Castillo called out, “Come in.”
When Jake opened the door, Kyra widened her eyes. She hadn’t expected to see him until later for dinner.
But if she was surprised, her emotions were nothing compared to Captain Castillo’s. His sharp intake of breath caused Kyra to glance at him behind his desk. His mouth had gone slack, and a sheen of moisture had popped out on his forehead. Castillo ducked down to retrieve the pen, his voice sounding muffled. “What can I do for you, McAllister? Surprised to see you here so late.”
“Are you?” Jake stepped into the room, clicking the door behind him. “Were you going to tell Kyra the truth, or should I?”
A choking sound came from the captain, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. “He told you.”
Kyra jerked her head back toward Jake, his jaw hard, steely resolve vibrating from his body. What was going on?
“If you mean Tony Galecki, then the answer is yes.”
“Who the hell is Tony Galecki?” Kyra leaned back from Jake’s looming frame, which was suffocating the space in the office.
Castillo closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath and clasped his hands beneath his chin as if in prayer. “I actually was going to tell her.”
“Because you knew I talked to Galecki today. Do you have an alert on his file?”
Kyra still had no idea who Galecki was or what they were talking about, but Jake’s question pinged Castillo between the eyes. His brown skin flushed deeply.
“I’m sure Galecki told you everything. Why wouldn’t he?” Castillo jabbed a finger at Jake. “Are you willing to destroy Kyra’s faith in Quinn, the only father she knew?”
Kyra’s heart slammed against her rib cage, rattling it, and her clammy hands gripped the edge of Castillo’s desk. “What is he talking about, Jake?”
Crossing his arms, Jake leaned against Castillo’s office door. “Quinn left me more than those weapons in his will, Kyra.”
“Okay.” She smoothed her hands over the thighs of her slacks. “Is that why you went back to his place the other night when you told me you were going home?”
His eyebrows jumped. “How’d you...?”
“Rose saw you. What else did Quinn leave you?”
“A crime report—from the night your mother was murdered.”
She glanced at Castillo, who listened with closed eyes, his nostrils flared with his heavy breathing. “We have that crime report. I have that report.”
“You have the revised report, the official report, the report that was filed by Officer Castillo.” Jake spread his hands in front of him. “Quinn left me the original report.”
Her adrenaline surged, and prickles of anger danced across the back of her neck. “Are you trying to tell me Quinn lied on a police report? That he deliberately changed a report and let it stand as the truth?”
Castillo snorted, and Jake glared at him as he answered, “He did.”
Kyra rocketed to her feet, using the arms of the chair as leverage. “Quinn would never do that. He was a good cop, an honest cop.”
Jake reached for her, but she reared back. “He would if it meant he could protect you. He was a good cop, but he was a better man.”
“Protect me?” She thrust her finger against her chest. “How would submitting a fraudulent police report protect me?”
Jake lifted one shoulder, his green eyes dark and murky. “Because you witnessed your mother’s murder that night. Marilyn Monroe Lake saw The Player.”
Chapter Ten
The room spun, and Kyra threw out an arm to brace her hand against the wall. Her lips moved automatically before her brain formed the words. “No, I didn’t.”
Jake took her free hand in his. “You did, Kyra. It was right there in the report. The attack on your mother woke you up. You stood at your bedroom door and saw the end of your mother’s struggle.”
“I didn’t.” She shook her head, and her ponytail whipped back and forth. “Why would Quinn lie about that? I could’ve described the killer. I could’ve helped catch him. I was a witness.”
Guiding her back to the chair, Quinn said, “Because he saw you, too.”
She ended up in the chair with a plop that jarred her teeth. “H-he saw me? That’s what I told Quinn?”
“That’s what you told me.” Castillo had slumped in his own chair, his head in his hand. “Then you repeated the story when Detective Quinn came onto the scene. Quinn told me right then and there that the killer could never know you admitted to seeing him. We changed the report to indicate that you’d slept through the whole thing. You were never listed as a witness, and The Player must’ve believed you’d forgotten, too traumatized to remember locking eyes with him.”
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember any of it.” Kyra placed a hand at her throat. “I can’t believe Quinn lied, actually changed a crime scene report. And you—” she narrowed her eyes at Castillo behind his desk “—why would you agree to something like that?”
Castillo, his face stamped with anxiety in every line, shot Jake a look. “Ask him.”
“That’s not important now, Kyra. Just know that Quinn did it to protect you. He didn’t want to expose you to The Player’s scrutiny. He wanted to keep you off his radar.”
“It explains why I have been on his radar all these years. He knew I saw him, thought I could ID him, and he wanted to keep tabs on me. He’s been testing me during the copycat slayings, making sure I wasn’t a viable witness.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Why did he leave that report for you, Jake?”
“He was passing along the torch for your protection to me.” He gripped the back of his neck with his hand. “I failed. My first instinct was to honor his wish, but I knew you’d want to know.”
“Maybe it was no longer his wish, Jake. Maybe that’s why he left it to you instead of Captain Castillo.” She tipped her head toward Castillo. “Maybe he knew you’d do the right thing.”
