Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “You’re sure he’s been there the whole time?”

  “Absolutely. His house is on a dead-end street. One way in; one way out—and we’re on it.”

  “What about his office?” asked Taylor, who was beside me riding shotgun.

  “We have a second unit at the business park,” the deputy answered. “No action there, either.”

  “Good. I’m calling to let you know we’ll be executing a search warrant on Krüger’s residence later today, as well as his office,” I informed him. “Until then, LAPD will be joining the Lunada Point surveillance.”

  “The more, the merrier. You think this Dr. Krüger is your Magpie?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  After hanging up, I glanced at Deluca, who was sitting in the rear. “How about pulling up a shot of Krüger’s neighborhood on Google?” I suggested.

  “Sure,” said Deluca. After checking his notes for Krüger’s street address, he booted up his laptop.

  “What are we looking for?” he asked.

  “The stakeout deputy claims there’s only one way in. I’d like to make certain he’s right.”

  “Here it is,” said Deluca. “Yeah, Lunada Point dead ends, like he said. Lemme get the satellite view.” Then, a moment later, “The rear of Krüger’s property descends to a canyon out back. Nothing much down there but trees and brush.”

  “What’s on the other side?”

  “Wall-to-wall houses. Looks like about a quarter mile across to the opposite ridge. Maybe we can find someplace over there to watch the rear of Krüger’s residence—make sure he doesn’t rabbit when our guys arrive with a warrant.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Binoculars?” said Taylor.

  I nodded. “Glove box.”

  She smiled. “You’re quite the boy scout.”

  “Yep, that’s me,” I laughed.

  Just then I received another call from Aken. “Talk to me,” I said.

  “We have the warrant,” he said. “We’re on our way.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Captain Snead and several HSS detectives, a couple SAs from the Bureau, and me. San Diego Sheriff’s deputies will be assisting. Metro wanted a presence, but tenth floor decided that might not be such a hot idea.”

  “Roger that,” I agreed. Following the loss of our SWAT members, anger was running high in the entire department. If Krüger turned out to be responsible, having Metro there would be asking for trouble. “Can you email me the warrant?” I asked. “I’ll text you my address.”

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  “Let me know when you’re getting close. We’ll meet you out front.”

  Aken’s email came in on my cellphone a few minutes later. I handed my phone to Taylor, asking her to check the warrant.

  Within minutes, she handed back my phone. “Detective Aken stuck to the cold-case approach, as you suggested,” she said. “He also had the affidavit portion of the warrant sealed, but he included it in his email. In the sealed affidavit he cites new touch DNA results surfacing in the murder of Darlene Mayfield, the use of voice-changing software to alter critical evidence presented at trial, and so on. We have the right to search Krüger’s residence, office, property, and all vehicles present for any material related to the Mayfield strangulation—photos, videos, recordings, murder souvenirs, women’s clothing, biological material, etc. We’re also looking for voice-altering software. As such, we’re seizing Krüger’s computers, electronic storage equipment, and any computer passwords, if found. Bottom line, Aken’s affidavit is in order, the description of Krüger’s property is accurate and exact, and the list of items to be seized is particular, comprehensive, and related by probable cause. We’re good to go.”

  “Damn, Taylor,” said Deluca. “I almost forgot you were a lawyer.”

  Taylor shrugged. “Another lifetime.”

  “I have to admit, your legalese kinda turns me on.”

  Taylor smiled. “At the risk of repeating myself . . .”

  “You don’t have to say it,” Deluca laughed. “Screw me. Seriously though, when we toss Krüger’s house, I hope we find what we’re looking for.”

  “Meaning Ella.”

  Deluca nodded. “Meaning Ella.”

  Twenty minutes later, upon arriving at Rancho Bernardo, we checked in with the Sheriff’s unit guarding the mouth of Lunada Point. A deputy there pointed out Krüger’s house—a rambling, ranch-style residence at the end of the cul-de-sac. After studying the structure’s red-tiled roof and stone wainscoting, I informed the Sheriff’s officer that we intended to watch the rear of Krüger’s property from across the canyon, but that we would be returning to join the search once the warrant had been served.

