by Robin Mahle
“There you are.”
Kate whipped around. “Marc, you’re here. I was beginning to think you were skipping out on this.”
“Not a chance.” He glanced to his former colleague. “Have you talked to him yet?”
“No. We just got back from the hospital.”
“I heard about the woman. Thank God she’s alive.”
“We still have a lot of work to do to find this man. I assume you’re here for the update from the captain?”
“Yes. And to see if I could do anything for you. Anything at all.”
“I don’t think so, Marc. We’re just the B-team right now and it doesn’t appear that that’s going to change.”
Nick soon approached. “Aguilar. Long time no see.” He offered a greeting. “How’s New York treating you?”
“Like the runt of the litter, struggling to suckle at the teat of its mama.”
“So—good, then?”
“It’s nice to see you too, Agent Scarborough.” After shaking hands, Marc looked into the lobby where more reporters had gathered. “Any news you can share? You know—exclusive?”
“Afraid not. You’ll have to talk to the captain. BAU is consulting. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Got it. I’d better go have a word with my old buddy. He’ll be anxious to see what CBN said about the story.”
“I caught it yesterday morning, by the way,” Nick continued. “Probably should have steered clear of perpetuating the local press’ notoriety they’ve already granted this killer.”
“You’ve never liked us much, have you, Agent Scarborough?”
“You mean the press in general, or just you?”
Marc smiled and returned his attention to Kate. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He began to walk away.
“You didn’t have to be such an ass, you know. Marc’s a good guy. He stood by me when others didn’t.”
“Right. I remember.” Nick placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sharpe’s looking for you.”
They walked back through the corridor in search of the detective and Agent Jameson. Upon reaching the communications room, they found both were inside.
“Found her,” Nick said. “There’s a horde of reporters gathering in the lobby. Your witness has been talking to the media and whipped up a storm.”
“I’m aware. Captain’s getting ready to talk to them in a few minutes.” He turned to Kate. “You mentioned earlier about digging into Raquel Garcia’s social media. How are you going to gain access?”
Kate took a seat next to him. “I’ll start off with anything public that she had posted. Most of the things younger people post are public. Not so with the older generations using Facebook and the like. The youth want their posts to go viral—gain as much attention as they can get. So that’s where I’ll start. Then, if I don’t find anything of use, I’d like to reach out to her family and ask permission for access to her accounts.”
“You think they’ll comply?” Dwight asked. “They lost her likely as a result of reaching out to the police. Chances are you won’t get far with any of them.”
“He’s right,” Sharpe said. “She’s dead because of me. My team, my people.” He pushed up from the chair. “I’ve got to get with the captain before he briefs the press. Get started on what you can and we’ll go from there.” He walked toward the door. “I think this thing’s about to blow up on us and we’ll need all hands on deck.”
Kate waited until he closed the door. “What do you guys think? What’s our best chance right now to find this guy?”
“I’d still like to pursue the origins of the synthetic fiber. It means something. I just haven’t found the connection to the descriptions we’re getting right now,” Dwight said.
“You’re right. It could still lead us to our guy,” Nick replied. “I’ll go see what help I can be in gathering CCTV video from the scene. See if we can find the car.” He stood up to leave. “Kate, get what you can on social media. I hope Raquel Garcia wasn’t alone that night she saw him. You find out who she was with, you’ll probably find the green car.”
“And we’ll have ourselves another witness,” Kate replied. “Got it.” She began to search Facebook for Raquel’s profile. She was confident she could find a friend who had known where Raquel went that night and with whom. But as she began, several profiles appeared. Kate would need to whittle down the field of prospects and typed in the location she needed. From there, she narrowed it down further by age, eliminating anyone that popped up who was over thirty. While she didn’t know the exact age, she was quite sure Raquel wasn’t older than her mid-twenties.
Before her now were roughly twenty profiles. Now she had something she could work with. A brunette, slender Hispanic. Kate managed to eliminate another ten in the search. She continued to view each of the remaining profiles that fit her criteria.
Moments later, a text appeared on her phone. She glanced at it and noted Marc had informed her that the captain was about to brief the press. He’d wanted her to be there, but she thought that could only create confusion. It was up to the captain to let the media know of the FBI’s involvement. She needed to stay in the background until otherwise required. She began to type a reply. “Can’t make it. Working on something else. Talk later.”
Upon return to her task at hand, Kate continued to peruse the Facebook pages of the young women whose names and appearance matched the young woman who ended up dying trying to help find the killer.
And then she found it. Raquel Garcia’s public profile. Several photos had been uploaded and set to public. Some appeared to be friends of hers, others perhaps family. A young boy, maybe her little brother, sat next to her on some steps of a home.
She continued to view the images, desperate to find a friend they could track down to speak to. Somebody who could corroborate her description. She did note that someone who had access to her account posted that Raquel had died and a Go Fund Me page had been set up to help with funeral arrangements. Kate studied the message. Her heart broke for that young woman’s family. With a click of a button, she donated a small amount to help. It would be completely against the Bureau’s policy, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone.
