“You work fast,” Frost said.
“We need to work fast. We don’t have much time. I told you, I know Rudy Cutter. You don’t think he’s done, do you?”
Frost thought to himself, Tick tock.
“No, Cutter’s not done,” he replied. “He’s going to kill again. And it’s already November.”
11
Rudy Cutter enjoyed his first beer as a free man, and it went straight to his head. He and his brother, Phil, sat at a corner table squirreled away in a Mission District bar, where he could watch the crowd. It was his old neighborhood, his old hangout. Twenty-somethings filled the floor shoulder to shoulder and spilled out into the street. The music was loud, the drinkers were loud, and the bar glowed under a dozen television screens mounted high on the walls. The Warriors were playing the Bucks.
To the people who didn’t know him, Rudy was anonymous. He wanted it that way. He wore a white Warriors cap low on his forehead and sunglasses despite the darkness of the bar. Even so, he knew he was being watched. Two men at a nearby table kept looking over their shoulders at him. Two more near the door filmed him surreptitiously from their phones.
“Cops,” he murmured to his brother.
Phil’s gaze flicked casually around the bar. “They’re itching for any excuse to bust you again.”
“Yeah, they’ll send somebody over to start a fight soon so they can take me in. Count on it.”
He turned his attention back to his beer. Phil was already on his second.
Rudy’s brother was only a year younger, but Phil had gone downhill during the time Rudy had spent inside and was so skinny now that his bones showed through his skin. Phil’s hair was black but thinning. He drank hard and smoked hard, and it showed in his sallow, sunken face. He had a rumbling voice and raspy cough. He was gruff with everyone, a curmudgeon who’d never married. They’d lived together for a long time. After Hope. After Wren. It had been a bland existence for both of them, two lifetimes whittled away watching sports and drinking in places like this.
“Listen, about the house,” Phil said. “Neighbors aren’t crazy about all the police and reporters hanging around.”
Rudy rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, and he needed a shower. “You want me to stay away?”
“Just keep a low profile when you come by. Wait until dark. Use the back.”
“Okay.”
His brother lowered his voice. “Are you going to need an alibi for anything?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I got some money for you,” Phil added. “A couple thousand bucks. That should buy you time.”
“Where’d you get it?” Rudy asked.
“A few small jobs.” Phil waggled his fingers. He’d always been good with locks. He’d been caught a few times, but the cash-strapped California jails didn’t have room for low-level thieves.
Rudy took another casual swig from his beer. “Did you a find a guy for the switch tonight?”
“Yeah, he’s sitting at the end of the bar.”
Rudy followed Phil’s glance and spotted a man nursing a whiskey rocks by himself. He was at least ten years younger than Rudy, but they could make it work. Their build was similar. The man wore sunglasses, a loose 49ers jersey, and tan corduroys. A navy knit cap covered his forehead and ears.
“What did you tell him?” Rudy asked.
“Nothing. For fifty bucks, he didn’t ask questions. I text him, we’re good to go.”
“Okay,” Rudy said. “I’ll call you as soon as I can. You have the burner phones?”
“You bet. So what are you going to do, Rudy?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Hey, I never interfere, but you’re out, man. That’s huge. Maybe you should think about getting out of town. San Francisco is too hot right now. Everyone’s keeping an eye out for you. You could head to LA or Reno or someplace like that. You could start over. Or at least lay low for a while.”
“I’ve got things to do. Now text your friend, and let’s go.”
His brother whipped off a quick text on his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Rudy saw the man at the bar grab his phone and make an awkward, obvious survey of the crowded room. Fortunately, no one saw him; no one cared. The man climbed off the bar stool and pushed through the crowd toward the narrow hallway leading to the men’s restroom.
Rudy waited until the man was gone, and then he got out of the chair. A dozen eyes in the bar followed him as he got up. He pretended not to notice. He signaled the bartender with two fingers. Two more beers over here.
Then he headed for the restroom.
The door was closed, but he rapped his knuckles on the wood, and the man from the bar opened it a crack and looked outside. Rudy pushed past him into the tiny room and locked the door behind them. There wasn’t much space for the two of them inside. A single dim lightbulb overhead cast shadows. The sink was dirty and wet, and the toilet stank.
“Get undressed,” Rudy said. “Fast.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Without waiting for the other man, Rudy yanked off his own suit coat and quickly stripped off his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. He kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and stood in the bathroom in nothing but his underwear and socks. He shoved the man’s shoulder hard.
“Move,” he said.
The other man sprang into action. He pulled off his 49ers jersey, and Rudy slipped it on. Same with the man’s corduroys. They switched sunglasses, and Rudy took the man’s knit cap and handed over his own Warriors hat. The man squeezed into Rudy’s suit, and when he struggled with the tie, Rudy reached out and did the knot and shoved it up tightly against the man’s throat.
“Go straight back to the table with my brother,” Rudy told him. “Sit down, and don’t let anyone get a good look at your face. Drink the beer. Talk to him like you’re best friends, okay?”
The man looked nervous. “I don’t know about this.”
