The Pretty Ones (A Kate Reid Novel Book 6)

by Robin Mahle

  “I assume you’ve already spoken with the liquor store owner?”

  “Oh yeah. Didn’t see nothin’. No customers at that time either. Place was quiet, so he says. And I suspect the killer knew there were no front-facing cameras before he made his choice.”

  Kate peered down one end of the sidewalk and then down the opposite end. “Did he drive here? Did anyone pick up a car on closed circuit?”

  “A compact Honda Civic, green, older model stopped alongside the road a couple of blocks away at 3:10 a.m., but drove off only moments later, according to the surveillance footage. We requested all within a mile from here.” Sharpe looked in the same direction as Kate. “We couldn’t see much, so I have no idea why the car stopped.”

  “That was only—what—less than an hour from the victim’s estimated time of death?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did it capture a plate?”

  “No.” Sharpe noticed her deflate. “Now you see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Yeah. They don’t make it easy.” Kate turned back toward the building. “Okay. I think I’ve seen enough here. I’d like to go to the ME’s office now.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Andre Knight turned on the evening news while the kids played outside and Dina began making dinner. The first thing he saw was a picture of a young woman who’d been identified as twenty-four-year-old Jessica Brown. The image appeared to have been taken at her place of employment, which the story later on disclosed was a donut shop.

  “Ms. Brown had been the first to arrive to work and open the store. It was a fellow employee who noticed she was sitting against the front door when he pulled into the employee parking area. He hadn’t realized she was dead. And it appears the Pretty Face Killer was the one responsible, though Police have yet to conclude there is a connection.”

  He turned off the news and stared at the black screen until Dina approached.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Would you mind setting the table?” She waited for a response. “Andre? Can you set the table, please?”

  He turned to her with blank eyes. “What?”

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He walked past her.

  “Andre? Andre?” She followed him to the bottom of the staircase, but he refused to turn around. She huffed and walked back into the kitchen to set the table herself.

  Knight turned on his laptop, which rested on a small desk in their bedroom. He opened the proxy server that would disguise his IP address and began to log on to the website. And there she was. Ms. Jessica Brown, all pretty and dead, resting against the front door of a donut shop.

  But Knight hadn’t expected to see this. He scrolled through the comments section. The others who were followers of the website hadn’t been as angry. But then, none of them followed the man behind the camera the way he had. They didn’t have the balls to do it. But Andre, who’d decided that he needed to take a step back, hadn’t expected another quite so soon. The decision had been easy when the victims were spread apart by several days. The unexpected turn of events and the fact that he had missed the whole thing made his blood boil. How could he do this? Betrayal accompanied the anger and he slammed the lid shut without reaching the end of the video.

  His chest heaved as he tried to calm himself because he knew he would have to go downstairs in a few minutes. Knight closed his eyes and opened the lid again. Leaving behind any trace that he’d visited the site was dangerous. It was how he covered his tracks. But before he erased all the evidence, he couldn’t help but make a comment. “Half the fun is that you build us up, ready us for the masterpiece that will follow. I’m disappointed that didn’t happen this time.”

  It was all he could think to say because pushing the point could mean he would be blocked and then it would all be over. How could he go back to a normal life? He desired nothing so much as to watch them and watch him in action. It was the only thing that brought him satisfaction. A satisfaction that not even his wife could compete with.

  He shut down his laptop and retreated to the bathroom to splash water on his face. A few more palliative breaths and Andre made his way back downstairs. As he stepped down each one, his eyes grew brighter and his smile returned, both of which were by force. He walked into the kitchen. “Do you need help with anything?”

  Dina turned from the stove and placed a hand on her hip. “Oh, now you wanna help?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The key card slid into the lock and the green light flashed. Kate pushed open the door to her hotel room and flipped the switch. It was approaching ten p.m. and she was exhausted. The long day and grisly scenes had taken their toll. She dropped her purse on the desk and flopped onto the bed. That was when her phone began to ring.

  Finally sitting back up, Kate answered the call. “Hey.”

  “It was getting late and I hadn’t heard from you yet,” Nick began. “Everything go okay today?”

  “I just got back to my room, actually. Sharpe took me through the entire gamut. And I know I’m on the right track with a profile, but there’s more to consider. How are you?”

  “Fine. Got home about an hour ago. Dwight and I have been sorting through the consults, but no cases yet.”

  “That’s good. Does that mean I can stay as long as Sharpe needs me?”

  “Absolutely. Hey, if you can help them, more power to you. Sounds like they’ve got a growing problem there and they need to nip it in the bud.”

  “Couldn’t agree more. In fact, I was going to put a call into Marc Aguilar, but he’ll probably be in bed by now. I’ll reach out to him in the morning and let him know where we’re at. I don’t think he wants to wait much longer to pitch this to his bosses.”

