A T R A C E O F M U R D E R
A KERI LOCKE MYSTERY - BOOK 2
CHAPTER ONE
The long hallway was dark. Even with her flashlight
on, Keri had trouble seeing more than about
ten feet in front of her. She ignored the
pit of fear in her stomach and pressed on.
With one hand holding the light and the other
grasping her gun, she inched forward. Finally
she made it to the basement door. Every part
of her told her she’d finally found the
place. This was where her little Evie was
being held.
Keri pushed open the door and stepped onto
the first creaky wooden step. The darkness
here was even more overwhelming than in the
hall. As she slowly made her way down the
stairs, it occurred to her how odd it was
to find a home with a basement in Southern
California. This was the first one she’d
ever encountered. Then she heard something.
It sounded like a child crying—a little
girl, maybe eight. Keri called out to her
and a voice called back.
“Mommy!”
“Don’t worry, Evie, Mommy’s here!”
Keri shouted back as she hurried down the
stairs. Even as she did, something was eating
at her, telling her this wasn’t quite right.
It wasn’t until her toe snagged on a step
and she lost her balance, falling forward
into nothingness, that she realized what had
been bothering her. Evie had been missing
for five years. How could she still sound
the same?
But it was too late to do anything about that
now as she hurtled through the air toward
the floor. She girded herself for the impact.
But it didn’t come. To her horror, she realized
she was falling down a seemingly endless pit,
the air getting colder, nonstop wailing all
around her. She had failed her daughter once
again.
Keri woke with a start, sitting bolt upright
in her car. It took a moment for her to realize
what was happening. She wasn’t in an endless
pit. She wasn’t in a creepy basement. She
was in her battered Toyota Prius in the police
station parking lot, where she had fallen
asleep while eating her lunch.
The cold she’d felt was from the open window.
The wailing was actually the siren of a police
car leaving the lot on a call. She was drenched
in sweat and her heart was beating fast. But
none of it was real. It was just another horrible,
hope-crushing nightmare. Her daughter, Evelyn,
was still missing.
Keri shook the cobwebs from her head, took
a swig from her water bottle, got out, and
headed back inside the station, reminding
herself she was no longer just a mom: she
was also a Missing Persons detective for the
LAPD.
Her multiple injuries forced her to move gingerly.
She was still only two weeks removed from
her brutal encounter with a violent child
abductor. Pachanga, at least, had gotten what
he’d deserved after Keri rescued the senator’s
daughter. Thinking of it made the sharp pains
she still felt all over her body more tolerable.
The doctors had only let her take off the
soft-sided face protector a few days ago,
after determining her fractured eye socket
was healing well enough. Her arm was still
in a sling from Pachanga breaking her collarbone.
She’d been told she could remove it in another
week but was considering dumping it early
because it was so annoying. There was nothing
to be done about her cracked ribs other than
wear protective padding. That bothered her,
too, as it made her look about ten pounds
heavier than her usual 130 fighting weight.
Keri wasn’t a vain woman. But at thirty-five,
she liked that she could still turn heads.
With the pads bulging against her blouse at
the waist and riding above her work slacks,
she doubted she was doing much of that.
Because of the time off she’d been given
to recover, her brown eyes weren’t as bloodshot
with exhaustion as usual and her dirty blonde
hair, tied back in a simple ponytail, had
actually been shampooed. But the fractured
orbital bone had left the side of her face
with a big yellow bruise which was only now
starting to fade, and the sling didn’t add
to her appeal. This probably wasn’t the
ideal time to go on any first dates.
The thought of dating reminded her of Ray.
Her partner for the last year and friend for
six before that was still recovering in the
hospital from having been shot in the stomach
by Pachanga. Luckily, he was doing well enough
that he’d recently been moved from the local
hospital near the shooting to Cedars-Sinai
Medical Center in Beverly Hills. That was
only a twenty-minute drive from the station,
so Keri could visit him often.
Yet at no point during those visits had either
of them addressed the growing romantic tension
she knew they were both feeling.
Keri took a deep breath before making the
familiar but nerve-wracking walk through the
station bullpen. It felt like her first day
back. She could still feel eyes on her. Every
time she walked past her co-workers, she sensed
their furtive, darting looks and wondered
what they were thinking.
Did they all still just consider her a rule-breaking
loose cannon? Had she gotten any grudging
respect for taking down a child-abducting
killer? How long would being the only female
detective in the squad make her feel like
a permanent outsider?
As she walked past them all in the hustle
and bustle of the station and eased herself
into her desk chair, Keri tried to control
the pit of resentment rising in her chest
and just focus on the work. At least the place
was packed and as chaotic as ever, and in
that reassuring way, nothing had changed.
The station was crowded with civilians filing
complaints, perps being booked, and detectives
on the phones, following up on leads.
Keri had been limited to desk duty since her
return. And her desk was full. Ever since
she got back, she’d been awash in a sea
of paperwork. There were dozens of arrest
reports to review, search warrants to procure,
witness statements to evaluate, and evidence
reports to examine.
She suspected that because she wasn’t allowed
to go out on cases yet, all her colleagues
were pushing their busy work on her. Luckily,
she was supposed to be allowed to return to
the field tomorrow. And the secret truth was
that she didn’t mind being office-bound
for one reason: Pachanga’s files.
When the cops searched his house after the
incident, they’d found a laptop. Keri and
Detective Kevin Edgerton, the precinct’s
resident tech guru, had cracked Pachanga’s
password, managing to open his files. Her
hope was that the files would lead to discovery
of multiple missing children, maybe even her
own daughter.
Unfortunately, what had seemed at first like
the mother lode of information on multiple
abductions had proven difficult to access.
Edgerton had explained that the encrypted
files could only be opened with the proper
code-breaking cipher, which they didn’t
have. Keri had spent the last week learning
everything she could about Pachanga in the
hopes of cracking the code. But so far, she’d
come up empty.
As she sat there reviewing files, Keri’s
thoughts returned to something that had been
eating at her since she’d resumed work.
When Pachanga kidnapped Senator Stafford Penn’s
daughter, Ashley, he’d done it at the behest
of the senator’s brother, Payton. The two
men had been in communication on the dark
web for months.
Keri couldn’t help but wonder how a senator’s
brother had managed to get in touch with a
professional abductor. It wasn’t like they
traveled in the same circles. But they did
have one thing in common. Both men were represented
by a lawyer named Jackson Cave.
Cave’s office was high atop a downtown skyscraper,
but many of his clients were far more earthbound.
In addition to his corporate work, Cave had
a long history of representing rapists, kidnappers,
and pedophiles. If Keri was being generous,
she suspected it was simply because he knew
he could gouge such unpleasant clients. But
part of her thought he actually got off on
it. Either way, she despised him.
If Jackson Cave had put Payton Penn and Alan
Pachanga in touch, it stood to reason that
he also knew how to access all their encrypted
files. Keri was sure that somewhere in that
fancy high-rise office of his was the cipher
she needed to break the code and discover
details on all those missing children, maybe
even her own. She resolved that one way or
another, legally or not, she was getting into
that office.
As she started to think how that might be
accomplished, Keri noticed a twenty-something
female uniformed officer walking slowly in
her direction. She waved her over.
“What’s your name again?” Keri asked,
uncertain if she should already know.
“Officer Jamie Castillo,” the young, dark-haired
officer answered. “I only just got out of
the academy. I was reassigned here the week
you were in the hospital. I was originally
at West LA Division.”
“So I shouldn’t feel too bad for not knowing
who you are?”
“No, Detective Locke,” Castillo said firmly.
Keri was impressed. The gal had confidence
and a sharpness in her dark eyes that suggested
keen intelligence. She also looked like she
could take care of herself. Easily five foot
eight, she had a sinewy, athletic frame that
suggested tussling would be unwise.
“Good. What can I do for you?” Keri asked,
trying not to sound intimidating. There weren’t
a lot of female cops in Pacific Division and
Keri didn’t want to scare any of them off.
“I’ve been covering the station’s tip
line for the last few weeks. As you might
suspect, a ton of them were related to your
run-in with Alan Pachanga and the statement
you made afterward about trying to find your
daughter.”
Keri nodded, remembering. After she’d rescued
Ashley, the department held a big press conference
to celebrate the happy outcome.
Still in her wheelchair, Keri had praised
Ashley and her family before co-opting the
conference to mention Evie. She’d held up
her picture and begged the public to offer
any information that might help in her search.
Her immediate supervisor, Lieutenant Cole
Hillman, had been so pissed at her for using
a department victory as a tool in her personal
crusade that Keri thought he would have fired
her on the spot if he could have. But since
she was a wheelchair-bound, teenage-rescuing
hero, he couldn’t.
Even when she was stuck in the hospital, Keri
had heard through the grapevine that he was
annoyed when the department started getting
inundated with hundreds of calls daily.
“I’m sorry you got stuck with that assignment,”
Keri said. “I guess I just wanted to make
the most of the opportunity and didn’t think
about who would have to deal with the fallout.
I assume all the calls were dead ends?”
Jamie Castillo hesitated, as if wondering
whether she was making the right decision.
Keri could see the wheels turning in the younger
woman’s head. She watched her calculating
the right move and couldn’t help but like
her. It felt like she was watching a younger
version of herself.
“Well,” Castillo finally said, “most
were easily dismissed as being from unstable
people or simply pranks. But we got one call
this morning that was somehow different. It
had a straightforwardness that made me take
it more seriously.”
Almost immediately, Keri’s mouth went dry
and she felt her heart start to race.
Keep cool. It’s probably nothing. Don’t
overreact.
“Can I hear it?” she asked more calmly
than she’d thought possible.
“I’ve already forwarded it to you,”
Castillo said.
Keri looked at her phone and saw the blinking
light indicating she had a voicemail. Trying
not to look desperate, she slowly picked up
the receiver and checked it.
The voice on the message was raspy, almost
metallic sounding and hard to understand,
made even more difficult by a banging noise
in the background.
“I saw you on TV talking about your girl,”
it said. “I want to help. There’s an abandoned
warehouse in Palms, across from the Piedmont
Generating Station. Check it out.”
That was all there was to it—just a gravelly
male voice offering a vague tip. So why were
her fingertips tingling with adrenaline? Why
was she having trouble swallowing? Why did
her thoughts suddenly flash on potential images
of what Evie might look like now?
Perhaps it was because the call had none of
the earmarks of the standard hoax calls. It
didn’t try to draw attention to itself,
which was what clearly got Castillo’s attention.
And that same element—its straightforward
blandness—was the quality currently making
beads of sweat trickle down Keri’s back.
Castillo was watching her expectantly.
“You think it’s legit?” she asked.
“Hard to tell,” Keri answered evenly,
despite her elevated heart rate, as she punched
the generating station into Google Maps. “We’ll
check where the call originated from later
and have tech try to scrub the message to
see what else can be gleaned from the voice
and background noise. But I doubt they’d
be able to determine much. Whoever made this
call was careful.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Castillo
agreed. “No name given, clear attempt to
mask the voice, distracting noise in the background.
It just felt…different from the others.”
Keri was only half-listening as she looked
at the map on her screen. The generating station
was located on National Boulevard, just south
of the 10 Freeway. Checking satellite imagery,
she verified that there was a warehouse across
the street. Whether it was abandoned, she
didn’t know.
But I’m about to find out.
She looked at Castillo and felt a rush of
gratitude toward her—and also something
she hadn’t felt in a very long time for
a fellow officer: admiration. She had a good
feeling about her, and was glad she was here.
“Good work, Castillo,” she said belatedly
to the young officer, who was also staring
at the screen. “So good that I think I better
go check it out.”
“You need company?” Castillo asked hopefully
as Keri stood and gathered her things to head
out for the warehouse.
But before she could answer, Hillman poked
his head out of his office and yelled across
the bullpen to her.
“Locke, I need you in my office now.”
He glared at her. “We’ve got a new case.”
CHAPTER TWO
Keri stood frozen in place. She was consumed
by a flood of conflicting emotions. Technically,
this was good news. It looked like she was
being put back on field duty a day early,
a sign that Hillman, despite his issues with
her, felt she was ready to resume her normal
responsibilities. But part of her just wanted
to ignore him and go straight to the warehouse
this second.
“Today, please,” Hillman called out, snapping
her out of her momentary indecision.
“Coming, sir,” she said. Then turning
to Castillo with a little half-smile, she
added, “To be continued.”
When she stepped into Hillman’s office,
she noticed that his typically wrinkled brow
was even more scrunched up than usual. Every
one of his fifty years was visible on his
face. His salt and pepper hair was mussed
as usual. Keri could never tell if he didn’t
notice or just didn’t care. He wore a jacket
but his tie was loose and his ill-fitting
shirt couldn’t hide his slight paunch.
Sitting on the old, beat-up loveseat against
the far wall was Detective Frank Brody. Brody
was fifty-nine years old and less than six
months from retirement. Everything about his
demeanor reflected that, from his barely competent
attempts at politeness to his disheveled,
ketchup-stained dress shirt, nearly bursting
at the buttons against his formidable girth,
to his loafers, which were splitting at the
seams and looked like they might fall apart
at any moment.
Brody had never struck Keri as the most dedicated
and hard-working of detectives, and recently
he seemed more interested in his precious
Cadillac than in solving cases. He usually
worked Robbery-Homicide but had been reassigned
to Missing Persons with the unit short-handed
because of Keri’s and Ray’s injuries.
The move had put him in a permanently foul
mood, which was only reinforced by disdain
at potentially having to work with a woman.
He was truly a man of a different generation.
She’d actually once overheard him say, “I’d
rather work with bricks and turds than chicks
and birds.” The feeling, though maybe stated
in a slightly different way, was mutual.
Hillman motioned for Keri to sit in the metal
folding chair across from his desk, then took
the caller off mute and spoke.
“Dr. Burlingame, I’m here with the two
detectives I’m going to be sending to meet
with you. On the line are Detectives Frank
Brody and Keri Locke. Detectives, I’m speaking
to Dr. Jeremy Burlingame. He’s concerned
about his wife, whom he hasn’t been able
to reach for more than twenty-four hours.
Doctor, can you please repeat what you told
me?”
Keri pulled out her notebook and pen to take
notes. She was immediately suspicious. In
any case of a missing wife, the first suspect
was always the husband and she wanted to hear
the timbre of his voice the first time he
spoke.
“Of course,” the doctor said. “I drove
to San Diego yesterday morning to help perform
a surgery. The last time I spoke to Kendra
was before I left. I got home very late last
night and ended up sleeping in a guest room
so as not to wake her up. This morning I slept
in since I didn’t have any patients to see.”
Keri wasn’t sure if Hillman was recording
the conversation so she scribbled furiously,
trying to keep up as Dr. Burlingame continued.
“When I went into the bedroom, she was gone.
The bed was made. I assumed she’d just left
the house before I got up so I texted her.
I didn’t hear back—again, not that unusual.
We live in Beverly Hills and my wife attends
a lot of local charity functions and events
and she typically silences her phone for them.
Sometimes she forgets to turn the volume back
on.”
Keri wrote everything down, evaluating the
veracity of each comment. So far nothing she’d
heard sounded warning bells but that didn’t
mean much. Anyone could hold it together on
the phone. She wanted to see his demeanor
when confronted in person by LAPD detectives.
“I went to work and called her again on
the way in—still no answer,” he continued.
“Around lunchtime I started to get worried.
None of her friends had heard from her. I
called our maid, Lupe, who said that she hadn’t
seen Kendra today or yesterday. That’s when
I really started to worry. So I called nine-one-one.”
Frank Brody leaned in and Keri could tell
he was going to interrupt. She wished he wouldn’t
but there was nothing she could do to stop
him. She typically preferred to let an interviewee
go on as much as they liked. Sometimes they
got comfortable and made mistakes. But apparently
Brody didn’t share her philosophy.
“Dr. Burlingame, why didn’t your call
get routed to the Beverly Hills Police Department?”
he asked. His gruff tone carried no sense
of sympathy. It sounded to Keri like he was
wondering how he’d gotten stuck with the
case.
“I guess because I’m calling you from
my office, which is in Marina del Rey. Does
it really matter?” he asked. He sounded
lost.
“No, of course not,” Hillman assured him.
“We’re happy to help. And our missing
persons unit would likely have been called
in by BHPD anyway. Why don’t you return
to your house and my detectives will meet
you there around one thirty. I have your home
address.”
“Okay,” Burlingame said. “I’m leaving
now.”
After he hung up, Hillman looked at his two
detectives.
“Initial thoughts?” he asked.
“She probably just ran off to Cabo with
some of her girlfriends and forgot to tell
him,” Brody said without hesitation. “That
or he killed her. After all, it’s almost
always the husband.”
Hillman looked at Keri. She thought for a
second before speaking. Something about applying
the usual rules to this guy didn’t feel
right, but she couldn’t put her finger on
why.
“I’m tempted to agree,” she finally
said. “But I want to look this guy in the
face before I draw any conclusions.”
“Well, you’re about to get your chance,”
Hillman said. “Frank, you can head out.
I need to talk to Locke for a minute.”
Brody gave her a malicious smile as he left,
like she’d gotten detention and he’d somehow
escaped it. Hillman closed the door behind
him.
Keri braced herself, certain that whatever
was coming couldn’t be good.
“You can head out in a second,” he said,
his tone softer than she’d anticipated.
“But I wanted to remind you of a few things
before you go. First, I think you know I wasn’t
very happy about your stunt at the press conference.
You put your own needs ahead of the department.
You get that, right?”
Keri nodded.
“That said,” he continued, “I’d like
for us to get a fresh start. I know you were
in a bad way at that moment and saw this as
a chance to shine a light on your daughter’s
disappearance. I can respect that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Keri said, slightly
relieved but suspicious that a hammer was
yet to drop.
“Still,” he added, “just because the
press loves you doesn’t mean I won’t kick
you out on your ass if you pull any of your
typical lone wolf shit. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Lastly, please take it easy. You’re
less than a week out of the hospital. Don’t
do anything to put yourself back in there,
okay? Dismissed.”
Keri left his office, mildly surprised. She’d
been expecting a dressing down. But she hadn’t
been prepared for the slight hint of concern
for her well-being.
She looked around for Brody before realizing
he must have already left. Apparently he didn’t
even want to share a car with a female detective.
Normally she’d be annoyed but today it was
a blessing in disguise.
As she headed for her car, she stifled a smile.
I’m back on field duty!
It wasn’t until she’d been assigned a
new case that she realized just how much she’d
missed it. The familiar excitement and anticipation
started to take hold and even the pain in
her ribs seemed to dissipate slightly. The
truth was that unless she was solving cases,
Keri felt like a piece of her was missing.
She also couldn’t help but grin about something
else—she was already planning to violate
two of Hillman’s orders. She was about go
lone wolf and not take it easy at the same
time.
Because she was making a pit stop on her way
to the doctor’s house.
She was going to check out that abandoned
warehouse.
CHAPTER THREE
With her siren on top of her battered Prius,
Keri weaved in and out of traffic, her fingers
gripped tight on the wheel, her adrenaline
rising. The Palms warehouse was on the way
to Beverly Hills, more or less. That was how
Keri justified prioritizing the search for
her daughter, missing five years ago last
week, over the hunt for a woman who’d been
gone less than a day.
But she had to get there quick. Brody had
a head start in getting to Burlingame’s
house so she could get there after him. But
if she showed up too much later, Brody was
sure to rat her out to Hillman.
He’d use any excuse he could to avoid working
with her. And telling the boss she’d delayed
an investigation by arriving late to a witness
interview was right up his alley. That left
her only a few minutes to check out the warehouse.
She parked on the street and headed for the
main gate. The warehouse was in between a
self-storage place and a U-Haul rental outlet.
The hum of the generating station across the
street was disturbingly loud. Keri wondered
if she was risking cancer just standing there.
The warehouse was surrounded by cheap fencing
designed to keep vagrants and druggies out,
but it wasn’t hard for Keri to slide through
the gap between the poorly locked gates. As
she approached the front door of the complex,
she noticed the sign for the place lying on
the ground, covered in dust. It read Priceless
Item Preservation.
There was nothing priceless inside the empty,
cavernous warehouse. In fact, there was nothing
inside at all other than a few turned over
metal folding chairs and some mounds of crumbled
drywall. The whole place had been cleared
out. Keri walked the entire complex, looking
for any clue that might relate to Evie, but
couldn’t find anything.
She knelt down, hoping that a different perspective
might offer something fresh. Nothing jumped
out at her, although there was something slightly
odd at the far end of the warehouse. One metal
folding chair was sitting upright with a pile
of drywall debris resting on the seat, delicately
balanced over a foot high. It seemed unlikely
that it would have gotten that way without
help.
Keri walked over and looked more closely.
She felt like she was searching for connections
where there were none. Still, she moved the
chair aside, ignoring the drywall that teetered
briefly before tumbling to the floor.
She was surprised by the sound when it hit
the concrete. Instead of the expected thud,
there was a hollow echo. Feeling her heart
suddenly begin to beat faster, Keri kicked
the debris away and stomped on the spot where
it had fallen—another hollow echoing sound.
She ran her hand along the floor and discovered
that the spot that had been under the metal
folding chair was not actually concrete but
wood painted gray to blend in with the rest
of the flooring.
Trying to control her breathing, she searched
the wooden piece with her fingers until she
felt a small raised bump. She pushed in on
it, heard the sound of a latch opening, and
felt one end of the wood piece pop up. She
reached under and pulled the square chunk
of wood, about the size of a manhole cover,
from its grooved slot.
Below it was a space about ten inches deep.
There was nothing inside. No papers, no equipment.
It was too small to hold a person. At most,
it could maybe have housed a small safe.
Keri felt around the edges for another hidden
button but found nothing else. She wasn’t
sure what could have been here before but
it was gone now. She sat down on the hard
concrete next to the hole, not sure what to
do next.
She looked at her watch. It was 1:15. She
was supposed to be in Beverly Hills in fifteen
minutes. Even if she left now, it would still
be close. Frustrated and annoyed, she quickly
put the wooden cover back in place, slid the
chair back where it had been, and left the
building, glancing at the sign on the ground
once more.
Priceless Item Preservation. Is the name of
the business some kind of clue or am I just
being punked by some cruel asshole? Is someone
telling me what I have to do to preserve Evie,
my most precious item?
The last thought sent a wave of anxiety through
Keri. She felt her knees buckle and dropped
to the ground awkwardly, trying to prevent
any further damage to her left arm, which
was nestled uselessly in the sling across
her chest. She used her right hand to stop
herself from completely collapsing.
Bent over, with a cloud of dust rising around
her, Keri closed her eyes tight and tried
to force away the dark thoughts closing in
on her. A brief vision of her little Evie
forced itself into her brain.
She was still eight in the vision, her blonde
pigtails bouncing on her head, her face white
with terror. She was being tossed inside a
white van by a blond man with a tattoo on
the right side of his neck. Keri heard the
thud as her tiny body slammed against the
wall of the van. She saw the blond man stab
a teenage boy who tried to stop him. She saw
the van pull out and tear off down the road,
leaving her far behind as she chased after
it with bloodied, bare feet.
It was all still so vivid. Keri choked back
tears as she pushed the memory away, trying
to force herself back into the present. After
a few moments she got control again. She took
a few long, slow breaths. Her vision cleared
and she felt strong enough to push herself
upright.
This was the first flashback she’d had in
weeks, since before the confrontation with
Pachanga. Part of her had hoped they were
gone for good—no such luck.
She felt the ache in her collarbone from the
jarring when she’d reached out to brace
herself as she fell. In frustration, she pulled
off the sling. It was more of a hindrance
than a help at this point. Besides, she didn’t
want to look weak in any way when she met
with Dr. Burlingame.
The interview with Burlingame—I’ve got
to go!
She managed to stumble back to her car and
pull out into traffic, this time without the
siren. She needed quiet for the call she was
about to make.
CHAPTER FOUR
Keri felt a nervous pit in her stomach as
she punched in the number of Ray’s hospital
room and waited while it rang. Officially,
there was no reason for her to feel nervous.
