Face of a Killer

by Robin Burcell

  He slipped the photo from his jacket pocket, handing it to her. “I see you made a copy. I found it on the ground outside, after the fire was put out. Maybe it blew outside, with all the firemen rushing in, or when we ran out.” She looked down at the photo, saw a footprint across the face of it, some water marks, figured it could have fallen before all this started. And who would notice it, racing from the fire? “Maybe it’s not as important as we thought,” he said, as a couple of cars pulled up. One was Jake’s. The other Sydney couldn’t tell, but definitely an unmarked cop car. “Your father was involved in something that we may never know the complete truth about. Gnoble, McKnight, Wheeler’s father, Orozco. That’s what the government does, Sydney,” he said, keeping his voice down low. “The good citizens of this country don’t care that there are things going on in this world that might not be perfectly black and white or stand up to intense scrutiny, as long as their world as they know it continues to be. So, yes, sometimes things happen that the rest of us in government must look the other way about. Secrets with foreign governments. Bank accounts in corrupt banks. Arms sold to factions that you don’t want to look at too closely. That’s the way government works.” He stepped closer, took her hand in his. “But all that aside, Sydney, sometimes things are just what they seem. No tricks. No mirrors. No government conspiracies involved. Like your father’s murder. It was just that. Wheeler broke in. Robbed him, killed him, and left.”

  Carillo was in the unmarked car, and Sydney saw him walk up, shake Jake’s hand, then the two of them walked toward her. Jake, however, continued on to Rainie’s, not saying anything to Sydney, which told her he was doing his level best to keep his temper in check. Sydney wasn’t having such luck, and told Scotty, “I don’t believe it.”

  “I told you there were pictures, Syd.”

  “Which prove what?”

  Though Carillo stood a polite distance away, he was listening to the conversation, because he walked toward her and said, “The photos, Fitz. The enhancements. They came back. They prove that Wheeler was there that night, before and after the fire was set. It’s a clean case, Fitz. I looked into it just like you asked. And like you, I had my doubts, until Schermer brought me the enhanced photos from the surveillance cameras, that proved Wheeler returned to steal the money from the restaurant.”

  “When did he show them to you?”

  “Right before we went out on Operation Barfly… You mean you haven’t seen them?” He looked at Scotty. “Jesus. You didn’t show them to her?”

  “Why would Scotty have them?” she demanded.

  “I was rushing out, Fitz,” Carillo said. “He was with me when Schermer brought them in. And with what they contained, I thought someone ought to sit down with you. Not just throw them at you and leave.”

  Scotty said, “I brought them to the restaurant to show you, but we were interrupted. By a purse snatcher. And then a fire.”

  “ Yo u have the photos?” Sydney asked.

  Scotty pulled several photographs from his jacket pocket. “ This is why I came by here tonight,” he said, handing the first to her. “I knew this was important to you.”

  “The photos from the surveillance camera?”

  “Yes.”

  She shoved away the hurt she felt that Carillo would have given them to Scotty, but then reconciled that with the knowledge that he was busy, and he had tried to get them to her. With trepidation, she eyed the photo, recognized the back of the strip mall where her father’s restaurant used to be. Someone climbing through a window. Too grainy to use. The person climbing in was wearing dark clothing, nothing identifiable.

  And then Scotty showed her a second photo. “This one was digitally enhanced,” he said. “From the original.”

  It was a close-up of what was undoubtedly a very young Johnnie Wheeler, looking toward the camera. The same scar ran down his cheek, and Sydney remembered the feeling when she’d drawn Tara’s rapist, the scar she thought she saw… Was that why she’d had such a strange feeling when she’d drawn it?

  She put it from her head. That meant nothing. Nothing, she told herself again, looking at the third photo, of him disappearing into the window.

  “So he broke in,” Sydney said.

  “About four minutes before the first nine-one-one call. The rest of the surveillance photos show him leaving out the same window right after the call was made reporting the fire. And he has the burns on his hands in this photo, and there are no burns on the entry.”