Castillo’s tongue darted out of his mouth. “Wh-what are you going to do with the information, specifically the information from Tony Galecki?”
“Relax. I’m not going to do anything with it...right now.” Jake extended his hand to Kyra. “Let’s go to my place. We’ll have dinner and talk over everything.”
She took his hand, and his warmth and strength gave her courage. She stood up on legs she thought were going to fail her minutes before. Whoever Tony Galecki was and whatever happened between him, Quinn and Castillo, she’d deal with it later. She had some important decisions to make tonight...and Jake would be by her side to help.
They left Castillo to his tormented thoughts and regrets, and Jake walked her to her car.
“Follow me to my house. I have some steaks and red wine and a warm bed.”
“And advice? Are you going to have that, too?”
“I don’t know about advice, but we can talk it all out.” He opened her car door. “I can be your therapist tonight.”
She kissed him lightly, and then slid behind the wheel of her car. As she waited for Jake’s sedan to pull out of the parking lot, her mind raced in circles. She’d witnessed her mother’s murder. She’d seen The Player.
Quinn had been looking out for her the minute he met her. He’d changed a report to protect her. She never would’ve believed that of him.
When Jake’s car appeared, she stepped on the gas and followed him out to the street. When had she forgotten she’d witnessed the murder? She’d been eight years old. She remembered most of that night. She remembered Quinn coming into the room, his suit slightly rumpled, his already graying hair sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed, his comforting arms around her as she trembled in shock and fear. She even remembered the smell of his aftershave, which he continued to use years later.
A tear trembled on her eyelashes, blurring Jake’s taillights ahead of her, and she dashed it away. Quinn shouldn�
��t have risked his career for her. Maybe she would’ve been able to ID The Player and stop his deadly reign of terror. If Quinn had caught him twenty years ago, he wouldn’t be active today, encouraging others to follow in his evil footsteps.
She chose to believe that’s why Quinn saved the initial report and left it with Jake. He knew Jake would do the right thing...and protect her. Once the copycat killings began, maybe Quinn realized she had to know the truth.
But what would she do with the truth?
She followed Jake’s car up the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills to his house. When they made it inside, she collapsed on the couch that faced the glass wall overlooking the twinkling lights of the city.
He brought her a glass of wine as she toed off her shoes, and then sat beside her, pulling her feet into his lap. “Did the ride over give you time to process?”
“Not really. I still find it hard to believe Quinn would do something like that. It could’ve ended his career.”
“He had a long career already, and I guess he figured your safety was more important than his job.” He drove his thumb into the arch of her foot. “Your safety is important to me, too, Kyra. I told you because you had a right to know.”
She lightly tickled the inside of his wrist. “Not because I busted you?”
“I didn’t know Rose had ratted me out when I charged into Castillo’s office tonight. I just wasn’t sure what he was telling you.” Jake scuffed his knuckles across his jaw. “I don’t trust him.”
“Are you going to tell me what he did? Why did he agree to go along with Quinn’s decision to scrap the original report and lie?”
Jake pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s not a favorable story for Castillo—but it’s not a favorable story for Quinn, either. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“I’ve already reached the conclusion that Quinn was not as honest as I thought he was. I might as well hear it all. It’s not going to change my opinion of him as the best damned father a girl could’ve had.” She cupped her wineglass with both hands and took a swig, the dark, fruity liquid warming her throat.
“It goes back to an LAPD drug task force called LA Impact. Castillo was on that task force and arrested Tony Galecki, a dealer for the Sinaloa cartel. Quinn had been investigating the murder of Galecki’s girlfriend, and the murder investigation dovetailed with the drug task force.”
“What does this all have to do with me and my mother’s murder?”
“Galecki had been skimming—cutting the drugs, selling more than his allotted amount and pocketing the extra cash. That’s why the cartel assassinated his girlfriend.”
Kyra hunched her shoulders. “Terrible. Go on.”
“When Galecki was arrested, he claimed he had fat stacks, and when the cops couldn’t find his money, Galecki accused them of stealing it.”
Kyra covered her mouth with her hand. “Castillo stole Galecki’s money?”
Jake nodded, his lips pressed together. He obviously didn’t want to spill the rest—the part that made Quinn look bad.
She took another sip of wine and cupped it on her tongue before swallowing it and continuing Jake’s story for him. “Quinn knew about the theft and made it go away for Castillo as long as he lied about the report.”
Jake replied, “Quinn made a deal with Galecki, let him keep a cut of the money, let Castillo keep his, and the future captain kept his mouth shut about the night of your mother’s murder in exchange.”
“Did Quinn take any of the money?” She folded her hands across her stomach to suppress the butterflies.
“No. He wanted nothing out of the deal except for Castillo to keep quiet about your witnessing the murder.”
Kyra slumped against the pillow. Quinn hadn’t been the straight arrow she’d always believed him to be, but that didn’t matter.
“The worst is over.” Jake held up his hands. “That’s all I got.”
