And that’s why Piper Taylor was dead.
Chapter 27
I was at my desk, with my back facing the door, when I sensed someone standing behind me. I thought it was Lucy, who I had put to bed over an hour ago. She had overcome her fear of the third floor and started sneaking up on me while I worked. “Lucy, is that you?”
“No,” said a voice in a poor imitation of a little girl.
I spun around in my chair and found Kang leaning against the doorframe with a smile on his face. My initial reaction had me jumping back a bit in my chair. “Dammit, Kyle. What are you doing here?”
“I thought we were going to hit up that Russian kid again.”
“I know that. What I mean is, what are you doing sneaking up on me inside my home?”
“Your Po Po let me in. She said you were up here and that she was on her way to bed.”
Kang hadn’t bothered to call and had shown up at my doorstep at nine. Of course Po Po had let him in, not because she knew him, but because she didn’t. And it wasn’t because he was a police officer, because he wasn’t wearing a uniform. No, she let him in because he was Chinese, and she thought I had a date. She had sent him up the stairs unannounced.
Agent House had asked me once if it bothered my mother-in-law when I went out on dates, being that I had married her son and was now a widow. I had told her Po Po wasn’t bothered by it. At first, I’d thought she would be, but one day, she had told me that she was fine with me dating other men; she didn’t expect me to honor my late husband’s memory by remaining single. And plus, she thought me remarrying and having a man around the house would be good for the children. What she was against was me dating a man who wasn’t Chinese, and that’s why she had sent Kang straight up. I could have been naked in the bath, and she still would have sent him up.
I told Kang to wait downstairs while I freshened up.
“You look fine. You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” I called out as I walked into my bedroom.
To which he responded while heading downstairs, “All I’m saying is that you look good.”
Was that a real compliment or a flirty compliment? I laughed it off. Ten minutes later, I walked downstairs in jeans, a hoodie and my Oakland A’s baseball cap. Kang had made himself at home in front of the television.
“You like baseball?” He stood up and turned the TV off.
“I like the A’s.”
“We should catch a game sometime. I have a cousin who works for a radio station in Oakland, and he’s always giving away tickets.”
I grabbed my purse. “That sounds great.” Free tickets to an A’s game? I’m all over that.
<><><>
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Vitaly’s apartment. We were about ten steps from his front door when a gunshot rang out from inside. The front door was locked, so we hurried through the gate and toward the backyard. The curtains were open, and I could see Vitaly slouched to the side on the couch, lit only by the blue hue from the television. The rest of the apartment was dark.
I reached for the handle on the sliding glass door and pulled. Surprisingly, it was open. Kang and I entered and discovered that Vitaly had sustained a gunshot to the head—self-inflicted. He still held the weapon in his right hand; it looked like a Sigma 9mm.
Kang had already pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911 for an ambulance. I knew they would call it a DOA when they got here, but it was procedure. Why did you do this? Vitaly had seemed fine earlier, a little hung over and a little freaked out by our showing up on his doorstep, but generally fine. Was he hiding something?
While we waited for the ambulance and the detectives from the area precinct, we poked around the apartment and discovered he was first and foremost a student. “I guess this explains all the missed days,” I said, looking at a bookshelf full of textbooks. Most of them were psychology and sociology books.
“I’m going to take a look in the bedroom,” Kang said.
I nodded and continued poking around the living room area. There was an unopened bottle of vodka on the table in front of the couch where Vitaly sat. Something had him troubled. The table was a filthy mess: two filled ashtrays, a couple of empty coffee containers, crusted food spills, and used napkins. I was about to find Kang when my eye caught something scribbled on one of the napkins.
“Kang!” I shouted.
A beat later, he returned to the living room. “What is it?”
I pointed at the napkin.
Kang picked it up and read it out loud. “‘I’m sorry, Piper.’ He knew something.”
“Whatever he knew, it was enough to make him blow his brains out.”
Chapter 28
“Yes, that’s the way. Yes! Yes! Yes!” Vicki vocalized in rhythm as she lay on her back. A muscular black man lay between her legs, rocking the bed on its frame each time he buried himself inside her. She gripped his meaty arms, her nails biting into his dark skin as she shook her head from side to side. “It feels so good. Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly.
Enough of the lamps in the hotel room were left on to create a relaxing mood while providing enough light for Jerry to film everything. He sat in a chair near the TV stand watching the thousand-dollar-an-hour black stud earn his pay. They had found his ad on an adult escort site that touted “a black anaconda between my legs.” Jerry responded to the ad and arranged for a time, with the condition that, if he didn’t live up to the advertised promise, he would be turned away.
The six-foot-two man went by the name Sampson, except he didn’t gain his strength from his hair. Vicki had squealed when he had entered their hotel room earlier. “What a fine specimen.”
She’d grabbed hold of his arm with one hand and fondled his chest with her other. This wasn’t the first time the Carlsons had brought another man into their bed. It was a treat for both of them, because Jerry enjoyed watching, and Vicki got variety. It also wasn’t the first time Vicki had taken a black lover.
