by Tonya Muir
A sophisticated looking gentleman approaches us, looking appropriately contrite. "Ms. Kingsley?" he asks, as he takes my hand.
I shift Clark in my arms, but still won’t give him up. "Yes. Are you Winston?"
"I am. Would you please come this way? We have all the speakers seated over here."
I follow him, my family trailing behind me. Winston goes over the order of events for the graveside service. The will had been very clear – no church service, no floral sprays, no somber music. The event was to be simple, the music classical, and the speakers few.
I am one of three.
The two others rise when I approach. The first is a woman, a little shorter than me, but broad-shouldered. She has hazel eyes, short brown hair, cut like a cop, and I know instantly this is CJ, Kels’ previous lover. I offer my hand to her and she takes it readily. She has a strong handshake.
"I’m very sorry to meet you under these circumstances," I offer.
"I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m glad you came."
"Kelsey would want me here."
CJ nods sympathetically. "I know. Who’s the little one? Is he yours?"
"I only wish. This is Clark, my nephew." I gesture toward Robie and Rene with my head. "My brother and his wife. My parents behind them."
"I had heard you took Kelsey home with you for Thanksgiving."
A smile graces my lips at the memory. "I did. We had a great time. My family all fell in love with her. They came as soon as they heard."
"I’m glad. No one should be alone in all of this."
"Kelsey is."
CJ doesn’t reply. I turn my attention to the other speaker, a young man. "Harper Kingsley," I introduce myself.
"Patrick Collins, Erik’s cousin."
"I’m very sorry for your loss."
He thanks me and we take our seats. I look around and I see assorted Hollywood types scattered in the crowd. They all look a bit too perfect for this moment. Shouldn’t we all be falling apart? Sick with grief?
Or is that just me?
God, Kelsey, I miss you so much.
A bearded man steps up to the microphone at the head of the grave. "We’ve come together today to celebrate the life of one taken from us far too young. A young man full of potential. A young man loved by many. He died protecting one of his dearest friends, Kelsey Stanton. Our thoughts and prayers are with her right now. We pray that she is safe from harm and that she will be returned to us soon."
"Amen," I whisper and cross myself. I look over and see my family echoing my movements. Kelsey, I’m trying my best here, chér. I’m here representing you, as I believe you’d want me to. But I don’t think I can do you justice.
We’re trying to find you, sweetheart. We’ve been searching everywhere for this sick fuck. Four days. Four days without you and I am going a bit insane.
You be strong. You stay alive. I will find you.
* * *
We’re back at my apartment. Rene and Clark are taking a nap in my bedroom. Mama has just finished cleaning up after our lunch. Papa is stretched out on the couch, idly reading the newspaper. Robie is watching the news.
And I am pissed.
I go into my bedroom quietly and gather up more comfortable clothes, then slip into the bathroom and change. In a few minutes, I emerge, grab my keys off the dresser and stalk into the living room.
"I’m leaving," I announce.
"Where you going?" Robie asks from his spot on the floor.
"The station."
"Cool." He pushes himself up. "Let’s go."
I fold my arms across my chest. "Did I invite you?"
Robie pulls himself up to his full height, a couple inches taller than me, and crosses his arms over his chest. He makes sure he flexes his biceps. He thinks he can impress me. "I didn’t realize I needed an invitation."
"We’re taking the Harley," I tell him, as a challenge. No one drives my bike but me. And he knows it.
He smiles. "I heard you give good rides."
"Bastard. Grab a jacket from the closet."
"Watch your language," Mama chastises as we leave. Some things never change.
* * *
"Harper! What are you doing here?" Olson asks. He looks over at Robie. "You must be related to her."
"Robie Kingsley, her big brother." He shakes Jims’ hand.
"Ha!" I snort.
"What? I am. A whole nineteen months, eight days and twelve hours."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I slap Robie in the stomach. He’s been working out, I notice. "Look, Jims, I need you to bring up all of Kels’ tapes in the last three months."
