by Robin Mahle
“Andre, I’d like for you to meet FBI Agents Scarborough and Reid. They’ve been working with my team to help us find you.”
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill those women.”
“That’s what you keep saying, Andre, but from our standpoint, we have physical evidence of your being at the crime scene, evidence you left on a previous victim and video tape showing your car.” Sharpe sat down across from him. “You have to admit; it’s looking pretty bad for you right now.”
“I need to call my wife. She’ll be worried.”
“You’ll get the chance to speak with her, although it seems doubtful she’ll want to speak to you,” Sharpe continued.
“You mentioned to Detective Sharpe something about a website,” Nick began, “but refused to show him. Why is that? If what you claim is true, then why not allow us to find the person who did commit these horrific murders?” Nick leaned against a back wall and folded his arms in front of him.
“Because he’ll kill me.”
“So, you’re willing to go to prison for multiple homicides, sexual assault, and whatever else we can throw your way because you’re afraid this person will come after you?” Kate said. “Seems counterintuitive to me. If you tell us who he is, we can make sure he pays for his crimes. Think of what this will do to your family, Andre; your children. Think of what they’ll face when they go to school and kids taunt them because their dad is a killer, or worse. The best thing you can do is get us to this website so we can track this person down before he kills again.”
“He might have taken the site down already,” Andre said.
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Sharpe stood up. “I’m going to have someone set up a laptop in here so we can take a look.”
After he walked out of the room, Nick continued, “How did you come across this site, Andre? How many people follow this ‘man behind the camera’?”
“Look, I know my rights. I don’t have to tell you anything. Are you going to press charges? Because I’m allowed a lawyer.”
“You are, and we can provide you with one, if that’s the route you wish to take,” Nick added. “Or you can work with us to find this man.”
“The detective said I’ll still face charges of aiding and abetting, so I’m going to jail no matter what.”
Nick tossed a glance to Kate and the two left Andre in the room alone. “We’re going to have to get this guy a lawyer. We need to let Sharpe know he won’t talk without one.”
“You know what’s going to happen,” Kate said.
“I do, but he asked for one and we don’t have a choice now.” Nick proceeded along the hall toward Sharpe’s office. “Hey. Knight wants a lawyer.”
Sharpe was on his way out of his office when Nick and Kate appeared. “Are you serious? God dammit. What did you tell him?”
“That he has that right,” Kate began. “What else could we say?”
“You and I both know what’s going to happen now. He’ll clam up and we won’t get the name of that website.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Nick said. “If the lawyer is worth his salt, he’ll get Knight to cooperate, assuming his story pans out.”
“And if he’s lying?” Kate asked.
“Then we’ll have our answer pretty damn quick because he won’t say a word until he’s charged,” Nick said.
“All right. We don’t have a choice.” Sharpe pushed his way between the two of them. “I’ll get him a damn lawyer.”
Kate watched as Sharpe walked away. “We’re going to need to keep this from the press. They get wind that we have a suspect in custody, and this mysterious man behind the camera is still out there, he’ll run, especially if what Knight says is true; that he thinks he was framed.”
“You think Aguilar can pull some strings?” Nick asked.
“With his help and whatever strings we can pull, we can probably keep it under wraps for twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours. The problem we’ll have is our witness in the park and our victim.”
“I think she’ll cooperate and she’s still in pretty bad shape and won’t be released any time soon. It’s the park witness we might have trouble with,” Nick said. “I’ll see if Jameson and Moore can find him and give him an incentive to keep quiet, for a little while.” He began to walk away.
“What kind of incentive?”
“Whatever will work.” He disappeared around the corner.
Kate retrieved her cell. “Marc, it’s Kate. Can I meet up with you?” She waited. “Now, if that’s okay. Great, I’ll see you there in just a few minutes.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The refined establishment with its steel-grey walls, hanging drum lights, and sleek furnishings was tucked behind the lobby of Marc’s hotel. Turned out, CBN had a bigger travel budget than the Bureau. He sat at the bar, swirling the ice in his vodka. Kate spotted him as she walked inside.
She perched atop the barstool next to him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you just lost your dog.”
Marc turned his attention to her. “My producer told me I needed to come back. That this story was a non-event and hadn’t gained any real traction with the other news outlets.”
“Seriously? A guy who’s killed four women and brutally assaulted another? Wow.”
“Yeah, go figure.” He tossed back the rest of his drink.
“I’m sorry to hear that. However, it does bode well for us who are out looking for this man. And brings me to why I’m here.”
Marc nodded to the bartender for another drink. “You want anything?”
“I’ll take an iced tea.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m on duty, Marc.”
“Oh yeah. How’s that going, by the way?”
“I’m going to tell you something because I know how much you want to help us.”
With a sideways glance, he revealed a half-cocked smile. “You need my help?”