  After rechecking the satellite map, we drove to a vacant lot on the other side of the canyon, almost directly across from Krüger’s estate. From the elevated vantage, I could make out what appeared to be a dirt road running the length of the canyon below. Overhanging trees concealed much of the washed-out roadway, and in places it appeared to be little more than a trail.

  Still . . .

  Leaving Deluca and Taylor with the Suburban, I walked back along the ridge. A quarter-mile down on St. Etienne Lane, I found a metal gate blocking access to the wooded canyon beyond. Numerical keypads, mounted on posts, had been installed on either side of the barrier.

  I was about to climb the gate when I noticed an elderly woman watching me from a neighboring property. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I called, displaying my shield. “A couple questions?”

  Regarding me curiously, the woman moved to a fence guarding her property.

  I walked over to join her.

  “Yes, young man. How can I help you?” she asked when I arrived.

  “Been a while since anyone’s called me that,” I said with a smile.

  The woman shrugged. “Everything’s relative.”

  “I hear you,” I agreed. Then, glancing at the barrier, “What can you tell me about that gate?”

  “I can tell you that in the opinion of an old lady trying to walk her dog, it’s a damn nuisance,” she replied. “The association put it in after the 2007 fire—supposedly to keep nonresidents from using the dirt road as a shortcut. You know, when traffic backs up on Highland Valley.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “It’s not. Everyone knows the code, including people who don’t even live here.”

  “Highland Valley. That’s where the dirt road comes out? Is there a gate there, too?”

  The woman shook her head. “That’s the problem. If there were, we wouldn’t need this one.”

  “Can people still drive the road? Looks pretty rough.”

  “Sometimes. Mostly it’s used by folks on foot, out to enjoy a little nature. The road has deteriorated some, but a car can still get through.

  “What’s the code?”

  The woman hesitated.

  “Ma’am, I’m working an official investigation. Are you really going to make me climb that gate?”

  “I guess not,” the woman replied. “Three, five, seven, nine.”

  “Thanks,” I said, starting back toward to the barrier. “I appreciate your help.”

  “No problem. You take care, officer.”

  After thumbing in the code, I waited as the gate slid back on a track. When the barrier had opened enough for me to pass, I squeezed through and headed up the dirt road. Minutes later, after repeatedly fording a shallow creek, I arrived at the base of Dr. Krüger’s property. Several hundred feet up the steep slope, partially hidden in palms and live oaks, I could make out Krüger’s red-tiled roof and portions of his rock-wainscoted walls.

  I also noticed a faint trail in the brush leading down from above.

  My cellphone rang.

  “What are you doing, Kane?” Taylor asked as soon as I picked up.

  I squinted at the ridge behind me. Although I couldn’t pick her out, I knew she was up there, with binoculars trained on me. “We may
have a problem,” I said.

  “What?”

  “There’s a path leading down here from Krüger’s house.”

  “Hmm. Where does that road you’re on wind up?”

  “Highland Valley. Easy walking distance. Same for the way I came in.”

  “Damn.”

  “Wait a sec. I have another call.” I put Taylor on hold and answered an incoming call from Aken. “Where are you, Jerry?” I asked.

  “Exiting the Fifteen Freeway. We’ll be there in a few. By the way, I brought a copy of Dr. Krüger’s building plans. Turns out he added a concrete wine cellar a few years back.”

  “Interesting. See you there.” I clicked off and returned to Taylor. “That was Aken. Things are about to get started. I’m heading back.”

  Shortly after returning to the Suburban, I rephoned Aken. “You on site?” I asked.

  “We are. Snead and the Sheriff’s deputies just served the warrant. We’re about to start tossing the place. Same for his office. Dr. Krüger is not a happy camper.”

  “Tough.”