She had ordered him to drop his pants immediately. “No sense in wasting everybody’s time.”
Sampson had unbuckled and let his pants fall to the carpet. He wore no underwear and was true to his word.
Jerry had started filming Sampson and his wife from the moment they hit the bed, obtaining all of the requisite porn angles. After forty-five minutes and three wailing orgasms from Vicki, Jerry thought he had enough of that type of footage and attached the handheld camera to a travel tripod. It allowed him to operate the zoom function with one hand while he used the other to stroke his semi-erect cock. He watched for a while as Sampson continued his effortless thrusting.
Eventually, his eyes wandered from the action to the television near him. He had left it on earlier and forgotten all about it, really. The sound had been muted, so he turned it up a tad to listen to bits and pieces of the news report. It didn’t seem to distract the two on the bed. Sampson had flipped Vicki over to her hands and knees, and she had started rocking against him.
Jerry turned his attention back to the television. A graphic appeared next to the reporter: The Cotton Candy Killer. Huh, this is interesting. He leaned in closer but had trouble hearing everything the reporter said due to his wife. The graphic then changed to a picture of two women captured by a surveillance camera. Jerry blinked his eyes and took a closer look. That can’t be. He looked away for a second, then back at the screen and focused once more. That woman… That’s my wife. And the other one—that’s Piper.
He wasn’t mistaken. He could pick Vicki out of any line up, even a photo like this that showed three quarters of a face from the top down. It wasn’t the best picture and thankfully she was wearing a wig, which made a big difference in her appearance, but still. How recognizable would she be in public?
Jerry thought back to that moment. He had chosen to remain outside for a smoke and thus had inadvertently escaped being photographed. I could have easily been in that picture; of course, I would have spotted the cameras and warne
d her. Jerry usually didn’t wear a disguise when he and Vicki were on the hunt, but seeing his wife on TV made him reconsider his actions. Until now, he had thought they were getting better with their crimes. This was a sloppy mistake, disguise or not. Vicki knew to look for cameras and avoid them. She’s losing her focus.
The graphic changed to a nighttime shot of the actual store in Sausalito where another reporter stood. The police must have talked to the owner of that shop. Jerry thought hard about what that person might have noticed about them. And then he remembered: Vicki had mentioned she had gotten the number for a cab company from someone in the store. That also meant a conversation took place. Eye contact had been made—more mistakes from his wife.
He switched off the TV right as his wife stopped her moaning. She lay under Sampson, hidden almost entirely by his muscled mass. She gave him a pat on the back, and he rolled off her. They both lay still, catching their breath.
“Did he cum inside you?” Jerry asked pointedly.
“No. I thought I would wait for later.”
Jerry walked over to the bed, leaned down and gave his wife a long, loving kiss. She smiled back at him as he pulled away, her hands still holding the sides of his face. “I love you, darling.”
“I love you, too,” he said, grabbing a hand towel next to him and dabbing it against her forehead.
“Help me up,” she said, reaching up with both arms.
Jerry pulled on both of them as she slid her legs off the bed and moved herself into a seated position. “Boy, that was fun, but I need to take a breather.” She kissed her husband once more before moving over to the lounge chair and kicking her feet up onto the ottoman. “I’ll be right here.”
Sampson was still on the bed, sitting back on his legs and still rigid as ever. Jerry lay down. He grabbed beneath his knees and pulled back on his legs, all while thinking about his dilemma. He should have been bubbling with excitement as he watched Sampson slather lube around his shaft and maneuver himself into position. But Jerry was too busy problem solving. His and Vicki’s situation had suddenly changed and not for the better. Jerry looked over at his wife. She smiled at him, unaware that her picture had been broadcast across the airwaves and labeled as the Cotton Candy Killer. What to do? He drifted farther into his thoughts, oblivious to Sampson’s forceful entry.
Chapter 29
It was Thursday, five days since Piper Taylor had been killed—more than two weeks for Kang’s victims, whose cases had gone cold. My investigation was the only thing breathing life into his homicides, and I had slammed into another wall. Vitaly’s unexpected suicide was a huge disappointment. Clearly he had known something about what had happened to Piper, and that information had died with him that day.
There was a glimmer of hope, though. Tucker had begun to field calls regarding Piper’s death thanks to the media’s broadcast of the Cotton Candy Killer. Some people reported having seen her at the Ferry Building near Market Street; others had seen her on the ferry itself or at the Sausalito port. None of them could place the woman—yet. It seemed as though Piper’s beauty overshadowed anyone next to her. Our mystery woman might as well have been invisible. Is that why she picked Piper?
Case reports and notes from my investigation covered my desk. It all looked familiar, but I diligently went through the information again. In between sips of tea, I studied the reports from House and Kang. I looked over the ME’s report and the reports from the park rangers and the FBI field office out of Cleveland. Nothing chipped away at the mental wall that had erected itself.
