Mary leaped to her feet. “Sir, I could fly to Lompoc and interview this prisoner. Lompoc is only a few minutes from Vandenberg, and Vandenberg is maybe a hundred miles from Thousand Oaks. If you can get me on a flight to Vandenberg right away, I might be able to catch a helicopter to either Santa Barbara or Ventura. Thousand Oaks is midway between those two cities. There’s also the naval base at Port Hueneme in Oxnard.”
“What’s holding up that search warrant, Agent Stevens?”
“There’s been a minor glitch,” Mary said, pacing behind her chair. “Detective Sawyer called me from Judge Forrester’s residence in Ventura about ten minutes ago. He said he would have it signed within the hour. Agent Weir has been in contact with two of our agents from—”
Adams cut her off. “What kind of glitch?”
“The judge had a personal problem, but she’s reading the document now. It’s long, sir. I wanted to make—”
“I’m not finished,” Bulldog shouted over the flurry of noises in the room. “The last known address for John Joseph Baker is 1313 Adams Road in Thousand Oaks. That’s the residence where the faxes came from, correct?”
“Correct,” Mary said, her eyes flashing with excitement. She was holding her breath, hoping that Adams would let her go. She’d been right all along. The killer was a woman. “We need to get a composite of the UNSUB right away, chief. Then you could release it at the press conference tomorrow.”
Adams glowered at her. “I’m aware of that, Agent Stevens. And please sit down. I thought I made it clear that I like my people to remain in their seats during meetings. This isn’t an airport.”
Mary dropped down in the chair, her left foot instantly tapping, one of the reasons she preferred to stand. She held her knee down with her hand. When Hank Sawyer had been her supervisor, it had driven him nuts. He even made her go to the doctor to see if she had some type of muscular disorder. There was nothing whatsoever wrong with her. She was a runner. People used the term “going for a run” all the time, when to Mary, they had gone for a moderately paced walk. She had broken the record in the four-forty in college, and had what was referred to as fast-twitch muscles.
Adams became quiet, assimilating the information he had heard before deciding how they should proceed. “Have Agent Hunt and Agent Conrad check on flight availability ASAP.” The agents were quickly jotting down notes to themselves, either on paper or on their laptops. “Special Agent Weir, get in touch with the Lompoc police authorities and have them get a sketch artist to go out to the prison to work with John Baker. I don’t care if they have to send a car over and drag the guy out of bed. I want that composite tonight. Agent Stevens, find out what’s holding up that warrant.”
“Right away, sir,” Mary said. “Two of our agents are responding from the Los Angeles Field Office, but they’re not even en route yet. I think it’s important that someone who has worked the case be there when they execute the search warrant.”
Jim Hunt walked out. He must have run into Mark Conrad in the hallway, as they both reentered the room at the same time. Conrad walked over to Adams and bent down on one knee. The color drained out of Adams’s face by the time Conrad stopped speaking.
“We have another possible victim,” Adams said, causing a flurry of excitement. “A Portland physician went missing two years ago. The authorities saw no evidence of foul play, so they decided he disappeared intentionally. According to the wife, Dr. Samuel Blakemore was supposed to be attending a medical conference in L.A. As it turned out, there was no medical conference in L.A. that week.” He was already half out of his chair. “Agent Conrad will fill you in on the rest of the details. I’m going to order us a jet.”
TWENTY-NINE
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA
Lily was upstairs in the library, reading through the search warrant. Chris had left, and Bryce was in jail. Hank Sawyer was downstairs in the den, playing with Gabby and watching TV.
Agent Stevens was extremely thorough, she thought, and her writing skills were excellent. Now that the fiasco with Bryce was over, Lily did recall meeting her on one or two occasions. As a judge and a former prosecutor, she was accustomed to reading this type of document from various law enforcement agencies. Some officers were barely literate, while others used stilted language that almost obliterated the only thing necessary: the facts.
A search warrant was one of the most invasive tools allowed by law, and could never be taken lightly. Once Lily affixed her signature to the document, unless specific exclusions were listed, anywhere from one to a hundred police officers had the right to enter the home without the owner’s knowledge or presence and search every item inside. After a warrant like this had been executed, a person’s home looked as if it had been struck by a tornado. Furniture was ripped and tilted on its side, drawers were open, the contents spilled out onto the floor; pictures and cherished mementos were broken or carted off in evidence bags. Even an innocent person, who had somehow become a suspect in a crime, could have his life and reputation destroyed by a few pieces of paper. And Lily would be the one who was ultimately responsible. All the law enforcement agency did was request the warrant. If she found the requesting agency had not established sufficient grounds, which sometimes occurred, she would refuse to sign it and the officers would walk away empty-handed.