  When Taylor, Deluca, and I arrived at Krüger’s residence, we found a thicket of Sheriff’s black-and-whites blocking the driveway, with San Diego deputies lending street assistance during the search. Inside, Dr. Krüger was sitting on a bench just off the entry. He glanced up from his perusal of the search warrant as we entered, glaring directly at me.

  “Detective Kane. I might have known,” he said.

  Ignoring Krüger, I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and followed Taylor and Deluca into the house. Then, noticing a bandage on Dr. Krüger’s neck, I turned. “Cut yourself shaving?”

  He glanced away. “Something like that,” he muttered, raising a hand to his throat. As he did, I noticed that his knuckles were scabbed as well.

  I found Captain Snead in Krüger’s dining room, just off a large kitchen with a south-facing breakfast nook. A half-dozen officers, some of whom I recognized from Robbery-Homicide, were searching the main floor of the house. “Any sign of Ella?” I asked.

  Snead looked drained. Wearily, he shook his head.

  “Nothing in the wine cellar?”

  “Just wine.”

  “The Chevy Astro van?”

  “Not here.”

  And in the end—following painstaking hours during which Snead and his HSS detectives, Aken and another officer from CCSS, two Bureau SAs, Taylor, Deluca, and I turned Dr. Krüger’s house upside-down—that’s exactly what we found.

  Nothing.

  The team searching Krüger’s office reported the same.

  Krüger’s computers were encrypted. If we were ever able to defeat his security measures, we might find incriminating evidence on his hard drives.

  Otherwise, we had nothing.

  As we were beginning to wrap up, I got a call from Long. “Is Captain Snead still there?” he asked.

  I glanced over at Snead. He was talking with Detective Aken—all hope of finding his daughter gone, disappointment and frustration written on his face. “He’s here,” I said.

  “We found Ella. Her photo turned up this morning on the internet.”

  “Oh, God. Is she . . .?”

  “Yeah. Same as the others.”

  “Where?”

  “A park in Del Mar. North Bluff Preserve. She was beaten pretty bad.”

  “The Magpie?”

  “Looks like it. Another woman was abducted from a nearby theater.”

  I fell silent, not knowing what to say.

  “You have to tell Snead,” said Long.

  “Damn,” I said quietly.

  “You have to tell him, Dan. He needs to know.”

  “Yeah, he does,” I agreed, noticing that Dr. Krüger was staring at me from the entry. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Krüger’s eyes followed me as I crossed the room to Snead. “Captain, could I have a word?” I asked quietly.

  “Not now, Kane,” he mumbled. “Unless it’s important, I—”

  “It’s important,” I said. Taking his arm, I guided him into the breakfast nook, shielding him from the others.

  “What is it?” he asked nervously, seeing something in my expression.

  “It’s Ella. She was found in Del Mar.”

  I watched as his face began to crumple. He opened his mouth to protest. Nothing came out. His eyes filled with shock. “Are you . . . are you sure it’s her?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s her,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bill. I’m so sorry.”

  Tears shone in his eyes, but he held them back. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, his voice trembling. “Could you take over here for me?”

  “Of course. You want someone to drive you home?”

  He shook his head. “No. I . . . I need to be alone.”

  I accompanied Snead to the front door. As I did, I noticed that Dr. Krüger was still watching. He caught my eye as we passed.

  And he smiled.

  It wasn’t a grin. It was more of a smirk. And in retrospect, I don’t think it was intentional. I think it was just something he couldn’t help.

  And at that moment, I knew.

  I walked Snead to his car. A mobile news van was setting up at the end of the street, just past the sheriff’s barricade. Although I wondered who had leaked, I wasn’t surprised to see the media. Too many people knew about our search to keep it quiet for long.

  As Snead opened his car door, he asked, “Where is she?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t want to go there.”

  Snead slid behind the wheel and looked up at me, his eyes filled with anguish. “Where is Ella?” he repeated.

  “Del Mar. North Bluff Preserve. But—”

  “I have to see her,” he said, cutting me off.

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  And I did, for I had once done the same for a child of my own.

