The last thing she wanted was for him to second-guess his decision, but she had to ask. “Are you sure, Al? I mean, are you really okay with leaving your sister?”
“We made a pact. No more huge gaps between visits. She promises to come to San Diego at least four times a year. I invited her and Ricardo to join us for a July fourth barbeque. That okay?”
“You have to ask?”
“Just trying to be courteous.”
“Your sister and her boyfriend are welcome anytime,” Sami said. She looked at her watch. “I’d love to talk more but—”
“Yah, yah, I remember the routine. Don’t let the mayor rough you up.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll e-mail you my flight info. Think you can pick me up at the airport?
“Nothing would make me happier.”
Just as she had promised, Robin Westcott showed up at the main precinct at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Sami whisked her off to a private room where Robin and the sketch artist, Israel Martinez, could hopefully come up with an accurate composite of the serial killer. When Sami introduced Robin to Israel, he scratched the back of his head.
“Didn’t we already do this?”
“That was just for practice,” she had said. “This one’s for real.”
By the way Israel looked at her, it was obvious he wasn’t amused.
She faced the daunting task of meeting her colleagues with her tail between her legs, and having to explain why they’d been chasing a ghost for the last twenty-four hours. She wasn’t yet sure how she’d make this announcement without coming under attack—especially from her favorite detective: Mr. Big Mouth D’Angelo. Surely, he would thoroughly enjoy taking her to the mats. If she’d learned anything as a detective, she’d learned that when you deliver bad news to your colleagues, be sure you follow it up with good news. As soon as she had the new sketch in hand, she would convene with her colleagues and break the news. Then, they would have to run another comparison of the new sketch against the database of photos they had collected.
Not all was lost. In spite of the faulty composite drawing, the basic premise was still valid: the perp was likely in health care, he had an advanced medical degree, and his medical ID had a caduceus imprinted on it. Also, both Tiny and Robin Westcott believed they could pick the perp out of a lineup. So, she thought, maybe I’m not nearly as screwed as I thought. Her phone rang and Police Chief Larson, his voice a familiar growl, summoned her to his office. Immediately.
When Sami saw Mayor Sullivan sitting in the captain’s office yet again, she suspected that she was about to be horsewhipped.
Davidson gestured for her to sit adjacent to the mayor. Her irritable stomach announced its displeasure.
“Where’s Osbourn?” the chief asked.
She couldn’t tell Larson that she let him make a quick trip home to check on his wife. “He’s knee-deep in paperwork.”
The chief wasn’t buying it. “He needs to be here.”
“No worries,” Sami said. “I can get him in here. But if I do, we’ll never have our reports completed by the end of the day.” Larson was a stickler for paperwork, so Sami rolled the dice.
“Forget it,” the chief said. “You can fill him in.”
Mayor Sullivan leaned toward Sami as if she was going to whisper in her ear. The volume of her voice was anything but a whisper. “I understand that your team has done a fine job tracking down and interviewing the seventeen suspects. Is that correct, Detective?”
“It is.” She could tell that the mayor was weaving a web.
“And is it also true that none of the seventeen suspects resulted in an arrest, or were even worthy of a more in-depth interrogation?”
“I’m afraid so, Mayor.”
“So we spent hundreds of man hours on a wild goose chase?”
“Not at all, Mayor. Through our efforts, we found another witness who can pick our guy out of a lineup. In fact, she’s with Israel Martinez as we speak.”
“That’s terrific, Detective,” the mayor said. “There’s only one minor problem. We have no suspects—not even one—so we have no lineup.”
“What’s the witness doing with Martinez?” Larson asked.
“She got a much better look at our guy so we’re adding a little more detail to the original composite sketch.”
“Who’s the witness?” Larson asked.
“The salesperson at Saks.”
“Wait a minute,” Larson said. “Didn’t Al already interview her?”
Sami nodded.
“And he never asked her if she could identify our guy?”
“He did. But at that time the witness claimed she couldn’t help with a composite drawing. You know how it goes, Chief. Sometimes witnesses suffer from temporary amnesia.”
“I have to be honest with you, Detective,” the mayor said. “In spite of your efforts, I’m not only disappointed at the lack of progress in this investigation. I have to tell you, I’m seriously losing my patience.”
“Let me ask you a question, Mayor, if I may. What should I be doing that I’m not already doing? Because if you have any suggestions at all, if I need to move in a different direction, or completely change my course of action, I’ll act on your suggestions immediately.”
“I’m not the lead detective on this investigation, you are. I don’t tell you how to do your job and you don’t tell me how to do mine. My only concern is results. And I don’t care how you get there, as long as your methods are within the guidelines set by the department.”
“With all due respect, Mayor, considering the short time I’ve been lead on this investigation, I think we’ve made great progress. We have two eye witnesses, and soon we’ll have a revised sketch that will narrow the field. Our guy is more than likely in health care, and his medical ID card has the caduceus symbol on it. I know that I don’t have to tell you this, but police work is a process of elimination. You get a lead. You chase it. If it takes you to a dead end, you move in a different direction. Wouldn’t you agree that we’re heading in the right direction?”
