Face of a Killer

by Robin Burcell

  The devil you know… Something about the phrasing struck her, reminded her of something, something important, but before she could figure out what, the radio squawked to life, and Carillo was calling out that he needed help.

  42

  “Your food!”

  They ignored the waitress. Ran from the restaurant to the car. Got in. Scotty started it. Stabbed the gas pedal, pulled out of the lot. Carillo’s voice came across the radio, in that breathy jolting way it did when someone was running, trying to talk at the same time. “We’re

  … chasing… him… down… Mission. Same… direction.”

  “Same guy?” Sydney heard someone ask.

  “Hooker… think… so.”

  Scotty flicked the emergency switch, and the rearview mirror lowered into a flashing red light, as he gunned it toward the Purple Moon.

  Within two minutes, they were there. Scotty parked on the same corner where Sydney was hit. They got out, saw Carillo and Ren running toward them, chasing a man, midtwenties, their direction.

  “FBI!” Sydney called out.

  He hesitated, glanced behind him, then darted to one side. His hands were empty. Suddenly there were twenty other agents and officers. The guy was surrounded. Scotty and

  Sydney must have looked like the path of least resistance. He ran straight for them. They both grabbed an arm. His shirt started ripping. They were going to lose him. And then Carillo and Ren came flying at him. All three went tumbling to the ground.

  For a moment no one moved, and then Carillo reached around the guy, grabbed his hand, brought it back. “Cuffs,” he said. Ren produced a pair, and Carillo slapped one cuff over the man’s wrist, brought his other hand around, cuffed it, and then he turned the guy over. “We.. . got him,” he said to Sydney between breaths.

  If he was the guy she’d drawn, she didn’t recognize him at all. His nose was broken, bloody, his lips cut from landing on the sidewalk. More importantly, he was now missing several teeth. “ This is our Jane Doe killer?”

  “Purse snatcher,” Carillo said.

  “What?”

  “Stole Ren’s purse. That’s who we were chasing.” Sydney got down, looked in the guy’s eyes. “You push me into a moving car the other night?”

  Their UnSub didn’t answer, probably too busy spitting out blood and teeth onto the ground. Carillo lifted the guy to his feet.

  “Where’s the purse?” Sydney asked.

  Ren held it up. “He tossed it when we started chasing him.” One of the bystanders looked around, saw all the manpower. “You sure bring out the big guns for just a purse.” Which is when Carillo stopped, looked around. There were dozens of law enforcement officers standing around, never mind the half-dozen undercover cars parked helter-skelter at the curb, emergency lights flashing. Carillo’s gaze moved from the agents to all the citizens watching the goings-on with interest, realizing in that moment just what had happened to their operation.

  “This is clearly an oh-shit moment,” he said.

  “On the bright side,” Sydney said, “maybe you all get off earlier.”

  He looked down at the teeth the guy had spit out, then at Ren Pham-Peck.

  Ren shook her head. “I don’t think so. You knocked ’em out, you pick ’em up. If he’s lucky, they can put ’em back in, well, except for the broken ones.”

  Back at the office Dixon was not pleased by this turn of events-though Sydney thought he did an admirable job of not chewing out Carillo’s and Ren’s butts in front of the assisting outside agencies who had given up their night for the task force operation. “We’ll contact everyone tomorrow afternoon,” Dixon said. “Once we assess our next plan of action.”

  And, cops being cops, those from the outside agencies decided to hit the local cop bar in their newfound off-duty status-a bar in an area far from their operation. Scotty walked up to her as they were discussing where they were all going drinking. “You are not going out for a drink.”

  “Fitzpatrick!” Dixon’s voice carried down the hall.

  “What’d you do?” she asked. “Snitch me off before I even get a chance to try for one?”

  Scotty held her gaze for a second too long. “I just want to keep you safe.”

  “Or keep your surveillance team from being jealous?”

  He actually smiled. “That, too.”

  She smiled back, then started toward Dixon’s office, thinking about what Scotty had told her in the restaurant, and ignoring the tiny bit of suspicion as to just why it was he was being so helpful, so forthcoming. Especially considering he’d done nothing but hide things from her from day one.

