by D. V. Berkom
Keith nodded, shifting in his seat. “Hey, I'm the last guy to trust a cop, but seems to me you need help and if I was a girl like you, I'd go talk to them. It ain't safe in L.A. Something bad could happen to you, for sure.” He was silent for a moment as he stirred the soup again. “Why's a kid like you scared of cops? I mean, jeez you're what, thirteen? What kind of trouble you get into?”
“I'm twelve. Cops are mean, and they do bad things.”
“Where'd you hear that?” Keith watched her for a moment. “Or did something bad happen to you?”
Mara stared at her shoes. “My foster mother's boyfriend was really bad. He told me they were all the same and I shouldn't trust them.”
“Sounds to me like he was trying to keep you from snitching on him. What did he do?”
“He brought drugs for my foster mother to sell. If she didn't do it right away, he'd hit her. Sometimes he hit us kids, too. That's why I ran away. He was getting madder and madder. One time, he broke Albert's arm. Albert was one of my foster brothers,” she added, by way of explanation.
“Well, I think he was exaggerating about the cop thing. I've met cops who tried to help. They've got a tough job, so sometimes they come off as mean.”
“Maybe. But I don't care.” Mara sat straighter in her chair. “Miles Fournier is going to help me. I just have to talk to him.”
Keith whistled as he shut off the burner and removed the pan. “That's some kind of help. How you gonna do that? There's a lot of people who hang around those big movie stars and they won't let you get anywhere near 'em.”
“Can you help me? You're an actor, right? Don't actors talk to other actors?”
“It don't work that way. I don't even have a SAG card.”
“A what card?”
“Screen Actors Guild. You can't get work in this town without a SAG card.”
“But you're working as SpongeBob Square Pants. Don't you need a card for that?”
“Not exactly.” Keith chuckled. He looked thoughtful as he poured half the soup into a bowl and handed it to her, keeping his half in the saucepan. “I might be able to help you track down Miles Fournier, though. I got a friend who's got a friend who knows his publicist's dog groomer. Famous types usually have a favorite restaurant or some place they like to go. They get better service that way. Makes 'em feel important, I guess.” He finished his soup and stood, reaching for the SpongeBob costume. “Time for the second shift. Take it easy, get some sleep. I'll see if I can find my friend.” He looked around the empty apartment. “Sorry I don't got a TV or nothing.”
“That's okay. I'm pretty tired.” She smiled up at him. “Good luck. I hope you make a lot of people happy and earn lots of money.”
Keith grinned. “I never thought of it that way. Lock the door behind me, okay?” He left carrying his costume over one arm.
Mara walked to the door and turned the deadbolt. She could hear him whistling down the hallway. She went to the window and sat on the sill, and looked out onto the busy street. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed so hard in her chest, it made her stomach hurt. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she stopped them before they spilled over. She didn't want to go to the bathroom alone for toilet paper to blow her nose, and there was nothing in the apartment she could use.
An older man in dirty clothes walking by on the sidewalk below looked up at her and smiled. He had a large gap where his front teeth should have been and his eyes had a wild look to them. She hurried over to the light switch and turned it off so he couldn't see her anymore.
She took a deep breath and sat on the twin mattress. Fear kept her awake well into the early morning.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WE HIT A WALL.” Don Putnam, Santiago Jensen's partner of ten years, scowled as he slapped the case folder on his desk. Jensen picked up the file and thumbed through the pages.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the feds don't want us messing around in their backyard. They want to handle the guy their way.”
“Which means the S.O.B.'s going to walk?”
Putnam slumped into a nearby chair and sighed. “I don't know. I can't believe that's how it's going to play out, but this shit's tricky. If it was one of our own, I know we'd keep it close. Can't blame 'em for doing the same.”
“We're talking about a triple homicide, Putz. He can't just walk. If he does, Leine's going to have to look over her shoulder the rest of her life.” Not to mention she'd continue to be considered a person of interest on three cold cases, which meant Jensen wouldn't be free to see her openly.
“Yeah, I know. It's bustin' my balls, but they assured us they'd let us know if they turn up anything about the guy.” They both knew that was a wet dream. The feds treated cops like mushrooms; kept them in the dark and fed them shit.
Putnam looked at the floor and shifted uneasily in his chair.
“What?” Jensen knew his partner like he knew the neighborhood near his apartment. The Irish bulldog was keeping something from him.
“Aw, shit.” Putnam glared at the ceiling, then looked Jensen in the eyes. “Might as well tell you. I don't want you finding out from some schmuck on the case. RHD's going with the Basso angle.”
A spasm hit Jensen's solar plexus. “The bullet casing evidence is pretty weak, Putz. You know it and I know it.”
“It's what they're focusing on. The feds never acknowledged receiving the information Leine said she sent them, so her boss is a dead-end.”
“Right.” Jensen shook his head in disbelief. “You know she had nothing to do with the murders, right?”
Putnam shrugged. “So you say, but you can't argue the fact that the keychain was found in her house, and that the etching on the bullet on said keychain matches the casings found at the murder scene.”