  She stared in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. The time’s wrong. Something.”

  “No mistake. He lied to you, Sydney. He didn’t walk in the front door like he told you. He climbed in through the window. This proves he was there when your father was killed. Wheeler killed him. There’s no other explanation.”

  45

  Sydney looked away from the photos, away from Scotty and Carillo, their looks of sympathy, unable to believe that she had let Wheeler dupe her. She’d believed him. Believed her father had asked him there, was trying to help him. “What about Jazmine Wheeler and what she said about the church organization?”

  “Perhaps,” Carillo said, “it was just a coincidence. Your father really did search him out to help out the son of an old friend. But that son was too far gone, too into drugs. Couldn’t keep himself clean long enough.”

  Sydney looked down at the photos again, tried to make sense of it, but a loud crash from upstairs startled her.

  Maggie Winters had dropped her aluminum clipboard, and papers went flying. “Somebody grab that,” Maggie asked one of the other agents as she shone her flashlight on the window, then peered closer at it. “Looks like someone opened the window and dropped in some matches. There’s a stick here that he probably used to reach in and knock over the turpentine.”

  “Great,” Sydney said.

  “You okay?” Carillo asked.

  She nodded, took a deep breath, as Scotty said, “I’d say it’s looking like a lot of ugly coincidences all the way around. It happens.”

  She looked up at her apartment. “If Wheeler’s guilty, then who did this?” she asked, pointing. “And why?”

  Carillo followed her gaze. “Assuming it wasn’t accidental-”

  “With a sliced screen?”

  “Rules out the accident theory,” he continued. “So unless some arsonist just picked you at random-and I think that’s taking this coincidence theory too far-I’d say that leaves whoever it is Scotty is investigating on our good senator.”

  The only thing Sydney could concentrate on right then was that she’d unwittingly brought Angie into danger. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered to herself.

  Carillo put his arm around her shoulder. “First things first,” he said. “You need somewhere to stay.”

  “I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Sydney said, trying not to watch Scotty as he moved off a few feet to make a call. A chasm had definitely opened between them. She told herself it didn’t matter. He hadn’t been completely open with her-and she ignored the thought that she most definitely hadn’t been open with him. This had been her father’s life. Her life. Not Scotty’s.

  Carillo saw her watching Scotty. “As hard as it is, you gotta cut him some slack. You know he’s only worried about you.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said, and Carillo drew her away, diverting her attention, his arm still around her, and she realized that she felt safe there. She could trust him.

  They stood like that for several minutes, not talking, until he finally said, “Did I tell you Sheila called me today?”

  “No.”

  “Seems she wants to work things out.”

  “Boyfriend dump her?”

  “Probably. You know she’s got six letters in her first name? Say Sheila three times, it’s like saying six, six, six. Kinda fits. She-devil Sheila.”

  She glanced at his face, but he was looking up at her apartment, not really seeing anything, if she had to hazard a guess. “So,” she said. “You tell
her you’re getting used to the thought of paying alimony?”

  “I should have. What I did say was that I’d have to think about it. Working it out, that is. Man, that fire really did a number on your kitchen.”

  They stared up into the window, the burned interior brightly lit as Maggie worked her magic. “And did you?” Sydney finally asked. “Think about it?”

  “Still thinking.” He flashed a grin. “I was getting used to the idea of living in my car.”

  “Makes it convenient when you’re hungry. Drive right through the Taco Bells. Unless you end up getting transferred…”

  “Speaking of transfers to out-of-the-way places, Dixon left you a voice mail.”

  “I am not getting transferred,” she said, taking out her phone. Sydney flipped it open and punched in the code to access the voice mail. Two messages. “Syd? It’s Dixon. Just checking to see if you’re okay… if you need anything before I get out there. I’m sending a team to investigate. Just in case. Call me.”

  “Nothing about a transfer,” Sydney said, deleting that call. Sydney put the phone to her ear to listen to the next message, and heard, “Things should be getting a little hot for you.” The same muffled, raspy voice as she’d heard on Dixon’s phone earlier. “Oh, by the way,” the voice continued, “ you’re next.”