  She glanced back, saw him watching her, and she wondered if things had been different, would they still be together? But then, if things had been different, her father would still be alive, Scotty would be in Washington, D.C., making political career moves, and Sydney might never have gone into the FBI.

  She put him from her mind and walked into Dixon’s office. Carillo was seated next to Ren-which pretty much told her they were in for an ass chewing.

  “A purse snatcher?” Dixon said. “Was it beyond anyone’s ability to differentiate between what class of felony we were investigating?”

  Ren said, “The hooker thought it was the same suspect as the other night.”

  “And did anyone check to see if that suspect was the right suspect?”

  Carillo shrugged. “The other night?” he said. “Like I was supposed to stop and ask him? I got two hookers pointing him out, saying, That’s the guy. So I took off after him.”

  “And did we check with those hookers later?”

  “Them? No. I was busy scraping Fitzpatrick off the street corner if you recall. But if it’s any consolation, Fitz did ask this guy if he pushed her into the street the other night.”

  “He didn’t get a chance to answer. He was a bit indisposed,” Sydney added helpfully.

  Dixon opened his drawer, reached for his bottle of Tums. “ That makes me feel a whole lot better.” He shook several into his mouth, chewed, and they wisely remained silent. When he finished, he said, “Fitzpatrick, go home. You two, get your asses to the jail, book that son of a bitch, and get in a car and find me our killer.”

  Sydney started to walk out, then stopped. “Did anyone check with Schermer on that white van?”

  “Yeah,” Carillo said. “Van was empty, and the purse was empty. Nothing to tie it to anyone, including our purse snatcher.”

  “Worth a try.” About to turn away, she stopped again, tried not to look at Dixon, who was looking slightly annoyed that she was even present in the building when she was supposed to be home recuperating. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I think he could be the guy. He bears a slight resemblance to the sketch, though it’s hard to say with his face all banged up. But that’s the second time a couple hookers pointed him out as being our man.”

  “Meaning what?” Dixon said.

  “Meaning, don’t you find it odd that this whole purse snatching thing started up around the time that our Jane Doe case and Tara Brown cases started taking off? I seem to remember Maggie dragging out an empty purse from Stow Lake, where I found bits of taillight, and Schermer finds a white van with a missing taillight, and an empty purse in it, and our Jane Doe was last seen complaining about some creep in a white van.”

  Carillo leaned back in his chair. “Now that would’ve been nice to know before we knocked out all his teeth.”

  “I only just thought of it. And at least you collected the teeth.”

  Dixon gave a tired sigh. “Ren, check the purse from Stow Lake, and the one found in the van. See if it belongs to any of SFPD’s purse snatch victims, or better yet, any rape victims. Carillo, impound that van, and get the ERT on it for any trace evidence.”

  “The teeth,” Sydney pointed out.

  Dixon said, “And see if the guy will agree to letting us get an impression of his teeth. If not, write a warrant. Take the impressions and the broken teeth to Dr. Armand. See if he ca
n put it together and determine if we have a match. Thank you, and good night, Fitzpatrick.”

  Sydney opened her mouth to protest, and Dixon said, “Don’t even try. You’ve been ordered off the case. Get a ride home from Scotty. The rest of us will regroup tomorrow.”

  Scotty walked her downstairs, but instead of driving her home, passed her off to Jared Dunning. “I, uh, have a couple errands,” he said.

  She was a bit surprised he wasn’t taking her home, but brushed it off. She was about to climb into the backseat when Jared said, “Shit, Mel. Don’t make her sit back there with all the trash.”

  Mel looked back. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He got out, let her take the front.

  Sydney slid in, buckled up, and as they drove off, said, “So, what’s it like working for the Agency?”

  “Not bad,” Mel said.

  Jared shook his head. “Mel, you’re a fucking idiot.” To Sydney, he said, “Do me a favor. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t say.”

  “Ask what?” she said. That, however, was the extent of their conversation. So they were CIA, and were under orders not to say who they worked for.