It was a tough day at the office. Question after question fished for answers in my head, but they all came up empty-handed. When I find myself in a situation like I did that day, I bury myself in the information. I continue that approach until somehow, someway, I punch through.
“Agent Kane.”
I looked up and saw Tucker walking toward my desk, bright-eyed and eager.
“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to update you with my progress on accessing the surveillance cameras at the docks.”
I pushed back from the desk a bit. “What did you find out?”
“Getting access was easy. I’ve already pored over the footage that coincided with the timeframe you gave me.”
“And?”
“I captured footage of Piper Taylor at the San Francisco ferry building, but she was alone. Well, she looked like she boarded the ferry by herself. The footage in Sausalito also showed her exiting the boat but again, by herself.”
“Are you sure?”
Tucker’s shoulders rose, and his voice softened. “I’m pretty sure, but I think it would be a good idea for us to both look at the footage.”
I followed Tucker back to his desk where he played the video footage on his desktop.
“This is from the ferry building in the city.” Tucker scrolled slowly until we saw Piper enter the frame.
“Keep going,” I said.
The angle of the camera was from behind her, slightly off to the side. I could make out part of her face, but the clothes and the backpack were what confirmed it for me. I watched her move slowly toward the ticket taker.
“She doesn’t talk to anyone,” Tucker said.
“Hold on. Back the footage up until right before the ticket handler.”
Tucker did as I said.
“Right there. The ticket handler—Piper doesn’t turn over a ticket to him.”
“Huh?”
“Rewind a bit farther and watch everyone in front of her.” Sure enough, everyone in front of Piper handed over a ticket except her. The man behind her handed over a ticket but not the woman and two kids. “You see that? He paid for the woman and two kids. My guess is that person in front of Piper is our woman and she turned over both of their tickets. That’s our Cotton Candy Killer, and they met before the trip.”
We watched the footage of them exiting the boat in Sausalito. Piper and that same woman were together again, except this time, she had removed her large raincoat and hat. Our suspect’s clothes and hair now matched the description from the owner at the sweet shop.
“You mentioned that she left the hostel alone,” Tucker confirmed.
“According to the young woman at the front desk, she left alone, and as far as that girl knew, had planned on traveling to Muir Woods by herself. She said it was ‘an easy trip.’ There wasn’t much time from when she left the hostel to the departure of the ferry, about an hour and a half.”
“If she stayed in a hostel, she walked,” Tucker said. “It’s not that far, and as a tourist, it’s another opportunity to see the city.”
“So, a twenty-five minute walk.”
“At the most, unless she stopped somewhere.”
“Do me a favor. Pull up Google Maps and let’s take a look at the obvious routes. Let’s see if there’s anything worth making a stop for outside of a coffee.”
Tucker moved his fingers over his keyboard and a map of San Francisco appeared in his browser. He zoomed in so we could see both the hostel and the ferry building in frame.
“Well, the most direct route is to take Sacramento Street down to Drumm Street. From there, she could travel south to Market and cross over Embarcadero Drive to the Ferry Building or go north to Clay and cross over.”
“She passes The Embarcadero Center on the way,” I noted. “What girl doesn’t like shopping?”
“I’ll find out if the Center has cameras on the property and get access. We might get lucky.”
I thanked Tucker for his help and returned to my desk, thinking how grateful I was to have a young agent who put everything he had into whatever I asked of him. Even though I knew Piper could have met this woman earlier in the week, my gut told me that wasn’t the case. With time racing, I wondered whether this woman was a local resident or someone passing through town. If it was the latter, every day was a day she could wrap up production on her show and take off. Flushing her out of hiding was my best shot and the only way I would find her. I had to keep squeezing.
Chapter 30
Kang was sitting quietly at his desk and reviewing his notes when Sokolov took a seat at the desk opposite him. “What’s the word, boss?”
Kang straightened his tie before leaning back and giving his partner his full attention. “We’ve made progress but not enough to where I think we have a handle on it and are closing in.”
“The Cotton Candy Killer. I saw it on the news. Catchy.”
“That was Abby’s doing.”
“Abby? You two are on a first-name basis?” Sokolov raised his eyebrows, furthering his curious response.
Kang waved off his partner’s insinuation that something other than work was taking place between him and Abby. “It’s not like that. We’re friends. No need to keep it so formal.”
“Friends…” Sokolov pushed up his lower lip as he nodded, his smile growing.
“Yes. Friends. You know, like you and me.”
Sokolov coughed out a loud laugh.
“What?” Kang raised his shoulders, his palms held out.
“That’s a weak rebuttal.” Sokolov squeezed his eyelids tighter. “You like this woman, yes?”
“Don’t you have some dried fish to eat?”
“I’ve known you a long time, my friend. You can’t pull the wool over this Russian,” Sokolov said as he jabbed his index finger into his own chest.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The bald detective lowered his head and steadied his eyes. “I’m like KGB. I know everything.”
Kang wasn’t interested in any more Abby talk. “How’s your task force coming along?”
Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 1) Page 10