After all, Ray Sands was her friend and her
partner in the Missing Persons Unit of LAPD’s
Pacific Division.
As the phone continued to ring, her mind drifted
back to the time before they were partners,
when she was a professor of criminology at
Loyola Marymount University and served as
a consultant for the department, helping him
out on a few cases. They had hit it off immediately
and he’d returned the professional favor
by occasionally speaking to her classes.
After Evelyn was taken, Keri tumbled down
a black hole of despair. Her marriage fell
apart, and she took to drinking heavily and
sleeping with multiple students at the university.
Eventually she was fired.
It was soon thereafter, when she was nearly
broke, drunk, and living on a decrepit old
houseboat in the marina that he came by again.
He convinced her to enroll in the police academy
as he had done when his life had fallen apart.
Ray had offered her a lifeline, a way to reconnect
with the world and find meaning in her life.
She took it.
After graduating and serving as a uniformed
officer, she was promoted to detective, and
she asked to be assigned to Pacific Division,
which covered much of West Los Angeles. It
was where she lived and the area she knew
best. It was also Ray’s division. He requested
her as a partner and they’d been working
together for a year when the Pachanga case
put them both in the hospital.
But it wasn’t the status of Ray’s recovery
that had Keri feeling nervous. It was the
status of their relationship. Something more
than friendship had developed in the last
year, as they worked so closely together.
They both felt it but neither was willing
to acknowledge it out loud. Keri felt pangs
of jealousy when she called Ray’s apartment
and a woman answered. He was a notorious and
unrepentant ladies’ man so it shouldn’t
have come as a surprise to her, but the feeling
of envy was still there, despite her best
efforts.
And she knew he felt the same way. She’d
seen his eyes flash when they were on a case
and a witness came on to her. She could almost
feel him tense up beside her.
Even with him so close to death after getting
shot, neither of them had been willing to
address the issue. Part of Keri thought it
was inappropriate to focus on such trivialities
when he was recovering from life-threatening
injuries. But another part of her was simply
terrified of what would happen if things were
out in the open.
So they both ignored it. And because neither
was used to hiding things from the other,
it had gotten awkward. As Keri listened to
the ringing phone in Ray’s hospital room,
she half hoped he’d pick up and half hoped
he wouldn’t. She needed to talk to him about
the anonymous call and what she’d discovered
at the warehouse. But she didn’t know how
to start the conversation.
It ended up not mattering. After ten rings,
she hung up. There was no voicemail on the
hospital phone, which meant Ray likely wasn’t
in bed. She decided not to try his cell. He
was probably in the bathroom or at a physical
therapy session. She knew he’d been itching
to get moving again and had finally gotten
the go-ahead to start two days ago. Ray was
a former professional boxer and Keri was certain
he’d spend every available moment working
to get back in fighting, or at least working,
shape.
Unable to bounce her thoughts off her partner,
Keri tried to force the warehouse trip out
of her head and focus on the case at hand—missing
person Kendra Burlingame.
With one eye on the road and the other on
her phone’s GPS, Keri quickly wound her
way through the twisty Beverly Hills streets
up into the secluded part of the community
above the city. The higher into the hills
she got, the more winding the roads were and
the further back the homes got from the street.
Along the way, she reviewed what she knew
about the case so far. It wasn’t much.
Jeremy Burlingame, despite his profession
and where he lived, liked to keep a low profile.
It took some quick digging by co-workers back
at the station to learn the forty-one-year-old
was a renowned plastic surgeon known both
for doing cosmetic work on celebrities and
for offering pro-bono surgery to children
with facial deformities.
Kendra Burlingame, thirty-eight, had once
been a Hollywood publicist. But after marrying
Jeremy, she’d created and put all her energy
into a non-profit called All Smiles, which
raised money for the children’s surgeries
and coordinated all of their pre- and post-op
care.
They’d been married for seven years. Neither
had an arrest record. There was no known history
of marital discord, nor of drug or alcohol
abuse. On paper at least, they were the perfect
couple. Keri was immediately suspicious.
After several wrong turns, she finally pulled
up to the house at the end of Tower Road at
1:41, eleven minutes late.
To call it a house was an understatement.
It was more of a compound on a property that
seemed to cover several acres. From her vantage
point, she could see the entire city of Los
Angeles splayed out below her.
Keri took a moment to do something rare for
her—put on extra makeup. Removing the sling
had helped her appearance, but the yellowish
bruise near her eye was still noticeable.
So she dabbed it with some concealer until
it was almost invisible.
Satisfied, she pushed the buzzer next to the
security gate. As she waited for a response,
she noticed Detective Frank Brody’s maroon
and white Cadillac parked in the roundabout.
A female voice came over the gate intercom.
“Detective Locke?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Lupe Veracruz, the Burlingames’
housekeeper. Please enter and park next to
your partner. I’ll meet you and take you
to him and Dr. Burlingame.”
The gate opened and Keri eased in, parking
next to Frank’s immaculately maintained
vehicle. The Caddy was his baby. He was proud
of its outdated color scheme, its poor gas
mileage, and its whale-like size. He called
it a classic. To Keri, the car, like its owner,
was a dinosaur.
As she opened her car door, a petite, pleasant-looking
Hispanic woman in her late forties came out
to meet her. Keri got out of the car quickly,
not wanting to let the woman see her struggle
to navigate around her injured right shoulder.
From this point on, Keri considered herself
on enemy territory and at a potential crime
scene. She didn’t want to betray any sense
of weakness to Burlingame or anyone in his
orbit.
“This way, Detective,” Lupe said, getting
straight to business as she turned on her
heel and led Keri along a cobblestone path,
surrounded by immaculately manicured flowers.
Keri tried to keep up while stepping carefully.
With the injuries to her eye, shoulder, and
ribs, she still felt uncertain on uneven ground.
They passed a huge pool with two diving boards
and a lap lane. Next to it was a large pit,
with a massive pile of dirt beside it. A Bobcat
excavator sat idle nearby. Lupe saw her curiosity.
“The Burlingames are having a hot tub put
in. But the Moroccan tile they ordered is
on hold so the whole project is delayed.”
“I’m having the same problem,” Keri
said. Lupe didn’t laugh.
After several minutes, they reached a side
entrance to the main house, which led into
a large, airy kitchen. Keri could hear male
voices nearby. Lupe directed her around the
corner to what looked to be the breakfast
room. Detective Brody was standing, facing
in her direction, speaking to a man with his
back to her.
The man seemed to sense her arrival and turned
around before Lupe had the chance to announce
her. Keri, in full investigative mode, focused
on his eyes as he took her in. They were brown
and warm, with just a hint of redness around
the rims. He either had bad allergies or he’d
been crying recently. He forced an awkward
smile to his face, seemingly trapped between
the expected responsibility to be a good host
and the anxiety of the situation.
He was a nice-looking man, not quite attractive
but with an open, friendly face that gave
him an eager, boyish quality. Despite his
sport coat, Keri could tell he was in good
shape. He wasn’t overtly muscular but had
the lean wiry frame of an endurance athlete,
maybe a marathoner or a triathlete. He was
of average height, maybe five foot ten, and
about 170 pounds. His short-cropped brown
hair had the first, tiniest hints of gray.
“Detective Locke, thank you for coming,”
he said, walking forward and extending his
hand. “I’ve just been speaking to your
colleague.”
“Keri,” Frank Brody said, nodding curtly.
“We haven’t gotten into any details yet.
I wanted to wait until you arrived.”
It was subtle dig about her lateness masked
by what seemed like professional courtesy.
Keri, pretending not to notice, kept her focus
on the doctor.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Burlingame. I’m
sorry it’s under such difficult circumstances.
If you don’t mind, why don’t we get started
right away? In a missing persons case, every
minute is crucial.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Keri saw Brody
scowl, clearly annoyed that she had taken
over. She didn’t really give a shit.
“Of course,” Burlingame said. “Where
should we begin?”
“You gave us a rough outline of the timeline
over the phone. But I’d like you to walk
us through it in more detail if you could.
Why don’t you start with the last time you
saw your wife?”
Okay, it was yesterday morning and we were
in the bedroom—”
Keri jumped in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but can you take
us there? I’d like to be in the room as
you describe the events that occurred there.”
“Yes, of course. Should Lupe come as well?”
“We’ll speak to her separately,” Keri
said. Jeremy Burlingame nodded and led the
way up the stairs to the bedroom. Keri continued
to watch him closely. Her interruption a moment
earlier was only in part for the reason she
gave.
She also wanted to gauge how a well-regarded,
powerful doctor reacted to being repeatedly
ordered around by a female. At least so far,
it didn’t seem to faze him. He appeared
willing to do or say whatever she asked of
him if it would help.
As they walked she peppered him with additional
questions.
“Under normal circumstances, where would
your wife be right now?”
“Here in the house, I imagine, preparing
for tonight’s fundraiser.”
“What fundraiser is that?” Keri asked,
feigning ignorance.
“We have a foundation that funds reconstructive
surgery, mostly for children with facial irregularities,
but sometimes for adults recovering from burns
or accidents. Kendra runs the foundation and
holds two major galas a year. One was scheduled
for tonight at the Peninsula Hotel.”
“Is her car here at the house?” Brody
asked as they started up a long flight of
stairs.
“I honestly don’t know. I can’t believe
it didn’t occur to me to check. Let me ask
Lupe.”
He took out his cell phone and used what appeared
to be a walkie-talkie function.
“Lupe, do you know if Kendra’s car is
in the garage?” The response was almost
immediate.
“No, Dr. Burlingame. I checked when you
called earlier. It’s not there. Also, I
noticed one of her small travel bags was missing
from her closet when I was hanging some clothes.”
Burlingame looked perplexed.
“That’s odd,” he said.
“What is?” Keri asked.
“I just don’t see why she would have had
reason to take a travel bag anywhere. She
has a duffel that she uses when she goes to
the gym and she uses a garment bag if she
plans to change into a gown at a gala location.
She only uses the travel bags as carry-ons
when we’re actually traveling.”
After climbing the flight of stairs and going
down a long hallway, they reached the master
bedroom. Brody, winded from the long trip,
put his hands on his hips, stuck his chest
out, and breathed in heavily.
Keri took the room in. It was enormous, bigger
than her entire houseboat all by itself. The
four-poster king bed was made. A willowy,
sheer canopy surrounded it, making it look
like a square cloud. The large balcony, with
its door wide open, faced west, offering a
view of the Pacific Ocean.
A massive flat-screen TV, easily seventy-five
inches, hung on one wall. The other walls
were tastefully decorated with paintings and
photos of the happy couple. Keri walked over
to look at one.
They seemed to be on vacation, somewhere warm
with an ocean in the background. Jeremy wore
an untucked, wrinkle-free button-down pink
shirt with fitted plaid shorts. He had on
sunglasses and his smile was slightly goofy
and forced, that of a man uncomfortable having
his picture taken.
Kendra Burlingame wore a turquoise sundress
with stacked, block-heeled cage sandals that
looped around her ankles. Her tanned skin
popped against the dress. Her black hair was
tied in a loose ponytail and her sunglasses
rested on her head. She wore a broad smile,
as if she’d just been laughing and had only
barely managed to contain it. She was as tall
as her husband, with long legs and aquamarine
eyes that matched the water behind her. She
was leaning into him and his arm was casually
wrapped around her trim waist. She was stunningly
beautiful.
“So the last time you saw your wife was
when?” she asked. Her back was to Burlingame
but she could see his reflection in the glass
frame.
“In here,” he said, his worried face hiding
nothing from what she could tell. “It was
yesterday morning. I had to leave early to
go to San Diego to supervise a complicated
procedure. She was still in bed when I kissed
her goodbye. It was probably around six forty-five.”
“Was she awake when you left?” Brody asked.
“Yes. She had the TV on. She was watching
the local news to see what the weather would
be like for tonight’s gala.”
“And that’s the last time you saw her,
yesterday morning?” Keri asked again.
“Yes, Detective,” he said, sounding slightly
annoyed for the first time. “I’ve answered
that question several times now. May I ask
you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I know we have to go through everything
methodically here. But in the meantime, can
you please have your people check the GPS
in Kendra’s phone and car? Maybe that will
help locate her.”
Keri had been waiting for him to ask this
question. Of course, Hillman had ordered the
techs back at the station to begin that process
the moment they got the case. But she’d
been holding that detail back for this very
moment. She wanted to gauge his response to
her answer.
“It’s a good idea, Dr. Burlingame,”
she said, “which is why we’ve already
done it.”
“And what did you find?” Burlingame asked
hopefully.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? How could there be nothing?”
“It would appear that in both the phone
and the car, the GPS has been turned off.”
Keri, on full alert, watched closely for Burlingame’s
reaction.
He stared at her, stunned.
“Turned off? How is that possible?”
“It’s only possible if it was done intentionally,
by someone who didn’t want either the phone
or the car to be found.”
“Does that mean it was a kidnapper who didn’t
want her found?”
“That’s possible,” Brody answered. “Or
it could be that she didn’t want to be found.”
Burlingame’s expression went from stunned
to disbelieving.
“Are you suggesting that my wife left on
her own and tried to hide where she was going?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Brody
said.
“No. That doesn’t make any sense. Kendra
isn’t the kind of person to do that. Besides,
she had no reason to. Our marriage is good.
We love each other. She loves her work for
the foundation. She loves those kids. She
wouldn’t just up and abandon all of that.
I would know if there was something wrong.
I would know.”
To Keri’s ear, he sounded almost pleading,
like a man trying to convince himself. He
looked utterly lost.
“Are you sure about that, Doctor?” she
asked him. “Sometimes we keep secrets, even
from the ones we love. Is there someone else
she might have confided in, other than you?”
Burlingame seemed not to hear her. He sat
down on the end of the bed, shaking his head
slowly, as if that might somehow drive the
doubt from his mind.
“Dr. Burlingame?” Keri asked again softly.
“Um, yeah,” he said, rousing himself.
“Her best friend is Becky Sampson. They’ve
known each other since college. They went
to a high school reunion together a couple
of weeks ago and Kendra seemed a little rattled
after she came back but wouldn’t say why.
She lives off Robertson. Maybe Kendra mentioned
something to her.”
“All right, we’ll get in touch with her,”
Keri assured him. “In the meantime, we’re
going to have a crime scene unit come in and
do a thorough rundown of your house. We’ll
follow up on the last known location of your
wife’s car and phone before the GPS was
disabled. Are you hearing me, Dr. Burlingame?”
The man appeared to have gone into a numbed
stupor, staring straight ahead. At the sound
of his name, he blinked and seemed to return
to the moment.
“Yes, crime scene unit, GPS check. I understand.”
“We’ll also need to verify everything
about your whereabouts yesterday, including
your time in San Diego,” Keri said. “We’ll
need to contact everyone you dealt with down
there.”
“We just have to do our due diligence,”
Brody added, in a clunky attempt to be diplomatic.
“I understand. I’m sure the husband is
usually the main suspect when a woman disappears.
It makes sense. I’ll make a list of everyone
I interacted with and give you their numbers.
Do you need that now?”
“The sooner the better,” Keri said. “I
don’t mean to be harsh but you’re right,
Doctor—the husband is typically a prime
suspect. And the sooner we can eliminate you
as one, the quicker we can move on to other
theories. We’re going to have some officers
come out and secure the entire area. In the
interim, I’d appreciate it if you and Lupe
could join us in the courtyard where Detective
Brody and I parked. We’ll wait there until
backup can arrive and CSU can begin processing
the scene.”
Burlingame nodded and shuffled out of the
room. Then, suddenly, his head popped up and
he asked a question.
“How long does she have, Detective Locke,
assuming she was taken? I know there’s a
ticking clock on these things. How much time
do you realistically think she has?”
Keri looked at him hard. There was no guile
in his expression. He seemed to genuinely
be clinging to something rational and factual
to hold on to. It was a good question and
one she needed to answer for herself.
She did some quick mental math. The numbers
she came up with weren’t good. But she couldn’t
be that blunt with a potential victim’s
husband. So she softened it a bit without
lying.
“Look, Doctor. I’m not going to lie to
you. Every second counts. But we still have
a couple of days before the evidence trail
starts to grow cold. And we’re going to
pour major resources into finding your wife.
There’s still hope.”
But internally, the calculation was much less
encouraging. Usually, seventy-two hours was
the outer limit. So assuming she was taken
sometime yesterday morning, they had a little
less than forty-eight hours to find her. And
that was being optimistic.
CHAPTER FIVE
Keri walked down the Cedars-Sinai Medical
Center hallway as quickly as her aching body
would allow. Becky Sampson’s house was only
blocks away from the hospital so Keri didn’t
feel too guilty about making a quick pit stop
to check on Ray.
But as she approached his room, she could
feel the recent, familiar nervousness start
to churn in her gut. How were they going to
make things normal between them again, when
there was this silent secret they shared but
couldn’t acknowledge? As she reached his
room, Keri resolved on what she hoped would
be a temporary solution. She’d fake it.
The door was open and she could see that Ray
was asleep. There was no one else in the room.
The latest labor contract with the city stipulated
that hospitalized officers got private rooms
whenever available, so he had it pretty sweet.
The room had a view of the Hollywood Hills
and a big-screen TV, which was on but muted.
Some old movie with Sylvester Stallone competing
in an arm-wrestling competition filled the
screen.
No wonder he fell asleep.
Keri walked over and studied her sleeping
partner. Lying in bed, with a floral hospital
gown loose about his body, Ray Sands looked
much more frail than usual. Normally his six-foot-four,
230-pound African-American frame was intimidating,
as was his completely bald head. He’d more
than earned his sometime nickname of “Big.”
With his eyes closed, his right glass eye,
the one he’d lost in a boxing match years
ago, wasn’t noticeable. No one would guess
that the forty-year-old man now lying in a
hospital bed with an untouched bowl of red
Jell-O next to him had once been Ray “The
Sandman” Sands, an Olympic bronze medalist
and professional heavyweight contender once
considered a frontrunner to win the title.
Of course, that was before an underrated southpaw
with a brutal left hook had destroyed his
eye and ended his career at age twenty-eight
with one punch.
After flailing about for a while, Ray found
policing and worked his way up to become one
of the most highly regarded Missing Persons
investigators in the department. And with
Brody’s imminent retirement, he was in line
to take over his position in Robbery-Homicide.
Keri glanced out at the distant hills, wondering
what their status would be in six months,
when they were no longer partners or even
in the same unit. She pushed the thought away,
unwilling to imagine life without the one
steadying influence in her life since Evie
was taken.
Suddenly she sensed she was being watched.
She glanced down and saw that Ray was awake,
quietly staring at her.
“How’s it going, Smurfette?” he asked
playfully. They loved teasing each other about
their dramatic size difference.
“Okay, how are you feeling today, Shrek?”
“A little tired, to be honest. I had a big
workout a while ago. I walked all the way
down the hallway and back. Look out, LeBron
James, I’m on your heels.”
“Did they give you a timetable for when
they’re letting you out?” she asked.
“They said maybe end of the week, if things
keep progressing. Then it will be two weeks
of bed rest at home. If that goes well, I’ll
be allowed to assume desk duty on a limited
basis. Assuming I haven’t shot myself from
boredom before then.”
Keri sat quietly for a moment, mulling over
how to continue. Part of her wanted to tell
Ray to take it slow, not to push too hard
to get back to work. Of course, saying that
would be hypocritical, as that was exactly
what she’d done. And she knew he’d call
her on it.
But he had been shot while helping save her
life. She felt responsible. She felt protective
of him. And she felt other things she wasn’t
quite prepared to think about at the moment.
Ultimately, she decided that giving him a
distraction to focus on might be a better
way to go than lecturing him.
“Along those lines, I could use your help
with a case I just landed. You willing to
mix in a little analysis with your Jell-O?”
she asked.
“First of all, congrats on getting back
on field duty. Second, how about we skip the
Jell-O and go straight to the case?”
“Okay. Here are the basics. Kendra Burlingame,
Beverly Hills socialite wife of a successful
plastic surgeon, hasn’t been heard from
since yesterday morning—”
“What was yesterday again?” Ray interrupted.
“The pain meds have me a little loopy when
it comes to, you know, days of the week.”
“Yesterday was Monday, Sherlock,” Keri
said snarkily. “Her husband says he last
saw her at six forty-five a.m. before he went
to San Diego to supervise a surgery. It’s
currently two forty on Tuesday afternoon,
so that’s about thirty-two hours missing.”
“Assuming the husband’s telling the truth.
You know the first rule when it comes to missing
wives—the husband did it.”
Keri was annoyed that everyone, including
her seemingly enlightened partner, seemed
to constantly remind her of that. When she
responded, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm
out of her voice.
“Really, Ray, is that the first rule? Let
me write that one down because this is the
first time I’ve heard it. Any other pearls
of wisdom you care to offer, oh wise one?
Maybe that the sun is hot? Or that kale tastes
like aluminum foil?”
“I’m just saying—”
“Believe me, Ray, I know. And the guy is
currently suspect number one. But she could
have just run off too. I think that as a law
enforcement professional, it might be worthwhile
pursuing other leads, don’t you?”
“I do. That way, you have a leg to stand
on when you arrest him.”
“Nice to see you using your keen investigative
skills rather than just jumping to unfounded
conclusions,” Keri said mockingly, trying
not to smile.
“That’s how I roll. So what’s next on
the agenda?”
“I’m going to see Kendra’s best friend
when I leave here. Her place is just around
the corner. The husband said Kendra was acting
funny after the two of them returned from
a high school reunion.”
“Is anyone checking on the doctor’s trip
to San Diego?”
“Brody’s headed down there now.”
“You got partnered with Frank Brody on this?”
Ray said, trying not to laugh. “No wonder
you’d rather spend time with an invalid.
How’s that going?”
“Why do you think I didn’t object when
he offered to go to San Diego? The local guys
down there could have just as easily followed
up but he insisted and I figured it would
keep him and his maroon atrocity of a car
out of my way for a while. Besides, I’d
rather spend time in the company of a worn-out,
weak-muscled, bed-ridden sad sack like yourself
than Brody any day.”
All the banter had lulled Keri into a sense
of comfort and she realized, too late, that
her last comment had sent them right back
to the awkward place. Ray was silent for a
moment, then opened his mouth to speak but
Keri got there first.
“Anyway, I should be heading out. I was
supposed to be meeting Kendra’s friend right
about now. I’ll check in with you later.
Take it slow, okay?”
She left without waiting for a response. As
she rushed down the hall to catch the elevator,
she kept repeating one word over and over
again.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
CHAPTER SIX
Still feeling flushed with embarrassment,
Keri drove the short distance to Becky Sampson’s
house. She caught sight of her blushing face
in the rearview mirror and looked away quickly,
trying to think of anything other than how
she’d left things with Ray. It occurred
to her that she’d rushed out so quickly,
she forgot to tell him about the anonymous
call regarding Evie and her trip to the abandoned
warehouse.
This case, Keri. Keep your mind on this case.
She considered calling Detective Kevin Edgerton,
the tech expert who was tracing Kendra’s
last known GPS location, to see if he’d
had any luck.
Part of her was annoyed that having Edgerton
work on this was taking him away from trying
to break the code on Alan Pachanga’s laptop.
Again, frustration coursed through her as
she remembered how they had initially thought
they’d accessed an entire network of abductors,
only to hit wall after wall.
Keri was certain that the cipher she needed
was somewhere in the files of Pachanga’s
lawyer, Jackson Cave. She resolved that she
was going to pay Cave a visit today, case
or not.
As she made that pledge, she pulled up to
Becky Sampson’s place.
Time to set Cave aside for now. Kendra Burlingame
needs my help. Stay focused.
She got out of her car and took in the neighborhood
as she walked up to the main door of the apartment
complex. Becky Sampson lived in a three-story
Tudor-style building. The entire street, North
Stanley Drive, was lined with similarly faux-ornate
complexes.