  When they arrived at her place, there were no lights on upstairs, but plenty on downstairs at Rainie’s. The car pulled into the driveway, and Sydney saw a little face peeking out. Her heart constricted. “Oh my God. Did you guys know my sister was here?”

  Jared looked into the window, saw Angie staring at their car. “She must have been dropped off when we were out watching you and Scotty. But unless she’s a threat, the guys wouldn’t have stopped her from coming.”

  “A threat? What about being in danger?” How the hell had this happened? She’d told her mother specifically not to bring Angie here. God, this was all her fault. She’d been so damned preoccupied when her mother had called…

  She took out her cell phone, phoned Jake before she even got out of the car.

  “It’s Syd. Where are you?”

  “Bodega Bay with your mother. What’s going on?”

  “I told Mom not to bring Angie here. You dropped her off at Rainie’s.”

  “Well, your mother called Rainie and asked if she could watch her. She said it was okay.”

  “Oh my God… Look, I can’t go into any details, Jake. But there are armed men watching my apartment as a safety precaution. Please come get her.”

  A moment of silence, then, “I’m on my way. Do not let anything happen to my little girl.”

  “How long until you’re here?”

  “Maybe an hour.”

  Sydney relayed the info to Jared.

  “We’ll be watching for him when he gets here,” he said. “I’ll pass on the info to the other guys.”

  Sydney knocked on Rainie’s door, and Rainie answered, holding a spoon that looked like it was covered in chocolate sauce. “Hey, you just missed out on the sundaes,” she said, letting her in.

  Angie was seated at the couch, scraping every last bit of ice cream from her bowl. “Hey, Syd! Mom said you had to work tonight or something.”

  “Yeah, well, I did, and, um, I was talking to your dad on the phone. Their trip got canceled, and they’re on their way to pick you up,” she said, trying to sound casual.

  Rainie flicked her a glance, said nothing, and Angie’s smile faded. “He can’t come! Mom said I could stay here. I don’t have school tomorrow. It’s fall break.”

  Rainie said, “Who can keep track of these new school schedules?”

  “Jake will be here in an hour. Maybe you and Rainie can watch the Disney Channel until he gets here.”

  “What about you?”

  The last place she needed to be was here, near her sister and Rainie. She thought of her imminent transfer, the men watching her outside, everything that was going on in her life right now. Maybe, just maybe, moving far away wasn’t a bad thing. “Tonight’s not good. I have this horrible sore throat. And I feel like I’m going to be sick to my stomach.” That much, at least, was true. “I don’t want to get you or Rainie sick.”

  Angie stared into her sundae cup as Sydney walked to the door. Rainie remained silent, probably figuring Sydney would fill her in tomorrow.

  “You know what we could do?” Sydney said, pausing by the door. “Watch the Disney Channel together. Like we used to do when I lived in Washington? You can do it down here at Rainie’s, and I’ll do it upstairs.”

  Angie gave a slight shrug, noncommittal. “I thought you didn’t feel good.”

  “But that always makes me feel better. Please,” Sydney asked.

  “Yeah. Okay.” She even smiled slightly.

  Sydney blew Angie a kiss, told them to lock the doors, then walked up the stairs to her own apartment. On the landing, she heard Topper sniffing at Arturo’s door, then settle down, no doubt figuring it was only she. One smart dog, she thought as she unlocked her door, let herself in, before locking it up tight, then glancing out her window. A dark-colored sedan cruised slowly past, and she thought she recognized Scotty at the wheel.

  It didn’t comfort her in the least, and she turned on all the lights, kicked off her shoes by the door, then made herself a cup of tea, chamomile. It was supposed to be relaxing. Sydney was far from relaxed, and she pulled out that photo that was supposed to be of her father on his last mission…

  She stared at it, ran her finger along his shoulder, feeling only cold slick paper. This was not the father she’d loved, the father from her fishing trip. Not the father she wanted to remember. This was another man…

  With a sigh, she looked at the photo again, tried to see if there was something, anything that would tell her what she was missing. There was nothing different. Just the same four men in their black, unmarked fatigues, and Gnoble in his uniform. The same rings they all wore. She remembered her father wearing one. Robert Orozco still wore his, she thought, glancing up at the painting…

  Sydney’s phone rang, startling her. Angie calling from downstairs. “Do you have the TV on yet?”

