by M. Z. Kelly
I looked at Peters, back at him. “Any interviews need to be cleared with our Media Relations Section.”
Feckle smiled, displaying small, sharp rodent teeth, and looked at Peters. “I believe we’re already cleared.”
Peters nodded. “Let’s proceed.”
I realized, at that moment, I’d been cut out of everything that was going on. Peters, or her boss, had told Feckle about the photograph beforehand and had agreed to do an interview if we got a positive ID.
My face flushed with anger as I stood up and looked at Peters. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Peters also stood and called me over to a corner of the room. “This interview will be going out to all the media outlets and probably end up on national TV. I need your cooperation.”
I realized that Peters probably didn’t have her boss’s approval for the interview. She was going rogue, agreeing to an interview for whatever political points it might score her, and wanted my tacit approval.
“Sorry,” I said, tugging on Bernie’s leash. “I’ve already had my fifteen minutes of fame.”
THIRTEEN
Dr. Ellen Moore took a final glance through her new patient’s file before closing it. She sighed and tossed it aside. She remembered when she was a small child and had gone to a make-believe haunted house in her neighborhood with her older brother for Halloween. She’d been so traumatized by the events in that house that she remembered screaming and trying to run outside, only to make a wrong turn and end up in a darkened bedroom.
Those same feelings returned when she thought about the nightmare Quinton Macy had visited upon this world, but there was nothing make-believe about the horrors the real-life monster had created. She’d dealt with a lot of deranged subjects over the years, but her patient’s crimes raised, no, make that lowered, the bar to a new level. While reading his file, she’d learned that he was a suspect in several unsolved cases: men and women, raped, mutilated, or murdered. She knew there were probably other victims, as well. Monsters like Macy were masters at hiding in plain sight while they victimized their prey.
“He’s all set for transport, Ellen.”
She glanced up, seeing Joshua Brown, the Berkshire Prison guard. She’d had several casual conversations with the guard in the few short weeks she’d worked at the hospital and they were now on a first name basis. “Okay. Let me get a few things together and I’ll be there in a minute.”
After retrieving her suitcase and then placing Macy’s file in her briefcase, along with information about the drug protocols for Neustasis, she stopped by Dr. Marlow’s office. She found the senior psychiatrist standing and looking through his window at the rolling grounds of Berkshire State Hospital. The Spanish style psychiatric facility, built in the 1930s, was in the foothills west of Pasadena. It was a beautiful area of rolling hills, yet it was close to the city.
Ellen cleared her throat. “We’re about ready to leave.”
Dr. Marlow came over and sat on the corner of his mahogany desk. “I’m assuming you’re taking two guards?”
She shook her head. “Just one. The other assigned guard didn’t report to work this morning. Jason…” She cleared her throat. “They called him at home, but he didn’t pick up. Maybe he’s sick.”
The lines on Marlow’s weathered face deepened, and he released a breath. “Just be sure your patient is restrained at all times, even while the drug is administered and afterward.”
Ellen remembered the drug protocols required that subjects be monitored for forty-eight hours after being given Neustasis due to possible adverse side-effects. “I’ll make sure the guard understands.” She studied her superior for a moment. “You’re genuinely concerned about him, aren’t you?”
Marlow rubbed a hand over his fleshy face. “I’ll say it again. Macy doesn’t fit any of the diagnostic criteria. He’s brilliant, manipulative, and deranged. My advice is to minimize any contact and not engage with him.”
“Maybe I have something to learn from him.”
“Dr. Javier thought the same thing, and…”
When he didn’t go on, Ellen said, “You don’t think Macy had something to do with what happened to him?”
Marlow shrugged. “We’ll never know. All we do know is that your patient can’t be trusted. Keep that in mind at all times.”
Twenty minutes later, Joshua Brown helped Ellen place her belongings into the rear of the transport van. After closing the doors, he said, “The trip should only take a couple of hours. The hotel we’re staying at is adjacent to Halgen Medical Center. Maybe we can get a bite to eat together tonight.”
Ellen smiled. Joshua was probably around her age, in his early thirties, and handsome. She was used to men being attracted to her when she was younger, but after five years of marriage and two children, she’d put on close to thirty pounds.
She dismissed the thought, deciding that she’d probably misread his signals, and said, “We’ll see how things go.” She glanced back at the van. While she knew their prisoner was in a security cage, she remembered Dr. Marlow’s concerns. “I want to be sure our patient is kept in restraints, even during the medical procedures. No exceptions.”
Joshua held up a key ring. “No worries. You’re in good hands.”
Ellen walked around the van to the passenger side and opened the door. She settled in and buckled up, waiting while Joshua signed some paperwork. The voice behind her startled her, causing her to flinch.
“Good morning, Dr. Moore.”
She turned around. Even though the interior of the windowless van was dark and they were in a shaded sally port, she could make out the shadowy figure of her patient, the amber glow of his eyes. It sent a ripple of anxiety down her spine.
“Morning,” she said, turning back around, and wishing Joshua would finish his paperwork.
“It’s good that we’re getting an early start.”
