by Nancy Skopin
“Maybe. I have to go.”
“Hang on a sec.”
I pulled out a legal pad and made a quick list of the killings I was aware of. Novacek had been killed in October, in Redwood City. Fernandez had been killed in early November, in Sunnyvale. Zogg had been killed in mid-November, in San Mateo. Gloria Freedman had been killed on November 21st, in Redwood City. Crafford had been killed on Saturday December 5th, in Redwood City, and Tooker, today, December 7th, in Redwood City.
“There have been six killings so far,” I said, “and four of them were in Redwood City. Bill…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I get the point,” and he hung up.
I set the receiver in the cradle and looked down at my list. If it was a cop, it was probably someone local. It could be anyone with the RCPD, the San Mateo County Sheriff’s office, or the DA’s office. There had to be a reason why four of the killings had taken place in Redwood City. I wondered how many of Bill’s coworkers had been molested as children.
I called his cell, got his voicemail, and left a message. “You might want to put tails on Adamson, Vasey, Lewis, and Morales. I can cover one of them, but I’m getting behind on my surveys so I have limited time.” What else could I say? He knew the killer was escalating and he knew how to do his job.
Buddy and I went to Michelino’s in San Mateo and did an early dinner and bar survey. Buddy had to wait in the car of course, but he netted chicken Parmesan leftovers. Then we went to the Bel Mateo Bowl and I surveyed the bar and bowled a couple of games. I like bowling, but it’s more fun when you’re with friends. Also I take issue with wearing someone else’s shoes, even if they are routinely sprayed with disinfectant.
After bowling we drove to 231 Ellsworth and I did another dinner and bar survey. That was everything I’d scheduled for Monday. At 8:40 we drove back to the marina.
I walked Buddy before unlocking the office and when we went inside my voicemail light was blinking. The message was from Bill. All he said was, “Same knife.”
I typed up the dinner, bar, and bowling surveys and e-mailed electronic copies off to my clients, along with invoices. Time to call it a night.
Buddy and I walked down to the dock, stopping for a lengthy visit with D’Artagnon before we continued on to my boat. Prior to Buddy entering my life, D‘Artagnon had been my canine collaborator. He would always listen attentively when I had a problem I needed to work out. Tonight I was apprehensive about how quickly the killer was accelerating. One murder in October, three in November, and then two in the first week of December. Something had happened to cause the escalation and I wondered if it was Gloria Freedman’s death. As far as I knew, Gloria was not a child molester. That might have been the trigger.
I considered what I already knew. Since the killer had targeted sex offenders who preyed on children, clearly he or she felt compelled to defend sexually abused children. If someone who was not a sex offender was murdered there could be a tremendous feeling of guilt. If the killer needed to be the ‘good guy’ and then killed someone who wasn’t the right kind of ‘bad guy’, it might have pushed him, or her, over the edge. Gloria was a terrible mother, but if she had gotten counseling she might have straightened out.
Onboard the boat I opened a Guinness and settled in front of the TV. Buddy likes watching America’s Funniest Videos because of the animal clips. I located the channel and sat back with him sprawled across my lap for some mindless entertainment.
By the time Bill called, Buddy and I were asleep on the pilothouse settee. I woke up when Buddy jumped off my lap at the sound of the phone. I glanced at my watch. It was 12:13 a.m.
“You work too much,” I complained.
“IA’s getting involved.”
IA is short for Internal Affairs, which meant I wasn’t alone in believing that someone within the department might be responsible for the killings. Bill wasn’t happy about that, and I couldn’t blame him. The police department is like a brotherhood, and no one wants to believe someone in their family could venture this far over the line.
“What about surveillance of potential victims?” I asked.
“You know we’ve had staffing cuts. There’s no one available right now.”
“Anything new come out of the autopsy?”
“Tooker was HIV positive and there was an interruption in the blood spatter at the scene, which means some of the blood sprayed onto the killer. We got a partial shoe outline. Our killer has small feet. Could be a woman.”
“Will that be common knowledge within the department?”
“People talk.”
“How long does it take after exposure for the antibodies to show up in a blood test?”
“Couple of weeks, I think.”
“Maybe the killer will use their medical insurance for an HIV test.”
“That would be careless.”
“Sometimes intelligent people behave reflexively under stress. Finding out you’ve been exposed to HIV has to be at the top of the stress-o-meter.”
We ended the call and Buddy and I went to bed, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how many child molesters were out there stalking innocent victims.
Chapter 21
First thing Tuesday morning I called Jim Sutherland. Jim is a fellow PI and a friend. We met when I was working my first murder investigation. He was working for the killer. Of course, he didn’t know that at the time.
“Superior Investigations,” said a honeyed female voice.
“Nikki Hunter calling for Jim.”
“One moment please.”
Jim picked up instantly. “Nikki! How’s it hangin’?”
“Low and to the left,” I said. “I need help with some daytime surveillance. Do you have any free time?”
“Tell me about it.”