  “I’m turning it on now,” she said.

  “The one in your bedroom. You have to be under the covers, just like when you were in Washington.”

  Sydney smiled as she walked down the hall, the phone at her ear. “In the bedroom now,” she said, then switched on the set. She hit the guide. There was more than one Disney Channel. “What show is on?”

  “ Kim Possible.”

  She turned to that channel, then climbed into the bed. “Okay. I’m here and the TV’s on.”

  “Are you under the covers?”

  “I’m under the covers.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Sydney pulled the quilt from the foot of the bed over her. “I am too.”

  “What’s on your TV screen?”

  “The same as yours, imp. Kim Possible is kicking butt on Dr. Drakken.”

  “I love Dr. Drakken,” Angie said. “He’s such an idiot.”

  They watched the TV in silence for a few seconds, and finally Sydney said, “Okay. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Don’t turn off your TV.”

  “You either.”

  “ ’Night.”

  “ ’Night.” Sydney hung up the phone, thinking about Angie, how many times they’d done this when she lived halfway across the world from her… Her gaze fixed on the cartoon characters jumping across her set, she relaxed for the first time in days, smiling at the thought that her sister was checking up on her to make sure she really was watching TV. And for some reason it struck Sydney, her sister’s name, what her mother had told her it meant, why she’d chosen it. Angela. Messenger from God… She closed her eyes, feeling warm beneath the comforter, sleepy even, wondering if Angie was a messenger, what message was she bringing? An odd thought, but Sydney was too tired to figure out why…

  She wasn’t sure if it was the strange dreams that woke her, or the flickering of the TV set. Since it was the latter that bothered her more, she blindly felt for the remote control, then gave up when she couldn’t find it. But the flickering continued, penet
rated her consciousness…

  Let it be a dream…

  Of course it was a dream. She’d had them before… The sort where she thought she was awake, but she wasn’t, then she dreamed she’d awakened…

  But the hallway glowed orange. Sydney could see straight down it to the kitchen. To her painting of the flames. A painting that was engulfed. And that red eye winking at her…

  But it wasn’t an eye…

  And her pulse thundered.

  She couldn’t move. She’d seen that eye. On the hand of the man who closed the door. The door that closed the night her father was killed.

  She could even smell the smoke from the fire…

  All she wanted to do was close her eyes, move back in time, see her father once more, but now the damned fire alarm was going off.

  She felt so sleepy.

  “ Sydney! ”

  The crash that followed jarred her. She saw the flames down the hall. Flames that shot to the ceiling with the rush of air. Someone running toward her.

  She bolted up, cried, “Angie!”

  Someone was racing toward her. Her gun. Where’d she put her gun?

  “Sydney!” Scotty appeared in front of her.

  She tried to clear her head. Her gun was in her purse.

  “You need to get out.”

  “Where’s Angie?”

  “ Angie? She’s here?”

  Relief flooded her. “Downstairs,” she said, then reached for the phone.

  “It’s called in. Let’s go!”

  She dropped the phone, allowed Scotty to pull her from the room.

  She didn’t know what made her stop. Dig in her heels at the door. The sight of the flames engulfing her painting in the kitchen. The thought that Scotty was there so quickly. She pulled her hand from his. Ran back. Got her purse. All she could think was she needed a gun. She was not going out there without her gun.

  43

  Sydney took one last look at the flames shooting up in her kitchen, and with a death grip on her purse, ran for the door. Scotty stood on the porch, waiting, watching. Sirens blared in the distance. Topper barked sharply from behind Arturo’s door. A moment later it opened. Arturo stood there, his expression one of someone who has awoken, and wasn’t sure what was going on. Topper raced out, barked again, then tried to herd Sydney down the steps.