This part of Beverly Hills, just south of
Cedars-Sinai and Burton Way and west of Robertson
Boulevard, was technically within the city
limits. But as it was surrounded by commercial
districts and abutting the city of Los Angeles,
rent was significantly lower than in other
sections of town. Still, the mailing address
said Beverly Hills and that had its perks.
Keri buzzed Becky’s unit and was let in
right away. Once she was inside, it became
apparent that the zip code was the major selling
point of the place. It certainly wasn’t
the actual building. As she walked down the
hall to the elevator, Keri took in the peeling
light pink paint on the walls and the thick,
mottled carpeting. Everything smelled moldy.
The elevator smelled even worse, like it had
suffered through multiple vomit-related incidents
over the years and could no longer hide the
scent. It jerked unsteadily up until it reached
the third floor and the doors rattled open.
Keri stepped out, deciding to take the stairs
on the way down, even if her ribs and shoulder
would hate her for it.
She knocked on the door to unit 323, undid
the clasp on her weapon, rested her hand over
it unobtrusively, and waited. The sound of
dishes being dumped unceremoniously in a sink
was easy to identify, as was the thud as whatever
had been lying on the floor was tossed in
a closet.
Now she’s checking herself in a mirror near
the front door. There’s the shadow across
the peephole as she checks me out and the
door should open in three, two…
Keri heard a lock turn and the door opened
to reveal a thin, harried-looking woman. She
must have been about the same age as Kendra
if they’d gone to a reunion together but
she looked much older, closer to fifty than
forty. Her hair was a mousy brown, clearly
dyed, and her brown eyes were as bloodshot
as Keri’s usually were. The word that immediately
came to mind to describe her was jumpy.
“Becky Sampson?” she asked by way of protocol,
although the driver’s license photo she’d
been sent en route clearly matched. Her right
hand continued to rest on the butt of her
gun.
“Yes. Detective Locke? Come on in.”
Keri stepped inside, keeping some distance
between her and Becky. Even rail-thin Beverly
Hills wannabes could do damage if you let
your guard down. She tried not to scrunch
her nose up at the musty scent that dominated
the place.
“Can I offer you anything?” Becky asked.
“I’d love a glass of water,” Keri answered,
less because she wanted one than because it
allowed her to more fully take in the apartment
while her hostess was in the kitchen.
With windows closed and the blinds drawn,
the unit felt suffocating. Everything seemed
to have a layer of dust on it, from the end
tables to the bookshelves to the couch. Keri
stepped into the living room and noticed that
she was mistaken.
One part of the coffee table was shiny, as
if it was in constant use. On the floor in
front of that spot, Keri noticed several specks
of what looked like white powder. She knelt
down, ignoring the screaming pain in her ribs,
and glanced under the table. She could see
a partially rolled up one-dollar bill, covered
in whitish residue. She heard the water faucet
turn off and stood up before Becky reentered
the room with two glasses of water.
Clearly surprised to see her guest so far
away from the front door, Becky gave her a
suspicious look before involuntarily glancing
down at the clear spot on the table.
“You mind if I sit down?” Keri asked casually.
“I’ve got a broken rib and it hurts to
stand for too long.”
“Sure,” Becky said, seemingly placated.
“How did that happen?”
“A child kidnapper beat me up.”
Becky’s eyes widened in shock.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Keri reassured her.
“I shot him to death after that.”
Sufficiently confident that she had Becky
off guard, she dove in.
“So I told you over the phone that I needed
to talk to you about Kendra Burlingame. She’s
gone missing. Any idea where she might be?”
If possible, Becky’s eyes widened even more
than before.
“What?”
“She hasn’t been heard from since yesterday
morning. When is the last time you spoke to
her?”
Becky tried to answer but suddenly began coughing
and wheezing. After a few moments, she recovered
enough to speak.
“We went shopping on Saturday afternoon.
She was looking for a new dress for the fundraising
gala tonight. Are you really sure she’s
missing?”
“We’re sure. What was her demeanor like
on Saturday? Did she seem anxious about anything?”
“Not really,” Becky answered as she sniffed
and reached for a tissue. “I mean, there
were some minor hiccups with the fundraiser
that she was dealing with, calls with caterers
and so on. But it wasn’t anything she hadn’t
dealt with a million times. She didn’t seem
that bothered.”
“How was it for you, Becky, listening to
her make those calls about a fancy gala while
she bought an expensive dress?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re her best friend, right?”
Becky nodded. “For almost twenty-five years,”
she said.
“And she lives in a mansion up in the hills
and you’re in this one-bedroom apartment.
You don’t ever get jealous?”
She watched Becky closely as she answered.
The other woman took a sip of her water, but
coughed as if some of it had gone down the
wrong pipe. After a few seconds, she answered.
“I do get jealous sometimes. I’ll admit
that. But it’s not Kendra’s fault that
things haven’t gone as well for me. Truthfully,
it’s hard to ever get upset with her. She’s
the nicest person I know. I’ve dealt with
some…issues and she’s always been there
for me when things got rough.”
Keri suspected what those “issues” might
be but said nothing. Becky continued.
“Besides, she’s very generous without
lording it over me. That’s a tough line
to walk. She actually bought me the dress
I’m wearing for the gala tonight, assuming
it’s even still happening. Do you know if
it is?”
“I don’t,” Keri replied brusquely. “Tell
me about her relationship with Jeremy. What
was their marriage like?”
“It was good. They’re great partners,
a really effective team.”
“That doesn’t sound very romantic. Is
it a marriage or a corporation?”
“I don’t think they were ever a super-passionate
couple. Jeremy’s a very buttoned-down, matter-of-fact
kind of guy. And Kendra went through her sexy,
wild-guy phase in her twenties. I think she
was happy to have a stable, sweet guy she
could count on. I know she loves him. But
it’s not Romeo and Juliet or anything, if
that’s what you mean.”
“Okay, so did she ever long for that passion?
Could she have maybe gone looking for it,
say on a high school reunion trip?” Keri
asked.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Jeremy said that she seemed a little rattled
after she returned from yours.”
“Oh, that,” Becky said, sniffing again
before breaking out in another brief coughing
fit.
As she tried to regain control, Keri noticed
a cockroach scurry across the floor and tried
to ignore it. When Becky recovered, she continued.
“Trust me, she wasn’t messing around on
the trip. In fact, it was the opposite. An
ex-boyfriend of hers, a guy named Coy Brenner,
kept coming on to her. She was polite but
he was pretty relentless.”
“How relentless?”
“Like, to the point of being uncomfortable.
He was one of those wild guys I told you about.
Anyway, he just wouldn’t take no for an
answer. At the end of the reunion, he said
something about looking her up in town. I
think it really got to her.”
“Does he live here?”
“He lived in Phoenix for a long time. That’s
where the reunion was. We all grew up there.
But he mentioned something about moving to
San Pedro recently—said he was working down
at the port.”
“How long ago was this reunion?”
“Two weeks,” Becky said. “Do you really
think he had something to do with this?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll run it down.
Where can I find you if I need to get in touch
again?”
“I work at a casting agency over on Robertson,
across from The Ivy. It’s about a ten-minute
walk from here. But I always have my cell.
Please don’t hesitate to call. Anything
I can do to help, just ask. She’s like a
sister to me.”
Keri looked hard at Becky Sampson, trying
to decide whether to call her on the elephant
in the room. The constant sniffing and coughing,
the total disregard for maintaining a livable
home, the white residue and rolled up bill
on the floor all suggested that the woman
was deep into cocaine addiction.
“Thanks for your time,” she finally said,
deciding to hold off for now.
Becky’s situation might prove useful later.
But there was no need to use it yet, when
it served no tactical advantage. Keri left
the apartment and took the stairs down, despite
the jarring twinges in her shoulder and ribs.
She felt slightly guilty for keeping Becky’s
coke problem as a potential card to play down
the road. But the guilt faded quickly as she
left the building and breathed in the fresh
air. She was a police detective, not a drug
counselor. Anything that could help her solve
the case was fair game.
As she pulled out into traffic and headed
for the freeway, she called into the office.
She needed everything they had on Kendra’s
aggressively interested ex-boyfriend, Coy
Brenner. She was about to pay him an unannounced
visit.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Keri tried to keep her cool even as she felt
her blood pressure rising. Rush hour traffic
was starting to back up as she made her way
south on the 110 to the Port of Los Angeles
in San Pedro. It was after four in the afternoon
and even using the carpool lane and her siren,
progress was slow.
She finally got off the freeway and wended
her way through the complicated basin roads
to the administration building on Palos Verdes
Street. There she was supposed to meet her
port police liaison, who would assign her
two officers as backup when she interviewed
Brenner. Port police participation was required
since she was in their jurisdiction.
Normally Keri chafed at that kind of bureaucratic
requirement but for once she didn’t mind
having backup. She usually felt pretty confident
going up against any possible suspect, as
she was trained in Krav Maga and had even
taken some boxing lessons from Ray. But with
her gimpy shoulder and battered ribs, she
wasn’t as sure of herself as usual. And
Brenner didn’t sound like a pushover.
According to Detective Manny Suarez back at
the precinct, who ran a background check for
Keri while she was on the road, Coy Brenner
was a piece of work. He’d been arrested
a half dozen times over the years, twice for
drunk driving, once for theft, twice for assault,
and most impressively for fraud, which had
earned him his longest stint behind bars,
six months. That was four years ago and since
he wasn’t allowed to leave the state for
five, he was technically in violation of his
parole.
Now he was a dockworker at pier 400. Even
though he’d hinted to Becky and Kendra that
he’d just moved to San Pedro in the last
few weeks, records showed that he’d been
living in a Long Beach apartment for over
three months.
The port police liaison, Sergeant Mike Covey,
and his two officers were waiting for her
when she arrived. Covey was a tall, thin balding
man in his late forties with a no-guff demeanor
to him. She’d briefed him over the phone
and he’d obviously done the same with his
men.
“Brenner’s shift ends at four thirty,”
Covey told her after they’d exchanged introductions.
“Since it’s already four fifteen, I called
the pier manager and told him not to let the
crew out early. He’s been known to do that.”
“I appreciate it. I guess we should head
right over. I want to get a look at the guy
before I interview him.”
“Understood. If you want, we can take your
car over first to arouse less suspicion. Officers
Kuntsler and Rodriguez can follow separately
in the squad car. We patrol the piers constantly
so having them in the area won’t seem odd
to your suspect. But if he sees an unfamiliar
face get out of one of our vehicles, it might
raise eyebrows.”
“That sounds good,” Keri agreed, appreciative
that she wasn’t facing a turf war. She knew
it was likely because the port police hated
bad publicity. They would happily dispose
of this thing quietly, even if meant ceding
authority to another agency.
Keri followed Sergeant Covey’s directions
across the Vincent Thomas Bridge and to the
visitor parking area for pier 400. It took
longer than Keri expected and they arrived
at 4:28. Covey spoke into the radio, telling
the pier manager he could release the crew.
“Brenner should walk right across our line
of sight to the employee parking area any
minute,” he said. As he spoke, the squad
car passed by them and started a long, slow
casual loop along the road circling the pier.
It seemed completely unremarkable.
Keri watched the dockworkers file out of the
pier warehouse. One guy realized he’d left
his hardhat on and jogged back to return it.
Two others ran across the broad expanse, clearly
racing each other to their cars. The rest
walked in a large group, apparently in no
hurry.
“There’s your guy,” Covey said, nodding
in the direction of the one guy walking alone.
Coy Brenner bore only a passing resemblance
to the man in the mug shot from his arrest
in Arizona four years earlier. That man had
a lean and hungry look, with longish, shaggy
brown hair and a hint of stubble.
The guy lumbering across the parking lot now
had put on about twenty pounds in the intervening
years. His hair was cropped short and his
stubble was now a full-on beard. He wore blue
jeans and a lumberjack-style shirt and walked
with his head down and a grimace on his face.
Coy Brenner didn’t strike her as a man happy
with his lot in life.
“Can you hang back, Sergeant Covey? I want
to see how he reacts when confronted solo
by a female cop.”
“Sure. I’ll head over to the warehouse
for now. I’ll tell the boys to stay back
as well. Give a wave when you want us to join
you.”
“Will do.”
Keri got out of her car, threw on a blazer
to hide her gun, and followed Brenner from
a distance, not wanting to make her presence
known just yet. He seemed oblivious to her,
lost in his own thoughts. By the time he reached
his old pickup truck, she was almost on him.
She felt her phone buzz with a text and tensed
up. But he obviously didn’t hear it.
“How ya doin’, Coy?” she asked coquettishly.
He spun around, clearly taken by surprise.
Keri removed her sunglasses, gave him a broad
smile, and placed her hand on her hip playfully.
“Hi?” he asked more than said.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?
It’s only been about fifteen years. You
are Coy Brenner from Phoenix, right?”
“Yeah. Did we go to school together or something?”
“No. Our time together was educational,
but not in a school kind of way, if you know
what I mean. I’m starting to get offended
a little bit here.”
I’m really laying it on thick here. Maybe
I’ve lost my touch.
But Coy’s face softened and Keri could tell
she’d hit pay dirt.
“Sorry—long day and lots of years,”
he said. “I’d be happy to get reacquainted.
What was your name again?” He seemed genuinely
perplexed.
“Keri. Keri Locke.”
“I’m really surprised that I can’t place
you, Keri. You seem like the kind of girl
I’d remember. What are you doing all the
way out here?”
“I can’t stand the heat back in Arizona.
I work for the city now. Case work—kind
of boring. What about you?”
“You’re looking at what I do.”
“A boy from the desert ends up working by
the water. What made that happen? Looking
to break into the movies? Wanted to learn
to surf? Following a girl?”
She kept the tone light but watched closely
for his reaction to that last question. His
bemused but intrigued expression immediately
disappeared, replaced by one of wariness.
“I’m really having trouble placing you,
Keri. Remind me again when we hung out?”
There was a sharpness to his tone that hadn’t
been there a moment before.
Keri could sense her ruse was wearing thin
and decided to poke a little more aggressively.
“Maybe you don’t remember me because I
don’t look like Kendra. Is that it, Coy?
You only have eyes for her?”
Those eyes turned quickly from wary to angry
and he took a step forward. Keri watched his
fists clench involuntarily. She didn’t flinch.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “What
is this?”
“I’m just making conversation, Coy. Why
so rude all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know you,” he said, now outright
hostile. “Who sent you, her husband? Are
you some kind private investigator?”
“What if I was? Would I have something to
investigate? Is there something you want to
get off your chest, Coy?”
He took another step toward her. Their faces
were less than a foot apart now. Rather than
shrink, Keri squared her shoulders and lifted
her chin defiantly.
“I think you’ve made a terrible mistake
coming here, lady,” Coy growled. His back
was to the squad car, which had slowly rolled
up behind him and was now idling twenty feet
away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Keri could see
Sergeant Covey cautiously making his way over
from the warehouse, careful to stay behind
Coy as well. She felt a sudden urge to wave
in their direction but forced the feeling
down.
It’s now or never.
“What did you do to Kendra, Coy?” she
demanded, any trace of playfulness gone from
her voice. She stared hard at him, hand once
again brushing the butt of her gun, ready
for anything.
At her question, his eyes went from angry
to surprised and she could tell he had no
idea what she was talking about. He took a
step back.
“What?”
She immediately sensed that he wasn’t the
guy, but pressed on just in case.
“Kendra Burlingame has gone missing and
I hear you’re her personal stalker. So if
you’ve done something to her, now would
be the time to come clean. If you cooperate,
I can help you. If you don’t, it could get
very bad for you.”
Coy was staring at her but he didn’t seem
to be fully processing what she said. He was
oblivious to Sergeant Covey moving to within
a few steps behind him. The veteran officer’s
hand rested on his gun hip. He didn’t look
trigger-happy, just prepared.
“Kendra’s missing?” Coy asked, sounding
like a kid who’d just learned his dog had
been put down.
“When’s the last time you saw her, Coy?”
“The reunion—I told her I would look her
up here in LA. But I could tell she didn’t
want any part of me. She looked embarrassed
for me. I didn’t want to see that look on
her face again so I just dropped it.”
“You didn’t want to punish the woman who
made you feel that way?”
“She didn’t make me feel that way. I’m
ashamed of what I’ve become without any
help from her. It was just seeing how far
I’d fallen in her view—it was a real eye-opener,
you know? I’ve been lying to myself about
being this cool, tough guy for a long time.
It took Kendra for me to see myself as the
loser I really am.”
He looked at her desperately, hoping to make
some kind of connection. But Keri didn’t
feel like exploring this guy’s inner demons.
She had enough shame of her own that she didn’t
want to deal with someone else’s.
“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday,
Coy?” she asked, changing the subject. Realizing
he wasn’t going to get any sympathy from
her, he nodded.
“I was here all day. I’m sure my boss
can verify it.”
“We can check on that,” Sergeant Covey
said. Coy jumped slightly at the unexpected
voice behind him. He turned around, surprised
to see Covey within feet of him and the squad
car with Kuntsler and Rodriguez not much farther
away.
“So I guess you’re a cop, then?” Coy
said, looking downtrodden.
“I am—LAPD Missing Persons.”
“I hope you find her. Kendra’s a great
gal. The world’s a better place because
of her and she deserves to be happy. I always
held a torch for her. But I knew she was out
of my league so I never got my hopes up. If
there’s anything else I can do to help,
let me know.”
“Detective Locke,” Sergeant Covey interjected,
“unless you have additional questions, I’m
happy to follow up on his alibi. I know you
have other avenues of investigation you want
to explore. Besides, we need to do some paperwork
to process Mr. Brenner for separation. He
lied on his application about his parole status
and that’s cause for termination.”
Keri saw Brenner’s face sag even more. He
was truly pathetic. And now he was unemployed
on top of it. She tried to shake away the
feeling that she was partly responsible for
that.
“I’d appreciate that, Sergeant. I do need
to get back and this looks like a dead end.
Thanks for all your help.”
As Covey and the officers led Coy Brenner
back to the warehouse for interrogation, Keri
got in her car and checked the text she received
earlier.
It was from Brody. It read:
GALA STILL ON. GREAT CHANCE FOR INTERVIEWS.
MEET YOU THERE. DRESS SEXY.
Brody continued to amaze her with his lack
of insight and professionalism. In addition
to being an unrepentant sexist, he didn’t
seem to get that a fundraiser whose hostess
was missing wasn’t the ideal venue to get
her friends and colleagues to bare their souls.
Besides that, I don’t even have anything
to wear.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.
If she was being honest with herself, Keri
had to admit that part of her dread was because
this was exactly the sort of event she went
to all the time back when she was a respected
professor, the wife of a successful talent
agent, and the mother of an adorable little
girl. Going to this thing would be a bright,
shiny, painful reminder of her life before
she lost Evie.
Sometimes she hated this job.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Keri’s stomach was a churning pit of anxiety
as she sat in the waiting room of Jackson
Cave’s law firm. He’d made her wait twenty
minutes already, long enough for her to repeatedly
rethink whether this was a good decision.
She’d been on the way back from San Pedro,
calculating how long it would take her to
get to the houseboat to change into an evening
gown and then to Beverly Hills for the All
Smiles fundraiser. But as she headed north,
she saw the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles
in the distance and a powerful urge took over.
She found herself driving to Cave’s office,
without any kind of plan to fall back on.
On the way there, she’d called Brody so
they could debrief each other. After she filled
him in on the Coy Brenner dead end, he told
her about San Diego.
“Jeremy Burlingame’s alibi checks out.
He was in surgery all day yesterday. Apparently
he was supervising some doctors down there,
teaching them a new facial reconstruction
procedure.”
“All right, listen, traffic’s a real bitch
here,” Keri said. It was partly true but
also an excuse for her to stop at Cave’s.
“So if you get to the gala before me, please
just scope the place out. Don’t start interrogating
people.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job, Locke?”
“No, Brody. But I am suggesting that going
into this place like a bull in a china shop
might be counterproductive. Some of these
socialite women would probably open up more
to another chick in a dress than to a guy
whose longest relationship has been with his
car.”
“Screw you, Locke. I’ll talk to whoever
I want,” Brody said indignantly. But she
could hear in his voice that he had doubts
about how good an idea that was.
“Suit yourself,” Keri replied. “See
you there.”
Now, a full half hour later, she still hadn’t
gotten in to see Cave. It was almost 5:30.
She decided to take advantage of the lull
to look around. She walked up to the reception
desk.
“Do you know how much longer Mr. Cave is
going to be?” she asked the secretary, who
shook her head apologetically. “Then can
you tell me where the restroom is, please?”
“Down the hall to the left.”
Keri headed that way, her eyes alert for any
detail that could work to her advantage. Directly
across from the women’s restroom was a door
marked Exit. She opened it and saw that it
opened into the same hallway she’d come
down to get to the main entrance of the firm.
Glancing around and seeing no one in the hall,
she pulled a tissue out of her purse and shoved
it into the tube latch hole so that it couldn’t
lock automatically. Then she stepped into
the restroom briefly for the sake of appearance.
When she returned to the lobby, an attractive
woman in a crisp business suit was waiting
to lead her to Jackson Cave’s office. As
she followed the woman, she tried to keep
her heart from beating out of her chest. She
was about to meet with the man who might hold
the key to getting crucial information about
Evie’s whereabouts and she had no game plan.
The only other time she’d met with Jackson
Cave had been at a police station in a small
mountain town. He’d come to try to bail
out his client, Payton Penn, the brother of
California Senator Stafford Penn. Ultimately,
she discovered that Penn had hired Alan Pachanga
to abduct his niece, Ashley. Things had gone
her way back in that mountain town, but now
she was in enemy territory and she could sense
it.
Jackson Cave was known throughout most of
the city for his reputation representing major
corporate clients. But to law enforcement,
his pro-bono work defending rapists, pedophiles,
and child abductors was his claim to infamy.
Keri was immediately suspicious of a man like
that. It was one thing to defend a murder
suspect in a death row case or some desperate
guy who robbed a bank to support his family.
But to exclusively and enthusiastically represent
the worst perpetrators of sexual violence
that the city had to offer, free of charge,
struck her as an odd choice.
Nonetheless, Keri hoped to put his work to
her advantage. She knew that somewhere in
Cave’s possession must be a cipher that
could crack the code to Alan Pachanga’s
computer. If she could find it, that could
lead her to information on a whole network
of abductors for hire. It might even include
something about the man who’d taken Evie,
a man she believed went by the name “The
Collector.”
Everything about the place was designed to
intimidate. The firm itself consumed the entire
seventieth floor of the seventy-three-story
US Bank Tower. There were floor-to-ceiling
windows everywhere, looking out on the vastness
of Los Angeles. Expensive art covered the
walls. All the furniture was leather and mahogany.
They finally reached an unmarked office at
the end of the hall and the woman led her
in. It was empty. Keri was directed to a plush
chair across from Cave’s desk, which was
immaculate.
Left alone, she glanced around, trying to
glean something about the man from his surroundings.
There were no personal photos on his desk
or credenza. On the wall were some photos
of Cave with movers and shakers such as the
mayor, several city councilmen, and a few
celebrities. His college (USC) and law school
(Harvard) diplomas were displayed as well.
But nothing gave a sense of the man or his
passions.
Before Keri could study the room further,
Jackson Cave walked in. She stood up quickly.
He was just as she remembered him from their
last meeting. His coal black hair was slicked
back like Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. His
blindingly white teeth filled out a mouth
twisted into a fake, plastic smile. His tan
skin gleamed underneath his navy Michael Kors
suit. And his penetrating blue eyes glinted
with a fierceness that reminded her of an
eagle hunting prey.
And then, in a flash, she knew her course
of action. Jackson Cave, with his personal
photos with power players and his immaculate
grooming and attire, was a man who cared about
how he was perceived. He made his living off
winning people over—politicians, juries,
the media. And Keri knew he wanted to win
her over too. It was his nature.
I have to undermine that goal. I have to come
at him hard and fast, upend his expectations,
keep him off balance. The only way I’m going
to poke through his armor and get him to slip
up is if I jab him in enough places. Maybe
then he’ll say something inadvertently that
could lead me to crack the cipher.