Jensen had found the bullet with the unusual Asian markings in Leine's purse on a keychain, back when he and Putz were investigating the Serial Date killings. The casing matched the ones found near three unsolved murder cases Jensen had worked years before. Leine told him she kept it to remind her of her old life when she was with the Agency. She believed her boss, Eric, was the shooter, since he used ammo with a similar mark. Jensen believed her and planted the keychain where it would be found, confident she'd eventually be cleared of the crimes.
Now, that supposition seemed remote. Jensen continued to believe in her innocence; his need to do so matched by her insistence she had only eliminated people who threatened national security determined by the agency. She divulged a few details of what she'd sent to Eric's superior, but Jensen hadn't actually seen the documents. He was going to have to see her copies for himself.
Had she deceived him? Was he a victim of his own desire to believe her? He refused to allow the thought to take root in his mind. He closed the file and handed it back to Putnam.
“We're going to put the bastard away, Putz. I don't know how yet, but he's done.”
***
The woman called Selena lay on her side on the futon in the darkened room and stared at the wall. Her chest felt as though it was about to rip apart from despair. They'd found her nine-year-old sister, Amy, and were planning to auction her off to a group of men in Saudi Arabia. Yuri, the bastard, had actually come in to thank her for telling him about her. She should've known better.
At first he'd seemed like her protector, someone who cared for her, and she'd confided her yearning to return home and see her family. But when she'd asked him to help her escape, he'd backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip, and told her how he'd mentioned her little sister to his boss. They picked her up on her way to a sleepover. Now, when the clients tried to kiss her and make her take them in her mouth, the pain reminded her she could trust no one.
She rose from the hard mattress and walked with difficulty to the window. Last night's 'party' had been more brutal than usual. The men had been drinking and several of them bet each other who could fuck her the hardest. When her handler had come to retrieve her at the end of the night, he'd n
oticed blood running down her thighs. She couldn't feel very much from the waist down.
She gazed out at the sidewalk and saw a leaf drift by with the wind. The heavy bars set into the concrete reminded her she was a prisoner. The way they treated her was like an unwanted dog. She was glad they hadn't actually put her in a kennel, like she'd seen them do with another girl.
Her life had become an endless series of horrific nights of being raped, followed by listless days spent re-reading the same magazine articles or sleeping. On occasion another girl would share her room, but it wasn't usually for long. Selena didn't know what became of them. She'd tried to make friends with a couple of them, but most were so traumatized they spent the time curled up on the bed, refusing to eat or speak.
The knock on the door sent Selena scurrying to her futon, away from the window. She knew if her captors thought she was trying to signal anyone from her room, they'd transfer her to a windowless place further inside the basement and beat her again. Not that there was much traffic to signal.
The door opened and a man with a shaved head stepped inside and closed the door. His expression was hard. She detected no warmth or human emotion in him. Her heart raced. She didn't think she would survive another night like the last one. If she died, how would she help her sister?
The man walked to her closet and started to remove the few things hanging there. Selena looked at him with alarm.
“Am I going somewhere?” God, please don’t let them kill me. I have to stay alive.
The man pulled a plastic garbage bag from his pocket and stuffed her things inside. Then he tossed it over to her. “Get up. There's been a change of plans. We're leaving.”
Selena struggled to her feet, clutching the bag of clothes in one hand. “Where are you taking me? I…I need to rest. I can't do those things again—”
“Shut up. You don't get to ask the questions around here. You're like that sack.” He indicated the bag of clothes, a cruel smile on his face. “And garbage doesn't get to choose.”
“Where's my sister?” She sat down on the futon. Her hands shook. “I'm not going anywhere until you tell me.”
The man's face darkened as he took a step toward her. Selena felt the blood drain from her face. She twisted the bag of clothes in her hands and tears filled her eyes. He tore the clothes from her hands and grabbed her by the throat, shoving her face down on the bed.
“No. Please, don't—”
Ignoring her pleas he reached under her skirt and ripped her panties off. At the same time he unbuckled his belt and spread her legs wide. Selena screamed in pain as he entered her. The savagery with which he raped her filled her with terror. Would she finally die at the hands of this sadist? What about her sister? She was only nine years old. The thought of what her life would be like if she died before she could help her steeled her courage.
Dear God, what did I do? Why am I being punished?
There was no answer.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RICO PALLINI LANDED ON HIS BACK with a thud. Leine stood nearby and watched as he rolled to one side with a wheeze. She offered her hand, but Rico waved her away and with difficulty climbed to his feet.
“That's one move I'm gonna remember,” Rico said as he placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. Leine had just given lesson one in self-defense to April, Rico, and Miles on the south lawn at Miles' home. Steam rose from the thick grass as the morning sun warmed the earth. Everyone had kicked off their shoes to practice barefoot.
“Then let's do it again. The only way to learn is by repetition. You want this training to be second nature so that the sequence will be automatic if you're ever attacked.” Leine turned to April who was flirting with Miles again.
“April? You're next.”