I recounted the whole case for him and when I was finished he said, “It might not be the worst thing in the world to let sex offenders run around unprotected.”
“I know what you mean, but I promised Scott I’d try to find out who killed his mom, so I have to do something.”
“I can give you three or four hours tomorrow and Friday.”
“I’ll take it. Oh, I forgot to mention, there’s no fee for this job.”
Jim has a deep resonant laugh. When he stopped laughing he said, “How could I resist?”
Next I called Jack McGuire who said he could give me all the time I needed, and agreed to meet me at the office in thirty minutes.
Elizabeth works weekdays and I wasn’t going to ask her to take time off from her job. I searched my memory for anyone else I could pull into this project.
I had four subjects to cover: Lewis, Adamson, Vasey, and Morales. I’d put Jack on Morales because he already knew what Morales looked like, where he lived, and what his pattern was. I’d put Jim with Adamson, because according to his file Adamson was dangerous and Jim was experienced. I’d take Lewis because he was an unknown. That left Vasey. Elizabeth had said Vasey liked the Disney Store.
I picked up the phone and called my friend, Lily. Lily is another boat dweller. She’s a freelance hardware engineer, so her time is her own. She’s also a post-surgical transsexual. Lily had never worked surveillance for me, but she has a high IQ, a working knowledge of psychology, and is indomitable, so I figured she’d be good at it.
“Hello, Nikki.”
“Hi, Lily. You working on anything important? I need help with a stakeout.”
“Sounds more interesting than what I’m doing now. Are you in the office?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right up.”
Five minutes later her broad-shouldered frame filled my doorway. Buddy greeted Lily with hand licks, and she ruffled his ears before sitting down across from me.
“You want coffee?” I asked.
I told her about Scott and his mom, and what had happened in the last week. She listened without expression. It takes a lot to shock Lily. When I said I needed her to watch a guy who spent time at the Disney Store she grinned and said, “I’ll fit right in.”
“Maybe you’re right. You can follow Lewis instead if you want.”
I pulled out the files I’d printed on Vasey and Lewis and handed them over. She read every word, muttering under her breath, and handed me back the Lewis file.
“Disney is fine,” she said. “I’ll dress conservatively and wear the Hillary wig.”
Even dressed conservatively Lily stands out in a crowd, but if Vasey tried anything her former experience as a linebacker would come in handy.
“Elizabeth says he’s driving a yellow and black Toyota pickup. Call me if anything happens.”
I made sure she had my smartphone number programmed into her cell.
“Keep yours set on vibrate, in case I need to reach you.”
“Will do. I’ll go change and get right on this asshole.”
Lily was walking out the door as Jack McGuire was coming in and they stopped to hug each other. Lily and Elizabeth went to school together and have remained close over the years. Any friend of Elizabeth’s is important to Jack, which is heartwarming. Still, the hug was a humorous spectacle. Jack is about five-ten and all male, and Lily, in her heels, is around six-two and mostly female, except for the Adams apple and the shoulders.
Lily went on her way and Jack came inside. He looked at my face and offered me his pack of Turkish Ovals. I considered for only an instant before accepting.
“Thank you. Have a seat.”
I told Jack about the most recent murder and the details of the crime scene, indicating that the killer was either a small man or a woman. He was fine covering Morales again and said he’d check the residence first. If Morales wasn’t home, he’d go to the Target on El Camino Real. I didn’t ask how he’d know if Morales was home. Being a retired cat burglar, he has the skills of a magician with all kinds of locks.
We walked out to the parking lot together and got into our respective BMWs.
“Be careful, Nikki,” he said.
“You too.”
Buddy and I arrived at Lewis’s apartment complex at 9:32. Since I didn’t know if Lewis had a car, we did the listening outside the apartment door thing again, and once again I heard TV sounds. We walked back downstairs and sat by the pool. It was an overcast day, but at the moment it wasn’t raining. I took the paperback out of my purse and read a paragraph, glanced up at the apartment, read another paragraph, and glanced up at the apartment again. At 10:47 the door opened and a man stepped outside.
I pulled the photo of Lewis from my bag to refresh my memory. It looked like the same guy to me, brown hair, Caucasian, six-one, two hundred and fifty pounds. I put on my sunglasses and pretended to read my book. When Lewis was almost to the street Buddy and I got up and walked casually toward my car.
Lewis got into a beat-up, red Chevy truck with a camper shell on the back. I’ve read about the favored vehicles of rapists and kidnappers, so the camper shell made sense to me.
I followed Lewis at a distance as he drove to El Camino Real and turned south. He got in the right lane as we approached the Stanford shopping center and took the exit. He drove clockwise around the complex and pulled into the parking structure across from Macy’s. I found an open space in the next row.
I quickly lowered the windows for Buddy and locked the car, hustling to catch up with Lewis. Not that he was hard to spot, but if he entered a store out of my line of sight I might lose him. He skirted around Macy’s and headed for the courtyard. I scanned the retail signage and guessed where he was going. The Discovery Channel Store.