If she could get him upset, or even just annoyed,
maybe he’d make a mistake and inadvertently
reveal something important. Considering she
already despised the man, it wasn’t a big
lift. She just had to amp it up and look for
cracks in his perfect façade. She didn’t
know exactly what those cracks might be, but
if she stayed alert, she was sure she’d
find something.
“Detective Keri Locke,” he said as he
swept past her to his side of the desk, “what
an unexpected surprise. It was only a few
weeks ago that we chatting in the fresh mountain
air. And now you’ve consented to visit me
here in the concrete jungle. To what do I
owe the honor?”
Before speaking, Keri took a step toward one
of the photos of Cave with a local dignitary
so that her back was to him. She did it partly
to show that she was in charge of the meeting,
partly to get under his skin by refusing to
look at him directly, and partly because her
ribs were starting to ache again and she didn’t
want him to see her gritting her teeth in
discomfort.
“Sorry to bother you, counselor. I know
you must be busy, preparing to defend an accomplice
to child abduction.”
“Alleged, Detective. Alleged accomplice.”
She ignored his comment and continued.
“I came down here to ask you a question.
Why is it, with so many powerful corporate
clients at your disposal, you insist on representing
the dregs of society?”
She glanced casually over her shoulder as
if she didn’t have a care in the world but
focused intently on Cave’s eyes, looking
for any sign of distress. He offered none.
Clearly, he was used to these kinds of put-downs.
“Everybody deserves quality representation,
Detective. It’s in the constitution—sixth
amendment. Look it up.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cave,” she said,
returning her attention to the wall of photos.
“But you could represent any kind of defendant
and yet you seem drawn to those who engage
in violent behavior toward women and children.
Why is that?”
“Something for me to work out with my therapist,
I suppose.” He sounded relaxed, completely
unruffled.
This isn’t working. He’s too practiced
at batting away attacks about his clients.
I have to poke somewhere else.
“That’s a cute quip, Mr. Cave. I’ll
bet it’s one you use when defending your
work to folks like him,” she said, pointing
at the city councilman in the photo she’d
been looking at. She turned quickly to see
his reaction and saw that he still seemed
unfazed.
“Is this what you came here for, Detective—to
try to guilt-trip me? How boring…and disappointing.
I expected more of you.”
“Sorry to disappoint. But I can’t help
wonder why these people aren’t more reluctant
to be seen with you. After all, isn’t that
the CEO of a major rape crisis center in that
picture with you?” she asked, pointing to
an older woman almost melting into Cave as
he wrapped his arm around her.
“Lovely lady,” he said, unperturbed. “Nice
gams too.”
“And this gentleman, the monsignor,” Keri
continued. “I’m wondering if he had to
go to confession after meeting with you. Or
at least take a Silkwood shower.”
She was surprised that Cave didn’t come
back at her with another blasé reply. In
fact, she noticed that he’d visibly tensed.
The plastic smile still covered his face.
But for the briefest of seconds she saw something
in those blue eyes she couldn’t quite identify.
He regrouped quickly, regaining his normal
expression, and stepped around to her side
of the desk.
“This has been wonderfully fun,” he said,
“but unfortunately, I still have a lot of
work to do tonight. And unless you’re here
for some reason other than to attack my personal
character, I’m going to have to end our
little get-together.”
He pushed a buzzer and the woman who had brought
Keri in immediately appeared to take her away.
“This way please, ma’am,” she said politely
but firmly. “They can validate you at the
front desk.”
As she walked out the door, Cave called after
her with an almost musical lilt in his voice.
“Don’t be a stranger, Keri.”
Oh, don’t worry, you smug bastard, I won’t.
In fact, I plan to be back here again much
sooner than you think.
Keri smiled to herself as she took the elevator
downstairs. Even the prospect of driving across
town to get a gown and then interrogate rich
women looking down their noses at her didn’t
perturb her at that moment.
It didn’t bother her because she had figured
out what she had seen in Cave’s eyes in
that moment when she’d commented on the
photo with the monsignor.
It was panic.
And it gave her the insight she needed.
Behind it, she knew, was the key to finding
her daughter.
CHAPTER NINE
Keri stared at herself in the restroom mirror
for what felt like the hundredth time. Her
stomach was doing somersaults and her mouth
was dry.
Outside the door, she could hear the fundraising
gala attendees chatting away. But inside the
family restroom near the Peninsula Hotel Verandah
Ballroom, Keri Locke tried to convince herself
that she could get away with wearing the form-fitting,
one-shoulder black evening gown she had on.
It was the one fancy dress she still had from
her previous life.
She had taken off the rib-protecting wraps
as there was no way she could fit into the
dress with them on. Even if she could have,
they would have made her look like the Stay
Puft Marshmallow Man.
She had tied her hair back in a loose bun
that looked dressier than her usual ponytail.
She also wore a pair of short black heels,
a concession to the event that would still
allow her to move around without too much
discomfort.
She stepped back for one last look.
Come on, Keri. You’re here as a cop investigating
a possible crime. You could show up at this
thing in a camouflage pantsuit and these people
would defer to you. You’re doing this to
blend in and keep people at ease. But you
are in charge. Act like it.
With that in mind, she stepped out into the
hall and made her way to the ballroom, armed
with a list Becky Sampson had given her of
Kendra’s best friends among the socialite
set. But before she could seek them out, she
saw Brody across the room. Ignoring the string
quartet in the middle of the room, she made
her way past the staff serving small bites
and champagne, and through the throng of tuxedos
and cocktail dresses to meet him.
He was wearing the same rumpled, sauce-stained
suit from this morning. Part of her admired
that but another part thought it might be
an impediment to getting these people’s
trust. She was pretty sure her instinct was
right.
“I just got a call from that nerd Edgerton,”
he said without so much as a hello. “They
traced the GPS on Kendra’s car and phone
to their last known location before they were
both disabled—a bus station parking structure
in Palm Springs. There was nothing incriminating
in the car. Palm Springs PD is searching the
area for any sign of her but hasn’t found
anything yet. They’re checking video of
the bus station and ticket sales to see if
anything pops. But it’s looking like Kendra
Burlingame and her ‘only for traveling’
travel bag might have taken an actual trip,
just one the doctor didn’t know about.”
Keri took in what Brody was saying as she
looked around the elegant ballroom full of
pretty people. It was hard to argue with his
logic. But something about it didn’t feel
right.
Kendra Burlingame struck Keri as the kind
of person who was fully committed to this
organization. If she wanted to bail on her
life, why not wait a day or two, until after
she was sure the fundraiser had achieved its
purpose? Why abandon her project before it
was complete? It wasn’t inconceivable but
it didn’t sit right.
“You may be right, Brody. But we’re here,
so we may as well play this out. Let’s talk
to folks to see why she might have wanted
to cut and run or if they even think that’s
in her character.”
Brody nodded his acquiescence.
“You want to take the chicks and I’ll
talk to the penguins?” he asked.
Keri nodded, not wanting to get into a dispute
about gender stereotyping at the moment. Besides,
everyone on Becky’s list was a woman anyway.
She found the event manager, a mousy, frazzled
woman wearing glasses that kept sliding down
her nose, who matched names on paper to faces
in the room for her. Then Keri began the hard
work of interrogating a bunch of rich women
about their missing friend while at that missing
friend’s charity event.
After about a half hour, it became clear that
none of these women had any real insight into
Kendra’s personal life. All they could offer
were pleasant platitudes and stock words of
concern.
Right when she was about to give up, the event
manager walked over and pointed out a woman
in a tight, strapless red dress who had just
walked in.
“That woman wasn’t on your list but I
know she and Mrs. Burlingame were close. In
fact, she was here last week with her, helping
coordinate details for the event.”
“What’s her name?”
“Margaret Merrywether—although she may
tell you something different.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out. I’m sure she’s a
great friend, but to a girl like me, she’s
your basic nightmare.”
“Thank you,” Keri said and headed in Margaret’s
direction. As she approached her, she couldn’t
help but wonder why Becky had left her off
the list. In fact, she realized that Becky
wasn’t even here yet. Maybe she was dealing
with a cocaine-related delay.
The closer she got to Margaret Merrywether,
the more she realized she was about to be
dealing with a piece of work. The woman was
tall, easily six feet, with porcelain white
skin and flaming red hair that matched her
dress.
Unlike the sophisticated but subdued evening
gowns the other women wore, hers revealed
her creamy white shoulders and a provocative,
plunging neckline. Her black stiletto heels
were easily six inches high. She looked like
an elegant Amazon.
Keri looked up to discover that the woman’s
sharp green eyes were focused on her, a hint
of a smile playing at her ruby red lips. She
had caught Keri taking her in and they both
knew it.
No point in playing coy at this point.
“Detective Keri Locke,” she said, extending
her hand. “I’m with LAPD’s Missing Persons
Unit.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Margaret Merrywether
said in a languid southern accent as she extended
a long slender arm and shook Keri’s hand
delicately. “I’ve been expecting someone
to reach out to me ever since I heard about
Kenny. What took you so long?”
“We only just learned about your connection
to Mrs. Burlingame, ma’am. Maybe you can
fill me in a little more on your relationship
to…Kenny, as you call her. Did she go by
that nickname with everyone?”
“First of all, no, she did not. I’m the
only one cheeky enough to get away with it.
Second of all, Ms. Locke, please do not call
me ma’am. Only my children do that and it’s
usually when they’re in trouble. If you
want to make me uncomfortable, you can call
me Ms. Merrywether. If you want to make me
sound like a cliché on a hot tin roof you
can call me Maggie, like my ex-husband does.
But if you want to call me what Kenny calls
me, it’s just Mags.”
Keri, for the first time in a long time, wasn’t
sure how to react. She made it her business
to predict human behavior for a living. She
was a detective now and before that she’d
been a professor of criminology. Rarely did
someone truly surprise her. But this woman
was like a twenty-first-century Scarlett O’Hara
mixed with Jessica Rabbit. Keri decided to
just keep it simple.
“Okay then. So how do you know Mrs. Burlingame,
Ms. Merrywether?”
“Oh dear, so formal, so professional. I
suppose I should be happy that the person
looking into Kenny’s disappearance is so
unwavering. I’d imagine your cohort over
there would be…less immune to my charms.”
She nodded across the room to Brody, who was
scarfing down stuffed mushrooms while leering
unapologetically at two well-dressed women
trying to pretend they didn’t notice him.
“I wouldn’t consider that a major achievement,
Ms. Merrywether. Detective Brody could just
as easily be charmed by a poster of Rosie
the Riveter. I think he was a teenager around
the time she was big.”
“You are undermining my delicate sense of
self-esteem, Detective Locke,” Ms. Merrywether
said, her voice full of faux offense.
“I find that very hard to believe. Now,
as entertaining as you are, I really need
some straight answers. If Kendr…er, Kenny,
really is as close a friend as you say, then
I’d expect you to be desperate to tell me
everything you could.”
“You’re right, of course. I was just testing
you a bit, Detective, to see if you were worthy
of my time or if I should take what I know
to someone in a position of greater authority.”
“And did I pass your test?”
“You did indeed. Perhaps we can make our
way somewhere a little more private where
there are fewer prying eyes and eager ears.”
“Lead the way,” Keri said. As she followed
Merrywether out of the ballroom, she saw Jeremy
Burlingame entering from a different entrance.
He looked to be headed toward the dais.
In his hands was a series of note cards, which
he was fumbling with. Inevitably they spilled
to the floor. He clumsily bent to pick them
up, then awkwardly thanked the multiple people
who rushed over to help him.
Margaret Merrywether was almost out of the
room when Burlingame stepped up to the podium.
“Hold on a sec. I want to hear this,”
Keri said.
“So do I, actually,” Ms. Merrywether agreed.
The music stopped and the room quieted as
Burlingame cleared his throat loudly into
the microphone.
“Um…sorry, er, give me a moment here,”
he said as he adjusted the height of the microphone
stand, which had clearly been set up for Kendra.
“I’m not great at this sort of thing.
I know you’re used to having my wife, Kendra,
speak at these events. But as many of you
have heard, she’s missing.”
There was an audible gasp in the room. Apparently
at least some of the guests had been unaware.
Burlingame continued.
“The police are searching diligently for
her. And I’m very hopeful that she’ll
be found and returned safely to me. I would
ask that if any of you know anything you think
might be helpful, please inform the authorities
immediately.
“As for me, I’m trying to keep from going
stir crazy by staying busy. After I spoke
to the detectives investigating Kendra’s
case, I returned to work and performed surgery
this afternoon on an infant born with a facial
abnormality.
“Part of me felt guilty—as if there was
something else I could or should be doing
to help with the search. But then I realized
I was doing what Kendra would want. I’m
not a detective. I’d probably just be in
the way. And it wouldn’t have helped that
little boy for me to cancel his procedure.
And then it hit me—I couldn’t cancel this
event either. It wouldn’t help find Kendra
any faster if I did. And kids like the one
I helped today would have hundreds of thousands
fewer dollars available to help defray the
costs of these surgeries.
“Kendra and I—and let’s be honest, it
was mostly Kendra—created All Smiles to
help disadvantaged children and others in
need of reconstructive plastic surgery. And
this event advances that goal. So I had to
proceed, as awkward as it feels. Besides,
when Kendra returns, she’d kill me if she
learned I’d cancelled.”
People in the ballroom laughed, then stopped
suddenly, unsure if it was appropriate. Burlingame
smiled weakly before continuing.
“So as much as I dislike public speaking
and as uncomfortable as it is for me to be
up here under these circumstances, I’m asking
you to contribute generously tonight. It’s
what these children need. It’s what Kendra
would want. And when we find her—if she
sees that you cheaped out—she’s going
to hunt you down. Thank you.”
He stepped off the dais and was immediately
surrounded by a swarm of well-wishers. The
man looked completely overwhelmed. Keri had
been hoping to talk to him again but that
would have to wait.
She turned around to look for Margaret Merrywether,
who had already left the ballroom and was
walking down the hall in the direction of
the hotel’s Club Bar. She looked back over
her shoulder and called out to Keri.
“Come on, Detective Locke,” she purred.
“Don’t you want to know what’s really
going on?”
CHAPTER TEN
Keri’s feet were killing her. Her ribs were
screaming. And her shoulder throbbed dully.
But she pretended all was well as the two
women stood in the least crowded corner of
the bar.
A waiter had offered them a tiny table but
they declined, silently agreeing with a shared
look that there was no way either of them
could squeeze into such a tight space in their
dresses.
Their drinks came quickly. Margaret ordered
a scotch and soda. Keri, who thought that
sounded desperately appealing, ordered a club
soda and cranberry juice. She expected a look
of disdain from the aristocrat next to her
but none was forthcoming. Instead, she leaned
over and whispered in Keri’s ear.
“I have a secret to tell you, but I will
only share it if you agree to call me Mags.”
Keri was having trouble keeping up the professional
façade in the midst of Merrywether’s easy
charm, the constant discomfort she was feeling,
and the overpowering noise of the bar.
Life’s too short to fight this battle.
“Okay, Mags, you win. What’s your secret?”
“My feet are in agony and I’m taking off
these heels, regardless of the consequences.”
“I’ll keep that secret if you’ll keep
mine.”
“What’s that, Detective?”
“Mine are off already. I dumped them the
second you said ‘feet.’”
“All right then,” Mags said, as she bent
down to pull hers off. “I’m actually surprised
you kept yours on as long as you did. You
don’t strike me as the type to stand on
ceremony.”
“I’m not, Mags. And that’s why I’m
going to have to dispense with all the ladylike
pleasantries and cut to the chase. What do
you know? You didn’t seem all that impressed
with Jeremy Burlingame’s speech up there.”
“Oh, don’t read too much into that, Detective.
I’m not suspicious of Jeremy. I’m just
bored with him. He may be a brilliant surgeon
and a devoted husband, but I find him to be
as interesting as human wallpaper.”
“What kept Kendra so interested in him?”
“Who’s to say she was?”
“What are you suggesting? That she—”
“Now don’t get your undies in a bundle.
I’m not casting aspersions. I just meant,
well, why do you think she’s thrown herself
so relentlessly into this foundation? Surely
a large part of it is because she believes
strongly in the cause. But remember, she also
used to be a high-powered Hollywood publicist.
Do you think that drive and passion just disappeared
once she got married? I can assure you it
did not.”
“If she got bored enough, do you think she
might have run off? Just left town without
telling anyone?”
“Is that what you think happened? Is that
what Jeremy thinks?” Mags asked. She sounded
appalled by the idea.
“No. He’s convinced she was abducted.
And my inclination is to suspect that as well.
But we’ve got conflicting evidence and a
lot of it points to her just taking off.”
“Look, Detective,” Mags said, her voice
as serious as Keri had heard it all night.
“No one can be certain what’s in another
person’s heart. We all keep a part of ourselves
forever locked up to the world. But I’ve
known Kendra Burlingame for over a decade,
back when she was Kendra Ann Maroney, just
off the turnip truck from Phoenix, Arizona.
And nothing about the woman I know, about
my dear friend, ever indicated that she was
the type of person to just cut and run. It’s
not in her character. Kenny’s a fighter,
not a quitter. And I’m hoping that you’ll
fight for her too. I may put on a good show.
But I’m very worried about her.”
Keri took the comment in, surprised and heartened
by Mags’s ferocity. It gave her confidence
that her own instincts weren’t completely
off the mark.
“Fair enough,” she replied. “But you
said earlier you could tell me what’s really
going on. So spill it, Mags. I know this must
all seem very dramatic to you. But we’re
in a time crunch here. If Kenny really was
taken as long ago as yesterday morning, we’re
at around the thirty-six-hour mark. Whoever
did this had a big head start and the trail
is getting colder every second. We need to
follow up every possible lead as quickly as
possible. So tell me what you’ve been holding
back since we met.”
Mags looked at her for a few seconds, clearly
in the midst of some internal struggle. Keri
could tell she’d made her decision when
she took a big swig of her drink and swallowed
hard.
“I’m telling you this in case it’s important.
But if you determine that it’s not, I’d
ask you to please keep it confidential. If
it got out, it could do Kenny great harm.
I only say it now because her safety is more
important than her status. Do I have your
word?”
“I promise that if what you tell me isn’t
relevant to the case, it won’t go beyond
me.”
“That’s good enough for me. When Kenny
first moved to LA fifteen years ago, before
she got into publicity, she wanted to be an
actress. She took some head shots and the
photographer offered her some extra money
to take a few… more risqué photos. She
was really struggling to make the rent so
she did it.”
Right at that moment, a guy wearing a gaudy
silver suit sauntered up to them. He had Miami
Vice –era stubble, a dyed-brown receding
hairline he was trying to hide with a grisly
comb-over, and the smell of a man who had
recently bathed in cigarette smoke.
“Can I get either of you ladies a refill?”
he asked forcefully. “Or maybe you’d like
some fresh, organic liquid refreshment? I’m
happy to provide some.”
Keri stared at him, stunned that someone actually
thought that line would work under any circumstances,
much less in an environment like this. She
started to speak but Mags raised her hand
almost imperceptibly as if to say “I’ve
got this,” before turning to face the man
directly.
“What’s your name, you strapping sir?”
she asked.
“Kyle.”
“Kyle what?”
“Kyle Hinton.”
“Kyle Hinton—it just rolls off the tongue,
doesn’t it, Keri?”
Keri nodded, curious to see where this was
going next.
“Kyle,” Mags continued, “if what you
mean is that you would like to pay for another
drink from the bar for one or both of us—why,
that would be delicious. But if you’re hinting
that you’d like to present either of us
with some ‘liquid’ of your own creation,
I feel confident in declining on both our
behalves. I can assure you that neither of
us have any interest in engaging in sexual
activity with you. Or in talking to you. Or
even in being in your proximity any longer.
Do you know what I mean, Kyle?”
“Fine, be that way,” he said, realizing
he was out of his depth. “Couldn’t you
just have said ‘no thanks’?”
“I could have, Kyle. But how would that
help the next lady to whom you offer fresh,
organic liquid refreshment? Let this be a
lesson to you, Kyle Hinton. There’s no hiding
for men like you anymore. Now be on your way.”
Kyle stood there for a second, then, apparently
done taking abuse for the night, turned and
left without another word.
Keri watched him go, then looked back at Mags
with awe.
“Can I take you along to some of my precinct
meetings? I think you could really clean up
the place.”
“It would be my great honor.”
The waiter came over to ask if they wanted
another round, snapping Keri out of the moment
and reminding her of her priorities.
“Not for me. But I would love a few Advil
if you have some behind the bar.”
“And I’ll take a refill, darling,” Mags
told him. He nodded and walked off.
“So you were saying,” Keri prompted.
Mags picked up where she left off as if there’d
never been an interruption.
“So the photos never ended up in any publication
as far as Kenny could tell. And she was pretty
confident that she couldn’t even be recognized.
She said she wore a blonde wig and heavy makeup.
“But a couple of years ago, right around
the time there was a big cover story on the
foundation in the Times, she got an anonymous
letter in the mail. It demanded money and
included one of the photos from the session.”
“Did she tell Jeremy about it?” Keri asked.
“Absolutely not. She was mortified. And
she didn’t want Jeremy to think ill of her.
I told her that he would understand. She was
twenty-three, for heaven’s sake. But she
wouldn’t hear of it. She said that he’d
be really hurt. I suggested she go to the
police but she worried that would guarantee
it would become public knowledge.”
“She’s probably right,” Keri sighed.
“It was a predicament. She obviously knew
who it was from so she went over to try to
talk to the guy. He was still living in the
same sleazy apartment that he used as his
photography studio all those years ago. Kenny
said he had head shots of young women plastered
all over the place.
“Anyway, you can imagine how receptive he
was to just dropping the whole thing. He demanded
five thousand dollars a month to stay quiet.
She told him that anything more than two thousand
would draw her husband’s attention and if
he found out, the guy wouldn’t have anything
to blackmail her with anymore. That made sense
to him and that’s where they left it, Kendra
paying this guy two grand every month for
the last two years—until last month.”
“What happened then?”
“He demanded she pay more. She said she
was finally going to put an end to it.”
“When was she going to do that?”
“This last weekend.”
“And you don’t know what happened after
that?”
“I haven’t talked to her since last Friday.
I was surprised she didn’t call but figured
she’d reach out when she was ready. I’m
starting to regret that.”
“You couldn’t have known. I get that you’re
worried but don’t start obsessing over every
potential mistake you’ve made.”
That’s my job.
Mags nodded, without a clever response for
the first time that night.
What this guy’s name?” Keri asked.
“Rafe Courtenay. He lives in a walk-up in
Hollywood.”
The waiter returned with Mags’s drink and
Keri’s Advil, which she downed right away.
“I’ve got to go, Mags,” she said, putting
her shoes back on and dropping a ten-dollar
bill on the table. “Thanks for all the info.
I’ll be in touch.”
She had already made her way halfway across
the room when she heard Mags’s genteel voice
behind her call out, “It was a pleasure
to make your acquaintance.”
She waved over her shoulder without looking
back. She’d spent enough time with the Beverly
Hills elite.
It was time to get down and dirty with a Hollywood
sleazebag.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Her body coursing with adrenaline, Keri pulled
up in the alley behind Rafe Courtenay’s
apartment and sat there for a moment, preparing
for what was to come. She looked at her watch.
It was almost 8:30 and the late September
summer sun had set almost two hours ago. Hollywood
was now lit by streetlights and the endless
array of neon signs that dotted its primary
boulevards.
The drive over from the Peninsula had been
a busy one, with multiple phone calls. First
she’d let Brody know she had to leave to
follow up a lead. He was pissed until she
said she was going to try to get Detectives
Sterling and Cantwell sent over to help with
interviews at the gala. They were almost as
crusty as Brody himself and his complaining
stopped at the news.
Then she called Manny Suarez to see if there
was any new info from the Palm Springs bus
station. There wasn’t. But he did give her
a rundown on Courtenay.