“But that’s not all you have.” Kyra narrowed her eyes. “You have the original report. Quinn left that, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he hadn’t even taken a sip of wine.
“I’d like to see it, Jake. I need to see it.”
“I will hand it over to you on one condition.” He waved a finger in the air. “You eat a decent meal tonight. I’m going to grill some steaks, cook potato wedges and toss a salad—and you’re going to eat it.”
“It’s a deal. Gimme.” She snapped her fingers, and he lifted her legs from his lap and pushed off the couch.
As he jogged upstairs, probably to retrieve the report from his safe, Kyra took her wineglass to the kitchen and dumped in a little more of the ruby-red liquid, which sloshed up the sides. She had a feeling she’d need something to get through the report—not that she hadn’t read its replacement a countless number of times.
Jake returned, a sheaf of papers pinched between his fingers. He placed the report on the coffee table. “I’m leaving it here, and I’m going to make dinner.”
“Thanks.” She raised her glass in salute and sauntered back to the couch, eying the stack of papers as if it were an explosive device. It just might be.
Jake buzzed around the kitchen, running water, chopping and clanking pans, but the noises couldn’t distract her from the words in front of her.
The story unfolded pretty much as she’d read from the dog-eared report she kept in her own safe at home. A female child had called 911, and Officer Carlos Castillo had responded to the duplex in Hollywood. Upon entering the residence, he’d discovered a young girl, sobbing on the phone with the 911 operator still on the line, her hands, legs and feet slick with blood, next to the dead body of a woman she claimed was her mother.
Upon examination of the body, Castillo realized the serial killer The Player had struck again based on the card in the woman’s mouth, her missing finger and her death by strangulation. The blood on the child had come from her mother’s hand and another cut her mother had suffered from a broken vase, indicating the woman had put up a fight.
Castillo tried to question the child, but she wouldn’t or couldn’t answer him. He put in a call immediately to Detective Roger Quinn, the lead detective on The Player case. Quinn was in the area and showed up before any other emergency personnel. He was also able to get the girl to talk to him.
Here’s where the stories diverged, and Kyra took a gulp of wine before continuing. According to Quinn, the girl reported she was in her bedroom and heard noises. She got up, peeked through a crack in her door—and saw the man who murdered her mother.
She must’ve made a noise because the man looked up from his gruesome deeds, and his eyes met the girl’s. Quinn got a garbled description of the killer from the victim’s daughter. The first responders arrived, and the report continued with the familiar sequence of events.
Kyra blew out a wine-scented breath and placed the papers on the polished wood of the coffee table. She sniffed the air and realized Jake was still in the kitchen cooking.
She got to her feet and leaned on the kitchen island to watch him sweep the rest of the chopped veggies into two bowls. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“In the report, Quinn mentioned that I gave a garbled description of the killer.”
“I know.” He stuck the cutting board in the sink and rinsed it off. “Maybe he realized your eyewitness account wouldn’t be that useful, and that helped him decide it wasn’t worth risking your safety over it.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. Any eyewitness report would be helpful.” She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “Neither he nor Castillo included any details of my description in the report. What did I claim? A man with red eyes and horns killed my mother? Was Quinn already thinking of chucking my eyewitness account to protect me?”
“You can imagine what he was thinking.” Jake circled the isl
and and put the salad bowls on the table. “Scared, shocked little girl locking eyes with a killer. He didn’t want to expose you—especially if your account wasn’t going to be helpful. Sit.”
She picked up her glass and sat down. She waited until Jake had slid the steaks and potatoes onto plates and set them on the table. When he sat to her left, she grabbed her fork and toyed with her salad. She’d promised him she’d eat, but her appetite hadn’t returned since they found Quinn on the floor of his house. The punches had kept coming in quick succession.
The savory smell of the steaks made her mouth water, and she dug into her salad first. The wine, the food—and the company—slowly unwound the knots in her belly, and she was able to cut into her steak with gusto.
She waved her fork dripping with steak sauce. “This is so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“Good, keep eating. You need your strength. The other shoe hasn’t even dropped about the cause of Quinn’s death.”
She dropped her knife, and it clattered against her plate. “Jake, you don’t think Captain Castillo had anything to do with Quinn’s death, do you?”
He stared into his wineglass as if looking for the answer there. “I admit I suspected it at first, but I don’t think he’s a killer. He and Quinn must’ve discussed the report numerous times. I believe Quinn told Castillo that he’d kept the report, and I believe Castillo wanted him to destroy it—for both their sakes. There was no reason for Castillo to believe Quinn was going to come clean about the report.”
“Really?” She swirled the mingling fat from the steak and the sauce on her plate with the tines of her fork. “Not even when the copycat killers started operating? We both noticed Castillo’s unease when one copycat succeeded the other.”
“Castillo may have wanted Quinn to destroy the report, but he knew Quinn wouldn’t go public. He wanted to protect you.” Jake dug his elbows into the table and balanced his chin on his fists. “I do believe that Castillo is the one who searched Quinn’s house, though.”
The Trap Page 10