It was when she returned to Raquel’s profile page that she spotted it. Kate leaned in for a closer look, but the image was still difficult to see. She clicked on it and a new window popped up, giving her a better view of the picture.
Raquel and another woman, probably a friend, were in front of a nightclub. But what interested Kate was what she saw on the street opposite the club. The photo had been taken almost a month ago, but there it was. What she’d been searching for over the past few days. A green car, a Honda Civic. “That’s it.” Kate zoomed in on the image. “That’s the car.”
She looked again at the post. Raquel had tagged the friend in the photo. “Vanessa Ruiz.” Kate quickly grabbed the laptop and left the room in a hurry. She quick-stepped through the hall and toward Detective Sharpe’s office. “I found the car.”
Sharpe looked up at her. “Where? Whose is it?” He stood up to meet her halfway.
“Look.” She turned the laptop. “I think it might belong to this girl with her, Vanessa Ruiz.”
“Then she was there. She had to have seen him too. We need to find this girl. Now.”
CHAPTER 18
It was the morning light that spilled into the bedroom and not the alarm clock that awoke Andre from what had been a disturbing and restless sleep. Images of the woman, tied to the bench; the man yelling questions at him, charging after him. Now he felt more exhausted than ever, even snuffing out the exhilaration of the act he’d witnessed prior.
But he lay in bed, knowing it would be another few minutes before Dina would have to leave for work. He had to avoid her at all costs. With a clouded head, he might slip up. He’d been caught at the scene, his car spotted as clear as day. And Andre half-expected the police to knock down his door at any moment.
This had gone horribly wrong. The woman was ali
ve and he wondered if she had seen him in the precious few moments he had to examine her. It was only when the man stopped to help her did he look back and notice she had moved on her own–confirmation that she was very much alive. His stare burned into the bedroom ceiling, wondering what Dina had known, if anything. They were going to think he did it. He wasn’t the killer, but he was there, watching it all and doing nothing about it.
Andre rubbed his face hard as though that might wipe away the images that swam through his mind. He listened as the garage door opened. With relief, he exhaled. Dina was leaving for work as if it was any other day, which meant she hadn’t known; not yet.
He ripped off the covers and sat upright with his hands pressed against his knees. The kids needed to get ready for school and he had to drive them in a car that who knew if the police were looking for. And he would have to pretend that this nightmare wasn’t actually happening. That he hadn’t done the unthinkable. If he’d had his wits about him, he could’ve stayed there and told the man who approached that he only happened upon the woman and was about to call for help. After all, he hadn’t done the deed. Instead, he panicked and ran. “Damn it!” His tone was loud, too loud, and he had to check himself because if he couldn’t get his shit together, he wasn’t going to get out of this.
Andre jumped as his alarm rang out, playing a loud, insufferable tune. He slammed his hand down to stop the horrific noise. The time had come to make a decision.
“Daddy?” A knock sounded on his door. “You awake?” His daughter pushed it open. “Morning, Daddy. Can I go downstairs and pour my own cereal?”
“Go ahead, baby. I’ll be down in a minute. Where’s your brother?”
“Still asleep.”
“Okay. Go downstairs. I’ll get him up.” Andre waited for her to leave. He hung his head low and breathed slowly to appease his nerves. A moment later, he stood. It seemed he could find no other choice but to continue on as normal. Get the kids to school, go to work, come home, and hope his face wasn’t all over the news. Or his car. Because if it was, Dina would know. And he couldn’t let that happen.
♦ ♦ ♦
Dwight peered at his monitor. “Hey, Serg, I think I got something here. You want to take a look at this?”
Moore stepped toward him. “What is it?”
“That’s the white car.”
“Right. I see it.”
Dwight zoomed in on the video image. “This is his plate.” He smiled. “We got the son of a bitch.”
Moore offered a laudatory slap on his back. “Hell, yeah. I’ll run the plate now.”
As they waited, Dwight noticed Kate enter. “Hey. We got the plate off the white car.”
She continued toward them. “That’s great. Maybe we don’t need this information then.”
“What’d you find?”
“I found Raquel’s Facebook page and, from there, I looked into her friends.” She placed a piece of paper on Dwight’s desk. “This picture was posted about a month ago in front of a nightclub.” Kate guided her index finger toward the car in the background. “That’s the green car. And this is her friend, Vanessa Ruiz.”
“You think it’s her friend’s car?”
“I do. And I think she was with Raquel that night they crossed paths with our killer. I just met with Sharpe. They’re tracking Vanessa down now. But, with what you’ve got, we may not need a statement from her.”
“I don’t want to dismiss anything right now,” Dwight said.
“I got a name.” Moore walked toward them. “Andre Knight. Lives in South Park. Let’s get Sharpe and head over there now.”
“Keep looking for Vanessa Ruiz, Agent Reid. We might still need her testimony.” Dwight followed the sergeant out.
