by Sean Black
Lock took a couple of steps back and pulled it shut.
Hill angled his head better to catch the strong Malibu sun. ‘This can’t go any further,’ he said, raising his sunglasses.
‘I can’t make a decision on that until I know what it is you’re talking about.’
‘I mean it. If it gets out that I shared this with you, my career in the Bureau is toast and you’ll understand why.’
Lock very much doubted that but he kept the thought to himself. There was no way that someone who had come as far and as fast in the FBI as Levon Hill was going to start telling tales out of school without some kind of nod from someone back in Virginia. ‘Spit it out.’
Hill stared into the middle distance. ‘We think we have the killer.’
‘How?’
‘The phone call. We’re a bit further ahead on the technology than people think.’
‘One phone call doesn’t prove anything, apart from the fact that he knows Raven’s real name and about the dress.’
‘That’s correct,’ Hill said. ‘Which is why I want to draw him out further into the open. The acceleration of the time between the killings shows that he’s clearly in a state of some psychological turmoil. I think he wants this to be over as much as we do.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘I don’t believe in accidents, Mr Lock. If an individual gets sloppy, it’s usually because on some level they want to be caught. Not a theory you can easily sell to law enforcement, I might add, but it’s the truth.’
‘And how do you intend to draw him out?’
‘We have a name, we have a location, but we need more evidence before we can bring him in.’
‘One last time, Mr Hill. What is it you want?’
Hill pulled out a pack of nicotine gum and popped a piece into his mouth. ‘I want to put Raven right in front of him.’
Forty-four
Directly above them, Lock could hear Raven talking to Ty as Kevin continued to chase Angel around the house’s upper deck. He took a moment, allowing Hill’s request to sink in.
‘We have a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing firm enough to get through the arraignment. Last thing the LAPD want to do is arrest someone then have to let them go – especially after what happened with your client,’ Hill continued.
Aware of their voices travelling up, Lock moved to the sliding door. ‘Let’s talk more inside.’
Hill followed him into the main living area, then through to a small study with a sofa bed, desk and computer. Both men stood in the cramped quarters, as a screensaver of a lightning storm bounced around the computer.
‘So this guy, what’s his name?’ Lock asked.
‘I can’t tell you that. Not right now anyway.’
‘But you have him under surveillance?’
‘Like white on rice,’ Hill said. ‘But we have to be careful. We don’t want this going the way of the Phantom Lover case.’
The reference was to a man known as Vercanto Diaro, also known as the Phantom Lover. A serial killer in Colorado who targeted college girls around the Denver campus of the University of Colorado, Diaro had racked up more than a dozen victims before he’d become a suspect. Without enough direct evidence to arrest him, the FBI had mounted a huge surveillance operation, but Diaro had worked out he was being watched and fled the country.
‘You think our guy’s aware that you’re on to him?’ Lock asked.
Hill frowned. ‘I think he’s matching us every step of the way. This isn’t some mouth-breathing sociopath we have here. Our guy might be crazy, but he’s also very accomplished at this.’
Lock sat on the arm of the couch. ‘You can’t share a name with me?’
Hill shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Worried I might go after him myself?’
‘I don’t know whether you would or you wouldn’t. But I do know that there are still questions over the ATF agent who died in that stairwell up in San Francisco.’
Lock felt himself bristle. In San Francisco, he’d shot an ATF agent who’d been conspiring with white supremacists and whose treachery had cost the lives of one of Lock’s friends and the man’s family. Despite the provocation, Lock had killed the man in cold blood and there wasn’t a week that went by when he didn’t question what he had done. ‘That was self-defense. You know that. Look, let’s cut to the chase: you want to use Raven as bait to draw your suspect out.’
‘And if we do, this can all be over in less than twenty-four hours.’
‘And what if something goes wrong? You said yourself that our guy’s smart. You don’t think he’ll get a little suspicious if we offer Raven up to him on a plate?’
‘He’s smart, but he’s also obsessive to the point where his intelligence is overridden by his baser needs. Right now his basest need is Raven. I’m willing to bet that this will trump his not wanting to get caught.’
