by M. Z. Kelly
“That would give him access to victims in multiple states.”
“There’s a photo from when he worked for LAPD in the system,” I said, showing them Parker, in his police uniform, on my iPad. “He’s six feet, one-ninety, brown and blue.”
“Nothing remarkable,” Joe said, after studying the photo.
I agreed. Parker was ordinary in appearance, someone you could pass on the street and not have a second thought about.
Eva took her time looking at his photo. “What about family?”
“Never married, no kids. He has a mother who...” I studied the background investigator’s report that had been completed when Parker was hired. “It looks like she lives in Connecticut. His father is unknown.”
Joe massaged his brow, apparently feeling the fatigue of the day. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence that he responded to the first murder. We have nothing that ties him to the other victims.”
“Parker is a common name,” Eva agreed. “But it does fit with my earlier theory that our suspect might have been connected to law enforcement.”
“What do you think?” I asked Joe, since he hadn’t responded to what Eva had said.
“I say Alexander Parker is our only play. We continue on to La La Land and check him out.” He looked at me. “And I haven’t given up on dinner at the beach.”
Eva smiled at me. “He is persistent, if nothing else.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t disagree.”
The rest of our flight was unremarkable. I managed to catch a few minutes of sleep at the back of the plane. Joe joined me just before we landed.
“Buckle up,” he said, looking out the window as the lights of Los Angeles flickered beneath us. “Home, sweet home.”
I took a breath, brushed the hair out of my eyes, and looked at him. “Tell me something: Why did you have the pilot head for Los Angeles before hearing what Eva had to say about Parker?”
“Like I said, I was just playing a hunch. The same one I’m still playing.”
I studied him and shook my head. “I think it was more than a hunch.”
He held on my eyes for a long moment, before breaking contact. “Guilty. I’d made the Parker connection a few minutes earlier by looking through the old reports.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
His gaze moved to the front of the plane, where Eva was talking to a steward. “I wanted to see if the profiler made the same connection. If she did, I knew we might have something.”
My gaze fixed on his beautiful pale eyes. “Sometimes you amaze me.”
He smiled. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Buttercup.”
EIGHTEEN
After leaving the capture room, the Angel took a nap, had something to eat, and then went for a stroll on the beach. Timing was everything, and he knew the more time his victim had to contemplate what was happening, the more it would increase her terror.
After returning to the house, he reapplied his makeup and slipped into his costume again. It then took him several minutes to gather what he needed. He carried his instruments in a small black bag as he again greeted Bailey. He set the bag on a table near the bed, studying her.
“Do you know what I’ve brought you?”
She shook her head, crying again.
He chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll show you one thing. The rest I’ll save as a surprise for later.”
He reached into the bag and brought out a leather harness that was about six inches in length. The device had eyelets, with leather straps to tighten it. He held it up for her to examine.
“Do you know what this is?”
She shook her head, sobbing.
“I call it the Restrictor. Let me show you how it works.”
She scrambled away from him, shrinking against the headboard. “Please, don’t...”
He came over to her, shaking his head. “It really is useless to resist. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
As it turned out, Bailey chose the hard way, which secretly pleased him immensely. The restrictor was placed around her neck, the laces in the back tightened until she could barely breathe.
“Do you see how this works now?” he said, tugging on the laces.
She gasped for air, bringing her manacled hands up and clawing at the device. He loosened the laces a bit. “I think you’re beginning to understand.” He studied her. “This is the way it’s going to be for a while, Bailey. Just you and me, and...”
The phone in his bag chimed. He thought about not answering it, but recognized the ring tone. It was Mother. Ignoring her call was not an option.
He retrieved the phone, studying Bailey as she continued to claw at the Restrictor and struggle for air. He smiled as he answered, “What is it, Mother?”
His mother’s voice was shrill, desperate. “It’s the FBI. They’re coming for you. Get out, NOW!”
NINETEEN
I arranged for an unmarked car to meet us at the airport and drive us to Long Beach. Joe gave the assigned officer Alexander Parker’s last known address. Despite the urgency of the situation, the cop, who told us he was Officer Utley, said he had to call his supervisor for permission to drive us to another jurisdiction.
After we all piled into the SUV, Joe said to the youthful cop, “Listen up, Ugly.”
“It’s Utley,” the officer said, turning red.
“Whatever. You need to understand that I’m the HMFIC now.”
Utley looked at him. “The what?”
“The head mother fucker in charge. Now, put this beater in gear and find the floorboard, or I’m gonna get real pissed and also use your middle name. And, just for the record, it rhymes with tit.”
The youthful cop huffed out a breath, but did as he was instructed, moving through traffic and getting on the freeway. It was a wise decision. I’d seen Joe lose his temper before, and it made an impression that wasn’t soon forgotten.