The guy was forty-eight, with a record of
misdemeanors, most related to either DUIs
or contributing to the delinquency of a minor
for buying drinks for underage girls. There
was nothing about blackmail and he’d never
served more than a couple of days in jail.
He didn’t strike Keri as an imminent threat
but in her diminished physical state, threat
was a relative term. And since she’d promised
Mags to keep the situation off the radar if
at all possible, she was reluctant to call
for support, which required approval and ultimately,
paperwork. That meant this had to be a solo
trip. So to be safe, she changed right there
in the alley.
She got out of her evening gown, strapped
the rib padding back on, and followed that
up with her bulletproof vest. Then she put
on the hooded sweatshirt and mom jeans she’d
originally planned to change into the minute
she left the gala but hadn’t had time to
until now. Lastly she put on her sneakers,
tied her hair back in the old, reliable ponytail,
and strapped her police radio, Taser, handcuffs,
holster, and weapon to her waistband.
The rear entrance to Courtenay’s complex
was locked so she made her way around front.
The building was in the middle of a long block
on Afton Place, a seedy side street between
North Gower and Vine. As she walked, Keri
recalled her last and most unpleasant phone
conversation on the drive over. It was with
Lieutenant Hillman.
“Why the hell did it take you so long to
reach out?” he had demanded before she could
get a word in. “I’ve talked to Brody three
times today and this is the first I’ve heard
from you since you left my office this morning.”
“Sorry, sir. I’ve just been running around
so much that I forgot to call. I guess I’m
out of practice, not having been in the field
for two weeks.” She hated being deferential
or apologetic, especially to Hillman. But
she had to calm him down if she was going
get him to approve her request.
“That’s exactly why you need to check
in more often, Locke. It’s not just protocol.
It’s for your safety and my peace of mind.”
“You’re right, sir—won’t happen again.”
There was a brief pause in which Keri knew
she’d laid it on too thick.
“What are you after, Detective? You’ve
never been this accommodating with me, not
even on your first day. You’d better come
clean fast.”
“It’s nothing, sir. I just had a request
I was hoping you could approve.”
“What is it?” Hillman growled.
“I had to leave the gala to check out a
time-sensitive lead and I was hoping you could
send Detectives Sterling and Cantwell over
there to help Brody with interviews. They
seem to work well together and there are a
lot of potential leads there, too many for
just one person to handle.”
“Sterling and Cantwell are off for the night,”
he said curtly.
“Yes sir. But this is a pretty high-profile
case and I thought you’d want to direct
all available resources to it. But I understand
if that’s not possible. If you prefer, we
could call Beverly Hills PD and ask them to
pick up the slack for us. It is, after all,
their jurisdiction.”
“So help me God, Locke, I hope your attempts
to manipulate witnesses and suspects aren’t
as clunky as your attempts to manipulate me.
Do you think I can’t see through this—trying
to make me view this as a turf war—hoping
I’ll protect my territory?”
“Of course not, sir,” Keri answered, keeping
her voice even.
“What is this lead that’s so important
that you had to abandon the gala, anyway?”
“It’s probably nothing, sir. I don’t
want to waste your time with it. It’ll take
a half hour and then I’m on to the next
thing.”
“By ‘the next thing,’ I assume you mean
following up on the Palm Springs bus station,
where there seems to be actual evidence that
suggests what may have actually happened,
namely a rich woman bailing on her stifling
life.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to pursue
next, sir.”
“Remember, Locke, there’s nothing illegal
about a person just dropping out of their
life. If she doesn’t have debts to pay or
children to support, Kendra Burlingame is
allowed to just disappear. And unless we can
find evidence of a crime, there’s no case.
And if there’s no case, we need to put our
resources elsewhere. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir, I do. And I will keep that front
of mind. But I’m almost to my destination,
Lieutenant. Shall I call our Beverly Hills
colleagues to help with the gala interviews
or would you prefer to handle that?”
“Locke, you are a pain in my ass. I’ll
send our people over. Do not call BHPD. Finish
whatever it is you’re doing that you won’t
tell me about fast and move on. Got it?”
“Got it, sir.”
Keri thought the conversation had gone about
as well as it could, all things considered.
She arrived at the front entrance of Courtenay’s
building and studied it. It was a five-story
walk-up, easily half a century old. Someone
had made a sad little attempt to give it a
Spanish stucco look by attaching brown tiles
that had mostly cracked or broken off.
Keri stepped into the interior entry. Courtenay
supposedly lived on the fourth floor in unit
412. On the resident directory, that unit
was listed as “The Dream Factory.” Keri
felt the slight urge to vomit.
She buzzed the building manager’s unit and
after a minute, she was met by an elderly
woman in a nightgown with her hair in rollers.
Keri flashed her badge and the woman let her
in.
“Are you here for the druggies in two seventeen
or the pervert in four twelve?” she asked
in a raspy voice.
“The pervert, ma’am,” Keri answered.
“But as long as we’re chatting, are the
druggies users or sellers?”
“Mostly users. They sell to their friends,
I think.”
“I can’t do anything about them right
now, but I can have someone come back later
to deal with them if you like.”
“No, that’s all right. They’re loud
and they smell bad. But they pay their rent
on time. These days, that makes for a good
tenant.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well, here’s my card anyway.
If you change your mind about that, give me
a call and I’ll see what I can do, okay?”
“Thank you, dear. You’re not like the
asshole cops I usually deal with.”
“No ma’am,” Keri said and started for
the stairs, before turning back. “Oh, and
ma’am, if you get any complaints about noise
in unit four twelve, I wouldn’t worry about
it. Sometimes these visits can get a little
rough and tumble.”
The woman stared at her for a few seconds
before breaking out in a wheezy cackle.
“You are a pistol, aren’t you?” she
laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t worry, Detective. I’m quite hard
of hearing.” She cackled again and headed
back to her room.
Keri began the four-story slog up to Courtenay’s
place. The Advil from the hotel bar was already
starting to wear off and she could feel the
sharp pain returning to her ribs with each
step she took up the stairs. She cradled her
left elbow in her right palm and pressed it
against her chest to diminish the jostling.
When she reached the fourth floor, she snapped
into professional mode, releasing her left
arm and using her right hand to unbutton her
holster. The hallway was mostly quiet, save
for a few loud conversations and the noise
of several televisions. Not unexpected on
a Tuesday night.
She reached Courtenay’s door and pressed
her ear to it, hoping for some clue as to
what was happening inside. But other than
the muffled sound of music in the background,
there was nothing. She stepped back, knocked
loudly on the door, and moved to the right
so that she would be out of view of the peephole
and out of the direct line of fire if he reacted
with gunfire instead of a hello.
She heard the music stop, followed by some
rustling and the creak of floorboards.
“Who is it?” Courtenay called out from
the other side of the door after about ten
seconds. His voice was low and throaty.
“Detective Keri Locke, LAPD,” she said
as she held her badge out in front of the
peephole. “I need to ask you a few questions,
Mr. Courtenay.”
“What about?” he demanded warily.
“Open up and I’ll explain. I’m not going
to shout back and forth through the door.”
“You need a warrant for that,” he said
stubbornly.
“I need a warrant to search your place,
Mr. Courtenay, not to ask you questions. Now,
I came all the way over here from the West
Side to chat with you. It was a long drive
and I’m in a bad mood. If you want to be
difficult, I can call for backup, have this
door smashed open, which you’ll have to
pay to repair, and question you on the street
in cuffs or back at my station house. That’s
one possible outcome. Or you can open your
door and we can have a friendly chat. It’s
your choice but you have about five seconds
to make it.”
There was a brief pause before she heard several
locks turn and the door opened halfway.
Rafe Courtenay stepped back far enough for
her to see him and said, “I don’t have
to let you in.”
Keri realized immediately that her assessment
that Courtenay wasn’t an imminent threat
had been mistaken. He may have been forty-eight,
but the man was in great shape. She guessed
he was about six foot one and 210 pounds.
He was wearing a too-tight white tank top
and yoga pants and his muscles bulged in every
direction. He had long brown hair that swept
across his face, probably an attempt to mask
his horribly pockmarked face.
Behind him, Keri could see a cabinet with
several framed karate belts, including a black
one, and photos of him in competitions. A
pair of nunchucks hung from the wall.
It occurred to Keri that trying to talk her
way into the apartment of a muscle-bound,
karate-obsessed, blackmailing potential abductor
while she was without backup and recovering
from multiple serious injuries might not be
the wisest course of action. But the thought
only lasted a second before she pushed it
away and replaced it with one she liked more.
That’s just how I roll.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You like karate?” Keri asked. It wasn’t
a sparkling conversation starter but she needed
to move the discussion away from the doorway
and stroking this guy’s ego seemed like
an effective way to get there.
Apparently it worked as Courtenay opened the
door all the way so she could get a better
look at his display.
“‘Like’ is one way to put it. A devoted
practitioner is another.” He tried to sound
put out but his pride got the better of him
and it leaked into his tone.
“So is black the best belt to have?” Keri
asked as innocently as possible. She fleetingly
thought that her attempts at impressed flirtation
would work better if she was still in the
black dress but shook the thought away. No
interrogation was worth wriggling back into
that thing.
“It is. I attained that twenty years ago
but still train as if I have yet to achieve
it.” He had suddenly adopted the air of
a wise karate master. Keri tried not to laugh.
“Pretty sweet,” Keri said admiringly.
“Mind if I get a closer look?”
“You may,” he said after a brief moment
of hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean
I’m consenting to any kind of search. I’m
just being polite.”
“Of course,” Keri said, agreeing that
he was being polite but silently rejecting
his assertions beyond that. She stepped over
the threshold and walked to the cabinet, taking
in the room as casually as possible.
As Mags had mentioned, the walls were covered
with headshots of young women, many of them
signed. In the corner of the living room,
she could see the door to another room that
appeared to be Courtenay’s photo studio.
The kitchen counter was covered with bowls
of fruit and she could see a huge blender
next to one of them. She suspected Rafe was
a big protein smoothie guy.
She reached the cabinet and turned her attention
to it, hoping to find something there that
she could use to keep her host’s self-esteem
levels inappropriately high.
“This picture looks recent,” she said,
pointing to one of the framed photos. “Do
you do a lot of competitions these days?”
“That one’s from four months ago. I got
the silver in my age group, forty-five to
forty-nine. But I’m forty-eight and the
guy who got the gold had just turned forty-five
the week before the event. So you know, not
the fairest.”
“Totally not fair,” Keri agreed, before
adding with as straight a face as she could
muster, “It’s hard to believe you’re
forty-eight.”
“Hard work and healthy living,” Rafe said.
“In fact, I was about to make myself a kale,
banana, and pear smoothie. You want one?”
“Is it good?” Keri asked, scrunching up
her nose in a way she hoped came across as
cute. Clearly this guy liked his ladies on
the younger side, but she got the sense that
he was happy to be fawned over by any woman
he considered conquest-worthy.
“It’s great. And so good for you.”
Keri followed him to the kitchen and leaned
against the counter across from him, pretending
to listen while he blathered on about nutrients
and restorative powers. As he spoke and prepped
the drinks, she pondered the best way to start
asking her questions. She’d loosened him
up, but was pretty sure he’d shut down if
she just dived right in.
He handed her the smoothie and she took a
sip, nodding appreciatively. It wasn’t the
worst thing in the world but it wouldn’t
be replacing her bottle of Glenlivet any time
soon. As Rafe chugged his drink, Keri decided
she couldn’t stall any longer.
“So Rafe—is it okay if I call you Rafe?”
She pressed on without getting permission.
“Anyway Rafe—and you should feel free
to call me Keri—remember I said I had a
few questions for you? I feel kind of bad
about it now and about how hard I came at
you when I first knocked on the door. You
never know what kind of guy you’re dealing
with, right?”
Rafe nodded.
“Some guys are real dicks,” he said.
“Exactly. So I didn’t know if you were
a dick too. But obviously you’re not. And
I feel like I can ask you these questions
I have in a more casual way, you know, not
so adversarial. Most of it is pretty basic
stuff. And then you can get back to your evening—no
harm, no foul. How does that sound?”
“It sounds okay. But I’m still not going
to answer anything I’m not comfortable with.
And I’m still not giving you permission
to search my place without a warrant, okay?”
“Rafe, you’re so silly with all the search
warrant stuff. You should have been on Law
& Order or something. You’d be very commanding
as the wronged suspect, you know—the tough
guy who seems guilty but is really a softie
at heart. People ever tell you you’re that
type?”
“I’ve heard it from time to time.”
“Speaking of acting, I know you’re a photographer
and it looks like you have a lot of experiences
with actresses. You must be pretty good because
it looks like a lot of them signed their photos.
They must be happy with your work.”
“I don’t get a lot of complaints.”
“No?” Keri asked, letting the question
hang in the air.
Rafe looked at her, not sure if that was a
serious question or just conversation. He
said nothing. Keri placed her smoothie cup
on the counter between them.
“Because here’s the thing, Rafe—I know
of at least one complaint. It was from a woman
named Kendra Burlingame. Ever hear of her?”
Rafe put down his cup as well and waited several
seconds before responding.
“If you’re here, you obviously know I
have. What is she complaining about?”
“Well, she hasn’t filed a formal police
complaint yet, if that’s what you’re worried
about. But she has complained to friends.
I think you know what about.”
“So if she hasn’t filed an official complaint,
why are you here?”
“I’m here because she’s missing, Rafe.
She’s been missing for over a day and a
half. And I have it on good authority that
you were one of the last people she spoke
to before she disappeared. So I figured I’d
come by and, you know, see what’s up with
that.”
“Kendra’s missing?” he asked. Keri couldn’t
tell if he was actually surprised or just
stalling for time. In either case, she double
checked that the clasp on her holster was
free and that her Taser was loose too.
“She is. What did you two discuss when she
came by this weekend?”
“She didn’t come by,” he said defiantly.
She could tell he was getting agitated.
“You weren’t supposed to meet with her
this weekend?”
“I was. She was going to come by on Sunday
afternoon. But she called at the last minute
and said her sister would be coming instead.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. She was super vague. I told her I didn’t
like dealing with anyone but her but I could
tell she wasn’t going to budge.”
“Was this the first time anyone other than
Kendra had been involved in…your arrangement?”
“Yeah. I never dealt with anyone but her
this whole time.”
“So her sister came over on Sunday afternoon?”
“Yeah, around four or five. I think her
name is Catherine. She knocked on the door.
I opened it. She handed me the envelope. I
took it and closed the door. We never even
spoke.”
“And where were you yesterday, Rafe?”
“I was here almost all day. I had a bunch
of shoots.”
“I’m going to need the names and numbers
of all your…clients from yesterday, to verify
your alibi.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“Good. While you’re writing those down.
I’m going to take a little look around.
It’s not an official search, just a walkabout.
If what you’re telling me is true, you shouldn’t
have any problem with that.”
Rafe looked reluctant so Keri continued before
he could respond.
“Rafe, honey. We both know the deal you
had with Kendra. If I wanted to take you in
for that, I could do it right now. But I haven’t.
I’m not interested in that. I’m interested
in finding Kendra Burlingame. Unless there’s
something you have in this apartment that
suggests you were in involved in her disappearance,
I’m going to overlook anything I find. This
is a good deal for you.”
Rafe seemed to see the logic of her words
and nodded. While he wrote down the girls
he’d photographed the day before, Keri checked
out the rest of his place, starting with the
bedroom he’d converted into his studio.
She moved on to his bedroom and the bathroom,
then the hall closet. She looked up every
few seconds to make sure Rafe was still seated
at the kitchen counter.
The place wasn’t very big and the whole
search took less than ten minutes. She found
nothing—no blood, no sign of struggle, no
secret torture chamber. It was just the bachelor
apartment of a sleazy, over-the-hill photographer
who engaged in a little blackmail on the side.
Keri doubted Kendra was his only victim. She
returned to the kitchen, where Rafe was waiting
with the completed list of names.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said as she pocketed
it. “There’s just one more thing I need
from you.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The pictures of Kendra—all of them, including
the negatives.”
“What?” His face dropped.
“Every picture you ever took of Kendra and
every negative. I need them—now. I’m sure
you’ve got all of them in some precious
file somewhere. So please hand it over.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can—they’re my prop—I just
won’t.”
“Sure you will, Rafe. You see, I’m not
going to just leave them here and let you
potentially destroy evidence of your connection
to someone who’s been abducted. If it turns
out your alibi is bullshit, I’ll need them
to prosecute you.”
“But you need a warrant…” he said less
confidently than he had the first time.
“We’re back to that again? Nothing’s
changed, Rafe. I can still get that warrant.
I can still haul you back to the station.
The only way you stay in this apartment tonight
is if you give me Kendra’s complete file
right now.”
Rafe seemed to be weighing his options. At
a certain point, she saw something click for
him. She didn’t like it. His body, which
had been tense, appeared to relax a bit.
“I’ve been wondering why you keep asking
me to give you the stuff and didn’t just
come here with a bunch of cops, bust down
the door with a search warrant, and look for
it yourself. And I think I know why.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Because that would mean bad publicity for
Kendra. And you’re trying to protect her
from that. You know she’s been paying up
for years and you don’t want what she did
to come out if you can avoid it. But if you
come in here hard, it’ll get out and be
in the papers and stuff. You’re a softie,
Keri.”
He took the tiniest step toward her. Keri
felt her skin crawl and tingle at the same
time.
“You’re not thinking clearly, Rafe. I
did it this way because getting a warrant
takes a while and every second counts when
you’re trying to save a missing person’s
life. Besides, if this goes public, every
girl you photograph will know what you did
to Kendra. I wonder how your business will
do once you’re tagged as a blackmailing
pornographer.”
“It might improve,” he said, taking another
step forward.
Keri could tell talk wasn’t going to work
anymore. Rafe, despite her best efforts, felt
trapped. And he thought he sensed weakness
in her. It was a dangerous combination, especially
considering that she was physically weaker
than usual.
He was only about four feet away from her
now and she could see the growing agitation
in Rafe’s eyes. He was no longer thinking
about the consequences of what he was about
to do. He felt threatened. He thought he could
defeat that threat. And any second he would
try.
“Rafe…” she started to say, hoping to
deescalate the situation. But it was too late.
He leapt at her in a forceful but controlled
way.
He was surprisingly fast but Keri had been
expecting something and stepped back quickly.
Sure, her ribs and shoulder hurt like hell
but her legs worked just fine. Rafe may have
been a black belt in karate but Keri had extensive
training in Krav Maga, and one of her favorite
lessons from her instructors was to let your
opponent be the aggressor and react to that
aggression.
As Rafe continued to move forward, his fists
striking out toward her, Keri pulled out the
Taser she’d quietly removed from its holster
and jabbed it hard against her attacker’s
left forearm. He didn’t stop completely
but his frenzied eyes looked confused and
he glanced down to see why his arm felt so
funny.
At that moment, Keri moved forward and jabbed
the Taser to his neck. His body shivered involuntarily
before he crumpled to the ground. Keri leaned
down and jabbed him once more between the
shoulder blades, just to be sure.
Rafe stopped moving. As quickly as she could,
Keri holstered the Taser, pulled out her handcuffs,
and secured his arms behind his back. Then
she rolled him over. He offered no resistance.
When Rafe came to a few moments later, Keri
was sitting a chair beside him, Taser still
in hand.
“How ya feeling, Rafe?” she asked casually.
“Looks like your big boy belt didn’t get
the job done this time.”
Rafe shook his head as if he were trying to
get rid of invisible cobwebs.
“Whaa…?” he muttered.
“Your brain working okay there, fella? Let
me explain the situation to you. But know
that I’m only going to do this once. You
just attempted to assault a police officer.
That was a bad choice. I mean ‘forget about
competing in the fifty-to-fifty-four-year-old
division’ bad. We’re one phone call away
from you finding out how much that black belt
helps when you go up against Big Tiny and
his crew in the prison yard.
“But I’m giving you one last literal get
out of jail free card. Before, all I wanted
were Kendra’s photos and negatives. But
now you’re going to hand over the materials
for every woman you’ve been blackmailing.
I know there are others. You do that and I’ll
forget about what just happened.”
Rafe grunted inaudibly and tried to shake
his head. Keri decided he needed some added
incentive.
“Otherwise,” she continued, “you’ll
be cancelling all your photo sessions for
the next five to eight years. And don’t
leave out even one woman. If you do, I’ll
find out and I’ll come back to arrest you
and confiscate every photo you’ve taken
in your entire career. Your call—one time
only offer. And it expires in three, two,
one…”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With a deep sense of satisfaction, Keri locked
the photos and negatives of Kendra and sixteen
other women in the small file cabinet by her
office desk and headed over to the tech room.
She had been tempted to burn them on the drive
over. But if Rafe Courtenay turned out to
be Kendra’s abductor, they’d be needed
as evidence.
For the time being all she could do was hold
on to them. That and give Rafe one last jolt
before she took off the cuffs and left him
lying on the floor in a pool of his own urine.
The tech room was a large, darkened office
filled with computers connected to numerous
city, state, and federal databases. There
were multiple sizeable monitors affixed to
various walls throughout the room. Detectives
Edgerton and Suarez were currently staring
at one with some grainy black-and-white footage.
“What are we looking at, boys?” she asked.
“We pulled up the footage from the Palm
Springs bus station for you,” said Manny
Suarez, a short, roundish forty-something
guy with three days of beard growth and sleepy
eyes that hid a sharp intellect.
“I hope it’s useful or I’m going to
have to head out there myself,” Keri said.
“Lieutenant Hillman’s already grumbling
that you haven’t done that yet,” Suarez
said. “That reminds me. He wanted me to
tell you he set up an interview for you with
Kendra’s sister, Catherine. It’s at her
house in West Adams tomorrow morning at eight
a.m.”
“Yeah, he said that if you missed it, he’d
have you put back on desk duty,” added Kevin
Edgerton, the baby of the Pacific Division
detective squad. Tall and lanky, with light
brown hair that he was always brushing out
of his eyes, he was only twenty-eight.
But he’d already distinguished himself with
his incredible technical expertise. He had
a way of navigating databases, sifting through
statistical data and cracking computer information
that rivaled Keri’s ability to understand
and predict human behavior. He was her best
hope of finally cracking the code to Pachanga’s
laptop.
Right now, he was typing furiously away at
a keyboard, clearly annoyed by something.
“What is it, Kevin?” Keri asked.
“I’m just frustrated. Look here—this
is when we see Kendra’s car pull into the
bus station parking garage. There’s her
license plate in the freeze frame. It’s
kind of hard to see because the ticket dispenser
is blocking her face, but there she is reaching
for the parking ticket at the entry gate.
The time is nine thirty-one a.m.”
“That fits. If she left her house soon after
her husband did, she could reasonably get
to Palm Springs by then,” Keri noted.
“Right,” Suarez agreed. “Then we see
her here, here, and here as she makes her
way to the third level of the structure. But
that’s the last image we have of the car.
And it’s right around then, at nine thirty-six
a.m., that the GPS goes off in both the car
and her phone. Palm Springs police found it
in one of the few spots in the garage that
isn’t covered by security cameras. What
are the chances of that?”
“Not very high,” Keri said. “Look at
all the available parking spots her car passed
by on the way to the third level. It was a
conscious choice to park in the spot where
the car ended up. The question is why.”
“That’s not the only question,” Edgerton
added. “I’m wondering where the hell she
went. There’s no definitive video of her
leaving the garage or entering the bus station.”
“Nothing at all?” Keri asked, flummoxed.
“Well, not quite nothing,” said Suarez.
“We used the photos you sent us of her and
we found a couple of images that could be
her. But we never see her clearly so we can’t
do facial recognition.”
“Pull up your likely suspects and let’s
check them out,” Keri said.
While Edgerton did that, Keri turned to Suarez.
“I assume you guys already pulled up cell
phone records for Kendra from yesterday. Anything
interesting?”
“Nope,” he said. “She didn’t make
a single call from Beverly Hills to Palm Springs.”
