The Pretty Ones (A Kate Reid Novel Book 6)

by Robin Mahle

  His hard features seemed to soften at her confession. “Thank you. I appreciate that. This was going to happen sooner rather than later. It always does.”

  “Can I ask you something?” She paused for a moment. “Why would an anonymous tip be called in to a news station and not here? You’ve got a hotline.”

  “We do. It just confirms to me that whoever called it in is local to the community. You have to understand something. People don’t talk to the cops here. It’s dangerous and it could get them killed. That’s just the way it is. So I’m not surprised. I’m just grateful someone called. At least we have something.” He pushed over the scratch paper. “This was what the person described.”

  “Caucasian or possibly light-skinned Hispanic. Shoulder-length dark hair, curly. Chicago Bulls baseball cap. About five foot ten.” She looked at him. “If you could find out who gave this description, you could put him or her in front of a forensic artist and actually get something out there for the public.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Apparently, it was a female who called it in, according to the station.”

  “CBN is running the story this morning. I’ve got a friend from my old days here in California and he gave me the heads up earlier. He knows the anchor here who got the description—the man you just spoke to.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Sharpe leaned back in his chair. “I’ll have to let the communications director know what’s coming. There’ll be pressure from the governor down to the LA city manager to get this guy in a hurry.”

  “Listen, I know I’m here as a consultant, but my team can help, if you want it. You’ve got a description, you’ve got a fiber, and you’ve got a car that was seen nearby before the last victim was murdered. I just want you to know we have resources. A lot of them.”

  Sharpe seemed to consider Kate’s offer.

  “I’m not saying we’d take over. We’d just be here to offer our assistance. This is what we do, detective.”

  “How soon could they get here?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Let’s do it, then.” Sharpe rose from his chair. “Better let the captain know. You should be in on this. Come on.”

  Moments later, they stepped out of the captain’s office and Sharpe turned to Kate. “Go ahead and make the call. I need to get the forensics report on the fiber. They said it’s ready.”

  “Will do. I’ll catch up with you shortly.” She stepped outside to make the call. “Nick, we’ve had some developments here and LAPD is asking for our help. Can you and Dwight catch a flight out today?” She went on to explain the anonymous tip and the story that CBN was running.

  “So your buddy Aguilar wants a little bit of the limelight?”

  “He’s just doing his job. I can’t stop him from running the story. It’s all over the news here and the AP has already picked up it up. Marc’s just doing the inevitable. It just means Sharpe needs to get a handle on this investigation quickly. That’s why he agreed to allow us to support his team.”

  “Okay. Let me clear it with Campbell. I’ll let you know what time we’re due to arrive.”

  She held the phone idle in her hands and looked to the street that fronted the station. Virtually no one was walking and cars packed the four-lane road. The only bonus was the warm weather. Other than that, she found she didn’t really miss being back here much. And there wasn’t much to miss in any case. They were searching for a killer, just like back home.

  She returned inside and tracked down the detective. “We’re getting authorization now.”

  “Good. I just got the report on the synthetic fiber.” He held it in his hand. “Looks like our anonymous tipster might have had it wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She said dark curly hair, right?”

  Kate nodded.

  “This one was blonde and straight and if a man were to wear it, it would likely just reach beyond the ears.”

  “Not long hair either, then.”

  “No.”

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “Could be a copycat.”

  “Or they’re working together.”

  “Maybe. I think the only way to find out is to discover who our anonymous tip was from.”

  “The car. Had to be whoever was driving that car,” Kate said.

  “Yeah. We gotta find the car.” Sharpe began walking down the corridor but stopped short and turned back. “You coming?”

  She began to trail him. “You don’t have a plate, so how are we going to find out who it belongs to?”

  “I’m going to have to do a make and model search,” Sharpe said as he entered his office.

  “What radius?”

  “Start wide and narrow down from there. I’m thinking fifteen miles, see where that gets me.” Sharpe looked to Kate. “You said you wanted to help. I’ll need help with this.”

  “Just tell me where to start.”

  “Since we’re going with the whole dog and pony show with the feds, I’ll have IT set you up in one of the comm rooms. I’ll have my guys running the search through MVD, but then it’ll be a matter of narrowing down the field of vehicles this will pull up. We can determine the model year, so that will help. But from there, we’ll need identifying factors that will match it up with our car on the camera. That’s where you come in. I need a good set of eyes for this and you’re a hell of a lot younger than I am.”

  It was the first time she’d seen him smile, even if it was fleeting. “Oh, I’m not as young as you might think.”

  “You might be wise beyond your years, but I know a little about you, Agent Reid. And I’ll leave it at that.”

  “Well, I’m glad to help. I just hope we can find this guy before it blows up on the national stage.”

  “Let’s get you and your team set up and you can get a jump on this before they get here.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The sun’s rays pierced the windows of the station as it lowered in the sky. Kate raised her hand to her brow to shade her eyes as she spotted Nick and Dwight approach the entrance. A thin smile appeared for a moment on her lips. Their arrival was welcomed, though a small part of her believed she could’ve handled this on her own.