The mayor stood, leaned her backside against Larson’s desk, and folded her arms. “So what’s your game plan, Detective?”
At times like this, Sami regretted being half Sicilian. Oh, what she wanted to say to the mayor. “As soon as the revised composite sketch is done, I’ll be meeting with the entire crew and coordinating distribution to all city, state, and federal locations. We’ll also compare the sketch to the database we’ve compiled of health-care professionals that meet our criteria. Once completed, we’ll hit the bricks again and interview potential suspects based on their resemblance to the composite sketch.”
“Okay,” the mayor said. “I’m going to give you lots of rope here. Hopefully, you won’t hang yourself.”
Julian arrived at Kate Sessions Park a few minutes early, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Except for three teenagers tossing around a Frisbee, a family of four enjoying a picnic, and a young woman walking her Golden Retriever, the park was quiet. And that was exactly the way he wanted it. Not that he had any intentions of snagging McKenzie here—that would be way too risky. But the fewer people who saw them together, the less chance anyone would make the connection when she went missing.
Although he had made some interesting, and he felt important, discoveries, his research was not progressing nearly as well as he had hoped. At the hospital, he had unlimited resources—medications, surgical tools, and cutting-edge equipment, not to mention an entire research staff available at his beck and call. And he had access to the most sophisticated medical equipment in the world. From a surgical standpoint, his loft, at best, was little more than an underfunded clinic. Grabbing a handful of scalpels, or a rib spreader, or anesthesia, was easy. They fit neatly into his briefcase. But the only piece of diagnostic equipment he had at his disposal was a dated heart monitor he had purchased secondhand from a medical supplier. He couldn’t just walk out the hospital door with a ten-thousand-dollar piece of equipment un
der his arm.
A woman appeared out of nowhere, walking across the lawn holding hands with two young girls about the same age as Julian’s daughters. His thoughts drifted to Lorena and Isabel. He had faced fierce guilt and a profound sense of loss when he had packed three suitcases and moved out of his home. He had believed that the separation from his daughters would prove devastating. Sure, when he dropped them off after spending time with them, he’d felt horrible. But he didn’t feel the intense emptiness he had anticipated. Was he a rotten father? Would he ever be able to repair whatever damage he’d caused? Children didn’t always reveal their emotions. Fears and insecurities were often buried deep inside. How well he knew this. When he was young, unloved, and desperately seeking his parents’ recognition, no one was aware of his private hell. No one could ever understand what he felt in his broken heart.
Thoughts of Nicole took hold of him. Separated from her, he now realized that he had been silently unhappy with his marriage for years. Sometimes denial conveniently masks the obvious. Had it not been for his daughters, he might have found the courage to walk away from his marriage years ago. Now more than ever, he needed to secure the research grant from GAFF. Once approved, he would be in an ideal position to ask Nicole for a divorce and fight for custody of his daughters. For now, he’d have to endure. There was no way he could handle the pressure from the research and emotional strain of a divorce at the same time. Everything came into focus. His objectives crystal clear.
He looked to his right and saw McKenzie O’Neill parking the “road warrior” right next to him. He watched her get out of the car, and in that moment, he wanted her the same way he had wanted Eva and Rachael.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” McKenzie apologized. “The traffic coming into Pacific Beach was horrendous.”
“No big deal. I was just sitting in my car admiring the view of Mission Bay.” Julian grabbed the yoga mat he had purchased just that afternoon, tucked it under his arm, and draped a towel around his neck. “Pick a spot.”
McKenzie pointed to a level area under a palm tree. “How about over there?”
“Hey, you’re the instructor, so it’s your call.” He reached in his pocket and peeled five crisp twenty-dollar bills from a sizable wad of money. He handed the money to McKenzie. “Here you go. I thought it best to give you the money in advance just in case you have to drive me to emergency.”
She laughed. “Not to worry. I’ll take it easy on you for the first couple of lessons. Then you’re in big trouble.”
She walked slightly ahead of him, leading the way. He liked what he saw. Perfectly proportioned with highly defined muscle tone, McKenzie’s body didn’t have an ounce of fat. But oh, what an ass.
She rolled out her mat and set her towel and gallon bottle of water on the grass. “You didn’t bring any water?” she asked.
“Afraid not.”
“Well as long as you’re not scared of getting cooties, you’re welcome to share mine.”
“Thanks. The last thing I’m worried about is getting cooties from you.” He stared at her long and penetrating. Julian could feel strong chemistry between them.
His stamina and flexibility surprised him. Of course, McKenzie was really taking it easy.
She glanced at her watch. “We’re twenty minutes into it. How you holding up?”
“I’m fine now. But wait until I try to get out of bed tomorrow morning. I’m going to need a crane.”
“You’ll be fine. Sore muscles are a good thing. It’s your body trying to tell you something.”
“Yes. Telling me to take up basket weaving.”
“Okay, watch closely. We’re going to go into downward facing dog.”