“What about Jeremy Burlingame?”
“His records are clean too,” Suarez said,
clearly disappointed. “There are several
texts and missed calls from him to her today,
but nothing suspicious. And nothing much at
all yesterday, which makes sense considering
he was in surgery most of the time.”
As Keri turned that over in her head, Edgerton
pulled up the surveillance clips. They showed
four women entering the bus station within
ten minutes of the car pulling into the garage.
Keri understood why the guys thought they
might all be options but she immediately dismissed
two of them.
One was about five foot three and Kendra was
closer to five foot ten. Another, even without
seeing her face, was obviously in her early
twenties. Keri couldn’t have explained how
she knew—something about the taut skin and
the bouncy walk told her this was not a mature
woman.
It took her a second longer to dispense with
the third. The height and build were right.
But something was off. Finally, it hit her.
The woman’s hair was dark blonde. Since
the footage was black and white, she didn’t
register the hair color consciously at first.
But glancing back at a photo of Kendra and
her jet black hair, she realized it couldn’t
be the same person.
The last woman had on sunglasses and a headscarf
that reminded Keri of something Audrey Hepburn
would wear while hiding herself from the press
circa 1959.
She was the right height and her bearing fit
with a woman in her late thirties or early
forties. Her outfit—casual slacks, long
gloves, and a loose, sophisticated blouse—suggested
a woman going on vacation or spending a day
at the country club. It felt like it could
be her.
“I think that could be our gal. Don’t
we have video from inside the station as she
enters?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Manny said caustically.
“Why would they want to make it easy on
us? The interior camera showing the main entrance
is down. It has been since last week. There
are lots of other cameras inside but the place
is so crowded and until now, we didn’t have
anyone to focus on.”
“We still don’t,” said Edgerton. “The
cameras are positioned so high up and there
are so many people milling about that finding
her is going to be finding a needle in, well,
you get it.”
“Okay. So forget that,” Keri suggested.
“Maybe if you try to work backward.”
“What do you mean?” both men asked in
unison.
“Jinx. You owe me a Coke,” Edgerton said
playfully.
“I’m gonna owe you a fist sandwich if
you’re not careful, baby boy,” Suarez
growled.
“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Edgerton
muttered under his breath.
“If you kids are done,” Keri said, “I’ll
tell you what I mean. If we can figure out
which bus she was planning to take, maybe
we can ID her, or at least follow the footage
back until we get a clear image. Plus, we’ll
know her destination—two for one.”
“I knew we kept you around for a reason,”
Suarez joked as Edgerton looked up the bus
itineraries from yesterday morning.
“Within two hours of her arrival at the
bus station, there were six departures: San
Francisco, Las Vegas, Denver, Phoenix, San
Diego, and Los Angeles. But almost all of
them continue on to additional destinations.
The Vegas bus eventually goes all the way
New York. The Phoenix one ends up in Orlando.
The San Fran bus continues on to Portland
and Seattle. San Diego stops at the border
with Tijuana. I mean, how do you pin that
down?”
Keri was quiet. Both men knew not to interrupt
when she was in that zone.
San Diego makes a little sense if she continued
on to Tijuana. If she wanted to get lost,
Mexico is a good place to start. But Kendra
doesn’t feel like a Tijuana kind of girl.
No reason to come back to LA. So where?
And then it came to her so suddenly she was
embarrassed it took so long.
“Check the manifest for Phoenix,” she
said.
Edgerton pulled it up. They all scanned it
at the same time. The name Kendra Burlingame
was nowhere in sight. Keri felt her spirits
starting to fade when a name caught her eye.
“Click on that one, Kevin,” she said,
pointing to one name that felt familiar. The
ticket details indicated that it was purchased
with cash the day of departure. No help there.
“Why are we checking a passenger named A.
Maroney?” Suarez asked.
“Because Kendra’s full maiden name is
Kendra Ann Maroney and she was raised in Phoenix,
Arizona.”
“Nice!” Edgerton exclaimed, unable to
contain his youthful enthusiasm.
“So let’s go to the camera showing passengers
getting on the Phoenix bus and see if we have
any luck,” she suggested.
Edgerton pulled up the video and after a few
minutes the same woman in the slacks, gloves,
and blouse with the sunglasses and headscarf
stepped aboard.
“Her head is down so we still can’t do
facial recognition,” Edgerton noted.
“Yeah, it’s almost like she’s trying
to hide her face or something,” Suarez said
sarcastically. “I think at this point we
can safely say she didn’t want folks to
know she was taking this trip.”
“Back it up, Kevin,” Keri said, ignoring
their squabbling. It was almost ten at night
and the long day was clearly starting to fray
their nerves. “Let’s see when she enters
the frame and then find out what camera might
have last caught an image of her.”
“Oh, I get it,” he said, matching up her
location at the start of the bus video with
where she was in relation to the next nearest
video camera. Using the process, they were
able to track her location from the bus, back
to a small shop in the station, where she
looked around a bit before buying a snack.
Before that, they tracked her to the women’s
restroom. Before that she sat for a while
in one of the station’s general seating
areas. They back timed her movements from
there to the ticket window. And prior to that,
she was walking down a long corridor in the
main hall of the station. That’s where the
footage ended, which made sense, since the
next logical image would have come from the
broken camera facing the station entrance.
“Okay, so we have her timeline once she
entered the station. How does that help us?”
Edgerton asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” Keri answered. “Why
don’t we take a step back and just watch
it. Can you reverse it so we can see her movements
as they actually happened?”
“Of course.”
Edgerton set the video in motion and they
watched it mostly in real time, except for
the twenty minutes when she just read a magazine
in general seating.
“Can you zoom in to see what she’s reading?”
Keri asked.
“I can do it after we’re done with the
video. It might take a few hours to render
but we’ve got a decent shot. What will that
do?”
“I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws
here.”
They returned their attention to the screen
as the woman got up and went to the ladies’
room. She came out after a few minutes and
went to the shop, where she looked around
briefly before buying what looked like a granola
bar and leaving the frame.
“Go back again to when she’s looking around,”
Keri requested.
Edgerton replayed the video.
“Freeze it there,” Keri shouted. “Are
there any other camera angles in the store?”
“Let me check.” Edgerton punched a few
keys and another view came up from the interior
of the store. When it got to the same point
as the other video, he froze it. The woman
had picked up a small circular tchotchke.
“What is that?” Suarez asked.
“I think it’s a snow globe,” Edgerton
said, “and I think I can make out the lettering.
It says… ‘Palm Springs.’ Why would there
be a Palm Springs snow globe? It doesn’t
snow there.”
“It’s a dumb souvenir,” Suarez said.
“Who cares why they made it snow there?
I’m wondering why she picked that particular
one. It could be significant. What do you
think, Keri?”
“Maybe, but that’s not why I’m interested
in it. Look, she’s not wearing her gloves.
I realized she wasn’t wearing them when
she left the bathroom. She must have taken
them off in there and forgot to put them back
on when she left. But she’s wearing them
again when she gets on the bus.”
“What’s the significance of that?” Edgerton
asked. “So we know she practices good hygiene
and washed her hands.”
Keri looked down at the young detective. He
was a technical genius and she hoped that
his skills would help her break Pachanga’s
code. But sometimes he was a little dense.
She tried not to sound condescending when
she responded.
“The significance is that, unless someone
else bought that snow globe in the last two
days, we have that woman’s prints.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kendra felt the full weight of the day as
she pulled into the Marina Bay parking lot.
Her eyes were heavy and the aches and pains
that had been annoying throughout the day
were near overwhelming now.
There wasn’t much she could do back at the
station tonight. She asked Edgerton to contact
Palm Springs PD to see if they could get prints
off the snow globe, assuming it was still
there. Suarez volunteered to get in touch
with Phoenix police to try to secure video
from the bus station there. The hope was to
track Kendra’s movements from there to whatever
her next destination was in that city.
But both of those things would take until
morning at least. Keri decided to take advantage
of the lull to go home, clean up, and maybe
get a little sleep.
But as she trudged toward the twenty-year-old
houseboat that had been her home for the last
few years, she couldn’t stop her mind from
racing through the details of the case. Why
would Kendra just up and leave her life? Why
did no one she knew—her husband, her friends
Mags and Becky Sampson, even that scumbag
Rafe—think she was capable of that? And
yet, the evidence so far suggested that she
had.
I’m missing something. I’m looking at
this wrong somehow.
But she couldn’t figure out how to change
her perspective. The frustration was making
her antsy.
Keri reached her boat and stepped aboard.
Maybe taking a mental break would help.
Sea Cups was essentially a ramshackle floating
shed. It had been named by a guy who clearly
wasn’t a proud feminist and Keri had never
bothered to change it or paint it over. It
had the basics—a bed, a galley, a small
living space, and a stairwell that led to
a second level with a chaise lounge chair
and a rusty metal card table. It was a pretty
bare-bones operation. Showering and laundry
required trips to the marina’s comfort station,
a quarter-mile walk away.
Keri had grown weary of the lifestyle and
while in the hospital, she had decided to
do some apartment hunting once she was more
fully healed. She and Ray had even traded
newspapers, circling places in the classifieds
that might fit the bill. The friendly nurses
would shuttle between their rooms, handing
them off to each other. It was a way to pass
the time when they were both stuck in hospital
beds.
But she was serious about making the move.
Despite the cost, she planned to stay in the
area, even if meant getting something tiny.
But she wanted a place with two bedrooms.
That was the key. It was her way of maintaining
hope that she would eventually find Evie and
bring her home, wherever home might be.
Keri didn’t have the energy to trek to the
comfort station so she splashed some water
on her face and called it a shower. She kicked
off her sneakers and opened the fridge. There
was almost nothing there. She improvised,
scrambling up some eggs and tossing them in
a tortilla. Then she sat down at the tiny
galley table and scarfed them down in less
than a minute.
She thought about going up on deck to decompress
but there was a cool wind blowing through
the marina and she wasn’t in the mood to
brave it. Instead, she plopped down on the
couch, opened a half-empty bottle of Glenlivet,
and allowed herself a healthy pour.
Then she reached under the table and pulled
out a shoebox filled with blank index cards
and different colored Sharpies. She wrote
down the names of everyone connected to the
case and their affiliation to Kendra, then
spread them out on the table and stared, waiting
for inspiration to strike. None did.
She took a long sip of her drink and let her
eyes wander to the corner of the room, where
a half dozen unopened packing boxes rested
against a wall. She had bought them her first
day out of the hospital and planned to begin
packing stuff up right away.
But then the realization that she ought to
have an apartment locked in first hit her.
And besides, every time she looked at the
photos she was supposed to be packing up,
her memories overwhelmed her.
She took another sip, closed her eyes, and
let the scotch fill her insides with its warm
burn. Images swam through her head.
She saw the blue September sky, the bright
green grass of the park where she and Evie
had been sitting almost exactly five years
ago. She saw her eight-year-old daughter’s
wide smile with its chipped upper tooth, her
pig-tailed blonde hair, her lacy white socks,
and hot pink tennis shoes.
She saw the back of the man running away with
Evie, across the broad green expanse of the
park and into the parking lot, where he tossed
her roughly into a white van. She saw the
man stab a teenage boy who ran to help. She
saw a wisp of blond hair under the man’s
cap and part of a tattoo on the right side
of his neck before he disappeared into the
van and tore off. She saw that the van had
no license plates. She felt the sharp gravel
digging into her bare feet as she ran across
the parking lot, trying to catch up to the
van speeding away with her beloved daughter
inside.
She saw it all. Then she opened her eyes,
wet with tears, finished the last of her drink,
and stood up. Her night wasn’t over just
yet.
*
In the car on the way to Jackson Cave’s
office, Keri, hyped up on anticipation and
anxiety, looked at herself in the rearview
mirror and sighed.
It’s a good thing I’m not planning to
charm my way in there because this look isn’t
going to win anyone over.
Keri hadn’t bothered to change. For what
she had in mind, staying in her hooded sweatshirt
and mom jeans might be preferable.
As she changed freeways from the 405 north
to the 10 east, doubt crept into her mind.
Is this really the smartest move right now?
Am I putting my entire career in jeopardy?
As she so often did when faced with a dilemma
of this kind, Keri decided to ignore the current
awkwardness between them and called Ray.
“Hello…?” said a sleepy voice on the
other end of the line. Keri glanced at the
clock in her car.
Damn, it’s eleven forty-five at night. He
was sleeping. The guy is recovering from a
gunshot wound, after all.
“Ray? Sorry. I forgot what time it was.
I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“What’s up?” he asked a little less
groggily.
“I wanted your opinion on something, but
it can wait until tomorrow,” she lied.
“I’m up now. You may as well ask.”
That was all the opening she needed.
“So I think I may be making a really terrible
professional decision right now.”
“Okay,” Ray said. “Well, now I’m completely
awake—go on.”
“I’m driving downtown right now to break
into Jackson Cave’s law office.”
There was a long pause.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m in the
hospital,” Ray said finally.
“Why?”
“Because the doctors won’t have far to
go to treat my heart attack. Are you friggin’
crazy, Keri?”
“I have been accused.”
“Turn your car around right now.”
“So I take it you think this is a terrible
professional decision?”
“I think it’s not just a terrible professional
decision. It’s one that could get you locked
up. Why do you want to do this?”
“Edgerton and I have hit a wall with Pachanga’s
computer. We need the right cipher to break
the code. Otherwise, it’s useless. So I
visited Cave this afternoon, to see what I
could learn and try to rattle him.”
“Did you?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a little bit. I have
a hunch about something.”
“About what?” Ray asked.
“I don’t want to say. I don’t want you
to get in trouble.”
“You tell me you’re planning to bust into
the workplace of an officer of the court and
now you’re going to play coy to protect
me? It’s a little late for that, don’t
you think, Mini-Me?”
“Listen, Optimus Prime—if I’m arrested,
you can always say you told me not to go and
I changed my mind based on that. In fact,
at the end of this conversation, I’ll do
just that. And you’re all drugged up so
you’ll believe me and go right back to sleep.
But if I give more specifics, you might really
be in a pickle if you’re called as a witness.”
“You are the craziest chick I have ever
met in my life,” Ray said.
Keri couldn’t tell if he was horrified or
impressed.
“Thank you?” she replied.
“You do realize that if you’re caught,
you are playing into the hands of the very
man who may know the truth about Evie’s
disappearance. Do you really want to give
this guy that kind of power?”
“I don’t have a choice, Ray. I feel like
I have to do something bold. It’s been five
years since she was taken. This is the best
lead I’ve gotten. I can’t just sit on
it. I can’t.”
“I know.”
They both fell silent. Keri kept her watery
eyes on the freeway, imagining Ray lying in
his hospital bed, picturing his strong hand
holding the phone to his ear.
“What’s going on with the other case?”
he finally asked. “The one with the missing
wife.”
“Oh, that. We’re still working it. Not
sure what to make of it yet. Maybe I’ll
give you call in a few hours to pick your
brain on that one. How does three a.m. sound?”
“It sounds good, assuming you’re not in
jail.”
“Why would I be in jail, Ray? After all,
I’m following your professional advice.
I’m turning around to go back home. I have
decided not to pursue my crazy plan.”
“You’re very convincing. I totally believe
you,” Ray said, unconvinced and disbelieving.
“Good night, Ray.”
“Good night, Keri. And good luck.”
Keri hung up and continued on her chosen route.
She could see the tower in the distance but
wasn’t headed there quite yet.
She had to make one brief pit stop on the
way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Keri tried not to let her nervousness show
as she stood in the US Bank Tower security
office, watching the night security manager
review her fake ID.
For a manager, he looked awfully young. He
was gangly and his uniform hung loosely on
his skeletal frame. Despite his apparent inexperience,
he seemed dubious about her claim for being
here. But since she was already officially
breaking the law, she decided to go all in.
“How long are you going to look at that
thing, Mr. Delacruz? You’re starting to
make me wonder if it’s not just the janitorial
staff I should be investigating.”
“I’m sorry, Officer Bird,” he said,
handing her back the ID. “It’s just that
no one informed me there was even an investigation
of the cleaning company, much less that you
would be doing a sting operation.”
“First of all, that’s what a sting is,
Mr. Delacruz. If we informed you ahead of
time, it would kind of defeat the purpose.
Second, it’s Detective Sue Bird, not officer.
I worked hard for the promotion and I’d
appreciate the respect I’ve earned.”
Sue Bird was actually the name of a real woman’s
professional basketball player. Keri had chosen
her name for her fake cop ID because Bird
was tough and hard-nosed. It helped her stay
in character.
“Of course,” Delacruz said, flustered
and no longer on the offensive. “What is
it you need again exactly?”
“I need a janitorial uniform and access
keys to the all the interior offices on the
sixty-ninth, seventieth, and seventy-first
floors. That’s where we believe the suspect
will be this evening.”
“And you really think one of the crew is
stealing things from the offices?”
“We know that a private firm is paying janitorial
staff from a cleaning company to copy private
material from computers in various high-profile
businesses in the downtown area. We’ve narrowed
it down to two cleaning companies. The one
you use is one of them. We have another sting
going on right now in a different downtown
building for the other company. Our hope is
that we can close this case tonight.”
“I really think I should call the day security
manager to get permission, Detective Bird.”
“You’re free to do that. But I should
warn you that if it turns out that the company
cleaning this building is the culprit, prosecutors
might consider your attempts to interfere
in the sting as collusion with the criminals
and you might face charges of conspiracy to
commit theft. But it’s your call, of course,
Mr. Delacruz.”
The man only needed a second to make his decision
before deciding to skip the call and lead
her to the women’s janitorial locker room.
As Keri followed him, she allowed herself
a silent sigh of relief. She’d never used
her fake ID and was beginning to wonder if
Ray had been kidding when he’d suggested
she get one “just in case” a year ago.
He had said that sometimes it was helpful
to be a cop other than yourself. She hadn’t
really understood what he meant at the time
but she did now.
“Here you go, Detective. Uniforms are over
there. You can pick the size that best fits
you. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes
with the keys.”
When he left, Keri changed as quickly as she
could out of her sweatshirt and jeans. It
took longer than she liked because of the
shoulder and rib injuries, but she took care
not to visibly wince or give any hint that
she was in pain.
Who knows if there are cameras in the locker
room? Can’t leave any bread crumbs.
She took off the cap she’d been wearing
low over her eyes, making sure not to remove
the disheveled brown-haired wig she had on.
She changed into a bulky janitorial uniform
to hide her build and stuffed a pair of latex
gloves into the pants pocket.
Even if there were none in the locker room,
the rest of the building was covered in security
cameras and there was no way Keri could locate
all of them. So her best bet was to keep her
face hidden and leave no prints. Even if she
got away with this, the security staff, Cave
himself, and possibly the police would be
reviewing every second of footage they could
find to uncover who Detective Sue Bird really
was. Any mistake and she’d be found out,
arrested, and likely incarcerated.
That’s why she had parked twelve blocks
away, in an outdoor lot without cameras, walked
to a Metro station, and ridden the train to
the stop near the tower. It’s why she was
wearing an old pair of black loafers she hadn’t
put on in months and would toss after tonight
so no shoeprints could be traced to her. It’s
why she wore a pair of fake tinted eyeglasses.
And it’s why she had been using a pretty
lame southern accent while talking to Delacruz.
He knocked on the door. Keri gave herself
one last once-over and, satisfied that she
couldn’t easily be identified as herself,
stepped outside to begin the next phase of
her plan.
*
Keri got out of the service elevator on the
seventieth floor and made her way to the door
with the tube latch hole she’d stuffed the
tissue into. Pretending to use the key card
Mr. Delacruz had given her, she pushed on
the door. It gave way and she was able to
open it.
She stepped inside and readjusted the latex
gloves she’d put on as she’d entered the
elevator on the lobby level. She stood there
silently, trying to think. Getting a key card
instead of actual metal keys had messed with
her plan. She’d been lucky that the tissue
worked on the exterior door. But any office
she opened from this point on would register
on the building’s security system with a
timestamp, location, and user ID.
Of course in this case, the card would register
as being an all-purpose guest or staff card.
But when they checked later, it wouldn’t
be hard to back trace the user to the non-existent
detective who had showed up in the middle
of the night.
That meant that eventually Jackson Cave would
know that someone other than the normal cleaning
staff had entered his personal office. When
he made that discovery, he’d surely move
the cipher or even destroy it. So she only
had this one chance to find it.
As she walked quickly down the hall toward
his office, she had an idea.
I don’t have to just open Cave’s office.
I can open them all and hide my true target.
Cave’s office was in the corner of the building
so Keri began at one end of the long hallway,
methodically unlocking each attorney’s door.
After she opened Cave’s, she continued on
down the other hallway until they were all
open.
Even though she couldn’t see them, Keri
knew there were cameras everywhere, so she
went into several offices, pretending to look
around, hoping her movements would throw them
off her scent when they watched her later.
When she got to Cave’s office, Keri knew
exactly where to go but held back for a second.
A guy like Jackson Cave would certainly have
additional security beyond whatever the building
offered.
He likely had several electronic tripwires
that would warn him if someone breached his
files, his computer, or anything else he thought
important. It was entirely possible that he’d
call Delacruz the second one went off. Or
worse, that he’d head straight to the office.
It occurred to Keri that she had no idea where
Cave lived.
Downtown has become a hip residential area
recently. What if he’s got a penthouse apartment
somewhere nearby? He could be here in minutes.
It was too late to do anything about that
now, so she stepped in and walked straight
to the photo of Cave with the monsignor. When
she’d commented on it during her earlier
visit that afternoon, he had tensed up ever
so imperceptibly. If the cipher was anywhere
in his office, it was near that picture.
She lifted it off the wall and felt the slightest
hint of resistance, and then it came free.
Glancing at the wall behind the frame, she
saw a thin electrical wire hanging down. It
had obviously been connected to the back of
the frame. The connection had been severed,
which was almost certainly the trigger she’d
been afraid Cave might have.
Oh well, at least I’m on the right track.
Keri glanced at her watch. It was 12:32 a.m.
She imagined she had ten minutes tops to get
out of the building if Cave was calling security.
She pulled his chair out and sat down under
his desk where no cameras could see what she
was doing.
Then she felt around the frame’s fabric
backing until her gloved fingers ran over
a small bump the size of a flash drive. She
peeled away the backing and pulled out the
drive. After that she fished out the old Android
phone she’d brought, connected it to the
drive with a USB OTG cable, and started the
download.
There was only one file on the drive and the
whole process took less than a minute. Keri
shoved the phone and cable back in her pocket,
replaced the flash drive behind the frame,
and started to put it back on the wall.
But realizing there was no point to that now,
she tried another tack. Instead of replacing
the photo, she dropped it on the ground, letting
the glass shatter. Then she removed and dropped
several other photos along that wall. Maybe
she could convince Cave that the frames had
fallen off the wall in a minor earthquake.
It wasn’t a solution, but it might hold
him off until he saw the video footage.
Keri ran down the hall as fast as her battered
body would allow and rushed out the same side
door she had entered the office through. She
hurried to the service elevator and hit the
down button. The doors opened immediately.
She considered that a good sign. If it wasn’t
there, it probably meant that Delacruz or
one of his men was on the way up.
She rode down, making sure to keep her head
tilted downward and her cap low, continually
checking her watch. 12:37 a.m. It was hard
to imagine that Cave hadn’t gotten hold
of Delacruz or another security guard by now.
She wouldn’t be surprised if they were waiting
for her in the lobby right now.
Keri looked up. She was on the fourth floor
and moving fast. She reached out and hit the
button for the second floor hard. The elevator
stopped a moment later and she stepped out.
She was halfway down the hall by the time
she heard the ding indicating that the doors
were closing again.
She got to the door for the stairs at the
end of the hall and peeked through the small
window. No one was there. She opened the door
and made her way down to the lobby. There
was no window on that door so she opened it
slightly and peeked out. She couldn’t see
anyone but she could hear loud voices.