Hank Sawyer had informed her the legal owner of the property was deceased, and that the estate was in probate. The fact that the owner, Mabel Richardson, had lived and died alone in a nursing home was sad. Lily prayed that didn’t happen to her. Fortunately, she had Shana. Wait until she told her about Bryce. Shana would want to fly home so they could celebrate.
Chris had decided not to press charges against Bryce, which Lily understood. She was thankful Hank had shown up when he did. At least she felt confident the detective would do whatever he could to keep what had transpired today away from the media. The press had access to arrest records, but since she and Bryce used different names, it might go unnoticed. She’d had no choice but to tell Hank about the attempted rape Bryce had been charged with in Vegas, because a new crime would violate the terms of his release. Once he was arraigned on the new assault charge against Lily, which she refused to let slide, they would ship him back to Las Vegas. That is, unless Anne had already contacted the authorities there and told them she no longer wanted to press charges.
Lily appreciated Anne’s magnanimous gesture, but she would prefer she didn’t refuse to press charges. Bryce was like any other man and should be held to answer for his actions. She hated to make Hank and the FBI wait for the arrest warrant, but she needed to discuss the situation with Anne and find out if she’d already talked to the Las Vegas authorities.
She went to get her cell phone out of her purse, finding Anne’s number and depressing the send button. As soon as she answered, Lily began speaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you today, Anne. Something came up at my work. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” Anne said cheerfully. “Want to get together for a drink? It would be nice to have some company for a change. I don’t think I’ll be hanging out at the Indigo anymore.”
“I’m not sure when I’ll be finished,” Lily told her. “Could we make it in an hour? If I’m running late, I’ll call you.”
“Do you want me to pick you up, or would you rather meet me somewhere?”
“Come to the house. Do you have a pen?”
“No, but I have an excellent memory.”
Lily gave her directions and then disconnected, picking up where she left off in the warrant. This killer, if it turned out to be the person who had sent the FBI the tape, had certainly gone through a horrendous childhood. The mere thought of a young child being abandoned at night on a highway in the dead of winter was heartbreaking. Heaven help us all, she thought, wondering how anyone could be so cruel to their own flesh and blood. She glanced at a few of the crime scene and autopsy pictures, her compassion for the killer quickly dissipating. How could a person
commit such unspeakable acts?
Lily turned the gruesome images upside down so she wouldn’t have to look at them. Her eyes became glued to the text as she read about the alibi clubs and the various services they provided their customers. She reminded herself that a good percentage of what she was reading was speculation. The FBI wasn’t even certain the residence in question had anything to do with the series of murders. Right now all they could link the house to was credit card fraud.
Flipping the page, Lily braced her head on her fist as she read the particulars on the victims. She thought it interesting that the men were all in the same age range as Bryce, and all three were professionals with wives and families. When she read the part about each victim leaving his wife a detailed itinerary, she dropped her coffee cup and it shattered on top of Bryce’s father’s antique desk. My God, she thought, ignoring the coffee dripping off the edge of the desk onto the new carpet. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage. None of these men had been at the hotels listed on their itineraries, the same exact situation she’d experienced with Bryce. And their wives had called the hotels they were supposed to be at just as she had. The FBI had come to the conclusion that the people who’d answered the phones at the numbers listed as hotels on the victims’ itineraries had been employees of an alibi club. She remembered how the voices had sounded the same in both Charleston and Lexington. These people, whoever they were, had also confirmed the victims were guests in the hotels, when it was later verified that the hotels had never heard of them.
Lily’s fingers trembled on the papers. Had Bryce used an alibi club? She tried to convince herself it was a coincidence, but the circumstances were identical, except Bryce was alive and the other men were dead. If he’d crossed paths with this serial killer, she reasoned, he would be buried somewhere without his head and hands. She rubbed her palms back and forth on her jeans as she continued whipping through the pages. There weren’t enough expletives to express how she felt about the ordeal Bryce had subjected her to. Knowing he’d gone to such great lengths to cover his tracks made her feel physically ill. His deception was almost worse than finding out he’d been arrested for attempted rape.
Lily was sorry now that Chris had declined to press charges against Bryce, but she understood he didn’t want anyone to find out he had been at her house. They could have explained it by saying she’d asked him to assist her with the search warrant. Chris knew that it would still look suspicious. The bottom line was he refused to lie, commendable yet slightly childish under the circumstances. Bryce deserved a lengthy jail term, if nothing else, to deal with his alcohol problem. At most, he would probably get a fine and a week or two in jail.
Poor Anne, Lily thought. Her dick-for-brains husband had tried to seduce Anne into a three-day Vegas lust fest, not realizing his would-be love bunny was a lesbian.
At least he wasn’t involved in the FBI’s case. According to the FBI, there were probably dozens of these underground alibi clubs. Anyway, their only named suspect was Chuck Brown, and Bryce would never fly to Las Vegas to meet a man unless the person was blackmailing him.