  After watching Snead drive past the news van, I returned to the house. Upon stepping inside, I grabbed Dr. Krüger by his shirt and jerked him to his feet. “You piece of shit,” I growled.

  He tried to squirm free.

  I held him fast.

  We stood for a moment, face to face. And in that brief instant, I realized that evil truly did exist in our world, and it was staring at me without a trace of fear.

  Still holding Krüger by his shirt, I circled his neck with my other hand. Thumb on the gauze bandage, I pressed down hard on his wound. “Ella gave you this, didn’t she?” I said, speaking quietly so only he could hear.

  Krüger screamed, struggling to pull free.

  “Good for her,” I whispered, pressing down even harder.

  “Jesus, Kane! What are you doing?” yelled one of Snead’s detectives. He grabbed at my hand, trying to pull it from Krüger’s throat.

  Krüger continued screaming, his fingers scrabbling to break my grip. “Get him off me! Get him off!”

  Another HSS detective joined in, trying to pry Krüger from my grasp.

  Ignoring them, I dragged Krüger even closer, nearly lifting him from the floor. “I know it’s you,” I said.

  Then, with a snarl of disgust, I shoved him away.

  Krüger stumbled. The rear of his legs hit the entry bench, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Rising to his knees, Krüger glared up at me. “This isn’t over,” he hissed.

  Shaking off Snead’s detectives, I stared back. “You’re right about that, pal,” I replied. “This is definitely not over.”

  35

  Drastic Measures

  Dr. Krüger was stunned.

  His house had been searched!

  How had the authorities managed to get so close?

  Sitting at his oak bar, Krüger took a long pull on his drink. Fighting another crippling headache, he studied the search warrant one more time.

  The affidavit portion of the document, the section listing probable-cause issues, had been sealed by the judge, with the affiant—supposedly a Detective Jeroen Aken, although Dr. Krüger kne
w better—claiming that forthcoming search warrants might be compromised if the contents of this one were made public. Nevertheless, from studying the warrant’s list of property to be seized, Dr. Krüger had arrived at several conclusions.

  For one, although the document granted police the right to search for voice-altering software employed in the commission of a crime, nowhere had it specified the hidden-service protocol he was using to post his “calendar girl” photos. Dr. Krüger was certain the authorities knew he was using TOR software to evade detection. Why hadn’t that been listed in the warrant?

  For another, the right to seize video games and gaming equipment was also conspicuously absent. By now, the entire world knew that the dissonant music accompanying the fiery deaths of the SWAT officers had been lifted from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Why hadn’t that video game been listed in the warrant as well?

  There was only one explanation that fit: Lacking evidence in the current Magpie murders, the police had resorted to investigating one of his earlier killings. Dr. Krüger still wasn’t certain how he had drawn Kane’s attention in the first place, but only once before had he used voice-altering software in the commission of a murder.

  Darlene Mayfield.

  Dr. Krüger took another gulp of Scotch, unnerved that investigators had searched so far in the past to find him. And to be accurate, this was the work of one investigator in particular: Detective Daniel Kane.

  After Kane’s first visit, Dr. Krüger had expanded his research on the vexing detective. The second time through, the results of Dr. Krüger’s online inquiry had proved even more disturbing. In almost every newspaper account, Kane had been portrayed as a ruthless investigator, with reports of several fatal shootings, numerous scrapes with LAPD’s Internal Affairs Group, two gunshot wounds suffered in the line of duty, and an unparalleled reputation for closing cases. Kane was also described as a maverick, and an unpredictable one at that.

  Initially, Dr. Krüger had recognized a dangerous adversary in Detective Kane. In the course of studying the police accounts, Dr. Krüger sensed something else as well.

  Kane was willing to play outside the rules.

  Dr. Krüger tossed aside the warrant and poured himself an additional three fingers of Scotch. Drink in hand, he retired to his den. Following the discovery of Ella’s body, media coverage had reignited, with ripples of horror reaching every corner of the world. As such, Dr. Krüger decided that viewing the news might be just the thing to revive his spirits.