  Nick pushed through the glass doors and his eyes immediately locked onto hers, creasing as his cheeks raised into a smile. “I see her.” He mouthed the words to Dwight as they drew nearer.

  “You’re here.” Kate met them halfway. “Follow me. I’ll introduce you to the detective in charge.”

  “What about the captain?” Nick asked.

  “Sharpe will want to make the introductions, I’m sure.” She continued along the halls, her brunette hair swinging back and forth in the ponytail she always wore while on the job. “Detective Sharpe?”

  Sharpe removed his reading glasses and stood from his chair, offering an extended hand. “Ray Sharpe.”

  “Supervisory Special Agent Nick Scarborough, BAU. Pleasure.”

  Sharpe turned to Dwight and offered the same welcoming handshake. “And you are?”

  “Special Agent Dwight Jameson. Nice to meet you, Detective Sharpe. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way.” Sharpe placed his hands on his narrow hips, exacerbating his paunch. “I’ll introduce you to the captain and show you where we’ve got your team set up. Follow me.”

  “I want you all to know how much the LAPD appreciates your assistance,” the captain began after the obligatory introductions. “This is a particularly disturbing case and in this precinct, we always have a full plate, so again, your help is most appreciated.” He turned to Sharpe. “Feel free to show them to their setup and let them get started. Keep me posted on any new developments. I’m going to be fielding a lot of calls from the press and I don’t want to get caught unawares.”

  “Understood.” Sharpe turned on his heel. “Let’s get you all hooked up.”

  The team followed him back into the corridor where they eventually reached a
small room that was used for press conferences, but had now been set up with computers for their use.

  “This’ll do just fine. Thank you, detective,” Nick said.

  “Good. I don’t know how much you’re aware of yet, Agent Scarborough, but Agent Reid and I have been looking for a car that was spotted on CCTV in the vicinity of the latest crime scene. We’re working to find the owner of that vehicle.”

  “Yes, I did fill them in, with the exception of your forensics analysis of the synthetic fiber found on one of the victims.” Kate turned to her team. “The verbal description that was given to the local news station doesn’t match this fiber. It appears to be from a blonde wig, short and straight. Nothing like what was described by the tipster.”

  “What are you two thinking, then?” Nick asked.

  “Either we have two people working together to commit these murders, or we have a copycat,” Sharpe replied. “The best thing for us to do is to find the owner of that car because I can bet a dollar to a dime that whoever it was saw the killer.” He paused for a moment. “Your agent here has done a hell of a job helping us to profile this man. However, it appears we could be dealing with more than one and now that this story’s gone national, we could use the help of BAU to speed things along and wrap this up before we lose anyone else.”

  “We’re glad to help.” Dwight pulled out a chair at one of the computer stations. “I’d like to see what you’ve got so far while Agent Reid continues to search for the car’s owner. Just to get a sense of what we’re dealing with and the timing.”

  “Good idea.” Nick approached and sat down next to him.

  “I’ll keep working on this,” Kate said. “Detective Sharpe, please, don’t hesitate to toss anything else our way if you need to. I know you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Thank you, Agent Reid. One of my guys has traced the manufacturer of the wig and the local distributors. We’re going to make a visit to those sellers and see who has purchased that wig in the past several weeks. I’ll touch base on my return.” Sharpe left them to it.

  Kate walked toward another station and pulled up the files she had already compiled. “I think we should put this into ViCAP and see if we get any hits. I’ll forward what I have to both of you.”

  “Sharpe seems impressed with the work you’ve done so far,” Nick said.

  “He’s a tough nut to crack, but I think I’m starting to build a rapport with him. He’s reluctant to get help, but I’m glad I was able to convince him that he needs us right now before this thing blows up on him.”

  “How are you coming along on finding the owner of the car?” Dwight asked.

  “Sharpe retrieved most of the information from the MVD and I’m working on narrowing it down to a smaller radius of owners who would likely have been in the area that night. Without a plate, it isn’t easy. What concerns me more, though, is the fact that it seems we have a variation on the description of our guy.”

  “He could be using multiple disguises,” Nick said.

  “Then that makes it all the more important to find the person who saw him that night and who can give us a better description of facial features. But, as Sharpe said to me earlier, people around here don’t like talking to the cops.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Raquel waited inside the Starbucks while Vanessa picked up their drink order. She cast her gaze outside and watched as people passed by the window. For the past few days, all she could think of was the man who stopped to talk to them the other night. All she could see was his face looking down on them. And now every man she saw looked like that man. Vanessa had insisted they not go to the cops and she’d kept her word. But Raquel didn’t reveal that she’d been the one to call the news station. And even that, she felt, hadn’t been enough. No sketches had been released and that was what she really wanted, but she hadn’t given them enough information and the idea that this person was still out there had begun to haunt her.

  “Here. I got some sugar in case you wanted more.” Vanessa placed the paper cup in front of Raquel and sat down at the table with her own large specialty coffee. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting funny lately. You’re freaking me out.”