“I’m right behind you. I’d like to see what Sharpe wants to do,” Kate replied.
As they reached the detective’s office, they found that Nick was inside.
“Good. You’re both here,” Dwight began. “We got the owner of the white Honda CRV.”
Sharpe stood in surprise. “No shit? Let’s get after him.”
“Agent Scarborough and I will keep working to track down Vanessa Ruiz,” Kate said.
A rare conviction masked the detective’s face. “We might just get this son of a bitch after all.”
It was the first time since Kate had arrived that she’d seen his spirit rise to the level of near-elation. She returned her attention to Nick. “According to Vanessa’s profile page, she works at H&M, not far from here. I say we go there first.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Andre labored to sustain focus on his job. A multitude of scenarios played out in his mind and each one ended badly for him. He needed to get on the site and find out if the man behind the camera knew what had happened. That he hadn’t killed the woman and now she was a witness. In a burst of acuity, it dawned on him. Could this have been his plan all along? Guide Andre down the primrose path, allow him to watch, and then set him up to take the fall?
There was no way to know until he could access the site, but from work, that would be impossible. He would have to leave. Andre glanced at the time. “Lunch. I can go to lunch.”
Reaching for his carrier bag, Andre walked out of his cubicle and toward the breakroom, where he would punch out.
“You going to lunch already?” A woman he never spoke to except through email sat in the room, drinking a coffee.
“I’ve got some errands. See you later.” He inserted his punch card into the electronic timer and stamped it. It was 11:25 and he had exactly one hour.
Andre walked to the employee parking lot at the back of the building and tossed his laptop bag onto the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel firmly and inhaled a deep breath. He had to find a way out of this because it was going to cost him everything he had and everyone he loved.
Turning the ignition, he pulled out of the lot and onto the main road. He needed to go to a café or a fast food place that offered Wi-Fi so he could connect via an IP address completely unassociated with him.
Within a few minutes, he’d found a suitable place. A McDonald’s café. It would do. Andre parked up and walked inside. The lunch crowd was just getting started, so he found a seat and ordered a soda. His appetite was nowhere to be found.
Immediately, he used his proxy server and logged into the site. The video had been posted of the girl on the bench and the events leading up to her staging. The man behind the camera had again captured his victim with exquisite beauty and Andre admired it—for a moment.
As he scrolled down to see the comments, there were those who knew what had happened. Who’d known the girl was still alive and that someone had seen him. But by “him,” had they meant the man behind the camera?
Andre continued searching the post for any signs of a reply from the man himself. Perhaps he hadn’t looked at it, but Andre didn’t think that was likely. From what he knew of this person, he lived for the feedback. The praise of his work. And yet there were so many comments about her being alive. “He’s gone,” Andre whispered. “He has to be gone.”
It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the page that he spotted a reply to his initial comment. “Did you enjoy the show? I saw you watching. And if they don’t catch you, I will.”
Andre slammed his laptop shut. His heart leapt into his throat and his pulse quickened enough to make the back of his neck turn hot and clammy. Now he had to worry not just about the police, but also about the man behind the camera.
♦ ♦ ♦
They’d arrived at the home of Andre Knight, but there were no signs of a white car. Not on the driveway, not parked along the front. Detective Sharpe was the first to approach, followed by Sergeant Moore and Agent Jameson.
Sharpe knocked on the door. “LAPD. Open the door, please.”
No answer.
He knocked again. “I’m looking for Andre Knight. This is Detective Sharpe with the LAPD.”
Dwight surveyed the exterior of the home. The blinds were closed,
no open windows, no signs of life. “I don’t think he’s here.”
“The car was also registered to a Dina Knight. I assume that’s his wife. She might be here,” Sharpe replied.
Dwight stepped back to get a view of the second floor. “I don’t know. I’m not seeing indications anyone is home.”
The deadbolt on the front door clicked and the sound brought them to the door again when it finally opened.
Sharpe moved in. “Dina Knight?”
Only partially exposed from behind the door, she nodded. Her distressed appearance was not without notice.
“Mrs. Knight, is your husband, Andre, here?”
“He’s at work.”
Dwight noted she was dressed in scrubs. “Did you just get home from work, ma’am?” He paused. “I’m sorry. I’m Agent Jameson, FBI. I’m here to help these gentlemen.”
“I got home a little while ago.”
“Ma’am, could we ask you a few questions about your husband? We won’t take up much of your time,” Sharpe continued.
Dina stepped back, pulling the door open a little more, and waited.
The men walked inside and began to survey the home.
“Where does your husband work, Mrs. Knight?” Moore asked.
“At the Corecom building downtown. He works in Accounting.”
As Sharpe made his way into the living room, he pressed on. “When do you expect him home?”
“Around six. I worked the early shift today and that’s why I’m home. My kids will be home soon too. Can you tell me what this is about?”
Dwight eyed her expression and figured she already knew the answer to that question. “Do you and your husband own a 2004 white Honda CRV?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Did he drive it to work today?”