She didn’t respond, instead tapping on the window and pointing to her watch when Joshua saw her.
The baritone voice behind her returned. “I hope there’s no congestion, but you never know at this hour, with school being in session.”
Ellen brushed a sheen of perspiration off her forehead, now seeing that the guard was finally heading for the van. The same word that had come to mind yesterday when she had been around Macy entered her thoughts again. Predator. The man sitting directly behind her was exactly as Dr. Marlow had described him: cunning and dangerous, and lacking any normal social conventions.
Joshua was opening the door to the van when Macy went on. “Eric and Jennifer are probably on their way to school about now. Maybe you’ll even see them and can wave hello.”
Despite every effort not to react, she glanced back at her patient. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Quinton Macy might be smiling.
“All set,” Joshua said, taking a seat in the van. He turned to her, seeing that she was looking back at their patient. “Everything okay?”
Ellen looked at him and exhaled. “Fine. Let’s go.”
As they made their way out of the hospital grounds and headed toward Los Angeles, Ellen clutched her sides. A cold fear gripped her as the realization settled in. Quinton Macy knew the names of her children.
FOURTEEN
“I wonder what Commander Miles thinks about her new employee giving Carmine Feckle an interview and releasing details about our victim’s identity,” Leo said.
It was late in the day, after Mel Peters’ interview and Commander Miles’ press conference had been concluded. We were in Oz’s office with the lieutenant, Darby, Buck, Selfie, and Molly. We had just watched video clips of both Peters’ and Miles’ interviews. The local and national media outlets had been airing non-stop coverage of our story all afternoon. Carmine Feckle was on almost every station, making dramatic statements about the case being the crime of the century.
“My guess is that Miles didn’t know or approve of the interview beforehand,” I said, “but the bottom line is Peters got her face on national TV and g
ot a positive ID of the victim. I think she’ll survive whatever fallout comes her way.”
“Meanwhile, it looks to everyone like MRS is doing Section One’s work,” Darby said. He glared at me. “Where were you when all this went down?”
“I left. There was no way I was going to be a part of Feckle’s dog and pony show.”
“So you let Peters take all the credit. Nice work.”
“Enough,” Oz said, tossing Bernie a doggy treat. He looked at Selfie and Molly. “What do we know about the girl?”
“Sylvia Lacroix was nineteen,” Selfie said. Our crime analyst was sporting pink hair, a pink blouse, and pink glasses with rhinestones this morning. “She was attending Long Beach City College and working part-time at a Walgreens drug store. Mom last saw her when she left for work last Tuesday night. Sylvia had a boyfriend, Mark Garcia. He also goes to City College, and works at a gas station.” She looked up from her paperwork. “Nothing remarkable, except Mom says her daughter was a virgin.”
“That’s about as rare as snow in Hollywood,” Darby said.
“I’ve got some still photos of Sylvia that Mom gave to the press,” Molly said. She worked a remote and we saw a half dozen images of our victim appear on one of the monitors.
Darby snorted and went on again, speculating, “The girl was probably easy pickings, snatched after work.”
“Let’s talk to the boyfriend,” Oz said. “The mother told Peters she wants to ID the body, despite the physical condition, so let’s also make that happen.”
“I can have Brie work with her,” I said.
“Speaking of Brie,” Molly said. “She sent over a translation of the message that was left in our victim. The language expert said it’s Aramaic, something used in the Near East a couple of thousand years ago. The quote is a biblical verse, Isaiah 45:7, that says, I form the light and create darkness: I make peace and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darby asked.
“Maybe our killer has a God complex,” Leo speculated. “It shows he has power over good and evil.”
“Except, there’s nothing good about what he did,” Selfie said.
Molly looked at me. “Selfie and I arranged for you to talk to a forensic anthropologist tomorrow morning at UCLA. Her name is Dr. Rosalind Castillo. She’s written a book on the history of the Day of the Dead rituals and is an expert on cults.”
“What does SID have from the crime scene?” Oz asked her.
“Nothing more than we already know. No trace or other physical evidence.”
“We’ve done some follow-up on the video clip of the victim that’s been circulating on the Internet,” Selfie said. “It was originally sent to Crime Scene LA. It’s an Internet site that posts information about high profile crimes, with lots of gossip and rumors. We’re planning to talk to them today to see if we can get an IP address on the sender.”
“Maybe we’ll catch a break,” Buck said.
Darby looked at him. “Yeah, I’m sure our bad guy was dumb enough to video his work and leave his Internet fingerprints behind.”
Buck shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Maybe in Texas, not in Hollywood.”
“Stop right there,” Oz said, before Buck could respond. He looked back at our civilian employees. “Let us know what you find out.” He turned his gaze back to the rest of us. “In the meantime, we have two other murders to solve. What’s the latest on Duncan and Hanks?”
The room was quiet. We’d been so busy with our other case that the killing of the two drug-dealing rappers had been neglected.
“Let’s make time to work on it,” Oz said, breaking the silence. “Divide up duties and follow up with the family members, anyone who might have had bad blood with them.”
“I still think Gooseberry was behind what happened,” Darby said. “It might even be there was someone he was planning to meet at the graveyard who did the shooting.”