‘Wait here for a second, will you?’ Lock asked.
‘Sure.’
Lock walked out of the room, opened a side door and took a set of external steps up to the top deck. Everyone stopped to stare at him, even Angel who cocked her head to one side. ‘Ty? You got a minute?’
Ty looked at Kevin and Raven. ‘Holler if you need us. Okay?’
Raven took the ball from the deck and tossed it to Kevin. Angel almost did a back flip trying to intercept it. ‘Sure.’
As they walked back down the stairs, Lock quietly brought Ty up to speed. Then they strolled to where Hill was sitting at the computer playing a game of Patience.
‘So? What’s it to be, gentlemen?’ he asked.
Ty and Lock shared a look.
‘I want Ty here to make sure there’s no spin put on this at a later date – any suggestion that somehow we’ve not co-operated.’
‘So you’ll do it,’ Hill said.
‘No,’ Lock responded. ‘We won’t. My responsibility is to make sure that Raven and her brother stay in one piece. Staking her out like a goat for a mountain lion would be an abrogation of that responsibility. Keep running your surveillance. Hope he slips up.’
Hill closed down the game and got up. ‘What if we lose him? What then, Mr Lock?’
Ty stepped in close to Hill. ‘Then we’ll deal with it.’
A door led out on to the Pacific Coast Highway where the traffic choked the northbound lanes as people made their way back towards the San Fernando Valley. Lock noticed a huge outline of a ghost tacked to the house next door, a reminder that tomorrow evening was Hallowe’en.
Hill opened his car door, putting a hand out to Lock. ‘I’d have said the same thing if I was you. No bad feelings?’
Lock shook. ‘We’re good. I hope we get him soon.’
‘Oh, and you’re gonna keep this on the down-low, right?’
‘Wouldn’t do me any good to broadcast it.’
‘And your fiancée?’
‘We have an agreement about stuff like this. She knows I have to be able to do my job. Plus, I’m guessing that the LAPD would bring a world of hurt down on a reporter who let slip that you have this guy in their sights.’
As Hill got into his car there was the steady trill of a cell phone. He dug it out of the light grey windbreaker he was sporting and studied the display. ‘Wait up. Let me just take this first.’
He hit the call button, the phone pressed to his ear. A full ten seconds later he said, ‘When?’ Then he listened some more. He finished the call and turned back to Lock and Ty, who were still standing outside the house. ‘You familiar with someone called Raul Dominguez?’
‘What about him?’
‘His car was just found burned out by Central Division,’ Hill said.
‘And what about Raul?’
‘He was in the trunk.’ Hill looked away. ‘Looks like he’d been stabbed.’
Lock felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders tighten. Despite the friction between them, Raul had been a good kid. It made no sense that he was dead. But it showed that the killer was growing increasi
ngly desperate. As the initial jolt of shock ebbed away, something occurred to him. They had the suspect under surveillance. Yet Lock had seen Raul not that long ago. ‘But you just said that you have—’
Hill interrupted: ‘That’s the kicker. The surveillance team lost eyes on him about six hours ago.’
‘Right when Raul would have had to go missing,’ said Ty, as he glanced towards Lock.
‘You know,’ Hill said, ‘if he slips away again, and finds Raven …’
‘Then we’ll be ready,’ Lock said firmly.
‘What do you think all this stress is doing to her?’ Hill asked. ‘Listen, we’ll have cops wall to wall. Raven will be totally safe. If this drags on, can you say the same? Can you be certain of that, Mr Lock? Let’s get some closure to all of this.’
Lock sighed. ‘Fine, ask her yourself. But if she says no, then you drop it.’
Hill smiled. ‘You have my word.’
Forty-five
Lock looked at Raven, who faced him in the kitchen, her arms folded. Her eyes were yellowing slightly, and her skin had moved beyond pale to transparent. The strain was finally showing.