"Okay, I can do that."
"The unedited footage, Jims."
His brow furrows. "What are you looking for, Harper?"
"I’ve been an idiot. This bastard has been stalking Kelsey for months, right? Sending her shit, recording her movements, taking photographs. So, he had to be around, nearby, in the crowds. Right? He had to be near her to know that type of stuff. And, fortunately, we have a fuckin’ camera too."
Robie grins. "Smile. You’re on Candid Camera."
"Yup. So, Olson, just think of this as a ‘Where’s Waldo’ game where the stakes are a wee bit higher."
"Let me get those tapes."
Now we’re cooking.
* * *
We’ve been in front of the monitor/VTR here for four hours straight. Working quickly, we’ve been able to get through a good deal of footage. There are a few people who look like they’ve shown up more than once. We’ve noted the date/time stamp on each of those tapes and set them aside.
Only a couple more hundred tapes to go. And I’m not moving until I’ve looked at each and every one.
Robie stretches. "I’m gonna get more coffee. You want some?"
"Definitely. Make it a double."
* * *
Seven hours.
My cell phone rings. "Kingsley." I pass it immediately to Robie. "Handle this." I keep my attention on the monitor. I’m going to find the bastard.
I’m gonna find him and rip his fuckin’ heart out with my bare hands. But, I repeat myself.
I spot another person who looks familiar in the crowd. Good. Now we have eight incidents recorded.
"Mama is going to bring us over dinner." Robie folds up my cell phone and hands it back to me.
"We’re not studying for finals, for God’s sake!"
Robie waves Olson out of my office. He leaves gladly. "Harper," Robie begins, softly.
"What?" I bark.
"I know you’re upset. And I know the way you’re coping is by looking at these tapes."
"It’s more than coping. I’m gonna find the psycho."
"I know, I know. But, listen: Mama is coping by taking care of her kids. And that means keeping us fed. So, when she and Papa and Rene and Clark come by … you’re gonna be damn grateful. And nice to her."
I stare at him, trying to intimidate him. It doesn’t work. It never has. "You’re right."
"Good girl."
"I’m not a girl," I growl.
He laughs and nudges me in the ribs. "Well, don’t tell Kelsey that. She’ll dump your ass for sure."
I lean over and kiss his cheek. I love Robie. He always manages to get me back on track.
* * *
It’s midnight. We’ve been working for almost twelve hours. And we’re almost through all of the tapes. We’ve set aside two dozen of them for further review. Robie and I agreed early on that we wanted to look at everything before narrowing down our choices. With Kelsey’s life at stake, we didn’t want to run off half-cocked and miss the real bad guy accidentally. It’s taken more time, but it’s an investment I can live with.
God, I hope I can live with it.
I’d really like to live with Kelsey, that’s for sure.
Kels, why couldn’t you have locked yourself in the bathroom? Stayed in there, safe and sound? Of course, you might have been in the living room when he came in and never had a chance.
A better question is why did I leave that afternoon?
Since when did driving my Harley mean that much? What did I do? Pay a few bills, mail a couple letters, check on Trouble. Nothing significant. Nothing important enough to have left her.
I knew he was out there. I knew he was escalating.
And I left.
I am an idiot. I am a horrible, evil person.
Kelsey must hate me.
Oh God. Please, don’t let her die hating me. I don’t know if I could survive that. Let her live and hate me. That would be fine. Let her live and come kick my ass for having left her alone. I’d deserve it.
But, please, don’t let her last thoughts be hating me.
I swear, I’ll never leave her alone again. She’ll think I’m her shadow for the rest of her life. If you let her live. Or, if she wants, I’ll never be around her again. Which would be understandable.
I failed her.
What a time to start being a fuck-up.
"Hey, you two," a voice calls from the door of my office.
Torn from my thoughts, I look up to see Bear and CJ standing a few feet away. They both look tired and rumpled from long hours of work. I don’t think Bear has taken one break since finding out Kelsey was the object of the psycho’s attentions.