Julian studied her form carefully and tried his best to hold the position.
“Don’t overdo it. If you feel too much strain in your lower back or shoulders, move to a cat-cow stretch on all fours. Remember how to do that?”
“I do.”
Thirty-five minutes later, Julian was completely spent and about as drenched as he could be without stepping into a shower. “Can we call it a night?” he asked.
“Had enough?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t ask for a refund.”
“That’s a good thing. Because my fee is nonrefundable.”
They gathered their things and walked slowly toward the parking lot. Julian turned and looked west. “Looks like a beautiful sunset.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Are you in a hurry?” Julian asked.
“That depends. What did you have in mind?”
“We could drive to the ocean, get a couple of iced drinks from Starbucks, and watch the sun set.”
She looked at her watch. “I’m tempted but I’ve got an early-morning appointment and really should get going.”
“But wait a minute. You’re still on my dime, right? The least you could do is give me my money’s worth. Besides, it’s my treat.”
She didn’t say anything but he could tell she was seriously considering his proposal.
“C’mon. It’ll be fun. Maybe we’ll see the green flash.”
“I’ve never seen one,” she said. “Have you?”
“Only once.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Okay. But just as soon as the sun sets, I have to leave.”
Parking at the beach was always difficult, but it was too early for the bar-hopping crowd and too late for the sun worshipers, so at this particular time, both McKenzie and Julian found parking spots only two blocks from Crystal Pier, a landmark in Pacific Beach. Conveniently, Starbucks was on the way to the ocean.
“I’ll run in and get the drinks,” Julian offered. “You can sit out here and look at the beautiful sky. What’s your pleasure?”
“I’d like a Very Berry Hibiscus.”
“That’s a joke, right? You’re trying to set me up so the Starbucks folks think I’m looney.”
“Nope. It’s one of their limited-time promotional drinks. I had one yesterday.”
“Okay, but if I’m not out in ten minutes, come rescue me.”
“Sure thing.”
He was glad she hadn’t ordered a frothy drink with lots of whipped cream. That would make it nearly impossible to spike her drink. He ordered a Very Berry Hibiscus for her and a green tea Frappuccino for himself. While he waited, he kept an eye on her. With her back to him, he could see that she was facing west and watching the colorful sky. Perfect.
When the order was ready, he grabbed the drinks and headed for the condiment bar. As he reached in his pocket and removed a small packet of the Rohypnol he had prepared earlier today, he looked left and then right to see if anyone was watching. As quickly as he could, he poured the drug into McKenzie’s drink, grabbed a stir-stick, and thoroughly blended the drug with the drink.
“Enjoy,” he said as he handed McKenzie the drink.
They headed for the ocean.
They weren’t fortunate enough to see the green flash, but the orange and red and yellow sky dancing on the calm ocean was begging to be on a postcard.
“I gotta get moving,” McKenzie said. “I’m suddenly really tired.”
“It’s probably the ocean air. Just about every time I come down here, I fall asleep on the beach.”
They left the beach and headed for their cars. Julian noticed that McKenzie walked like someone with concrete shoes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound legitimately concerned.
“Wow. My head is spinning. I feel like I’m drunk.”
“Is it that hibiscus drink?”
She shook her head. “I seriously doubt it.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Never.”
Only a half block away from her car, he didn’t think she was going to make it.
“I have to sit down,” McKenzie said. “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
“We’re almost there. Take my arm.”
“I don’t think…I can drive. What am I going to do?”
“I don’t want to trouble you,” she said, her voice almost garbled.
“It’s no trouble. Honestly.”
The effect of the drug didn’t wear off for more than three hours. When McKenzie awoke, she found herself lying on a strange bed in a pitch-black room, and not only did she feel as if she were still dreaming, her brain was a collection of incoherent thoughts. She tried desperately to piece together the puzzle but the only thing she knew for certain was that John—if that was even his real name—had drugged her. But why? She didn’t even want to think about the obvious, but couldn’t stop herself from taking a quick inventory. She didn’t feel any discomfort “down there,” but in her current state how could she be certain that her sensory signals told the whole story?
For most of her adult life, McKenzie had been careful—obsessively careful. Why had she let down her guard with John? Was it the money he had offered her? Was it his innocent charm? Back in college, three of her closest friends had been drugged with “roofies.” One got pregnant, one was a victim of a gang rape, and one ended up in therapy. Whatever he had planned for her, she feared the worst.
She tried to sit up but felt something tug on her wrists. It took a minute for her to realize that she was bound to the bed with something unidentifiable. She further discovered when she tried to bend her knees that her ankles were also tied to the bed. Her temples were throbbing unmercifully. She lay perfectly still and listened. But all she could hear was the tick-tock of a clock.
Her mouth felt as dry as sawdust, so she tried to produce enough saliva to speak, but the best she could do was generate a barely audible sound.
“John, are you here? Can you hear me?”
She could hardly hear her own words. How did she expect anyone else to hear them? All she could do was lie quietly and wait.
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