I glanced at Joe, who was in the front seat, urging our driver to go even faster. Despite working a number of cases over the years, and sharing my family history with Joe, in some ways it still felt like we were strangers. Maybe it had something to do with him being a decade older than me and having a daughter who was in her early twenties. I’d met other older men over the years who I’d had a lot in common with, but the difference in our ages had kept us from getting involved. It made me realize that age, along with our occupations, were both reasons I’d resisted his advances.
It took us twenty minutes to reach the Bluff Heights neighborhood where Alexander Parker lived. His house was a small, older dwelling, with a single car attached garage, located in an area that was gentrifying. Some of the older houses had been torn down and replaced by homes that dwarfed the others in the neighborhood.
After we met up down the street from Parker’s house, Eva asked Joe how he wanted to proceed.
“I’m in the front, Kate’s in the rear.” He looked at Utley. “I want you to stay in the car with Eva. If our whacko sees your uniform, it’s gonna get real ugly, and I’m not just talking about your name.”
Eva showed Joe the weapon in her purse. “Sorry, but I’m not playing spectator this time.”
“You and Kate go around back, then. I’ll call you before I knock.”
After Officer Utley lodged a protest about staying behind, which went nowhere, Eva and I made our way down a rear alley. Night had fallen, the area lit only by street lights. Alexander Parker’s house was just coming into view when we saw something that made my heart suddenly thump against my ribcage. I got Joe on the line, as Eva and I gave chase.
“We’ve got him,” I told Joe, trying to catch my breath. “Parker’s dressed as the Angel and is running through the alley behind his house.”
TWENTY
I’d pursued a lot of dangerous suspects over the years, but chasing after a creature called the Angel, who looked like the devil wearing wings, topped all the others. While the Angel couldn’t fly, he was fast, hopping over a couple fences and running t
hrough back yards in an effort to lose us.
I’d kept the line to Joe open and heard him asking, “Where is he?”
“Eva and I are in pursuit, two streets over. Ask Utley to call for backup.”
The line went dead, and I assumed he was making the request for help.
“He’s gone into the brush,” Eva said, after we got to a street bordering a wetland area, where the tract of homes ended. “I think he’s heading for the ocean.”
There was a lot of undeveloped land between Parker’s neighborhood and the beach. The area was heavily wooded, with a stand of eucalyptus and oak trees. The only illumination was from a full moon that cast the area in heavy shadows. We were making our way through the brush when we heard a voice calling out to us.
“There’s a girl!”
The voice came to us from somewhere beyond the trees.
“You need to give yourself up!” I shouted, with my gun drawn. I surveyed the tree line, but saw nothing.
“She’s in the bedroom, with a leather tourniquet strapped around her neck. If you hurry, you can save her.”
Eva looked at me. “What do you think?”
“Call Joe and let him know. I’m going in after him.”
Eva stayed behind to make the call. I moved cautiously forward, keeping my gun at the ready. I was deep into the stand of trees when I saw a flash of light behind me. I realized someone was quickly closing in on me, and it wasn’t the Angel. I turned, catching a splash of light, a brief glimpse of hateful eyes and wild long hair. Then I felt a sharp pain to the side of my head.
I went down, and my world faded to black.
TWENTY-ONE
“Are you okay?” Eva asked, after hearing me call out and helping me to my feet.
My head was swimming, and I was in pain, but I scanned the area, looking for the Angel. “Where is he?”
“Gone. Someone pulled up on the street, he got in their car, and took off. I didn’t get a plate.”
“Let’s get back to the house, see if there’s a girl.”
We made our way out of the woods and back to Parker’s neighborhood. The front door to his house was open, and we heard voices from somewhere inside. We made our way into the master bedroom, where I found Joe, Officer Utley, and the girl. She was wearing a leather harness and had been hoisted up on chains.
“We were too late,” Joe said. “The bastard used the leather tourniquet to suffocate her, then strung her up.” He regarded me and saw that I was bleeding. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, just pissed as hell.” I explained about being hit from behind, and the Angel leaving the area.
“There’s a camera,” Eva said, drawing our attention back to the girl’s body.
We all looked in the direction she was pointing. There was a camera mounted on the wall across from where the girl was trussed up. The animal who called himself the Angel had not only taken his eighteenth victim, he’d streamed everything he’d done to the entire world. He’d also shown them the cops who had failed to stop him.
TWENTY-TWO
We spent the remainder of the night and part of the morning processing the murder scene and looking for Alexander Parker, aka The Angel, without success. The killing of Bailey Sullivan, whose father was a UCLA professor and author, having written about the Angel’s depraved killing spree, had been streamed live around the world. The Internet camera, capturing the events, hadn’t been cut off until we’d entered Parker’s bedroom and disconnected it.
The only positive development was that we now had a name for our suspect and learned he had been working as a driver for Frazier Trucking, making long distance deliveries of computer parts. That employment had, no doubt, given him access to choosing victims throughout the country. Despite having a BOLO out with law enforcement agencies across the US, and coverage from all the media outlets, we assumed our suspect had left the area and was planning to set up a base for his killing operations in another part of the country.