“Report to me as soon as you have her,”
she heard Delacruz ordering someone. She stepped
out and moved quietly down the hall. A loud
ding told her a guard had likely just gotten
in the service elevator and was headed up
to look for her. There was another security
guard at the front desk with his back to her.
She rounded the corner in time to see Delacruz
returning to the security office, likely to
inform Cave on their progress in finding her.
Once the door closed, she tiptoed down the
hall back to the janitorial changing room.
She didn’t have time to put on her clothes
but she didn’t want to leave them there
either. Delacruz would eventually remember
they were there and someone would think to
pull DNA off them.
She stuffed them in a trash bag, threw it
over her shoulder, and left through the employee
back door that allowed them to enter and exit
the building without fancy suited people having
to lay eyes on them.
The door led down a long hallway, which came
to a narrow stairwell. She took it down and
opened the door at the bottom. It opened into
an underground parking garage that seemed
to go on for miles.
Keri saw a security booth at the far end and
walked the other way, toward a door that looked
to be a pedestrian exit. She opened it and
found that it was actually a long tunnel that
elevated slowly. She followed it until it
came to another door that opened at street
level.
She stepped outside and took a deep breath.
She was finally out of the tower complex.
But she was far from safe yet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With her blood pumping hard, Keri crouched
uncomfortably in the corner of the small parking
lot, desperately sucking in air and ignoring
the pain in her throbbing ribs. She had run
here when she heard the nearby sirens and
barely made it behind the lot’s four-foot-high
concrete wall before a squad car tore around
the corner.
She waited for the sound to fade before standing
up again. She was two blocks away from the
tower now, still dangerously close. She was
over ten blocks away from her car and there
was no way she could return the way she’d
come, by Metro. It would be crawling with
police looking for a woman in a janitorial
uniform.
She had to find somewhere with people, somewhere
crowded where she could change and then blend
into the crowd so she could get away unnoticed.
She hurried northwest up South Grand Avenue
in the direction of her car, keeping her eyes
open for someplace to duck in.
The sound of loud, pulsing house music emanated
from somewhere on West 4 th and she cut over
that way. Near the corner of South Olive,
she saw a club called The Gentry. A long line
out front snaked around the corner. There
was no way the bouncer would let her in the
way she was dressed so she ducked into an
alley behind the building.
As she reached the back door of the club,
she heard more sirens very close by. She banged
on the door loudly and waited, hoping someone
would open it before floodlights from an LAPD
squad car illuminated the alley.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door
opened. A petite woman in her fifties wearing
a hairnet and apron stood in front of her.
The woman looked Keri up and down, then started
to shut the door.
Keri put her foot in the gap to block it and
pleaded.
“Please let me in.”
The woman seemed ready to force the door closed
when she caught the sound of the nearby sirens.
Her eyes widened and she peeked around the
door to see if they were visible. The red
and blue lights weren’t in sight yet but
they sounded like they couldn’t be more
than a block away.
“Policia? ” she asked in a hushed, fearful
voice.
“Sí, ” Keri whispered back.
The woman stared at her for another endless
moment. Then, without a word, she pulled her
inside.
“Thank you,” Keri whispered.
“Sigueme,” the woman said, beckoning for
Keri to follow her. She led the way down a
small hallway to what appeared to be an employee
changing room.
“Thanks,” Keri repeated, sitting down
on the tiny bench in the middle of the small
room.
“Aspera aquí, ” the woman said, holding
up her hand. Keri’s Spanish was limited
but she got the gist. The woman wanted her
to stay in the room.
When she left, Keri proceeded to change out
of the cleaning uniform and back into the
sweatshirt and jeans from before. About halfway
through the slow, laborious process, the woman
returned. She was holding clothes, which she
immediately hung up on the back of the door.
Keri was surprised at what she saw. The woman
had secured a loose navy skirt, a lavender
tank top, and a pair of stylish black flats.
She also had a black beret and a small change
purse, just large enough for Keri’s fake
ID and the Android phone with the data from
Cave’s flash drive.
“Where did you get all this?” Keri asked,
stunned.
“Lost and Found,” the woman replied in
a thick accent. Then without asking, the woman
came over and took the shaggy brunette wig
off Keri’s head, pulled a hair tie from
her pocket, and put her hair up into a tight
bun. She stepped back and nodded approvingly.
Over the next few minutes, the woman helped
her into the outfit and adjusted the beret
so that none of Keri’s blonde hair was visible.
The woman took the cleaning uniform, Keri’s
clothes, and the cap and stuffed them all
in a plastic bag.
“Quemar, ” she said as she pulled out
a lighter. Apparently she was going to burn
Keri’s stuff.
“I can’t thank you enough. What’s your
name?”
“Esmerelda,” the woman said, smiling.
She pointedly didn’t ask for Keri’s name
and Keri didn’t offer it.
“What now?”
“Ven,” Esmerelda said, beckoning for Keri
to follow her. They made their way through
the back of the club, past the dishwashers
and the cooks, all of whom pointedly kept
their heads down as she walked by.
When they reached the door leading from the
kitchen to the club itself, Esmerelda pointed
through the window in the direction of the
club entrance. Keri nodded her understanding.
“Gracias,” she said.
Esmerelda nodded and opened the door for her
without a word. Keri stepped through and made
her way to the front of the club with her
head down, sliding by the dancing patrons
and the rowdy drinkers, trying to be as unobtrusive
as possible.
When she got outside she was on Olive and
followed it north all the way back to the
parking lot. There were still occasional sirens
but they all seemed to be centered near the
tower. She hadn’t seen a single police vehicle
on her walk back.
Her car was still there, sitting lonely in
the mostly empty lot. The cardboard she had
taped to her front and rear license plates
was still in place. She got in and drove off,
following every traffic law to the letter,
taking surface streets instead of the freeway
until she made it to a residential street.
She was in the West Adams District, the same
neighborhood where Kendra Burlingame’s sister,
Catherine, lived. Everything was quiet. Keri
could feel her heart rate slowly returning
to normal.
She pulled out the phone and turned it on.
Waiting for the information to load, Keri
tried to keep her expectations in check. It
was possible that this file could contain
everything she’d need to help her find Evie.
Or it could be just another dead end.
It turned out to be something in between.
When the screen loaded, Keri saw that she
needed to input a password to access the cipher.
The fact that whatever was on the drive was
password protected and had been hidden behind
a picture frame suggested that it was the
real deal. But she had no clue how to begin
to uncover what Cave’s password was.
Damn it! How am I going to break this password?
Part of her considered just staying here and
trying options until she cracked it. But she
knew that was almost certainly a waste of
time. Besides, she was exhausted and might
make some kind of irreparable mistake. As
infuriating as it was, she needed to look
at it again when she had fresh eyes.
She briefly considered easing her seat back
and crashing here until her interview with
Catherine in the morning. But that would mess
up the alibi she’d so meticulously planned
out. So she shook the thought from her head
and continued to her next destination.
*
Keri lay on the massage table. Her eyes were
droopy with exhaustion but she tried to force
herself not to fall asleep. Her goal was made
a little easier by the masseuse, who was giving
her a fairly intense body scrub. She had tried
to explain to the woman to steer clear of
her ribs and shoulder but she was still occasionally
jarred by an overly firm swipe. As she tried
to relax, Keri reviewed her situation.
Her alibi was in place and she thought it
would hold. Before going to Cave’s office,
she’d stopped in Koreatown to book a massage
in one of their all-night spas. These places
were some of LA’s oddest but increasingly
popular hangouts. Many of them were open 24/7
and offered everything from rubdowns and saunas
to onsite dining and reading rooms with complimentary
Wi-Fi.
Keri had selected a smaller place known for
leaving its patrons alone when they weren’t
getting services. She’d gone to the locker
room, where she’d left her phone and real
ID in a locker along with a fresh change of
clothes. That way, while Keri was in Cave’s
office, the GPS on her phone said she was
relaxing in a Koreatown spa.
Then she snuck out through a side door, leaving
it unlocked using her patented tissue trick,
got in her car, and headed downtown to violate
multiple laws. When she returned, she used
the same side door and returned to the locker
room to undress for her 2:30 a.m. massage
and body scrub.
At some point after the scrub and during the
massage she fell asleep. When the masseuse
woke her, it was 3:30 in the morning. She
thanked the woman for the treatment she couldn’t
recall getting and retreated to the quiet
room, where she crashed for three hours.
When her alarm buzzed her awake at 6:30 a.m.,
Keri didn’t exactly feel refreshed. Her
skin was raw and it wasn’t just her injuries
that hurt. Almost every muscle in her body
ached. She knew she was supposed to have showered
right after the treatment but she’d just
been too tired. Whatever the woman had done
to her while she slept, Keri was paying the
price for it now.
She dragged herself to one of the showers
and stood under the water for fifteen minutes,
letting the warmth soothe her battered body.
When she felt something approaching normal
again, she got out and returned to the locker
room.
Still in her robe, she took out the Android
phone again. She turned it on, hoping that
some password had magically auto-populated
on the screen overnight. No such luck. The
word “password” with the empty rectangle
below it stared back at her, almost taunting
her.
Trying to keep her cool, Keri returned it
to her bag, changed into her fresh clothes—her
standard slacks, shirt, and comfortable shoes—and
headed out.
She arrived at Catherine Maroney Wexler’s
house ten minutes early and used the extra
time to scarf down the blueberry muffin she’d
grabbed at a coffee shop on the way over.
As she sipped her coffee, she looked at the
phone with the downloaded data one more time.
She knew this was getting ridiculous. It was
starting to look like all the crazy risks
she’d taken the night before were for nothing.
She wasn’t going to just have some “eureka!”
moment and suddenly understand the inner workings
of Jackson Cave’s brain. And if she didn’t
know how he thought, there was no way she
would ever break the code.
That’s not quite true. I do know one person
who might have some insight into how Cave’s
mind works.
Keri glanced at her watch. It was 7:58 a.m.
There was no time to do anything before the
interview with Kendra’s sister. But after
it was over, she knew exactly where she was
going—to see a ghost.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Keri tried to keep her cool despite her growing
frustration. Catherine was surprisingly unhelpful
for someone whose sister was missing. After
welcoming Keri into what she announced as
the drawing room of the old-fashioned, ornate
Gothic Revival–style home, Catherine asked
the housekeeper to bring them tea.
It struck Keri that this was a woman far more
interested in appearances than her older sister.
She had the same long, dark hair but she was
more heavily made up, even at eight in the
morning, than Kendra was in any picture Keri
had seen.
She was slightly shorter and thinner, in a
self-starved kind of way. She also looked
like she’d had some plastic surgery, even
though Keri guessed that Catherine was about
the same age as her.
“So you moved out here after Kendra did?”
Keri asked while they waited for the tea.
“Yes, she’s three years older than me
and I was inspired to pursue acting by her.
Of course, by the time I got out here, she
had given that up and was working as a junior
publicist. I think her attempt at stardom
left her with a bad taste in her mouth.”
“You mean the photos?” Keri asked.
“How do you know about those?” Catherine
asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“It’s my job to know these things. That’s
something I wanted to ask you about. My understanding
is that you met Rafe Courtenay to make the
most recent payment on Sunday. He said that
was the first time anyone other than Kendra
had dropped it off. Why the change?”
Catherine started to respond but stopped herself
when the housekeeper brought in the tea. Only
when the woman left did she answer.
“I have no idea. We’d only ever talked
about those photos once, way back when I first
moved out here and she was warning me about
how unscrupulous people could be. I didn’t
even know she was being blackmailed. So it
was a total surprise when she asked me to
do this. All she said was that she had to
deal with something important and it couldn’t
wait. I was really sketched out by the whole
thing. But she sounded desperate so I agreed.”
Catherine took a forceful sip of her tea,
almost as if she were using its warmth to
steady herself. Keri plunged ahead, not wanting
to give her time to get too comfortable.
“She didn’t give any details on what she
was dealing with?”
“No,” Catherine replied. “She said something
about making things right. But other than
that, she was pretty tight-lipped.”
“Mrs. Wexler, we have indications that your
sister may have just run away. Do you think
that’s possible? Could she could have just
up and left town without telling anyone?”
Catherine put down her cup of tea and looked
Keri squarely in the eyes.
“Listen, Detective, my sister and I aren’t
very close anymore. She thinks I sold my soul.”
“Did you?’ Keri asked, not mincing words.
Catherine paused for a moment before answering.
She seemed to be genuinely pondering the question.
“I don’t know. Acting was hard. And then
I got married to a real estate developer who
happens to be fabulously wealthy. I have two
kids. I spend time at our club. I’ve had
the occasional nip and tuck. She thought I
gave up too easily on my dreams. But I’m
pretty happy with my life.”
“And what do you think of her?”
“I think my sister is an amazing woman.
I mean, we’re talking about a person who
learned Spanish as a kid back in Phoenix so
she could better connect with the illegal
immigrant children at the shelter where she
volunteered. But she’s not the type to be
satisfied with what she has. She was an amazing
publicist but she got bored just smoothing
things over for celebrities. So she started
that foundation. She does amazing work to
help those kids but she also wanted to travel
the world, to try to coordinate satellite
clinics in third world countries. But Jeremy
was satisfied keeping the charity local. I
think she got frustrated with that. Especially
because of the kid issue.”
Keri tried to keep her expression even as
her breath quickened. In her experience, “kid
issues” often played a prominent role in
marital conflict.
“What kid issue?” she asked as nonchalantly
as she could, not wanting to tip Catherine
off to her heightened level of interest.
“She couldn’t have them—they found out
about five years ago. I think she threw herself
into this work as a way to compensate. I know
she got down sometimes. That’s part of why
she kept so busy. She hated being bored and
Jeremy was more than satisfied just living
the life they had. I think he was happy with
it just being the two of them.”
“Do you think that boredom could have manifested
itself in other ways?” Keri asked.
“Are you asking if she might have had an
affair?” Catherine asked point-blank.
“Yes,” Keri said just as bluntly.
“Like I said, we weren’t that close anymore
so I wouldn’t be the person to ask that
question. Mags Merrywether would know more
about Kendra’s secrets. But it would surprise
me. My sister had a strongly attuned moral
compass. It’s part of why we drifted apart.
She thought mine didn’t work as well.”
“Okay. I think I have what I need. But there
is one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You never really answered my question.
Do you think Kendra might have just left?”
“No, Detective. The Kendra I knew never
would have abandoned her life here, not unless
she had a really good reason.”
“Then if she didn’t leave on her own,
can you think of anyone who might have wanted
to hurt her?”
Catherine sat quietly for a minute, deep in
thought. When she looked up, Keri knew her
answer before she spoke.
“I really can’t,” she finally said.
“Most people—Jeremy, Mags, the kids she
helped—adore her. We aren’t best friends
but I love her dearly. She’s my big sister,
you know? But someone with active animosity
toward her? No, I can’t think of anyone.”
Keri thanked her and left quickly. As she
walked back to her car, one frustrating thought
stuck in her head.
Back to square one.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Keri sat still, trying to hide her anxiousness
as she waited for her guest to be brought
into the cold, windowless, concrete-walled
room.
The only amenities were the metal table in
the center of the room and two metal benches
on either side of it. All were bolted to the
ground. Most everything was bolted down in
the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown
Los Angeles.
That was the formal name of the county jail.
It was supposed to be a way station for people
awaiting trial or transfer to a long-term
prison. But because of overcrowding, it often
housed convicted criminals for weeks, months,
and even years at a time, until a spot opened
up somewhere else.
That was the situation of the man she was
waiting for, Thomas “Ghost” Anderson.
Anderson was a professional kidnapper who
often abducted children for a fee. Sometimes
his clients were couples uninterested in the
formal adoption process. Other times, those
hiring him had more nefarious intentions.
Keri had learned of him while searching for
information on Evie’s abductor. At one time,
she even thought he might be the culprit,
before meeting him in person. Despite eliminating
him as a suspect, the more Keri had thought
about it, the more likely it seemed that Evie’s
abductor had also been a pro. So she had decided
that in order to catch a professional child
abductor, it might help to pick the brain
of another one.
And Anderson had indeed been helpful. He’d
given her background on how the underground
world of child abductions operated. He’d
given her the street name—“the Collector”—of
the man whose MO most closely matched how
Evie was taken.
And most relevant to Keri now, he’d told
her about how a few corrupt defense lawyers
sometimes acted as intermediaries between
abductors and potential clients. He mentioned
one name in particular, his own attorney,
Jackson Cave.
Why he’d been so forthcoming, Keri had no
idea. She had promised to write a letter to
the parole board on his behalf, something
she hadn’t done yet due to her showdown
with Pachanga and subsequent hospitalization
and recovery.
But that hardly seemed like enough of a reason
for Anderson to give up so many trade secrets.
She got the sense that he was playing some
longer game. But for the time being, if he
could help her, she didn’t care what it
was.
And she was pretty sure he could help her
now. After all, as one of Jackson Cave’s
clients, he had spent many hours with the
man. And Anderson was perceptive, scarily
so. If anyone could hazard an educated guess
as to what Cave’s password might be, it
was him.
The door to the room opened and Keri sat up
straight, pushing any extraneous thoughts
out of her head. When it came to Thomas Anderson,
she needed to be at the top of her game.
He shuffled in, wearing shackles on his feet
and handcuffs on his wrists. It was hard to
be sure, but she thought she detected the
slightest of limps.
Just like the last time they’d met, he wore
his bright orange prisoner jumpsuit. Just
like last time, his thick black hair was parted
neatly, as if he’d wet it down in anticipation
of their meeting.
But unlike last time when he’d already been
sitting down in the room waiting for her,
she could now gauge his height and build.
He wasn’t especially tall, maybe five foot
eight. But he was squarely built. And for
a man in his fifties, he’d clearly made
an effort to stay in shape. Even under the
loose jumpsuit, she could tell he regularly
used the jail’s weight room.
If possible, it looked like he had gotten
even more tattoos in the two weeks since she’d
last seen him. Almost every visible inch of
skin on the right side of his body, from his
fingers to his ear, was covered with them.
And now there was a small bandage on the outside
of his wrist that she suspected covered a
new piece of art. Interestingly, the left
side of his body was completely devoid of
ink.
Keri looked at his face and saw his dark eyes
studying her closely. She could see him doing
some kind of mental calculation. She didn’t
take offense, as that’s exactly what she’d
been doing to him.
“New tattoo?” she asked, nodding in the
direction of his wrist as the guard attached
his shackles to a bar on the table.
“A sparrow,” he said. “I’d show you
but it’s still too raw and bloody to really
appreciate it. How are the ribs?”
“Still sore,” she answered, trying to
hide her surprise. The nature of her injuries
hadn’t made it into news reports and she
hadn’t moved at all since he entered the
room. “How did you know…?”
“Your breathing is more shallow than the
last time you visited me, which indicates
either a rib injury or a muscle pull in that
area. And the way you’re carefully keeping
your arm away from your side, so you don’t
accidentally bump them, suggests ribs.”
“Very perceptive, especially for a man who
should probably be using a walker. Is it just
arthritis or did someone sweep the leg in
the yard?”
Anderson smiled, revealing a mouth of full
of gleaming white teeth.
“Touché, Detective Locke. In fact, my leg
injury was the result of an altercation. I
got it defending your honor.”
“What?”
“There was a report on the news about your
run-in with Alan Pachanga. Congratulations,
by the way. Another prisoner saw you at the
press conference, sitting there in your wheelchair,
pleading for help finding your daughter, and
said you seemed like a real bitch.”
“I am a real bitch,” Keri admitted.
“Be that as it may, I thought it was quite
inappropriate of him to say it and I told
him so. He took umbrage with my comment. A
squabble ensued, which is how I suffered the
sprained knee you noticed.”
“Did you get in a few licks at least?”
Keri asked, suspecting that Thomas Anderson,
even at his age, could do some serious damage.
“I should say so. He’s still in the infirmary.
Something about broken fingers, a shattered
kneecap, and a hairline fracture of the skull.”
He listed off the injuries as though they
were items on a grocery shopping list. It
reminded Keri that despite his genteel manner
the man across from her was very dangerous.
“Wow,” she said, trying to act unperturbed,
“I’m surprised they let you have visitors
after that.”
“They wouldn’t normally. I’ve actually
been in solitary confinement since it happened
and will be for the next two weeks. But I
guess they make exceptions for visits from
law enforcement. So I suppose I should thank
you for allowing me to get some comparatively
fresh air and stretch my legs a bit.”
He tried to lean back in his chair, as if
attempting to luxuriate in his surroundings,
but the shackles prevented him from getting
too comfortable.
“Well, it just so happens I know a way you
can thank me,” Keri told him.
“Just saying ‘thank you’ isn’t enough?”
he asked, with just a hint of feigned insult.
Keri wanted him to know she was serious so
she leaned in and spoke plainly.
“I’m looking for something a little more
substantial.”
Anderson smiled ever so slightly, enjoying
a lingering pause before finally responding.
“It would be my pleasure. Can I assume that
you’ll reciprocate in some way? After all,
the parole board can only process so many
letters of recommendation.”
Keri couldn’t tell if he was genuinely unaware
that she had yet to write the letter or was
testing her.
Best to come clean with this guy. If he stops
trusting me, he’ll never help.
“About that,” she said, “I’ve been
a bit busy since we last met, what with finding
Ashley Penn’s abductor, getting in a life-or-death
fight with him, and spending a week in the
hospital. So I haven’t had a chance to get
to your letter just yet. I didn’t want to
rush it, you know.”
Anderson nodded, seemingly untroubled by the
delay.
“I appreciate your honesty, Detective Locke.
But it would be nice if you could get to it
soon. Maybe by the time I’m released from
solitary. I have a parole hearing in November
and I’d love to add it to the official record.”
“You really think it’s going to make any
difference when you’ll have just been in
the hole for a month?”
“You’d be surprised,” he replied. “I
can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
She already knew that to be the case. When
she’d first reviewed his records, she saw
that he had acted as his own counsel at his
most recent trial. Apparently, he’d been
so convincing that if the case against him
hadn’t been ironclad, he might have gotten
a hung jury.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Anderson,
I’m less surprised that you can be convincing
than I am that you’re in here in the first
place. You seem so meticulous. I’m amazed
you got caught.”
Anderson chuckled softly before answering.
“I think meticulous is a wonderful word
to describe me, Detective Locke. Perhaps that’s
why I became a librarian.”
“You were a librarian?” Keri couldn’t
keep the shock out of her voice.
“For over thirty years, the last ten at
the Los Angeles Central Library. Have you
ever been? It’s a real jewel. As to my getting
caught and convicted while being so very meticulous,
that is quite a stunner. Almost suspicious,
don’t you think?”
Keri tried to let it all sink in. Anderson
having been a librarian was unexpected enough.
But he seemed to be suggesting that his incarceration
might be partly of his own design. It was
all too much to process at once. And none
of it was relevant to the reason she had come
here. She needed to get this conversation
back on track.
“I will definitely write that letter soon,”
she promised, forcing herself to maintain
a polite, playful tone, despite her growing
impatience. “But as I mentioned, I could
use your help with something, if you’re
so inclined.”
“Of course. I’ll do what I can, within
reason. What is it?”
Keri glanced up at the guard standing in the
corner of the room.
“I need a moment,” she told him. The man
didn’t look enthused to leave but he did
so without a word.
“Oh, this feels very cloak and dagger,”
Anderson said almost gleefully.
“It’s kind of sensitive.”
Anderson leaned in, getting as close to her
as the shackles would allow. His next words
were spoken in a whisper.
“Then you should know that even with the
guard out of the room, the walls have ears.”
“I guess I’ll have to be cryptic then,”
Keri replied, refusing to whisper herself
but definitely lowering her voice. “Do you
recall that the last time I was here, we discussed
your… friend?”
“I do.”
His voice was pleasant but the playfulness
had disappeared from his eyes. Keri proceeded
carefully, not wanting to spook him.
“I got the impression that you have a strong
sense of him; that in your time together,
you might have developed some insight into
how his thought process works.”
“I may have,” he said, revealing nothing.
