by Robin Mahle
Vince watched the monster that he helped create drive away and began to realize whatever illusion of control he thought he had over him had all but vanished by way of his black car in the night. Perhaps it was time to call it. Tell the authorities that he knew who the killer was. Who would believe that man over him? A man whose smiling face graced the television screen every morning in millions of Californian homes. He had the upper hand here, not that monster.
♦ ♦ ♦
Kate approached Detective Sharpe, who was still processing Andre Knight’s paperwork. “So, you’re keeping him here?”
“I don’t have a choice. He was seen running from a sexual assault and attempted murder victim. Whether or not he did it remains to be seen, but I have to keep him here.”
“I agree with you. Given the chance, he’d be gone in a heartbeat. I don’t know how someone can stand by and watch something like that. Someone being killed. I’ve seen my share of horrific crimes, but to me, that’s almost worse than the crime itself.”
“That it is, Agent Reid. That it is.” Sharpe turned away from his monitor. “When do we want him to leave the comment on the website?”
“The sooner the better. We need to keep him interested. Let him know his fans still need him.”
“Then we’d better get Knight in front of a computer.” He stood and began to leave his office, but stopped and turned back. “You want to be in on this, right?”
“Yeah, let me grab the rest of my team. I think they’re with Sergeant Moore.”
“Meet me back there as soon as you can.”
Kate made her way to Robbery Homicide where Moore worked and found Nick and Dwight nearby. “Sharpe is ready to get Andre Knight in front of a computer. We need to get back there and oversee this.” She began to study what was on Moore’s screen. “What are you guys looking at?”
“We’re reviewing the closed circuit video from the area surrounding Leimert Park at midnight last night till around two a.m.,” Moore replied.
“We wanted to see if any other images surfaced that might show us Knight in the background,” Nick added.
“And what did you find? Anything?”
“Show her,” Nick said to Moore.
“You see that car on the far left corner of the screen?”
“Yes.”
“Watch what happens when I forward the video to the time when our witness catches Knight with the victim.” He began to fast forward the video and stopped. “You see the car now?”
“Its headlights just came on, and it looks like it’s about to pull away.”
“Right.” Moore continued to forward. “And here, we see the car leaving.”
“It’s pretty far out of range from where the incident occurred. What are you thinking?”
“That there could be more than one ‘watcher,’” Nick said. “That maybe this guy, because he posted where he would be, had more followers than just Knight.”
“Maybe there are more witnesses,” Dwight said. “Or that could be his ride.”
“Whose? Knight’s?” Kate asked.
“No, he had a car. I’m thinking it could be, assuming we all believe his story about the videos on the website, the actual killer’s ride.”
“You’re thinking he has an accomplice?”
“Seems a little too coincidental that that car leaves around the time our witness runs toward Knight,” Dwight continued.
“So the killer did see him and possibly could’ve been waiting for him to see what Andre would do. Knight said he threatened him. That he saw him there. Maybe that was him waiting?” Kate added.
“That’s a possibility too, but what we need to do, then, is to identify that vehicle,” Nick said. “That’s what we’re working on now. As you can see, it’s difficult to decipher the make and model.”
Dwight stepped away from the desk. “I think we can leave the rest of it in Sergeant Moore’s capable hands. Sounds like we need to get with Knight and hang him on the fishing line.” He rapped his knuckles on Moore’s desk. “We’ll catch up with you afterwards.”
Kate led the way back to the holding cell where Sharpe was about to transfer Knight to another interrogation room with his attorney’s approval. The three met him in the hall and Kate began, “We ready to do this?”
Sharpe nodded. “Indeed we are.” He opened the door to the room. “Have a seat, Andre. This won’t take long.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The keys in his pocket jingled when he reached for them to open the door of his apartment. The night had grown increasingly cooler and, as he inserted the key, he noticed goosebumps on his arms. The unexpected call, or rather, demand from Vince Sanchez to meet meant he left his place without a coat. And now he regretted going out at all.
Sanchez had pulled at a string that ought not have been pulled. Who the fuck did he think he was? He switched on the light and locked the door behind him. “That fucker will be famous because of me. He’d do well to remember that.” A nearby card table was where he set down the laptop bag. He was careful never to leave it unattended, even in his secured apartment. His artwork was never far from his side.
A drink was what he needed now and so he continued to the kitchenette and retrieved a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of bourbon. Now all he had to do was check his site to see if he got a response from the jackass who followed him. He almost jeopardized the whole thing. For now, though, he needed to know if the jackass was going to be a problem. He already had Sanchez and he didn’t need another problem. All of these people were getting in the way of his work and that was unacceptable.
With the bottle and glass in his hand, he walked back to the table and booted up his laptop. A few swift keystrokes and he was on his site. Taking down the videos was a must. Couldn’t risk the jackass spouting off to anyone, especially the cops, although he’d only incriminate himself, so he felt pretty comfortable the guy would keep his mouth shut. While he sat in Sanchez’s car last night, after the fact, he’d seen the guy well enough, but tracking him down would be another story, one he hoped wouldn’t need to be told.