April reluctantly turned her attention away from the actor to her mother and stepped forward. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come up behind me and put your hand on my shoulder,” Leine instructed. April did as she was told. Leine grabbed her hand, pivoted on her right foot, twisted her torso and heaved her over her shoulder, gently laying her on the ground. She did the same with Miles, explaining the movements and going over it carefully, making sure they understood. Then, it was their turn to throw Leine.
After a few tries, Miles and April got the hang of the throw, but Rico waited, insisting he wanted to watch a few more times before he performed the maneuver. When Leine was satisfied with their progress, she turned to Rico.
“Ready?”
Rico turned his back to her. “Ready.”
Leine walked up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Rico whirled around and thrust the base of his palm at Leine's throat, shifting his weight to his back leg while wedging his other foot behind hers in an attempt to trip her. Leine dodged the punch, then grabbed his wrist and bent his hand back until he dropped to his knees and yelled for her to stop. April hooted. Miles laughed so hard tears ran down his face. For a moment, Rico's eyes burned with what Leine could only describe as hatred. He quickly recovered and laughed along with the others.
“That'll teach you to try and turn the tables on the teacher,” Miles said through guffaws.
Rico shrugged, smiling. “Hey—a guy's gotta try.” He glanced at Leine.
Leine stiffened at the new coldness in his eyes. Another freaking alpha dog. Just what I need. There was always one in every crowd. Sighing, she continued with the self-defense lesson, showing them how to fend off attackers by using their elbows, knees, and the heel of their hand on the body's most vulnerable spots, while watching Rico for more signs of aggression. Then she concentrated on teaching April techniques she could use against larger opponents.
“To free yourself from a chokehold from behind, grab onto their elbow and step to the side. At the same time bend over, twist and slide your head free,” she explained, demonstrating the movement with Miles. April and Rico worked on the maneuver until they felt comfortable. When she was satisfied with their progress, Leine showed the three how to bring the same opponent to the ground and neutralize them. After that, they worked on target practice, taking turns with two guns from Miles' collection.
The housekeeper appeared carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and four glasses and delivered it poolside. They sat in the shade and discussed more defense techniques. Miles insisted they have more lessons.
“I want to be able to kick anyone's ass,” Miles said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “That way, if anybody tries to kidnap me, they'll have their hands full. We had a martial arts expert on set for the last movie and he taught me a lot, but I want to keep going. I'll write it off as research for Jake Dread. I might as well know how to do everything, right?”
“Yeah. Me too,” Rico said.
“There are several good schools in the L.A. area. I can give you their contact information.” Leine preferred to have Rico learn from someone other than her. If her suspicions were on target, he'd try to best her every time. Leine didn't have the patience. She couldn't promise she wouldn't end up putting a whole lot of hurt on the annoying asshole, which would be bad for business.
Leine took a sip of lemonade and watched the small group interact. A soft breeze ruffled April's hair as she spoke quietly with Miles. Leine wasn't sure what to make of their little flirtation. On the one hand, she didn't want to stick her nose into her daughter's life. On the other hand, she didn't want her hurt. Besides, what would happen to Cory? He was so infatuated with April, he'd be devastated if she dated someone else.
Out of the corner of her eye, a slight movement near the wall surrounding the property caught Leine's attention. She watched the area for a moment. A bird or other animal would eventually make its presence known. Once spotted, a human being would not. Leine waited a beat, then rose from her chair and turned to the group.
“I need the three of you to go inside the house. Keep it casual and don't look around, but please do it now. I'll catch up with you in a minute.”
A puzzled expression appeared on Miles’ face as they stood and started for the house. Leine acted as though she was tidying up the tray of lemonade, with an eye on the shadows next to the wall.
There it was again. This time a glint of metal flashed in the sunlight. She glanced at the house to make sure everyone had made it inside, then grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs and took off running toward the fence.
“Bill, meet me outside the back fence, now,” she said into the mic in her ear. “We've got an intruder. Frank, you stay near the gate.”
“Roger that,” Bill and Frank both replied.
As she neared the block wall, she changed course and ran along its length, all the while keeping her eyes glued to the spot she'd last seen movement. Footsteps crashed through dry vegetation, transmitting the location of the assailant on the other side of the wall. Leine ran full-on toward the nearest tree, a pine with branches close enough to the ground to climb.
She secured the pillow in her teeth and scrambled up the trunk. The pillow landed on top of the razor wire she'd ordered installed on the wall. She hoisted herself up and over, dropped to the ground on the other side and pulled her gun from its holster.
Heart beating wildly in her chest, Leine crouched behind a stand of bushes and scanned the road in each direction. Nothing moved. Bill arrived a few minutes later in a jeep.
“Anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. Frank radioed that things were quiet on his end. Leine paced off the adrenaline while she and Bill searched the area.
A few yards away, she saw what looked like the imprint of the sole of a shoe. She bent down to examine the markings. The size and depth suggested a large, fairly heavy person. Looking up from the print, she scanned the ditch alongside the road, and noted a broken branch on a shrub. She walked over to see if it had snagged a fiber, but no luck. From there, the prints disappeared onto the paved road. She checked the other side, but found nothing but gravel. Bill wasn't having any luck in his search, either.