“You only need to pull it off for five minutes,” Rudy told him. “Phil will give you an extra twenty bucks if this works.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Now get out of here,” Rudy said.
He unlocked the bathroom door and shoved the man through the narrow opening, then locked the door again and waited. He counted off ninety seconds. Enough time for the man to make it back to their table and for the cops and reporters to notice the suit, the Warriors cap, and the sunglasses. Not enough time to look carefully and realize they were being conned.
Rudy opened the door. No one else was waiting to get into the bathroom. He saw the standing-room-only bar crowd ahead of him at the end of the corridor. Something happened in the basketball game; a cheer filled the room. Everyone was distracted. He pushed casually through the throng and ignored the faces, and they ignored him. Beyond the tables, he saw the exit door, illuminated by a neon sign. He didn’t look at his brother, and he hoped Phil was smart enough not to look his way.
No one saw him. No one recognized him.
He crossed the bar floor and pushed through the door into the cold, drizzly night. Across the street, halfway down the block, cops watched from inside a sedan. He ignored them and walked the other way. At the corner, he turned onto Guerrero and marched uphill with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He was in no hurry. He listened for the noise of cars turning to lay chase behind him.
None did.
At the next intersection, he ran. He sprinted through darkened streets and lost himself in the neighborhood. Back at the bar, they’d probably figured out their mistake by now, but they were too late to find him. He was already gone.
He slowed to a walk and found a deserted park where he could sit and enjoy the San Francisco air. But not for long.
Someone was waiting for him.
She just didn’t know it yet.
12
Frost turned into the parking garage across from Pier 39.
It was late, and most of the touris
ts were back in their hotels, except for a few couples wandering hand in hand past the fairy lights of the Wharf. The garage itself was largely empty of cars. He drove to the third floor and parked near the elevated walkway that led over the Embarcadero to the shops and restaurants. He got out and wandered into the midnight air. From the far side of the pier, he heard the 24/7 barking of the sea lions who made a home there. The smell of fish wafted in the air.
In the shadows, no more than twenty yards away, Jess waited for him. Her spiky bangs looked longer and messier than usual. She wore a heavy jacket against the wind that emphasized her bulky physique. A cigarette hung from her mouth, as it usually did.
He joined her at the railing. “This is sort of like Deep Throat, isn’t it? A parking garage at midnight?”
“I’ve got spies at my place,” Jess told him through a cloud of smoke. Her apartment building was only a few blocks away on Kearny Street. “I had to lose somebody when I left.”
“You think it’s the press?”
“Maybe. Or maybe Hayden is making sure you and I don’t talk. I’m radioactive. Nobody is supposed to have any contact with me.”
Captain Hayden was the top cop in the major-crimes unit. He was also Jess’s ex-husband, and their marriage hadn’t ended well. The captain had probably heard the rumors about his wife’s short-lived relationship with Frost, but Frost wasn’t sure if Hayden thought the affair had begun before or after their separation. Either way, he and the captain were colleagues but not friends.
“I don’t care about Hayden,” Frost said.
“Well, you should. This isn’t your case. You should stay out of it.”
“I am out of it. Officially, at least. But we’re talking about the man who killed Katie. If Hayden doesn’t like me getting involved, he can fire me, too.”
Jess gave a disgusted little sigh. “Don’t be stupid, Frost. You don’t need to go down in flames like me. This was my mistake. I was wrong to say any of this is your fault. This is on me, not you. I knew what I was doing. I knew there’d be a hell of a price to pay if it ever came out.”
They were silent for a while.
Then Frost said, “They already lost Cutter. The alert came over the radio this evening.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. He and his brother were at a bar. Cutter switched clothes with some guy in the men’s room. By the time the cops following him figured it out, he was long gone.”
“What did Cutter’s brother say?”
“That he has no idea where Rudy went. Which is probably true. He says he told him to leave town and start over somewhere else.”
“You think that’s what Cutter did?” Jess asked.
“No.”
“Me neither,” she agreed. She lowered her voice, even though no one was around to hear them. “Listen, I need to tell you something. After we talked last time, I printed out everything about the investigation from my computer. I copied as much as I could from the murder boxes, too. I didn’t know how long I’d have access to any of it. I know the judge said we have to throw out my research, but if you want it, it’s yours. No one has to know.”
Frost frowned. It was tempting. Jess had built an encyclopedia of information about the Golden Gate Murders over five years, and without her legwork, they had nothing. Even so, the risk was too great.
“If I find something because of notes you give me, people will ask how I got it, and I’ll have to tell them. We’ll be right back where we are now. The judge will toss it. I have to start over.”
Jess shrugged. “Okay. So how can I help?”
“Point me in a direction. Tell me where to start looking.”
“I wish I could,” Jess replied. “I worked this case for years and got nowhere. There was almost no hard evidence. No DNA, no fingerprints, no witnesses. Cutter was too smart. Everything other than the watch was circumstantial. We could place him near some of the vics and crime scenes. That’s all.”
“There must be something else.”