“Yes, actually, I do. We’ve got someone in custody, but he just lawyered up. However, before he did, he gave us something of an unusual story that, if it’s true, might mean he’s innocent—of the murders, at least.” She waited while the bartender placed their drinks down. “This guy, well, we don’t know if he’s telling us the truth or not and we need time to look into it.”
“Why? What’s his story? You guys don’t think he’s the killer?”
“Honestly, we don’t know. Evidence points to yes, but there’s something in his story that isn’t sitting right. Something that is so far out there that it just might be true.”
“Okay, you’ve got my attention.”
“First of all, I’m telling you this because we’re friends and I need for this not to get out. The media can’t know we have someone in custody. It could jeopardize the rest of the investigation.”
“Well, I’m not going to say anything. My bosses could care less.” He took another swig of his drink.
“What can you do with the local press? Your friend at KTLA. Any other connections you or he might have. You think you can prod them on their take on the story? Dispel any rumors of a suspect in custody? What are the chances we can keep this quiet for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”
“That’s a tall order. You’d have to keep this guy’s family quiet too. And the captain has already had a couple of press briefings. They’ll only continue asking questions.”
“So far, he has yet to include the fact that we have a person of interest and he doesn’t plan to disclose that any time soon.”
“The problem I see with your plan is if LAPD charges this guy. Those charges would be public and very easy to track down. And believe me, the media is waiting—and watching for that to happen.”
“Okay, that’s something we can control on our end. The detective in charge wants what we want.”
“Good. Then you’ll have to ensure, as I said, that the family, wife or whatever, keeps quiet.”
“I think we can do that, considering it
will only help her husband if she does. We’ve got a witness we’ll have to work with too, but I can’t imagine he’d want to risk the investigation. He seems a stand-up guy.”
“Don’t overestimate the morals of upstanding men,” Marc said.
“What I’m mostly concerned with is your friend who’s been pushing you to run with this story for his own gains.”
“You could say the same thing about me.”
“I could,” Kate smiled. “But I won’t.”
“I can talk to him. Let him know there could be a bigger story that comes out of it without revealing too much information on the matter. He’ll prod me because he knows I have an in with the feds. But hell, if that is the case, I might be able to sway my producer after all.” A sheepish look masked his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of the fact that people are dead and there’s a killer still out there. I know it’s more than a story.”
Kate placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know you do, Marc. I’d better get back to the station.” She glanced at her phone while downing the last drink of tea. “Where the hell did this day go? It’s already eight?”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
She reached into her purse for a five. “I’ve had a snack or two—Dad.”
“Keep your money. I think I can spare a few bucks on an iced tea. Come see me when you can have a real drink.”
“Good night, Marc. And thanks for your help. It means a lot.”
Marc watched Kate walk away and then tossed back the rest of his drink. “Can I get the tab, please?” he asked the bartender. “Thanks.” He left thirty bucks on the table and walked out of the bar and into the hotel lobby. The skies had grown much darker than when he arrived and now were nearing black, except for streetlights and cars that drove by, leaving yellow and red streaks in their wake.
Marc pressed the contact button on his phone and waited for the line to pick up. “Hey, Vince, it’s Marc. Listen, can I meet up with you? I wanted to talk to you about something.” He stepped outside into the fresh night air. “Great. I’ll come over. You still up in Calabasas?” He hailed a cab. “See you there. Thanks.”
The cab driver pulled alongside the curb of the hotel and Marc opened the door. “Calabasas, please.”
Within seconds, he was on his way to meet with his former colleague from his short time in LA, just prior to moving to New York. He didn’t consider him a close friend, but he was more than an acquaintance and so Marc felt fairly confident he’d agree to keep things quiet for a day or two while the feds and LAPD lined up their case. It didn’t mean there weren’t others who would want the story, but it was a small industry and everyone knew everyone else. No one would want the risk of letting a killer go because they spouted off after the feds asked them to keep it quiet.
“That’s it, up on the left.” Marc retrieved his credit card and swiped it into the payment device. “Thank you.” He slipped out and walked toward the front door of the moderate home in the respectable neighborhood. It took a lot of money to live in Calabasas, so it was no surprise the home was somewhat modest. Although in New York, it would be considered positively enormous. That was the one thing about being a transplant. People thought it was expensive to live in L.A. They had no idea what expensive was until they tried to get a place in New York.
Marc stood beneath the sheltered entrance and knocked on the door. Within moments, his old colleague opened it. “Vince, how’s it going, man? Thanks for meeting with me.” He offered his hand.
“Pleasure. Come on in.” Vince closed the door behind him. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll take a vodka on the rocks, if you got it.”
“Go and have a seat in the living room. I’ll be right back with the drinks.”
Marc’s shoes on the slate floor broadcast his entry into a room that could only be described as a formal living area, which appeared to be rarely utilized. He hoisted his trousers and sat down on the high-back leather chair.
Vince soon approached with drinks in hand. “Here you are. Vodka rocks. So, what brings you over here? Thought you were hanging close to the station?” He took a seat.