At mid-morning, I touched bases with Olivia. She told me that she and Kinnear had finished providing their statements to both the FBI and NYPD shooting teams. She said that Kinnear was being placed on administrative leave while the shooting was investigated, as per the department’s policy. After filling her in on the day’s developments, she said she would try to meet up with the taskforce in Los Angeles tomorrow.
After ending the call, I was told that Eva had been working with crime scene staff and found something critical to our investigation. She brought a packet of information she’d found in a closet to the small dining room, where she met with me, Joe, and John Greer, who had arrived at the crime scene.
“It looks like our suspect has stayed in touch with his mother over the years,” Eva explained. “We found a burner phone that looks like it was used to contact her, along with this packet of information. His mother’s name is Anne Taylor Parker. She runs something called ‘The Realm’, near Windham, Connecticut. It’s a children’s home, basically a live-in school, but, from what I just pulled up on the Internet, there’s been a lot of controversy over the way the children are taught.”
“What kind of controversy?” Greer asked.
“Some of the former students have said Anne insists on total control, excluding parents from any form of participation in school activities. In some cases, she’s even convinced the parents to allow her to adopt their children. They describe her as believing she has been chosen by a higher power to impart her wisdom to her students. There’s even been some accusations of physical abuse and drugs being forced on the children, and that some of them have been stolen.”
“Stolen?” I said.
“Nothing’s been substantiated, but there have been suspicions that some of the children were taken from local hospitals after birth and raised at the school.”
“Do we have any photographs of her?” Greer asked Eva.
She placed a brochure for the school on the table and opened it. “This pamphlet with her photo was probably created several years ago, but, as you can see, she was an extremely attractive woman.”
Even though Anne Taylor Parker was probably in her fifties now, the photograph in the brochure looked like it had been taken when she was in her twenties. Parker was beautiful, with long blonde hair and green eyes. There was something about her smile and stature as the children surrounded her that reminded me of a princess. I took a moment and glanced through the brochure, seeing nothing unusual about the school, other than a typical offer of outstanding care and instruction.
“Do you think our suspect could have gone to see his mother at the school?” I asked Eva.
“It’s unlikely, given that he knows everyone’s after him.”
“But, maybe mommy knows where little Alexander is hiding out,” Joe said. He looked at me. “Didn’t you say that you think it might have been a woman that hit you?”
“Probably. I just caught a brief glimpse of long gray hair and angry eyes before it was lights out. If it was his mother, she looked nothing like the woman in the brochure.”
“You ask me, the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the rotten tree,” Joe said, looking at his boss.
Greer nodded. “I’ll have our agents go by and check out the school. We’ll also put a BOLO out for the mother. In the meantime, I want everyone to catch a few hours of sleep. If nothing else breaks, we’ll meet up at the agency’s headquarters in downtown Los Angeles in the morning.”
Joe used his persuasive skills to commandeer Utley’s vehicle, and I accepted his offer to drive me home, given that I was practically out on my feet from lack of sleep.
As he turned off the freeway in Hollywood, Joe said, “If you’re game, we could still do that dinner at the beach later tonight after you get some rest.”
Despite my exhaustion, I found something charming about his persistence. “How about tomorrow night, if it works out and we’re still in town. I’m hoping to sleep straight through until morning.”
He laughed. “Deal. But, knowing your roommat
es, I’d say you’re already dreaming.”
I nodded. “Probably.”
***
As luck would have it, when I got home, Otto told me that Natalie and Mo were out looking for Jimmy Sweets. After giving Bernie some attention, I explained about my exhaustion to our butler and told him I was going to bed.
“There is a circumstance I need warn you about,” Otto said.
“What’s that?”
“A Mr. Fred Smoot, Madam Simpson’s uncle, is visiting. He insisted on taking the master suite, despite my expression of concern that it is your private sleeping quarters and he needed your permission.”
I glanced up the stairway. “So, you’re telling me there’s a man in my bedroom.”
Otto also cut his eyes to the stairway and grimaced. “Unfortunately.”
I began to head upstairs. “We’ll see about that.”
I stopped as Otto said, “I should also warn you that Mr. Smoot is rather...” He took a breath. “...I’m afraid there’s no delicate way to say this. The fact is, he’s a rather unpleasant fellow.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
When Bernie and I got upstairs, I knocked on my door and went in. I found a skinny elderly man, wearing nothing but a pair of underpants, lying on my bed, reading a magazine.
I folded my arms and confronted him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He didn’t look at me. “I’ll have a poached egg and some toast, lightly buttered with strawberry jam.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the maid, and this is my bedroom.”
His dark eyes finally shifted in my direction, and he scoffed. “I’m a guest here, and my niece has made it clear I have the complete run of this...” He grimaced. “...dump. Now, scurry off and get my breakfast.”
I looked over at Bernie as he released a low growl that was ignored by our houseguest.
“And take the mutt with you,” Mo’s uncle said, now focusing on my dog. “I’m allergic to dander.”