It was late in the day and Oz began packing up his briefcase. “If that’s the case, let’s lean on him again and pin it down. See you all in the morning.”
As I was leaving Oz’s office, Buck whispered to me, “See you at seven.”
I’d almost forgotten about agreeing to meet him at his place for a drink—almost. I’d brought a change of clothes, and showered and dressed in the locker room after work. After spending twenty minutes with my unruly hair, I got a bite to eat, then fed and walked Bernie at a local park. I pulled up at his apartment building a little after seven.
Buck met me at the front door of the modest complex, saying, “You clean up real good.”
I was wearing a flower print skirt and white blouse, something I’d found on sale at a Nordstrom’s Rack.
I lied to him and said, “It’s just something I found at the back of my closet.”
Once inside, he showed Bernie and me around, saying, “It’s small but gets the job done.”
His apartment was one bedroom, modestly furnished, but looked like it had been remodeled over the years. It had an open concept, with the kitchen flowing into the adjacent living room.
“It’s nice,” I said after we made our way back into the living room.
He went over to the kitchen. “Let me get us a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, then we can head upstairs to the deck.”
Ten minutes later, we’d settled into chairs on the roof of the building. There was nobody else around and, despite the apartment’s location in the middle of the city, the deck offered an outstanding view of the lights coming on below us in Hollywood.
“This is lovely,” I said, accepting a glass of wine. Bernie was at my side, still surveying the area and sampling the scents. The early summer evening was warm, with just a light breeze stirring the air.
Buck took a seat across from me. “It’s my favorite place to come after work, and forget my troubles.”
“And probably your partner.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I do my best.”
We clinked glasses, then sipped our wine. I set my glass down and said, “I honestly don’t know how you put up with Darby.”
He shrugged. “He’s like a tick. It gets bad enough, at some point you just peel it off and squash it.”
I chuckled. “I’d like to see that.”
“Stick around.” He took another sip of wine, then said, “You and Leo seem like a good fit.”
“He’s a good guy, reminds me of a detective named Pearl Kramer that I used to work with.” Pearl had gone back into retirement and I hadn’t seen him in weeks. I made a mental note to call him.
I met Buck’s eyes again. “What about you? Do you miss the island, the people you used to work with?”
“I miss Catalina now and again. Only person I miss is Juan. He’s still doing the rescue work.”
Buck and his friend had rescued sick animals in their spare time. I thought about the injured horse I’d seen while on the island. “How is Rosie doing?”
“She’s with a rancher on the other side of the island. Doing well. I try to go back and check on her and the other rescues when I get some time off.”
I took another sip of wine. “It’s a good thing you’re doing. Noah also does rescues.”
“Noah?”
“My…” I took a breath. “He’s the guy I’m seeing. He’s a vet.”
He nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond, his gaze drifting off to the city lights. There was an awkward silence before he said, “You could tag along one of these days.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When I go back to Catalina. It would be like old times.”
I stood up and walked over to the railing, looking at the skyline. I hadn’t realized Buck had followed me. When I turned back to him, we almost bumped into one another. Then his arms were around me.
“You shouldn’t have quit on us, Kate.”
I released a breath and looked into his blue eyes. I realized my heart was racing.
“I didn’t quit. If you’ll remember, there was someone stalking me, making my life miserable, at the time.”
“That’s history. My ex is out of the picture now.”
He moved closer, his full lips inches from mine. I took a breath and looked away. “I can’t do this.”
He placed his hand on my chin, gently moving my head back until our eyes met. “We can take it real slow, if you’d like.”
I held on his eyes for a long moment. My ex-husband came to mind, how he’d cheated on me. I shook my head. “No.” I took a step back. “We can’t do this.” I turned back to the city, leaning on the rail again as my gaze moved off.
After a long moment, I realized Buck was also against the railing, looking at the city. “You’re sure about this?”
I looked back at him. “I’m sure.”
He took a breath and nodded. “Fair enough. I won’t make this any more difficult than it already is.” He held out a hand. “From now on, it’s all business. I’ll make sure everyone understands that.”
I took his hand, feeling its calloused texture. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
***
Buck and I had spent another hour on his rooftop deck. The rest of the evening had been pleasant, with each of us sharing memories and stories of our time together. I decided the night was a success, helping us begin to move beyond our past relationship issues.
I got home at the same time I saw a man who was wearing a lime green suit knocking on Natalie and Mo’s front door. He turned and waved to me. I realized he was probably our attorney, so I went over and introduced myself, at the same time Mo opened her front door.
“You must be Krump,” Mo said.
Our legal eagle, or maybe I should say beagle, stuck out a paw. “Hermes Krump, at your service.”
Mo regarded him, but didn’t take his paw. She opened her door wider. “Come on in.”
Our attorney was probably around thirty, about five six, pudgy, with curly brown hair and muddy eyes. While he didn’t exactly look like a beagle, he did have that earnest, over-excited look that dogs get when they want someone to pet them. The fact that Natalie was coming over from the kitchen might have also explained his I want to lick you attitude.