  Raquel slowly returned her eyes to Vanessa. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” She sipped on the steaming hot coffee.

  “Hey, so I heard about a party that Carlos is having at his house this weekend. You wanna go with me?”

  “I don’t know. I have to check my work schedule.”

  Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Come on. This is about last week, isn’t it? You’re still all stressed out about some guy who talked to us for what, like, two seconds.” She leaned in. “Raquel, it wasn’t the same guy that killed that girl, okay? I told you, there’s no way. You gotta stop with this shit. Move on. Nothing happened to us.”

  “You’re right. Nothing happened to us. Thank God.”

  Vanessa reached for Raquel’s hand and, with her thumb, rubbed the side of it along the tattoo. “This is why you can’t go to the cops. You understand? You know what that symbol means. You open your mouth and I don’t know what’ll happen. It ain’t worth it, Rocky. Shit ain’t worth it.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Besides, like you said, it was just some guy.” She glanced again through the window and took another drink.

  “Good. I gotta get back to work. My boss gets her panties all up in a knot if I’m late coming back from lunch.” Vanessa stood up from her chair. “Call me after you get your schedule; see if we can hit that party on Saturday.”

  Raquel nodded. “See you later.” She watched as Vanessa passed by the very window she’d been peering through and gave her friend a final nod when Vanessa waved. Her shift was due to start in an hour and she continued to consider Vanessa’s words of warning. How would anyone ever know she went to the cops, though? It was possible to go and talk to them, but not give them a name. People did that all the time. Why couldn’t she?

  Raquel stared at the tattoo on her right thumb. It was only because of her old boyfriend she even got the stupid thing. Some bullshit about loyalty to people she didn’t even know, not really. They were his friends, and now he was gone. And she was left with the mark that meant everyone knew to whom she belonged. And now that everyone knew, there was no way in hell she could get rid of it. That would be like turning her back and people around here didn’t like that either. She was stuck. Stuck in this shithole of a neighborhood, with a shithole of a job and no money to leave.

  And now there was someone killing girls where she hung out. What if he came back and found them? Raquel closed her eyes and shook her head. This was some fucking shit she found herself in now. Too scared to talk, too scared not to.

  She couldn’t sit here any longer and think about it. Raquel stood up, raised her cup to her lips, and downed the rest of the now cooled coffee. She grabbed her sweater and headed toward the exit. Tossing the cup into the trash, Raquel walked outside where the sun shone in her eyes and cool air drilled right in to her skin.

  Wrapping the sweater around her, she headed down the street toward the bus stop where she would take the bus to work. Opposite the sheltered stop was a police station. The massive building stretched at least a block. She didn’t often pass it by, but since Vanessa worked close, they chose to meet at the Starbucks nearest to her work, knowing Raquel could catch the bus from here.

  As she waited, she stared at the station, watching cops come and go. Some were taking in handcuffed people; others were on their own or with partners. A few people who she thought looked like lawyers drifted in and out as well.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her bus approaching. Raquel stared at it, then turned her attention to the station. Her heart raced as she considered making a choice that could be her biggest mistake. But someone had died and she feared she knew who had done it. People around here died all the time, but this was different. This was a girl on her way to work, just like she was now. Not some drug deal gone bad or gang retaliation. Raquel might
have been raised here, but she wasn’t like them. She wasn’t like her old boyfriend and remembered what he'd become.

  “No. Not this time.” Raquel stepped away from the bus stop just as it pulled to the curb. A quick wave of apology and she turned her back and made the call. “Hey, it’s Raquel. I can’t make my shift today. I’m really sick.” She paused while her boss reprimanded her for the late notice. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I don’t want to get everyone sick.” A few more words of disappointment were hurled at her. “I’ll be in tomorrow, I promise. Bye.” She ended the call before he could say anything more. She might lose her job, but it wasn’t much of a job anyway. If she got twenty hours a week, she counted herself lucky.

  Raquel walked to the nearest crosswalk and waited for the light to turn. When the walking man appeared on the sign, she began to cross. Everything in her head told her this was a bad idea, but she listened to her heart, which now beat faster than she could ever recall it beating before. Even when she was in school at a track meet.

  She stood in front of the columned entry and glanced at the stone steps ahead. Her eyes raised up to read the letters mounted high on the wall. “Jessie A. Brewer 77th Street Regional Headquarters.” Never once had she stepped foot inside a police station and a sudden wave of guilt pushed through her. For what? Turning her back on her people? Maybe.

  Raquel walked up the steps and entered the building. Inside, she surveyed the lobby in search of someone who could help because if she didn’t find someone fast, her nerves would get the better of her.

  “Can I help you, miss?” an officer at the security desk asked.

  His comment caught her off guard, but she turned to him and was silent.

  “Miss? Are you all right?”

  Raquel stepped forward. “Um, can I talk to someone about something I saw a few days ago?”

  “Something you saw?” Right away, the man seemed to understand she had information.

  Raquel nodded.

  “Sure. Can you tell me a little about what you saw so I can point you in the right direction?”