight Man had painted those eyes on it.”
“Because the eyes looked wrong. And because it’s such a radical change in MO.”
“Too radical. Hayden’s changed his game up plenty in the last forty-eight hours. But one thing he’s not going to do is stand on a literal advertising platform and display himself to the world. He’s too paranoid.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “All those
journals prove that.”
“Somebody outside the task force did know about the bloody eyes.”
“A cop, who heard it in the war room. Or found her son drawing mock-ups at home.”
“Sweet freaking Jesus.”
“So maybe Hayden didn’t paint the eyes on the billboard after all. Maybe Trey did—to lure Hayden back to that neighborhood.”
“Why would they try to draw him back to the Guillorys’ neighborhood?” Rainey said.
“Because he’d taken off from home, and they didn’t know how else to pull him out of the weeds. Because Gretchen and Trey knew Hayden couldn’t resist the sight of the eyes—and neither could the media. The billboard hits the news, they figure Hayden’ll see it and head straight for Bay Rise. I bet they were there, hoping to grab him.”
“Desperate but plausible.”
“Unfortunately, I think it worked, but in the worst way. It did draw him to the neighborhood. Where he attacked again.”
They stuck coins in the vending machine. Rainey got a protein bar. Caitlin decided coffee was the wrong choice. She added more coins. Got two Red Bulls.
As she popped the top on one, the idea that had been whispering at the back of her mind escaped and nearly knocked her sideways.
“What’s that look?” Rainey said.
“Come on.” She headed back along the corridor, nearly running, with Rainey at her side. “Where’s Emmerich? We need to get a jump on Hayden.”
They found Emmerich coming up the stairs, head bent to his phone, with Keyes beside him.
“Boss,” she said. “We need to draw Hayden Maddox out. Bait a trap and pull him in.”
His face remained impassive, but his eyes lit. “What do you have in mind?”
“The Jeep Renegade,” Caitlin said. “Hayden’s been extremely careful to keep it from being identified. He ripped down a surveillance camera so the Jeep’s plate wouldn’t be recorded. And until tonight, he knew the cops hadn’t ID’d it. But the Amber Alert changes all that,” she said. “Now a description of the Jeep is blasting from every TV and cell phone in Southern California. Make, model, plate number. And Hayden’s too careful to let himself get caught driving it. The Amber Alert will push him to dump it.”
“I agree he’s not going to drive that vehicle—if he learns of the Amber Alert.”
“He’s paranoid. He might try to go to ground, but he’s convinced everybody’s constantly spying on him. He’s not going to pull a blanket over his head and hide. His mind won’t let him. He’s going to obsess over keeping watch on the watchers. He knows.”
Rainey nodded. “He’s hypervigilant. His paranoia won’t permit him to turn off the news.”
“I’ll accept that supposition,” Emmerich said. “What do you propose?”
“Let’s put out word that the Jeep’s been sighted.”
He didn’t react.
“If he dumped the Jeep in a hurry, he may not have thoroughly sterilized it. It may contain evidence that points to his whereabouts. Hearing that the police have found the vehicle will make him nervous.”
“Presume he thinks he sterilized the vehicle.” Emmerich raised a hand. “Devil’s advocate.”
“But he can’t be sure. He’s a cop’s kid. A Burglary cop’s kid. He knows that the smallest, seemingly invisible detail can be missed by a suspect who’s in a rush to purge incriminating evidence or escape a scene. Like he forgot to pick up the ninja rock when he fled the Cathcarts’ house.”
“Presume he burned the vehicle.”
Caitlin pressed her lips tight, then nodded to Keyes. “Can you pull up callouts for car fires tonight? Jeeps. In the time since Hannah was abducted.”
Keyes ducked into the war room. Almost immediately he came back shaking his head. “Nothing that matches within the last three hours.”
Emmerich adjusted his watchband, wary. “You think putting out the location of a fake sighting would lure him to the scene?”
“It might.” She explained why she and Rainey thought Trey or Gretchen had painted the eyes on the billboard. “That was meant as a flashing red light, to draw Hayden out. We think it worked—because he’s obsessed and mistrustful. Always watching, scoping scenes out, trying to surveil and outmaneuver his enemies. Why wouldn’t he think he can show up again and get away—after all, he always does.”
“One major hitch.” Emmerich waited, wanting her to say it.
“Sure. He knows where he dumped the Jeep. We don’t.”
“If he left it in Anaheim and we put out a bulletin that a Renegade’s been found in Malibu …”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter whether he returns to the location where he dumped it.”