The first shot of bourbon went down easily as he continued to scroll along the page. And that was when he found it. The reply he’d been waiting for from Dre1995.
“I only wanted to admire your work. I don’t have the courage you do. I am a follower and you are the leader, an artist ahead of his time. I haven’t and won’t go to the cops. I await your next masterpiece and will not follow without your permission.”
He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. Maybe he’d overreacted. This guy was a true admirer of his work. Perhaps he’d been looking at this all wrong. If his fans wanted him to continue, then why shouldn’t he? Fuck Vince Sanchez. What did he know of art? He began to craft his reply.
♦ ♦ ♦
A call rang through on Kate’s cell while she slept, still fully clothed, in the hotel. She raised up to answer it. “Reid speaking.”
“It’s Sharpe. We got a reply. Can you meet me at the station in half an hour?”
“Of course. I’ll wake the guys and we’ll head over.” She ended the call and checked the time. Two a.m. and they’d only been in their rooms since midnight. Still, two hours was better than nothing.
Kate pressed Nick’s contact. “It’s me. Sharpe got a reply and wants us back down at the station.” She paused while his fuzzy mind tried to focus on her words. “Okay. I’ll see you in the lobby in fifteen. Please tell Dwight.”
She moved to the edge of the bed in the pitch-black room and stood. Her careful steps with arms outstretched in front of her ensured she didn’t run into a wall until finally reaching a light switch. The bright light burned her eyes, but she soon recovered and began to splash water on her face and smooth down her disheveled hair, pulling it back into a ponytail.
Within minutes, she was in the lobby, waiting for Nick and Dwight. They emerged from the elevators.
“I expected to be the last one down,” she said. “You two look like death
warmed over.”
“We’re not as young as you, but your time’s coming.” Dwight patted her on the back. “Let’s get down there and see what we’ve got.”
A short drive later and they arrived at the station inside the half-hour time frame. Sharpe appeared to be waiting for them in the lobby. “Good. You’re here. Follow me.” He led the way, dismissing pleasantries, and headed back to the interrogation room where the computer had been set up.
“Where’s Knight?” Nick asked.
“Sleeping in his cell. I wanted to show this to you three before we decide whether or not he needs to be up for this.”
“Well, we know how to get onto the website now,” Kate began. “I’m not sure we need him at all for this part anyway.” She pulled up a chair. “When did this come in?”
“Not long before I called you. One of my officers had been monitoring the site all night and called me first. I came straight down and had a look. That was when I knew you should be here to see it.” Sharpe began scrolling down to the comment. “You were right, Agent Reid. The killer is an egomaniac. He wants admiration from his followers.”
“Based on what we’ve seen so far, it was the logical conclusion, in my mind.” She glanced to Nick. “You agree?”
“Definitely. He’s wanted attention on this from Day One. Why else would he have posted his so-called performance pieces online?”
“And why would he have told his followers where he would be?”
“Arrogance. A feeling that he’s above the law.” Dwight pulled up a chair at the end of the table.
“This is it.” Sharpe turned the monitor toward them. “What do you think?”
Kate smiled and looked to her team for confirmation. “This was exactly what we wanted. Have Knight play to his ego. Beg for him to continue.” She paused while they studied the killer’s words. “So now that we’ve reeled him in, it’s time to get the net. Detective Sharpe, we’ll need to stay logged on to this site, continually monitor it for the killer’s next announcement.”
“How long you think before he’ll act again?” Sharpe asked.
“Best guess, inside of twenty-four hours. He won’t want the fans to be disappointed. I think they might mean more to him than his victims. That may not have been the way it started, but with Knight essentially pleading with him to continue, I think his ego will drive the decision to perform again.”
“And until then?”
“We can start getting a team in place,” Nick began. “Get all the players ready because once he decides to pull the trigger, we won’t have time to screw around.”
“What about Andre Knight?” Sharpe said.
“Charge him. You have enough. He’ll continue to cooperate if needed because he wants that deal. But I think we’ll only need him if the killer insists he be there when the act takes place.”
“We need to consider keeping the latest victim under protection,” Dwight began. “This guy may feel the need to finish the job and she’s due to be released from the hospital this afternoon, last I heard.”
“We’ll get her someplace safe until we catch the son of a bitch,” Sharpe replied.
CHAPTER 24
In a rush of immediate perception, Marc Aguilar shot upright in his bed. The time showed six a.m. and perhaps it was his ringing alarm that brought him awake, or was it the fact that he had understood the relevance in his spotting the baseball hat in his former colleague’s home. Whatever tricks his mind played to bring forth the conclusion didn’t matter in this moment. What mattered was that he had to speak with Kate.
Marc tossed his legs from the bed and onto the floor, standing up with a speed that often accompanied one who was in desperate need of a wee. But this desire far exceeded any physiological yearning. He reached for his phone and called his friend.
“Kate, it’s Marc. Listen, I have to talk to you about something. I know it’s early, but…”
“I’m sorry, Marc, but this is a bad time. I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you back later?”