  “The last thing you need to do right now is worry about Aguilar. I’m surprised no one’s picked up the story nationally yet anyway.”

  “Me too. I guess the country is more concerned about what the Kardashians are doing than they are about killers.”

  “Ahh, you’re beginning to sound like me now. Don’t you start getting bitter too, Kate. It won’t look good on you.”

  “You’re right.” Kate yawned. “Sorry about that. Don’t mean to be rude. Just the jetlag.”

  “It’s okay. It’s late and you’re still on east coast time. I’ll let you get some rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be just as busy. Keep me posted, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Nick.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Not a single word was mentioned about what had happened. It was as if it hadn’t happened at all. At least they were still talking. That was a good sign.

  Kate had no idea what would happen on her return. They could only tiptoe around the conversation so much. But the idea that he would be leaving soon did hurt. And she would have to come to terms with it because she would never ask him to stay—not for her. He deserved to move up. He needed it. Work was the only thing that kept him from sliding down the slippery slope she’d had to pull him from only months ago.

  The problem was that Kate still needed to decide what was best for her too. She thought work wasn’t a crutch, but maybe it was. Maybe she needed it as much as he did.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Nick walked into the kitchen and placed his glass on the counter. He looked at the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to the glass. As much as he’d wanted to, he knew his battle had deepened and that meant he would need to fight harder to resist. He wouldn’t have Dwight and Kate to prop him up anymore. And pulling any shit at Quantico meant he’d be out on his ass. That alone was enough to make him stop—for tonight anyway.

  The idea that he wouldn’t have to be so close to the investigations now was appealing. At Quantico, they performed case analysis, profiling, database research, and all for support of other offices and law enforcement. Those guys didn’t go out into the field as often and see all the dead bodies. They didn’t face the angry and hurt family members. He’d been at this for too
long and that was the bright spot in all this. He might have to leave Kate and Dwight, but he’d also get to leave behind the worst of the brutality of humankind. At least, only have to deal with it in textbook form and from a safe distance for the most part. That was what had really worn on him these past few years. And he’d increasingly taken it out on the bottle. That had to stop. Now he would get that chance. Even if it meant leaving Kate.

  CHAPTER 10

  The bedroom curtains ruffled as a cool breeze blew through the open window. Andre, still awake, felt a chill settle on his skin while he rested above the covers. He rolled out of bed and padded to the window, pulling it closed. Shadowed by the grey light, he turned back and noticed Dina stir. Andre was restless, his mind consumed with thoughts of the earlier betrayal. He eyed his laptop and retrieved it from the desk, making his way through the bedroom and out onto the landing.

  The wooden treads scraped against the rusting nails as he descended the staircase and headed toward the living room with his laptop tucked beneath one arm. Settling on the sofa, Andre turned on his computer and waited. The blue and white light from the screen burned his eyes for a moment until they finally adjusted. He began to type, gaining access into the dark web where he often patrolled. Now proficient in all forms of clandestine movement inside the web, Andre fancied himself somewhat of an expert.

  He happened upon the site where he visited only hours earlier and discovered he’d been betrayed by the man behind the camera. The man who had promised to keep his followers informed. Except he hadn’t done so yesterday. And now, something else caught his interest even more. A new video.

  Andre pressed play, confirming the sound was off, and watched. He found himself instantly transformed. His base instincts awakened by the pretty faces that appeared one after the other in a multitude of poses, each more provocative than the last. It was as though he was watching a stop-motion movie, except these were no animated puppets. These were the dead women who’d been presented so expressively by the man with the camera. The same one who’d documented his every move and whom Andre had decided to follow in the act itself. Perhaps others had too, but he hadn’t seen anyone else. They were all undoubtedly filled with cowardice and preferred the comfort and safety of their homes, indulging in their fetishes while their families slept. Andre had done that too, but he’d chosen to take the risk, to experience in person the excitement others had only seen on the screens of their various gadgets. Waiting, watching. He only had minutes after the man left to catch a glimpse of his artwork. He tried not to linger, no matter how much he’d wanted to, although he had slipped up before and made his escape before being discovered. It was a mistake that wouldn’t happen again.

  Was it luck that Andre lived near enough or was it fate? Of course, he’d found the site through a chat room that he had chosen on the basis of geographic location. So it wasn’t much of a stretch to find his way to the site operated by an anonymous entity inside the chat room. But Andre had begun to feel as though he knew the man behind the camera. He’d grown close to him and had felt betrayed because he hadn’t said where his next victim would be found. Had he been discovered the night of his narrow escape? No, no mention of anything like that was on the website and Andre was sure it would have been mentioned. And then there was the other woman. Again, he’d followed, but had taken more precautions and almost waited too long before indulging in his moment. Still, it brought to mind the reason as to why there was no advance warning about Jessica Brown and the donut shop.