“I’m just saying that you won’t nail him with forensics. If there was something to find, I would have found it. The only way you’ll get Cutter now is if you can tie him directly to the victims.”
He waited for her to explain. Jess finished one cigarette and immediately lit another.
“The thing is, Cutter makes plans,” she went on. “You should have seen the files he wrote up when he was an underwriter. Unbelievable detail. Page after page of analysis about the pros and cons.”
“What am I supposed to take away from that?” Frost asked.
“A methodical guy like Cutter doesn’t pick random women off the street. And it wasn’t sexual. He’s not your typical pervy serial killer. There was no rape, no molestation, on any of them. So why did he pick these particular women as victims? My original theory was that it had something to do with Wren—that he was taking some kind of twisted revenge for his daughter’s murder—but I’m not convinced I was right about that.”
“He met Nina Flores on her twenty-first birthday,” Frost reminded her. “Wren would have turned twenty-one the same year. That seems like more than a coincidence.”
“Maybe, but after Nina, age didn’t seem to be a factor. The other victims had nothing in common with each other or with Wren. We had seven different women, and none of them knew each other. None of them lived near each other. They didn’t share a physical type. I didn’t find any overlap in places they’d gone or people they knew. I couldn’t find any intersection between their lives and Cutter’s life. And yet I knew there had to be a connection that ties these women together. I simply missed what it was.”
“I’m not likely to catch something you didn’t, Jess.”
“Well, you have one advantage,” she replied.
“What’s that?”
“Katie. You know her life backward and forward. If anyone can figure out why Cutter picked her, you can.”
“I didn’t figure it out back then,” Frost said.
“You weren’t a cop back then. And this was my case, not yours.”
Frost knew she was right. That was the worst part of what lay ahead. He was going to have to dive back into Katie’s life. More than that, he was going to have to dive back into Katie’s death, which was something he wished he could forget. He’d been starting to make the tiniest peace with the past, and now it was in his face again.
“I have one more question for you,” he said.
“Sure.”
“Do you know Eden Shay?”
“The writer? Yeah, I know her.”
“She’s doing a book about the Golden Gate Murders. She’s amassed a lot of research, and she offered to share it with me, in case it helps with the investigation.”
“What’s the catch?” Jess asked.
“I have to let her shadow me.”
“Yeah, she approached me a long time ago with the same proposal,” Jess told him. “We had just found Natasha Lubin, the third victim. Shay wanted to ‘embed’ with me. Be a silent observer of the whole investigation. A fly on the wall. In return, she’d give me copies of her research and interviews.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no. I didn’t need a writer slowing me down or second-guessing me. Besides, she was a crime victim herself, and victims usually bring baggage and agendas. Of course, in retrospect, maybe I should have agreed. She might have spotted something that I missed.”
“Do you think I should do a deal with her?” Frost asked.
“That depends. If you do this, she’ll make your whole life an open book. You may not like what she writes.”
“I know that.”
“Well, if you’re prepared for what it means, then go for it. She may be able to help you more than I can.”
“Thanks.”
A sarcastic smile played across Jess’s lips. “By the way, I’ve seen what Eden Shay looks like. Remember, Frost, the term is ‘embed.’ Not ‘in bed.’”
Jess walked alone on Kearny Street from the Embarc
adero, leaving the bay and the piers behind her. She kept her head down into the wind and used an impatient stride. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her heavy coat. It was after midnight, and she had the neighborhood to herself. Her building was two blocks away, where the street ended at a sharp wooded cliff below Chestnut Street.
When she reached the park next to her building, she stopped for a last cigarette. The park was a square of green space, with leafy trees quaking in the wind and neatly trimmed hedges crowding the sides of the adjacent buildings. She stood on the sidewalk, not hurrying. Moments of freedom like this were going to disappear for her soon, and she needed to savor them. Everything was about to change in her life. The DA would be coming after her.
She pinched the cigarette between her fingers and exhaled through pursed lips. The smoke vanished into the gloom of the park. It was a strangely dark night. Too dark, in fact. Four lampposts typically glowed in the square, but tonight the park wasn’t lit at all, which aroused her suspicions. She ground out her cigarette, put her hands back in her pockets, and wandered toward the nearest park light.
Broken fragments of white glass littered the sidewalk. The dome had been shattered.
She knew what that meant, because she’d been expecting it. He was here. And he was hunting her.
Jess made a slow, cautious circle. She heard something nearby. Breathing. A footstep. Or maybe the wind was playing a game with her brain. She followed the hedgerow beside her building, looking behind her with every step. She traced the entire square and then made her way into the center of the muddy grass. Her eyes adjusted, and she could see into the shadows. The trees loomed in front of her, with wide, empty arms and thick trunks. She could smell the remnants of her own cigarette.
Something rustled in the bushes behind her, and Jess spun around. A small animal streaked across the square, making her jump. It was a rabbit. She laughed at herself and realized that her nerves were frayed. She was alone in the park. The broken lights were the work of kids.
Jess turned around again.
Rudy Cutter stood in front of her.
The Voice Inside (Frost Easton Book 2) Page 8