Tiring of the deck, and at Lock’s suggestion, Carrie had taken Kevin on to the beach with Angel. The one thing you could rely on in Malibu was the neighbors’ discretion. Even if someone did spot Kevin and work out who he was, no one would be calling the media. People came to Malibu because they had money and because they wanted to be left alone.
‘I’ll do it,’ Raven said, her face set in a frown.
‘It’s your call,’ Lock said.
Hill looked surprised and Ty shocked. Raven unfolded her arms. ‘What?’
‘I said it’s up to you,’ Lock replied.
‘You’re not going to give me some big lecture about how I’m being irresponsible? About how I might get hurt?’
Lock answered with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Would it make a difference?’
‘Nope. My mind’s made up,’ she said.
‘Well, then, I’ll save my breath.’ Lock turned to Hill. ‘But I’m going to be there. That’s part of the deal.’
Hill sighed. ‘The LAPD won’t like you being involved.’
‘Tough shit. I also want to be able to recon the location first.’
Hill reached for his cell phone, which was lying on the black granite counter. ‘I’m going to have to make some calls.’ He looked over at Raven. ‘You’re good to wear a wire?’
‘Whatever it takes. I just want this done.’
Lock raised his hand. ‘I have a question.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘How are we going to know where this guy is?’
‘He popped back up on the radar right after we found Raul.’
‘You spotted him?’ Ty asked.
‘No,’ Hill said with a sad smile. ‘He strolled back into his apartment in West Hollywood like he’d been out for a pack of smokes.’
‘He’s got to know you’re watching him,’ Lock said.
‘Maybe he doesn’t care.’ Hill walked out on to the deck and started making calls, pulling the heavy glass door shut behind him. Lock watched him pace up and down, one hand in his pocket: Mr Cool, Calm and Collected.
Ty clapped a hand on Lock’s shoulder. ‘Are you for real? We’re sending her into the lion’s den.’
Lock smiled. ‘No, we’re not.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ty asked.
Raven flicked a stray strand of jet-black hair away from her face. ‘Yeah. What do you mean?’
Lock stared at her, the smile gone. ‘You’re not going into any lion’s den. Trust me.’
Ten minutes later, Hill stepped back inside. ‘All set.’
‘What’s his name?’ Raven said suddenly.
Lock, Ty and Hill all turned to look at her.
‘I already said,’ Hill said. ‘I can’t tell you that yet.’
‘This guy has been making my life hell. I want to know what his name is or the deal’s off. I’ll sit here until you work out what you want to do.’
Hill looked at Raven, then at Lock, and then back at Raven. ‘Clayton Mills.’
‘And you think he’s the guy who’s been sending the notes?’ she asked.
‘We know he made the phone call and he knew about the dress. The dress wasn’t information that ever went public, so—’
‘Jesus, why did he pick me?’ Raven broke in, her voice cracking with strain. ‘There are lots of girls who do this. Why me?’
Hill gazed at the dark hardwood floor of the kitchen. ‘We’ll be able to answer those questions once we have him in custody.’
‘You think he won’t know he’s been set up?’ Lock asked. ‘If he’s been obsessing about Raven all this time, what’s it going to be like for him to be talking to her?’
Hill grunted noncommittally. ‘The honest answer is, we don’t know.’
‘And what if he tries to hurt me?’
‘We’ll have armed officers everywhere. He makes a move to harm you, he’s dead meat.’
‘He is?’ Raven asked, her brow furrowed.
‘He’s a cop killer who’s going to be surrounded by cops,’ Hill said. ‘No one’s going to hesitate to take him down if there’s an excuse to do so.’
Raven sighed, then made for the door, shoulders hunched. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’
Forty-six
The sun was starting to set as they arrived at a café in West Hollywood. It was a few blocks away from where the police knew Clayton Mills was living and where the surveillance team had observed him eating. Hip West Hollywood with its large gay population was not an area that Lock would have associated with this type of predator but, then, nothing about this job had been normal so far.