“This is important. Really important. Kate, I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Just give me a second. I’m sitting in the detective’s office at the moment.”
Marc’s anxiety was reaching frantic levels as he waited for Kate to continue.
“I’m outside. What is it? What’s so urgent?”
“You told me that your suspect wore a baseball cap, right?”
“Yeah.”
He began to pace his hotel room, which was still bathed in darkness, though light spilled around the seams of the curtains. “I went to my friend’s place last night. Vince Sanchez? The guy who…”
“Who brought you the story. Yeah, I remember.”
“Right. Well, I was about to leave after we’d had a drink and talked for a while, and I went to use his bathroom.” He paused to gather the right words. “Kate, I saw a Chicago Bulls baseball hat in the bathroom on a shelf.”
Kate was silent, except for the sound of her breathing.
“I asked him about it because I know him to be a lifelong Lakers fan. He said it belonged to a friend of his. Didn’t give me a name. Anyway, I didn’t think twice about it after that. Even when you and I spoke yesterday and you mentioned the hat. It just hadn’t occurred to me. Jesus. Some reporter I am, right?”
“I understand your urgency here, Marc, but a lot of people own a Chicago Bulls hat. That hardly makes him a killer. I appreciate your concern, but we have the killer on the hook right now. It’s only a matter of time.”
Marc exhaled through his nose, making a whistling sound. “I’m not saying I think Vince Sanchez is the killer. I don’t believe he is. What I do believe, is that he would do anything for a story. I’m not saying I’m much different, but this guy. Kate, you don’t know the lengths I’ve seen him go to get a scoop.”
“What are you saying, Marc? Are you saying he’s involved? That he knows the killer?”
“I think so—yes. I think he knows and that maybe he’s working with him.”
Kate fell silent again and Marc waited for her to reply. “What do you think? Don’t go quiet on me now. I’m onto something, aren’t I?”
“Look, um, can you come down to the station? I don’t know if you’re on to anything or not, but there’s something I haven’t told you yet, and I don’t think I should until we meet with Detective Sharpe.”
“I can be there in twenty. I’ll see you soon.” Marc ended the call and tossed his phone onto the nightstand. “That son of a bitch. He knows this guy. I’m sure of it.” He walked toward the bathroom and turned on the shower. “I just have to convince them of it.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Kate returned to Sharpe’s office but said nothing of the conversation she’d just had with Marc Aguilar. Sufficient intrigue wasn’t enough to mention the topic and Marc would need to be here to field the questions. But while the others continued to speculate as to when the killer would act, this single thought stirred through her mind.
“Kate?” Nick nudged her arm. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry, no. I was thinking about something else.”
“Seems like it. You all right?”
“Yeah. Fine. A little tired, like everyone else. Sorry. What was it you said?”
“I was saying to Sharpe that the killer might choose a more public place to display his work.”
“More public than Leimert Park?” she asked.
“It’s possible,” Sharpe added. “Look at how easy it was to bait him. He’s going to want to create a superior performance after listening to his fans.”
“So where are you thinking?”
“There’s no shortage of landmarks around here, but we also need to consider that he’s chosen to stay around the South LA area.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” Dwight asked.
“I think it’s because he thinks it’s easier to pick them off here,” Kate said. “More people taking to the streets. Using mass transit, busses, and the like. S
imply walking because of the close proximity of many establishments to neighborhood. Leimert Park is the perfect example. Several communities in and around the park. Easily accessible public transportation. So, given that, Detective Sharpe, this is your town. Where’s the most likely location?”
Sharpe appeared ready to answer but stopped short when a man appeared in his doorway.
Kate immediately shifted to see that it was Marc.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Aguilar? I have nothing to say to the press right now,” Sharpe said.
“I asked him to come down.” Kate walked toward him. “Thanks for coming, Marc.” She returned her attention to the others. “I spoke with him a short while ago and I believe he has some information that could be of use to us. I didn’t want to mention it because, well frankly, it’s a little out there, but I don’t believe we can dismiss it. Marc, please, tell them what you told me.”
He proceeded to share his account of his visit with Vince Sanchez, concluding with the discovery of the baseball hat. “Now, I realize, and Kate did tell me, that obviously, a lot of people are going to own that ball cap, but, I’m telling you, I’ve known Vince a long time. I know the type of person he is, the type of reporter, and what I’m saying to you is conceivable with a man like him. As much as I’m disgusted to admit it.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sharpe began. “You don’t think he’s the killer; you just think he’s involved with him.”
“Yes. I truly believe that is the case.”
Nick turned his attention to Sharpe. “The car at the park. We have no idea who that belonged to.” He turned again to Marc. “Do you happen to know what type of vehicle he drives?”
“Um, yeah. I saw what I’m sure was his car parked in the driveway of his house. It was a BMW, a sedan, I believe. Yes. It was a sedan, big. I just remember the emblem on the hood.”
“Can you pull up that video again, Sharpe?” Nick asked.
The detective turned to his computer and inserted the USB drive. A moment later, he had retrieved the image. “This is it here.” He rolled back in his chair. “Come take a look, Aguilar.”