“Explain.”
“The report that the Jeep’s been found just has to seem plausible enough that Hayden will be compelled to check it out.” She turned to Keyes again. “Fire up your geographic profile, slap that algorithm awake, and dig into every insight you’ve gained about the Midnight Man’s hunting patterns.” She set a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve dived deeper into how he moves than anybody. Figure out where we should place a decoy vehicle.”
He nodded, as if revving a mental engine, and shoved his hair out of his eyes. Took a step and stopped, checking with Emmerich.
Emmerich nodded, and followed him toward the war room, beckoning Caitlin and Rainey to come along.
“You still haven’t convinced me,” he said.
The war room’s blue-white lights added a jolt that boosted Caitlin’s Red Bull buzz. “If the task force releases information that seems credible, it will set Hayden off. So …”
Rainey pointed with her protein bar. “If we announce a sighting via the media …”
“He’s going to have his doubts,” Caitlin said. “Because he’s not simply suspicious—he’s a cynic. He expects the authorities to put out misleading information.”
At the conference table, Keyes brought up the 3-D representation of the Midnight Man’s hunting grounds, like twin calderas around the buffer zones.
He typed. “It’s like that Ukrainian politician who was ‘assassinated’—then appeared at a press conference. He and the cops had faked his death as a sting. With every announcement like that, confidence in what you’re hearing decays.” He flung them a glance. “At least, for a paranoid.”
Emmerich said, “So if Hayden would mistrust an announcement from the media …”
Caitlin said, “He’ll want to verify that this news is also on police radio.”
Emmerich’s expression altered. The neutrality retreated. “Because he would expect the LAPD to lie to the public, with the cooperation or unwitting compliance of the media. But he would presume that internally, the police act on the real information.”
“Absolutely.”
She was squeezing her Red Bull in her fist. The one she was drinking. The spare was squeezed in her other fist. Peripherally, she saw Detective Alvarez following their conversation.
Emmerich grew animated. “Hayden would seek a source of information he trusts. You think he has access to a police scanner?”
“He may even have his mother’s radio.” Worry for Gretchen Maddox brushed the back of her neck.
“He’s cautious about everything. I would bet my paycheck that, at minimum, he has a police scanner app,” she said. “In all the videos of the Midnight Man leaving crime scenes, he’s playing with his phone. Why? He’s not posting to Instagram. I think he’s monitoring the scanner.”
Emmerich mulled it. “If he’s dumped the Jeep, he’s probably also turned off his phone to prevent us from tracking him. Maybe tossed it, got a burner. He has his dad’s cash and credit cards.”
Keyes raised his head. “Detective Solis got a warrant for cell site data on Hayden’s phone number. The last ping was seventy-four minutes ago. Appears he turned it off at that point.” His words tumbled o
ut, a spray. “But if we put this story out, that the Jeep has been sighted …”
“Burner?” Emmerich said.
“No. Why do people get burner phones? Text and voice calls.”
Caitlin nodded. “And Hayden’s not calling or texting anybody. He has no confederates and no friends. He’s not going to contact the cops or the media.”
“And the kind of burner a teenager like Hayden Maddox could get—let’s say tonight—with the cash from his father’s wallet?” Keyes said. “It won’t be a smart phone. Won’t have the capability to load apps. And his laptop was left at his parents’ house.”
“Meaning?” Emmerich said.
Caitlin said, “Confirming the news via the police scanner app will be irresistible. Even though he knows his phone can be tracked, Hayden will turn it on. Maybe just long enough to check the app. And when he does, we can find him.”
She held her breath. If this had any chance of drawing Hayden into the open—digitally at a minimum, physically if they were lucky—it would take teamwork.
Detective Alvarez walked over. His face was its usual storm. Caitlin stiffened. Of all the detectives on the task force, Alvarez was the one who most doubted the FBI’s value to the investigation. He was the one who’d nearly punched Emmerich over the death of Sheriff’s Deputy Ohlmeyer.
His hands hung at his sides. “Did I hear you say you need a black Jeep Renegade?”
Caitlin eyed him crossways. “Maybe.”
He jerked a thumb at the windows. “Because mine’s outside.”
46
By 11:15 p.m., Detective Alvarez’s Jeep was in place, angled carelessly along a curb outside a suburban park. The residential neighborhood south of downtown was quiet. The park featured soccer fields, playground equipment, and picnic grounds in a grove of oaks. The Renegade looked black, dusty, and alluring.