Unlike me.
God, forgive me.
"You okay, Harper?" Bear asks gently.
No, and I don’t think I ever will be again. "Fair enough. Come on in. We’re about to review the repeat faces in the crowd."
"Good, we’re just in time." Bear lumbers over to the couch, like his namesake would, and plops down. Without being asked, Robie hands him a coffee mug, which the large man takes gratefully.
CJ waves off a similar offer.
"Here’s what we have so far," I mutter, sliding the first tape in. I point out the crowd clustered around us after the library shooting spree. I freeze the frame. "That’s one." We all stare at the man. He’s a bit blurry, but we can make out his general features: blond, tall, early thirties, cheap suit.
"Hard to see him real well," CJ says, sliding closer to the monitor for a better view.
"Hand me the next tape, Robie." I hold out my hand and accept the next one, sliding it in and cueing it up. "Here he is again … I think."
"Could be," Bear concedes. "Got any more?"
Robie consults the index we’ve made. "Blond guy appears on four other tapes, we think." He pulls the next one.
It’s a bit clearer.
"Let’s see the rest," Bear says softly.
The next three we watch in rapid succession. I can feel the tension rising in the room from both Bear and CJ.
"You know him," I accuse.
Bear checks with CJ, then nods. "That’s Detective Bill Danes."
"My ex-partner," CJ adds.
"And part of the Threat Management Unit."
* * *
It’s one a.m. and we’re standing in the Twenty-third Precinct. Well, Bear, CJ and Robie are standing. I am pacing.
"Take it easy, Harper," Robie chastises.
"Don’t tell me to take it easy," I growl back. Then I shake my head. "Sorry, I’m such a bitch lately."
"It’s understandable. Just don’t make a habit of it, ok?"
I nod. I don’t make that promise. If Kelsey has been hurt, I don’t know what I’ll be like in the future. If Kelsey has been hurt … geez … how ignorant I am. I am really worthless. I never should have left her alone.
Greg Komansky walks into the room we’re in, closing the door behind him. He looks like he’s been dragged out of bed to come here. And he has been. Bear called him from my office and gave him a quick overview of our suspicions. Komansky said he’d meet us here.
"Morning. Tell me what you have, Brice."
"Detective Danes has shown up in a number of videotapes, apparently following Kelsey Stanton."
Komansky interrupts. "Would there be any official reason for him to be at any of the scenes? I seem to remember that a number of her stories are ones involving police support."
"Yes, sir, they are. However, Detective Danes was not on duty for any of those events. I checked the duty log while we were waiting for you."
"Good. Go on."
"Second," Brice continues, "the log also indicates that he was off-duty on the dates of the other abductions."
"All of them?"
"Yes, sir, every last one of them."
"Go on."
"Third, Detective Danes knew Kelsey Stanton and had previously been infatuated with her."
Komansky looks up, his eyes cold, serious. "Says who?"
"I do, sir," CJ speaks up. "Kelsey Stanton was my roommate for a period of three years when she first came to Los Angeles. During that time, Detective Danes was assigned to the Eleventh Precinct. We were partners there, before he made detective. He knew Kelsey. He repeatedly spoke to me about his desire for a closer relationship with her."
"Why didn’t you report it at the time?"
CJ shrugs. "There was nothing to report, sir. It wasn’t inappropriate. It was just unrequited. Kelsey wasn’t interested in him. I thought it was over with, naturally."
"Sir," Bear says, "he’s been on vacation this week. The second day of his vacation corresponds to the date of Ms. Stanton’s abduction."
"Come with me," Komansky orders and leaves the room.
I happily follow. Finally. Action.
He leads us back to another section of the building. We enter the detectives’ room and go over to a desk in the corner. A rumpled looking man is seated behind it. "Thanks for coming in, Vic," Komansky says.
"Glad to help out."
Komansky turns to us, filling us in on what’s going on. "Vic Jerone is Detective Danes current partner. They share this desk. I was wondering if we could take a look in the desk, Vic."