“I am. I just had a quick word with a friend of mine about the Pretty Face Killer investigation.”
“Did I miss a conference?”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that. I’ve got a friend who works for the FBI. She’s here helping LAPD.”
“Right, I talked to her about the tipster lead. LAPD must be lacking confidence to involve the feds.”
“Maybe, but the reason I’m here, actually, is that my friend needs our help.”
“Our help?” Vince took a sip of his drink and placed it on the coffee table. “What can we do?”
“They’ve got a theory that sort of flies in the face of what they know of the investigation so far. And they’ve asked us to keep things quiet for a day or two until they can see if it pans out.”
“Can you elaborate? What do they have? What do they think is going on?”
Marc ran his finger around the rim of the glass. “Look, I know you have a lot of friends in the business. And I know you have some pull with them.”
“Not as much as you might think.”
“Regardless, we need to keep quiet that they’ve got someone in custody. You’re going to find out about it sooner rather than later and that’s why I’m here.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? That they’ve got a suspect?”
“Yes, but until they know for sure it’s the guy they’re looking for, they don’t want the press to mention it.”
“Because if this guy isn’t the killer, then the killer might jump ship.”
“Something like that. Can you help? I mean, I know you can only do so much. But right now, anything will help. They need some time. Just a little bit of time.”
“I’ll do what I can, buddy, but like I say, this is a cut-throat business. You know that as well, if not better, than I do. I’ll push the story down. I’ll talk to a few friends who will listen. That’s about the best I can do. There’s always that rogue reporter trying to make a name for himself.”
“I understand that. But those are the guys who, if they don’t play the game, won’t get very far in this business.”
“That’s a fact. Not many will want to risk being blackballed for going against the grain. So, what can I expect in return?”
“You’ll be the first—well, second—to know if they have the right guy. I’ll take the story upstream, get my people interested again. But I guess that depends on the result of the investigation. Locally, I’ll make sure you get the exclusive and I’ll interview you on my show about it.”
“I can work with that.” Vince smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Good.” Marc tossed back another swig. “Hey, you got a restroom around here?”
“Down the hall, first door on your right.”
“Thanks.” Marc pushed from the chair and made his way down the short hall and into the powder room. With a flip of the switch, the room illuminated and he admired the masculine décor, soon recalling that Vince was recently divorced. “Must’ve had the place redecorated.”
After using the facilities, he ran his hands under the faucet and glanced around the small bathroom until his eyes landed on the shelf on the back wall. He turned off the water and dried his hands, opening the door to leave.
His shoes continued to click and clack on the grey slate floor until he returned to the living room where his friend was perusing through his cell phone. “I’d better head back to the hotel.”
“You need me to call you a cab?”
“Nah. I’ll Uber it.” He placed the request on his phone. “There’s one nearby.” Marc picked up his glass and finished off his drink. “Thanks for the drink.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
The two walked toward the front door and Vince pulled it open. “It was great seeing you, Marc. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
Marc shook
his hand. “Absolutely.” He stepped out onto the porch and stopped, turning back to him. “Hey, since when are you a Bulls fan?”
“What’s that?” Vince furrowed his brow.
“In your bathroom. I saw a Chicago Bulls baseball hat on your shelf. I thought you were Lakers all the way?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I think a friend of mine left it here last week. Looks like your ride’s here. Take care, man.”
Marc waved goodbye as he walked toward the car.
CHAPTER 22
Robert Grainger walked into the lobby of the precinct at nine p.m. after receiving a call requesting his presence. He approached the officer at the information desk. “I’m here for Andre Knight, a suspect who invoked his right to have an attorney present during questioning.” Robert laid his business card on the table.
“I’ll let Detective Sharpe know you’re here. Please have a seat.” The officer placed the call while Grainger stepped aside.
He noted a few reporters hanging around and because he didn’t live under a rock, figured it was because of the Pretty Face Killer investigation—a story he’d been following closely, but one which seemed to be at a standstill while victims continued to surface.
Sharpe appeared from beyond the corridor and offered his hand. “Rob, thanks for coming down.”
“Who’ve you got?” Grainger wasn’t a man to mince words and he knew Sharpe was the same. He’d been working this area for the better part of ten years and they’d crossed paths several times before.
Sharpe cast a glance at the onlookers, mostly reporters who seemed keen to listen in on the conversation. “Why don’t you come back to my office and I’ll fill you in.” He led Grainger to his office where the BAU team waited along with Sergeant Moore.
“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?” Grainger said upon entering the overcrowded office.
“Rob, this is the FBI’s BAU team. Agents Scarborough, Jameson, and Reid. They’ve been consulting with us on the investigation. And you already know Sergeant Moore.”
“I do; nice to see you again.” Robert turned his attention to the agents. “BAU? Let me guess, the serial killer? What are you guys calling him? The Pretty Face Killer?”