  And then nothing.

  “What is it?” Carillo asked, no doubt seeing the look of shock on her face. Sydney couldn’t help but glance around, at everyone across the street, wondering if any of them had called while watching the fire, watching her.

  “Someone who thinks I should be next,” she said, pressing the button to prompt a repeat, then handing the phone to Carillo.

  He listened, eyed the crowd across the street just as she’d done. “Our Jane Doe killer?” he said, handing her the phone.

  She checked the incoming number that showed up on her cell phone screen. Restricted. No number listed. Sydney showed the screen to Carillo. “What the hell is going on? How would he get my number?”

  “One possibility,” Carillo said. “It isn’t the Jane Doe killer. Whoever this caller is, he already knew you. He’s the hit that Scotty is investigating.”

  “Great. This can’t get any worse.”

  Scotty asked, “What’s wrong?”

  She repeated to him what the caller had said, just as Dixon pulled up. Scotty also looked across the street. “You see anyone who doesn’t belong?”

  “I see a lot of people who don’t belong. It’s not like I know all my neighbors here.”

  Scotty nodded to Carillo. “Let’s go take some names.”

  They crossed the street just as Dixon walked over. He glanced up at her apartment and wasted no time saying, “This have anything to do with your unofficial investigation that you’re not investigating?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Sydney said, unable to deal with much more tonight. Sydney glanced at Rainie’s window, saw Angie glued to the glass, watching everything, Jake standing behind her, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for her to come in and discuss the situation with him. Her mother wasn’t with him, and she wondered where she was, what he’d told her. “Carillo can fill you in. I think my stepfather wants to see me.”

  She left him and walked into Rainie’s house.

  Angie barely spared her a glance, intent on watching Maggie walking down the steps. “She’s the one who collects all the evidence. That’s what I want to do!”

  “College first,” Jake said, no doubt now, more than ever, dead set against her going into law enforcement. He wanted her to be a doctor.

  “Where’s Rainie?” Sydney asked.

  “In the kitchen,” Angie said. “Making coffee and hot chocolate.”

  Sydney glanced at Jake, who nodded toward the kitchen, indicating he wanted to talk to her in there, alone.

  They walked into the kitchen, and Rainie handed her a cup of coffee. The warm mug felt wonderful in her hands. “How’re you holding up?” she asked, stirring some chocolate on the stove.

  “Not bad, considering.”

  Rainie glanced behind her to Jake. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She poured the cocoa into two cups and took a can of whipped cream from the fridge, crowning the top of each cup with a generous portion. “We’ll be in the living room. Just close the kitchen door.”

  She took the mugs, walked out, and Sydney closed the door, then faced Jake.

  To say that he was angry was an understatement. “She could’ve been killed,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “What the hell is going on? You have no idea what went through my-”

  “Daddy? You’re not mad at Sydney, are you?”

  He caught his breath, and Angie pushed through the kitchen door, ran into his arms, and he held her for several seconds, saying nothing, his eyes tightly closed, then just whispered her name. Finally he looked down at her, holding her face. “No, sweetheart. Just scared. You have your stuff?”

  Rainie moved into the doorway, threw Sydney an apologetic look, then held up Angie’s little purple backpack. “Got it right here,” she said, handing it to Jake.

  “Kiss your sister good-bye. We have to go.”

  “But Daddy, I’m not done with-” Apparently Angie thought better of trying to cajole him, and she walked up, gave Sydney a hug and a kiss, and said, “I’m sorry about your kitchen.”

  “Yeah, well, it needed repainting anyway.”

  “The fire engines were so cool,” she said, with a quick smile, then glanced at her father, who nodded toward Rainie. “Thanks for the sundaes, Rainie.”

  “You’re welcome, Angie.”

  Jake gave her one last look, then guided Angie out the door, and Sydney heard her ask him, “Did Sydney do something wrong, Daddy?”

  “We need to hurry. You’re mother’s waiting for us at home.”