  “When will you be out again?” he typed in the comment section of the video, trying desperately to elicit a response, but several minutes passed and there was no reply. Time must’ve slipped by quicker than he expected as he noticed light filter through the front window blinds. He could wait no more and closed down his computer, carrying it back upstairs, and slipped into bed where Dina remained unaffected by his disappearance.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Kate’s eyes fluttered open as she reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with an incoming call. “Marc, good morning. Did you forget I was in LA and there’s a three-hour time difference from New York?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, yes, I had forgotten.” He paused for a moment. “Jeez. I didn’t realize it was five a.m. there.”

  “That’s okay. I need to get up.” She rubbed her eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed. The hotel room windows were encased in blackout curtains that obscured all sense of time. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re picking up the story.”

  “When? And why now?”

  “My old friend at KTLA called me a few hours ago. Said someone called the station with an anonymous tip.”

  Kate’s back straightened in an instant. “What’d they say?”

  “Something about they saw the guy a short time before the most recent victim was killed. Gave a description.”

  “Oh my God. Why the hell didn’t they call the police?”

  “I don’t know, Kate. But my friend called me and I told him I’d run it by my boss and I just got out of the meeting. I’m running it on the morning show as a special commentator. The reason I’m calling to tell you this is that I was hoping you could give me a comment. I didn’t think I’d get far if I called the detective in charge, considering he has no idea who I am.”

  “Marc, I can’t give you a statement. I’m most definitely not running the show here. You’d have to reach out to Detective Sharpe. And I’ve got to tell you, from what I’ve learned about him, he won’t give you the time of day.”

  “I figured that. You don’t have anything for me?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I knew this wouldn’t stay local for long, but I was hoping we’d have more by now. I’d just like to know where the hell this tip came from. Sharpe won’t be happy about it.”

  “At least you’ll have more to go on.”

  “How can I get my hands on the tipster’s description?”

  “Call my friend, Vince Sanchez. I’ll text you the number. Tell him you know me. I’ve already said I’d talk to you about it first.”

  “I guess you got what you wanted,” Kate said.

  “Not really. I wanted the story, but I wanted to break it as part of a federal investigation with local ties to the LA market.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “I don’t have anything more than the AP, except a vague description, which I don’t even have in my hands yet. Vince wouldn’t hand it over until I talked to you. I think he’s using it as leverage.”

  “Leverage for what?”

  “To make sure I credit him with the story. I’ve already pitched it, so he knows I’m running it and need the description.”

  “Sounds like a great friend.”

  “It’s just part of the game, Kate. I think it’d be best if you can get the description to Sharpe before I run the story. Call Vince right away. I’ll talk to you after it airs.”

  “Okay. Bye, Marc.” Kate ended the call and waited for the text to come through with the contact number for his friend. Moments later, it did.

  “Hello, Mr. Sanchez? This is Special Agent Kate Reid. I know it’s early, but Marc Aguilar suggested I contact you regarding an anonymous tip your station received concerning the Pretty Face Killer?”

  “Yes. Good morning. Thank you for the call. I do have that information and, with your permission, I’d like to cite you as a source.”

  “A source for what? You have more information than I do at the moment.”

  “I doubt that, but it would lend more credibility to the story if the FBI is involved.”

  “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t allow that. I’m simply consulting with the LAPD and have no direct involvement in the investigation.” She wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth, but it would have to do.

  “I see. Agent Reid, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that this case directly affects the safety of the people of Los Angeles and they should be made aware that the FBI is here worki
ng with the local authorities.”

  “Sir, I have to insist that I not be named as a source. I’m merely asking that you forward the description of the suspect to the lead detective, Ray Sharpe, so that he can pursue this investigative lead.” She paused for a moment. “If you do not hand over that information, you will be seen as obstructing an investigation. You understand what I’m telling you, Mr. Sanchez?”

  The line was quiet for a moment and then he finally began again. “I understand. I’ll get the information over to LAPD right now. Thank you for your time, Agent Reid.”

  She pulled the phone from her ear when she heard the click of the line as it went dead. “Great guy.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Detective Sharpe was on the phone and taking notes when Kate appeared in his doorway. He waved her in and pointed to the chair across from his desk.

  His tone was cool and she didn’t think he was one to rise quickly to anger. Nevertheless, his irritation displayed prominently on his hardened exterior. Shoulders raised, brow narrowed, and when he wasn’t speaking, his lips were pursed. She immediately assumed he’d been on the phone with the reporter. Her hope was to reach him before the reporter had, but she’d been held up in the unexpected traffic.

  “Thank you, and any further details, you’ll be sure to inform me first?” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Sanchez. Goodbye.” Sharpe eyed Kate. “You knew about this?”

  She nodded. “I got down here as soon as I could. I was hoping to catch you before you got the call. I want you to know that I refused to be named as a source. This isn’t my investigation – it’s yours, and I respect that.”