"Of course, sir." He unlocks the drawers and pushes his chair back.
Komansky steps behind the desk and begins systematically looking through it. From the middle drawer comes the usual assortment of office supplies – paperclips, rubber bands, pencils, pens, pushpins, scissors, stapler. He moves to the next one – envelopes, paper, report forms, folders. The last – more folders, copies of reports, a packet of photos.
Komansky hands the photos to Bear. "Look through those, Detective." He kneels down and pulls out the middle drawer, to look for anything that might be taped to the bottom of the drawer. He does this for each of the drawers.
I am growing increasingly despondent over the search when something on the desk captures my eye.
"Those are wrong," I say.
Everyone looks at me.
"The scissors. They’re the wrong type. Those are hair shears, like you’d find at the barber shop or beauty salon."
Komansky looks at Vic. "Those yours?"
"No, sir."
"Our perp cuts his victims’ hair, right?" Komansky asks. The question is rhetorical in nature, I believe. "Brice, get me Danes’ current address. We’re going to pay him a little visit."
I nearly pass out in relief.
Hang on, Kels, the cavalry is coming.
* * *
"You shouldn’t even be here," Bear grumbles. "We’re all taking a hell of a chance by letting you stay." He presses a bulletproof vest into my hands, then hands one to Robie. "Now, put these on and don’t give me any more grief."
"But…" I start to protest.
He puts his hand up, index finger pointing skyward. This is the international sign for ‘you’re pissing me off, now shut up.’ The rest of my complaint dies on my lips. I need to be here and I know Bear will have me carted away if he thinks I’m going to give him trouble.
I nod and silently slip the vest over my head. I watch Robie struggle with his, having never worn one before. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him get hurt too. "C’mere." I pull him to me and strap the vest into place. It’s sad that I know how to do so. Of course, the way the fuckin’ world is going lately, someday I’m gonna have to put one on my kid before
he goes to school.
But, for now, I have to stand back and watch in the predawn light as the FBI and SWAT team get ready to move on the house. God, if Kels is alive, they’ll scare the shit out of her. I let loose a nervous laugh. I hope they do scare the shit out of her. I couldn’t stand the alternative.
Watching the scene, I am glad that these men mean business. Dressed in full entry gear and brandishing submachine guns, it is their plan to enter and enter quickly. They don’t want to give Danes a chance to do anything stupid.
Of course, it’s a bit late at this point.
Bear turns his radio up, setting it on the hood of the car. He hands me a pair of binoculars. "You watch. You listen. You stay here."
I nod, taking the binoculars. I know I don’t have any other choice right now. I glance over to find CJ making her way to us. "You’re not going in with them?"
"I’m not SWAT. They wouldn’t let me if I wanted." She sighs, crossing her arms against her chest. "Besides, I’m not the first person Kelsey needs to see when they bring her out." She gives me a slight, knowing smile.
"Thanks." I like CJ. I doubt if I would be quite so gracious about losing Little Roo.
"I’m glad she’s happy."
"Did Erik tell you that?"
"Numerous times." She wipes away a tear I know she didn’t want me to see. "He always was a little shit."
I wonder who was the first to call him that – CJ or Kels? "I’m sorry about what happened to him."
"So am I. He didn’t deserve it. I hope to hell Danes gives the team a reason to blow his fucking head off."
"Amen to that," I whisper.
"They’re ready," Bear announces, distracting us from our conversation.
I hand Robie the binoculars. I don’t need or want to watch the scene that closely. God, I might be sick. My stomach is sitting somewhere around my knees right now. I can taste fear on the back of my throat.
Just a few more minutes, sweetheart. Hang on.
The radio traffic is fast and somewhat garbled. It reminds me of the day I made entry with the police on what became a hostage situation at Tyler Sagemore’s house. It was the day I shot the footage that put me together with Kels. Who would have guessed six months ago I would be standing out here today? Fate has a strange sense of humor. I sure as hell hope I like the punch line today.