I entered the store on Lewis’s heels and covertly watched him evaluate the customers. He zeroed in on a little girl, curly blonde hair, maybe four or five, who was playing with a stuffed baby giraffe she’d taken from a display. She held the toy in her chubby hands and her face was lit up with wonder. A thirty-something blonde woman, whom I guessed was her mother, was standing a few yards away talking on her cell.
Lewis picked up a giraffe baby and knelt down near the little girl. “This one is my daughter’s favorite too,” he said in a soothing voice. “I have a little girl just your age. She lost her giraffe baby, so I’m here to buy her a new one.”
Somehow I hadn’t expected a sexual predator to be clever. In my mind they were all low-IQ dirtbags. The mother glanced at Lewis and smiled while continuing her cell phone conversation.
“Maybe your mommy will let me buy a giraffe baby for you too,” said Lewis.
The little girl’s eyes got wide and she looked up at her mother who now had her back turned and was speaking in hushed tones into her cell.
I watched with morbid fascination as Lewis took the stuffed animal from the child, then reached for her hand. He moved swiftly toward the front of the store. I didn’t think I could outrun him, so I placed myself in his path and took out my defense spray.
“Excuse me,” I said loudly enough to draw attention, but not quite shouting. “Is that your little girl?”
I shook the pepper spray to activate it and held it where Lewis could see it.
The woman turned, startled to see that her daughter was not where she had left her. “Hey!” she shouted. She dropped her phone and ran toward little girl, who was still holding onto Lewis’s hand. “Mandy, come to Mommy!”
Mandy looked up at Lewis and then at the giraffe babies in his hand, and the waterworks started. I looked into his eyes and read the impulse to grab the kid and run warring with the desire to avoid another arrest. Finally he let go of Mandy’s hand as her mother snatched her up. Lewis dropped the stuffed toys and shouldered his way past me, almost knocking me down. He shot me a glare that told me he would remember my face.
I tried to get Mandy’s mom to stick around while I called Bill, but she refused, so I asked for her name and phone number. She said she didn’t want to get involved.
“Tell your husband a convicted sex offender attempted to kidnap Mandy today,” I said. “See if he thinks you should inform the police.” I gave her my card. “If you call me first, I’ll meet you at the station when you make your statement.”
I pulled Lewis’s file from my purse and forced her to read about his convictions.
“I know this is inconvenient for you, but think what might have happened if he’d gotten her into his truck. If you do nothing, he’ll be free to abduct other children.”
She collected her cell phone from where she had dropped it and avoided making eye contact with me as she and Mandy left the store.
I spoke with the manager, a young woman in her late twenties with a crew cut and an eyebrow ring. I convinced her to bag the surveillance video for the police. This would be crucial evidence, especially if Mandy’s parents opted not to press charges.
Since Lewis knew what I looked like there was no point trying to tail him again. I doubted he’d take another risk today anyway. I kept my pepper spray at the ready and called Bill on my cell as I walked back to the parking structure. I described what had happened and told him the store manager was holding the security video. He said he’d speak to the DA about the attempted kidnapping and send someone to pick up the surveillance DVD.
When I got to the garage Lewis’s truck was gone. I unlocked the BMW and gave Buddy a long hug, then I drove to Peninsula Liquors and bought myself a pack of American Spirit Organic cigarettes.
Chapter 22
When Buddy and I arrived back at the office I called Jack McGuire for a progress report on Morales. He was in his car and Morales was inside the Fanny Pack, a strip club in Redwood City.
“Did you go in?”
“For a moment. The d
ancer on stage looks about sixteen.”
“What’s he drinking?”
“Draft beer.”
“Does he have a car?”
“No. He walked here.”
“You know some of those dancers work upstairs between sets,” I said. I’d spent time at the Fanny Pack during a previous investigation.
“What’s your point?”
“He might be in there for a while.”
“He’s doesn’t even have a job. I doubt he has enough cash for a nooner.”
“He might be collecting unemployment or welfare. I hate for you to have to sit in your car waiting for him to come out.”
“It’s a very comfortable car. Besides, it’s better than telling Elizabeth I spent the afternoon looking at naked women.”
“I see your point. Keep me posted.”
I called Lily and found out that Vasey was at Huddart Park in Woodside.
“I’m not dressed for this,” she said. “I stand out like a sore thumb.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes. We need to switch subjects anyway.” I told her what had happened with Lewis at the Discovery Channel Store.
“Son of a bitch,” she said.
Buddy and I locked up the office and made the drive to Woodside. Lily was easy to spot. She was wearing her black Chanel suit with Via Spiga pumps and her Hillary wig—a little conspicuous.
She pointed Vasey out to me and I gave her the sheet on Lewis and told her where his apartment was in the complex on 2nd Avenue.
“He’s a big guy and he’s feeling frustrated after this morning, so be cautious.”
Lily smiled serenely. “I think I can handle it.”
She took off in her white Econoline van and Buddy and I strolled around the park watering shrubs, trees, and benches.