Lock and Raven sat down, ordered coffee and scanned the menu. Lock was nervous. This was not his plan, and even though there were maybe two dozen cops all around, including a couple of undercover officers at nearby tables, he knew that if Clayton Mills was here or walked in, and if he sensed some kind of betrayal, his and Raven’s lives could be snuffed out in a matter of seconds.
He scanned the other patrons. There was a man sitting inside on his own. He was wearing a cut-off wife-beater-style T-shirt designed to showcase his massive biceps.
Clayton Mills, Lock said to himself. It was the arms. They were prison-muscle. No tone or definition to them, just bulk. The kind of arms you got from a bad diet and lots of big weights.
Lock saw a slight tremble in Raven’s hands as she rested them on the table. He had no gun but he did have his Gerber knife tucked into a pocket, ready to jam into Mills’s neck at the first sign of any aggressive move on his part. While the LAPD had shown little respect for him, Lock had equal distrust for their abilities in a situation like this. Their focus was on making sure they had their suspect. Lock’s focus had to be on making sure that Raven walked away in one piece. Difficult when she was being dangled like a piece of bait in front of a man who had already slaughtered several people in cold blood.
‘You okay?’ he asked Raven.
Fear, and proximity to the man who had made her life hell, would be a powerful gravitational pull, and her desire to look at Mills must be strong. Yet they both knew she had to pretend he didn’t exist.
‘Fine,’ she answered, shoulders rigid with tension.
‘So, what you gonna have?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Lock glanced at the two men at the table directly to their left. They were tucking into their meals with a relish not often seen in a part of town so obsessed with appearance. ‘The eggs look good.’
Raven scrunched up her face. ‘I hate eggs.’
An avenue for small-talk. ‘How come?’ he asked.
Raven made another face, carefully plucked eyebrows darting upwards for a split second. ‘You really do not want to know.’
‘Try me.’
‘It’s gross.’
Lock had once had to scoop a friend’s lower intestine back into his abdomen. It was like gath
ering slippery rope. He didn’t get grossed out easily any more. ‘Go ahead. I love gross stories.’ Behind them, through the murmur of café chatter, he picked out the man he had down as Clayton Mills talking to one of the waiters. Now, from the tone of the man’s voice and how he was speaking, he was sure. Ex-cons were nothing if not direct.
‘You started work here today?’ Mills barked, interrogating the waiter.
Jesus, thought Lock. The cops had put one of their guys in as a waiter. It was about as newbie a piece of police work as Lock could imagine. It came down to the same rule that Lock applied in his job: what do you look for in a situation that tells you things are off? The absence of the normal. The presence of the abnormal. The bad guys looked for the same thing as the good guys.
Putting Raven in here was pushing the second part. Throw in a new waiter, and you might as well have replaced the faux-fifties neon sign hanging outside with ‘Police Stakeout In Progress’.
As Clayton Mills’s voice rose in volume, an embarrassed hush descended around them. Lock reached for the handle of his knife, the fingers of his right hand closing around it as he watched him continue to remonstrate with the undercover cop doing a bad job of playing a waiter.
Lock kept his eyes on Raven. If she reacted, he would move.
The intensity of his focus meant that the big guy coming down the sidewalk towards them was less than ten feet away before Lock recognized him. It was the bodyguard from Las Vegas, the guy doing the security for Raven’s Russian client.
He winked at Lock as he passed, then took a seat at a table in the middle of the café, as a few more pieces of Lock’s puzzle fell into place. Lock’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his knife. Violence crackled in the air. Someone was about to get hurt – badly. The only question now was who.
Forty-seven
Ty stood back as Wendy pushed open the front door. She and Kevin hugged, Kevin planting a kiss on Wendy’s cheek as her mother watched. Whatever went down in West Hollywood, whether the stakeout worked or not, Ty knew that they finally had an opportunity for Wendy and Kevin to meet up without looking over their shoulder too much. Wendy’s mother had taken a lot of persuading, but Ty, with a little help from Carrie, had broken her down. The plan was for Ty to drop the kids off at the mall, then leave them for a while so that they could catch a movie together and get something to eat. Alone. Without someone monitoring their every move. Like regular seventeen-year-olds did.