  Sydney watched them walk out, Angie’s hand clasped in his, and as they passed the men standing out front, Angie gave a wave to Carillo, and he winked at her. Scotty said something to Jake, who hesitated, then apparently sent Angie to the car by herself. “I’ll be right back,” Sydney told Rainie.

  Dixon pinned his gaze on her as she walked out, and asked, “What’s this about the Jane Doe killer calling you?”

  She glanced toward Jake and Scotty, who seemed deep in conversation, and said, “I have no idea who it was. Didn’t Carillo tell you?”

  “I’d like to hear it from you.”

  She gave him a quick rundown of the call. “Only problem I see is that it doesn’t fit the killer’s profile.”

  “So it would seem,” Dixon replied. “Unless you recall during your sketch interview of Tara Brown that she mentioned her attacker smelled like fire. That was why you ran off to Houston, wasn’t it?”

  “Smoke from a fire,” Sydney said, recalling her excuse to get to Houston. “I think Tara’s case was the anomaly. Reno. Maybe he stopped and lit a campfire between here and there-”

  Dixon gave her a stern look, and Sydney clamped her mouth shut, feeling Jake’s gaze burn into her. “I think Scotty needs to expand the surveillance to your parents’ and sister’s house as well.”

  To which Jake said, “I don’t need anyone watching my family.”

  Carillo asked, “Why would you want to take a chance?”

  “I can handle my own family.” His gaze lit on Sydney as he added, “At least most of my family.” And then he walked off, got into the car with Angie, and drove away.

  Carillo watched his car disappear around the corner, no doubt checking to see if he was being followed-because Sydney was doing the same.

  Scotty looked at her and said, “I’ll get a team out to keep an eye on your mother’s house.”

  Carillo said, “Don’t worry, Fitz, he won’t even know we’re doing it.”

  Dixon nodded. “Probably best. Don’t want anyone walking into any surprises.” He looked at his watch. “Carillo, take Sydney to a hotel. You and Ren sit with her tonight. Scotty, I
assume you’re taking this to the next level? We’re done playing games?”

  Scotty took a deep breath, glanced at Sydney, and she thought she saw the weight of the world on his shoulders as he said, “I just talked to HQ. They want us to go in, make the arrest tonight. We still don’t know if Gnoble was part of it, but maybe after we interrogate that slimy aide of his, put the fear of God in him…”

  He walked off, pulling out his phone.

  Sydney turned to Carillo. “Before we go, I need to talk to you. Privately.” She drew Carillo away.

  “What’s up?” Carillo asked.

  “I’m going to talk to Wheeler again. I want to show him those photos.”

  “Why bother? The guy’s not worth your time.”

  “For my own peace of mind? The bastard lied to me. Here I am, busting my butt to help him, putting my job on the line-”

  “Before you get worked up, think about who you were really doing it for.”

  “Okay. Maybe I was being selfish, but he certainly would have benefited. I can’t believe I believed him…”

  “What do they teach you at Basic?”

  She met Carillo’s gaze. “ Everybody lies.”

  “Not that you can blame the guy. They’re gonna flip the switch in what? Two days?”

  “A little over one. But I still need to hear it from his mouth. I want him to admit it. To quit lying and-and I want him to know I know.”

  “Okay. Do it. But I’m going with you. Surveillance in case you’re being followed.”

  “Like some dipshit’s going to follow me to San Quentin? This is one interview I need to do on my own.”

  “So I sit and drink a cup in the guard’s office. By tomorrow, I’ll be in serious need of caffeine anyway. Do me a favor when I get to the hotel. Since I’m going to be up watching you all night, try to get some sleep, so you can drive in the morning.”

  46

  The next morning, Carillo rode shotgun while Sydney drove to San Quentin, because she had to hear it from Wheeler before she could let it go. Hear that he was lying about this. She’d thought he was this innocent man, that her father had befriended him because of the relationship with Wheeler’s father, Francisco… But once again it occurred to her, what did she really know about her father anyway?