The authorities were pressed for time. Sign the warrant, she told herself. The people were waiting. She was certain a lot of judges didn’t read every single page. The FBI had already established the legal grounds to substantiate a search. So much had happened, though, it was almost impossible to concentrate. Her mind was splintered in too many different directions. Hadn’t Bryce realized that Anne was gay?
Ah, she thought. If Bryce had known Anne was gay, it could be used as an aggravating circumstance in the attempted rape. The courts used circumstances in aggravation and mitigation to determine which term of imprisonment to impose. California had determinate sentencing. The crime of rape, for example, carried a term of three, six, or eight years in prison. If the crime was determined to be aggravated, the term of eight years could be imposed, or if the court determined mitigating circumstances existed, the lower term of three years. When circumstances in aggravation and mitigation appeared to be equal, the median term of six years would be appropriate. Although Bryce had only been charged with attempted rape, the above factors would still be considered in determining his sentence should he be convicted.
Lily stared at the warrant, but she hadn’t finished reading it. The FBI was asking for access to everything in the residence. She couldn’t sign it until she decided what, if anything, should be excluded.
How could she think until she sorted through this thing with Anne? Lily recalled how crazy Tessa had been acting lately. She doubted if such a pretty young woman as Anne would be attracted to Tessa, but how did Lily know what type of woman she liked? Lily was almost old enough to be her mother and she’d appeared interested in her. She had kissed her, hadn’t she? Then there was that flirtatious wink she’d given her just before she had driven off. Maybe Tessa had been having an affair with Anne, and that’s why she was so jealous, thinking Lily was going to steal her away.
Lily thought of how Anne had gone into the Jacuzzi naked, although it wasn’t unusual, as the majority of the women at health clubs went in without bathing suits. But Anne had flaunted her body, Lily now realized, sitting on the ledge exposed like that. The other truth that she’d failed to acknowledge was she had felt mesmerized by Anne from almost the first time she saw her.
Lily felt a sudden wave of nausea and raced to the bathroom, the paperwork clutched in her hand. She dropped to her knees in front of the commode, certain she was going to vomit. Her skin was cold and clammy. Her back always ached, but the pain was now excruciating. She decided it was from a combination of rolling around in the bed with Chris, Bryce knocking her down, and the tremendous stress she was under with the Stucky trial.
She finally straightened up and tried to get to her feet when another dagger of pain struck her. What bothered her was it wasn’t where her herniated disk was located, but higher up her spine. Had Bryce caused her to sustain a new injury? In the heat of the moment, the fall hadn’t seemed to bother her.
Lily kept seeing the dreadful images of the three dead men. Where were their heads and limbs? Had the killer eaten them like Jeffrey Dahmer?
As a child, she had toyed with the belief that pain might be God’s way of getting your attention, perhaps to keep you from going down the wrong path. She’d been ditching school when she’d broken her arm. After that, she started paying attention to her studies and regularly attending classes.
What was she doing wrong now?
She had slept with Chris before her marriage was legally terminated, and for some reason she was obsessed with Anne. Maybe she never should have accepted the judicial appointment. What right did she have to sit in judgment of anyone?
Once her stomach settled, she went to the sink, washed her hands, then splashed cold water on her face. The search warrant had ended up on the bathroom floor. When she picked it up, she realized she hadn’t dried her hands and the papers had water spots on them. She got out her hair dryer and pointed it at the papers, holding them tight so they didn’t blow away.
The pain was getting worse by the second. She hated taking drugs for pain. It was too easy to develop a dependence, but even holding the hair dryer was agony. Glancing over at the glass-paned medicine cabinet, she saw a bottle of Vicodin. She reached over to retrieve it, then stopped herself. She couldn’t take a drug like that on an empty stomach.
Lily decided that she couldn’t worry about Bryce tonight. People were being murdered, and he’d already taken his pound of flesh. She walked down the stairs, signed the search warrant on the kitchen counter, and handed it to Hank Sawyer. Gabby had found a friend, and followed the detective to the door.
“Good luck,” Lily said, wincing in pain as she picked up the dog so she wouldn’t run after the detective. “I hope they catch this one.”
“I really appreciate you taking care of the warrant. It’s a shame about your husband. Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“As long as he stays in jai
l.” Lily sighed, eager for him to leave.
“Sorry we had to bother you.” Sawyer took off down the sidewalk, looking back and giving her a quick wave.
The cool night air refreshed Lily somewhat and eased the queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. She would call Anne and tell her she couldn’t make it, then take a few Motrin and go to bed. Even lifting the seven-pound dog was painful.
Returning to the house, she walked over to the sofa and set Gabby down. Maybe, if she was lucky, a good night’s sleep would work wonders. Tomorrow was Saturday, thank God, and if she had to, she could stay in bed all day.
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