Keri debated whether to continue. Something
about laying her cards on the table with a
man like The Ghost made her deeply uncomfortable.
But she didn’t really have much choice.
She was out of options.
“So if this friend wanted to protect some
digital information, to keep it well hidden
from prying eyes by requiring that the information
be retrieved through a written key of some
kind, do you have any ideas as to what that
key might be?”
“You’ve come to the right person, Detective
Locke. It so happens that I’m quite confident
that I know what his…key is.”
“That’s great,” Keri said, unable to
keep the excitement out of her voice. “What
is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What?” Keri demanded, her voice a mix
of anger and confusion.
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal that information,”
he repeated.
“What do you mean, you can’t reveal it?
Why not?”
“The information I shared with you at our
last visit was, if not common knowledge, at
least easily accessible. Even if I was formally
acting as a ‘rat,’ it was forgivable because
what I told you wasn’t proprietary.”
“So you’re saying you’d feel guilty
if you told me what I need to know now because
it’s more secret?” Keri asked, dumbfounded.
“Not at all. Guilt isn’t an emotion I
waste time with. How could I do the things
I did if guilt was a factor? I’m saying
that if I gave you what you’re looking for,
it could be traced back to me. And my friend
has many resources in this facility, among
both prisoners and guards. I suspect that
if word got out that I had assisted you, I
wouldn’t make it to my parole hearing.”
“So you’re just covering your ass?”
“Can you blame me, Detective Locke? Even
at my advanced age, I think it’s a lovely
derriere. And I’d like to keep it in one
piece.”
Keri shook her head, not amused. She’d come
so close. She had the data to find Evie in
her possession. She was sitting across from
a man who could give her the password that
would let her access it. And he wasn’t talking.
She looked back at him, trying to decide if
it was worth going at him again in some other
way. But she could tell it was a waste of
time. His face had gone stony and the glint
of playfulness had left his eyes.
“Guard!” she called out. As she waited
for him to return, Anderson suddenly leaned
forward with unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.
“Keri,” he whispered slowly, using her
first name for the only time she could recall.
“Listen very closely. I want to help you
but I can’t. You must understand how these
things work. Jackson Cave is the key to this
place. You’ve got it all backward. It would
be capital for you to find what you’re looking
for. In truth, you already have everything
you need. Mark my words.”
The guard stepped inside and Anderson stood
up without having to be asked. He looked at
Keri with a level of deliberation she’d
never seen before. As the guard directed him
out of the room, he turned back and repeated
himself.
“Mark my words.” And then he was gone
*
Keri turned over Anderson’s last strange
comments in her head as she drove back to
the station. It was as if he’d turned into
a different person in those last few moments.
She couldn’t understand what had happened
to him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a call from
Edgerton.
“You close to being back?” he asked when
she picked up.
“I should be there in twenty minutes. Why?”
“Hillman has called an all-hands meeting.
It starts in fifteen. I’ll try to stall
him.”
“Why didn’t he call me himself?” she
demanded.
“I’m pretty sure he did.”
Keri looked at her phone and saw two missed
messages. They must have come in when she
was with Anderson. The guards made her turn
in her phone and gun when she entered. She’d
been so wrapped up in trying to understand
what was up with Anderson that she’d forgotten
to check them.
“Is he pissed?” she asked, already knowing
the answer.
“Is he ever not pissed?” Edgerton replied.
Twenty minutes later, Keri walked into Conference
Room A. Everyone else was already assembled.
Edgerton was in the corner, showing Hillman
some piece of paper, gesticulating meaningfully.
But as soon as he saw Keri, he stopped and
went to his seat, giving her a little smile.
She realized that whatever he’d been showing
Hillman must have been intended just to distract
him until she got there. She smiled back gratefully.
“Now that everyone’s here,” Hillman
said accusingly as he stared at Keri, “let’s
begin. Detective Brody, can you catch us up
on where the investigation stands now?”
Brody, who had been chomping on an everything
bagel, stood up and, oblivious to the bits
of poppy seeds and bagel crumbs stuck to his
tie, walked to the front of the room.
“So last night, we went to the Burlingames’
big fundraiser and interviewed a bunch of
rich dicks. Everybody had the same story—‘They’re
a great couple.’ Nobody could think why
she might just up and bail. No sign of it.
No real marital problems.
“I had to talk to the doctor for a while.
He held it together okay up on stage giving
his speech. But afterward, he cornered me
and started asking all these questions about
what he could do to help. He was a frickin’
wreck. I felt for the guy but what everyone
said about him is true. He’s boring. And
according to the guests there, she’s not.
Supposedly they seem to like it that way.
But I guess she was more bored than people
thought because everything’s pointing to
her adios-ing town, right, baby boy?”
Edgerton, looking annoyed at the moniker,
started to open his mouth, but Hillman shut
him down.
“We’ll get to that in a minute. And Brody,
try to be professional, okay?” He turned
his attention to Keri. “Locke, you’ve
been AWOL all morning. What have you been
doing with your time?”
“I spent the morning interviewing Kendra’s
younger sister, Catherine,” Keri said, refusing
to take the bait. “She also indicated that
the marriage seemed to be fine, although she
admitted that she and Kendra hadn’t been
very close in recent years. She also found
it hard to believe that her sister would just
bail on her life. She was too committed to
what she was doing.”
“Or not,” Hillman said, turning to Kevin.
“Catch us up, Edgerton.”
“Yes sir. We recently learned that Kendra
Burlingame’s bank account has been closed
and all the money transferred to an account
in Switzerland.”
“How much was in there?” asked Detective
Jerry Cantwell, an old-timer who was almost
as fossilized as Brody.
“A little over seventy grand. But what’s
weird is that it could have been a lot more.
Both Burlingames have their own separate checking
accounts, as well as a joint one. She could
have pulled as much as she liked out of the
joint account too but the money she took came
exclusively from her account.”
“How much was in the joint account?” Keri
asked.
“Three hundred thirty-two thousand.”
“Holy shit!” Brody shouted. “She just
left all that money on the table?”
“Maybe she didn’t want to screw over her
husband,” Suarez volunteered. “If this
was just her feeling like she needed to start
over, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want
to leave him destitute. It doesn’t seem
like she wanted to ruin his life, just reboot
hers.”
“Was anything else taken from other accounts?”
Hillman asked.
“No,” Edgerton answered. “All of her
investments are untouched. But accessing them
would have taken longer and been more complicated.
Maybe she didn’t want to risk tipping someone
off to what she was doing.”
“Good work. What about the whole Palm Springs
bus station thing?”
“Oh, I asked Patterson to take that over
so I could focus on the financials.”
“Okay, where are we at, Patterson?” Hillman
asked.
Detective Garrett Patterson, a quiet, smallish
guy in his mid-thirties, cleared his throat.
His nickname was Grunt Work, mainly because
he didn’t mind doing it. He seemed to get
off on checking endless hours of surveillance
footage, reviewing database records, or cold-calling
potential witnesses.
“I’ve gone through the footage from the
Phoenix bus station and there’s no record
of the woman in the video at the Palm Springs
station getting off there. I also checked
every other stop that had security footage—Tucson,
El Paso, San Antonio, Houston, New Orleans—”
“We get it, Patterson,” Brody interrupted.
“Cut to the chase.”
“She’s not visible exiting the bus at
any location along the way or when they stopped
for good in Orlando.”
“So what does that mean?” Brody asked,
visibly frustrated. “Are you saying she’s
still hiding out on that bus?”
“No. There were lots of other stops at small
stations without cameras. She could have gotten
off at any of them and we’d never know.”
“What about the bus itself?” Keri asked.
“Doesn’t it have cameras?”
“It has one near the driver’s rearview
mirror. But it wasn’t working.”
“Disabled?” asked Edgerton.
“Unknown. But it was working fine for all
that bus’s trips last week. There’s more.”
“Good news, I’m sure,” Detective Sterling,
Cantwell’s partner, muttered sarcastically.
“Afraid not. Palm Springs PD collected every
snow globe from that gift shop at the bus
station to test for prints.”
“Why not just the one with the Palm Springs
façade?” asked Keri.
“There were four Palm Springs snow globes
and they couldn’t be sure which one Kendra
grabbed. They’re testing those first but
they took them all just to be safe.”
“What did they find?” Suarez asked.
“A l ot of prints. You can imagine how many
people walked through that store and picked
up those globes. Apparently they don’t get
cleaned that often. Their forensic guys are
working through them to identify everyone
they can but it’s a slow process.”
“Thanks, Patterson,” Hillman said, stepping
forward. “So you can see, we’re at a bit
of an impasse here. We’re not dropping the
case just yet. I want to pull the strings
on these outstanding issues—the prints,
more interviews with the doctor’s co-workers,
following up on that Swiss bank account to
see if anyone comes collecting, assuming the
bank will cooperate. We’ll look into all
of that and have another all-hands tomorrow
morning, bright and early at eight a.m. But
if nothing firm has turned up by then…”
“Sir,” Keri started to say but stopped
when she saw the look in Hillman’s eyes.
He continued.
“If we don’t have anything by then, we
may have to close this case, whether you want
to or not, whether her husband wants us to
or not. He has the resources to hire his own
investigator if he chooses. But as you all
know, if Kendra Burlingame decided to check
out of her life and hasn’t done anything
nefarious along the way, there’s not much
we can do. We’re in the business of investigating
crimes and there doesn’t seem to be a crime
committed here. That is all.”
The meeting broke up and everyone else hurried
out, not wanting to incur Hillman’s wrath.
Keri stayed in her seat.
“Anything you care to add, Locke?” he
asked curtly as he gathered up his papers.
“No sir,” she said, getting up and heading
back to her desk.
Hillman was right. All the evidence indicated
that Kendra had skipped town to either get
away from her current life or just start a
new one. Just because everyone Keri had spoken
to said it wasn’t like her didn’t mean
it wasn’t possible. Keri’s job often consisted
of arresting people no one thought capable
of the crime they’d committed.
She sat down at her desk and allowed herself
to take a mental break from the case. She
still had that itch in the back of her brain,
saying something wasn’t quite right about
it. But there wasn’t much she could do until
forensics came back and there was no point
in doing what she so often did: obsessing.
Keri pulled out the old Android phone with
Cave’s data and stared at it again.
So this is my life? If I’m not obsessing
over one case, I have to obsess over another?
Apparently it was, she had to admit to herself
as she stared blankly at the phone, the word
“password” emblazoned tauntingly on the
screen.
All she needed was one word to open up a whole
world of information on the underground child
abduction trade. If she could get just one
word, it would unlock everything else. It
was the key.
Then something popped into her head, something
Thomas Anderson had said when he was rambling
at the end of their meeting: Jackson Cave
was the key.
What if he meant that literally? I did ask
what the key was.
She cast her mind back to their conversation.
It was less than an hour ago and she could
still recall it almost completely:
You must understand how these things work.
Jackson Cave is the key to this place. You’ve
got it all backward. It would be capital for
you to find what you’re looking for. In
truth, you already have everything you need.
Mark my words.
Jackson Cave is the key. What if that wasn’t
just hyperbole but the literal truth? Anderson
had said to mark his words. He’d said it
twice. It was the last thing he’d told her,
almost pleading with her to get it. What if
Cave’s name was the key, the password?
But the password could only be one word, not
two. Keri shook the doubt out of her head
and forced herself to focus on Anderson’s
words.
You’ve got it all backward.
As quickly as she could, Keri typed in Cave’s
name backward as one word: evacnoskcaj.
The screen blinked before displaying the message
“invalid password” in red letters.
That’s not the whole clue. He also said
“It would be capital for you to find what
you’re looking for.”
“It would be capital” sounded ridiculous,
like he had suddenly joined the cast of some
Gilbert and Sullivan musical. But he would
have known that. He wanted it to sound weird,
to draw attention to it—capital.
Keri tried the backward name again, this time
in all capital letters: EVACNOSKCAJ.
The screen blinked again. After a long second,
a new phrase popped up:
“Password accepted.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Keri stared at the screen for several seconds,
refusing to blink for fear that what she saw
might disappear. She couldn’t believe her
eyes.
On the screen was a long list, organized in
a way she couldn’t immediately understand,
with numeric codes scattered throughout. But
among the codes were what clearly seemed to
be initials and dates.
After a few minutes it became clear that the
organizing principle of the list was the abductors.
There would be a heading with what looked
to be initials. Below that were dated entries
with the coded numbers she couldn’t understand.
She suspected that they referred to the specifics
of the abduction or perhaps the identity of
the client or even the child.
Keri scrolled down hungrily, looking for anything
that looked familiar. Then she froze. On the
screen in front of her was a date—9/18/11.
That was the date Evie was taken.
The date was followed by a series of numbers
and letters that meant nothing to her. She
scrolled back up to see what the heading title
was and gave out an audible gasp at what she
saw.
Suarez, one desk over, looked up in alarm.
She gave him a half-smile.
“Big sale at Target,” she said. He nodded,
uninterested, and returned to his paperwork.
Keri’s eyes returned to the screen, disbelieving.
The header was titled simply “Ctr.” It
could stand for anything but one reasonable
possibility was that it stood for “Collector.”
Even more promising than that, following those
letters was an e-mail address.
After all these years, was it possible that
she was just an e-mail away from contacting
the man who’d kidnapped her child? Was it
really possible?
I guess I’m about to find out.
Keri quickly set up a dummy Gmail account
and prepared to type a message. But as her
fingers rested on the keyboard, she could
feel the anxiety creeping into her gut. What
if she screwed this up and the guy never responded?
What if he shut down the account?
Borderline angry with herself, she shook the
thoughts from her head.
Keep the emotion out of it. Forget about Evie.
Just set something up with the suspect. Do
your job.
She wanted to keep it simple and non-threatening.
She didn’t even know if the address was
legitimate. But if it was, she wanted to keep
her message vague while still piquing the
Collector’s interest. Finally she typed
a brief message:
“Need some work done. You come recommended.
JC speaks highly. Would like to discuss.”
Keri looked at the e-mail repeatedly, trying
to find some flaw that would give her away.
But it seemed pretty good. Her email name,
Guy347BD5, was randomly chosen and hopefully
gave the impression that as a potential client,
she was careful.
You’re stalling now. Just hit Send.
She did so, then wrote a separate e-mail to
Edgerton asking him to try to trace the e-mail
for “Ctr.” She doubted he’d find anything.
This guy was a professional and she suspected
he was pretty good at covering his tracks
or he’d have been caught long ago. Still,
it was worth a shot.
And since she was slightly paranoid that “Ctr.”
might somehow be able to tell his e-mail address
was being traced, she warned Edgerton that
the trace was highly sensitive and not to
do anything that might reveal to the subject
they were investigating it.
With that done, and after twenty minutes of
constantly refreshing her mail, Keri decided
her obsession wasn’t constructive and she
needed to take a mental break.
Maybe a visit with Ray can de-jangle my nerves.
The idea gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed
her stuff and hurried to her car, doing her
best to ignore her protesting ribs.
On the drive over, Keri tried to clear her
head but it was no good. Her thoughts kept
returning to the list and to the man who’d
designed it, Jackson Cave.
Part of her wanted to drive to his office
right now, arrest him, and sort the rest out
later. But after a few deep breaths to clear
her head, she remembered why that would be
a terrible idea.
First, the list wasn’t actually proof of
anything, at least not yet. It was just a
series of numbers and letters. To her, it
was clear that they represented initials,
dates, and contact information. But that might
not be clear to everyone, certainly not to
a prosecutor.
Beyond that, using the list to try to bust
Cave would implicate her as well. She had
gotten it by breaking into the private office
of an officer of the court. Even if a case
could be made against Jackson Cave, she was
guaranteeing her own arrest and likely conviction.
But even that would have been worth it if
she thought it would help get Evie back. Unfortunately,
she doubted it would. The second that Cave’s
arrest made the news, the Collector would
go to ground and she’d lose the best lead
she’d found since her daughter was taken.
Cave was simply a means to an end. And that
end was finding the Collector in the hope
that he would lead her to Evie. Anything that
interfered with that goal was a non-starter.
So she’d have to leave Cave be for now.
Keri walked into Ray’s hospital room an
hour later to find him napping. She hadn’t
spoken to him since calling him late last
night on the way to Cave’s office. For all
he knew, she might have been in jail for breaking
and entering.
She sat quietly in the uncomfortable hard-backed
chair in the corner of the room, watching
her friend nap, periodically checking her
phone for an e-mail reply from the Collector.
Something about his slow, rhythmic breathing
relaxed her and she felt the anxiety of the
day slip away. Even the soreness from her
injuries and the ill-advised overnight massage
faded.
Is this how I would feel if I lay next to
him at night, lulled to sleep by the soothing
sound of him?
She stayed like that for a while, just sitting
and wondering. Suddenly she heard a clang
and startled, realizing she’d drifted off
to sleep. A nurse had plopped a tray on the
adjustable table connected to the bed and
the sound made Ray stir. Keri looked the clock
on the wall. It was 12:30 p.m. exactly. She’d
been asleep for over a half hour. She checked
her e-mail again—nothing.
“Time for lunch, Detective Sands,” the
nurse said in an overly chipper voice that
made Keri want to slug her. “Do you need
some help sitting up?”
“No thanks. I’ve got it, Janet,” he
said groggily. He pulled himself upright and
saw Keri in the corner for the first time.
He smiled at her but didn’t speak until
Janet left.
“I’m glad to see you here rather than
being asked to help pony up for your bail
money,” he said once the door closed, leaving
them alone.
“You joke but that was closer to being a
reality than I care to think about.”
“So I take it you didn’t turn around and
go home like you promised?”
“Actually I had a hankering for a late-night
massage and body scrub so I spent the night
in Koreatown.”
“I don’t even know where to start with
that one,” he said. “Is that a euphemism?
Should I ask if you got a happy ending?”
“I really did get a massage,” Keri assured
him. “But I also managed to run another
errand and you could say that, despite a few
uncertain moments, I did get a very happy
ending.”
“This conversation is making me a little
uncomfortable,” Ray said. “Could you be
cryptic in a less creepy way?”
“You started it. But okay. Yes, I made a
pit stop and managed to find an item I needed.
In fact, I just figured out how to use it.”
Ray’s eyes widened.
“You broke the code?” he mouthed silently.
Keri nodded before adding in a hushed voice.
“I think so.”
“So what happens now?” he whispered.
“Well, it turns out that there are e-mails
on this thing. And one of them looks like
it belongs to the guy I’ve been looking
for. So I reached out.”
“You did what?” Ray demanded, no longer
whispering.
“Keep your voice down, Ray. I created an
anonymous e-mail account and contacted the
guy. I said I needed help with a job.”
“Have you heard back?”
The question caused her to look again. Still
no reply.
“Not yet. But I sent it not even two hours
ago.”
“So what happens if he gets back to you?”
he asked.
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I
come to it.”
“You can’t go after this guy alone, you
know. There’s no telling what he’s capable
of.”
“I know that, Raymond,” she said, trying
to scold him into submission.
“Don’t act like I’m insulting you. Going
after suspects alone is practically a job
description for you. Seriously, you won’t
make a move without talking to me first, right?”
“Of course not,” she lied.
They sat quietly for a few minutes as Ray
picked at his lunch of chicken and rice soup,
fruit cocktail, and the saddest side salad
Keri had ever seen. After a while, Ray gave
up and pushed the tray away.
“How’s the Burlingame case going?” he
asked.
“Stalled. All signs point to her having
run off. It doesn’t feel right to me but
I don’t have anything firm to base that
on. We’re waiting for some fingerprints
and surveillance camera footage to come back.
But it’s not promising.”
“So what are you doing with the downtime?
Is the houseboat all packed up?” he asked.
Keri raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve been working
a case. I’m making late night stops to…visit
folks. I just took off my shoulder sling yesterday
and every time I take a deep breath, it feels
like someone’s jabbing a knife in my rib
cage.”
“You’re looking for sympathy from me on
the walking wounded front?” he asked, disbelieving.
“I’m just saying I haven’t had a lot
time to bubble wrap my valuables. Besides,
I don’t have a new place yet. So you know,
cart before the horse.”
“I’ve been looking for places for you.
I think I may have found something.”
“Really? Where?”
“Playa del Rey. Not too far from the station.
It’s in the same general area as the houseboat
so you could still go to your favorite grocery
store. It’s pretty small. And old. And kind
of ugly if the photos I saw are accurate.
But it’s a two-bedroom.”
“How much is it?” Keri asked warily.
“The rent is reasonable. It’s above a
little dive restaurant on Culver, about six
blocks from the beach. I know the owner and
he’s willing to give you a deal. You should
go check it out today, especially since you
have a bit of extra time.”
He handed her a sheet of paper with the address.
“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll head
over there now.”
“I think you should. I’ll let Rene know
you’re coming.”
Keri stood up, walked over to Ray’s bedside,
and put her hand on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said. “You still supposed
to get out of here at the end of the week?”
“That’s the hope.”
“Maybe I can drive you home. We could get
some coffee and talk about stuff.”
“Stuff?” he asked.
“Yeah, stuff.”
“I would love to talk about stuff,” he
said. “Stuff is one of my favorite topics.”
“Okay,” Keri said, taking her hand off
his arm and heading for the door. “That’s
about enough of that. I’m going to go check
this place out. You take it easy, okay?”
“I will,” he promised, and, shouting after
her as she left the room, added, “I’m
just going to be here, thinking about stuff.”
She couldn’t fight the grin that forced
itself onto her face as she walked down the
hall. When she reached the elevator, she checked
her phone. The smile immediately disappeared.
The Collector had replied to her e-mail.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Keri tore out of the hospital parking structure
without regard for signs, other cars, or even
people. Her heart was pumping fast and her
hands gripped the steering wheel tight, turning
her fingers white.
The Collector, or whoever was behind the e-mail
she’d received, had given her only a brief
window to get to the location he’d selected.
The message had been short and to the point:
1:30 today. 3rd street promenade. santa monica.
Just south of arizona and third. metal chair
on east side of street next to sculpture.
wear red shirt. sit down. wait.
She immediately replied, “Okay.”
The e-mail didn’t give her much time, which
was obviously by design. If she’d been downtown
or in the San Fernando Valley when she received
it, there was no way she could have made it.
As it was, the hospital in Beverly Hills wasn’t
that far. Still, Keri only had about forty-five
minutes to drive to Santa Monica, park, and
find someone to sit in the metal chair at
the appointed time.
It couldn’t be her, of course. If the Collector
saw her, he might recognize her from all those
years ago, on that day when he had taken Evie
from her. If he got even a hint that the mother
of a girl he’d abducted was in the area,
he’d be gone and the e-mail address would
be blown as a resource. And she couldn’t
postpone the meet. Any attempt to change the
terms would risk alienating the Collector
and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to
take.
So she was stuck. She had to find a believable
decoy—someone the Collector would see sitting
on that metal chair and believe could be a
potential client in the market for an abduction.
And she’d have to wing it, selecting her
potential decoy based on little more than
that he looked the part. This wasn’t how
she wanted this operation to proceed. But
she wasn’t in charge and she’d just have
to adapt as best she could.
As she barreled down Wilshire Boulevard, Keri
decided to use the time to try to even up
the odds. She called Edgerton to see if he’d
made any progress tracing the e-mail address.
“I’m sorry, Keri,” he said. “I keep
hitting dead ends. And I’m worried that
if I try to force my way in, your subject
may get an alert. This guy’s sneaky and
I’m worried I may set off an electronic
tripwire if I go any further. Who is he anyway?”
“I can’t really get into it right now,”
Keri answered, as much to protect Edgerton
as to guard her own secrets. “Go ahead and
drop it for the time being and we’ll regroup
later. Just focus on the Burlingame stuff
for now, okay?”
“No problem,” he said.
Keri was about to hang up when she had an
idea.
“Hey, Kevin, is Officer Castillo around?”
she asked.
“I think she’s off duty today but I can
text you her private cell if you want.”
“Do that,” Keri said as she zipped under
the 405 Freeway overpass. She was less than
fifteen minutes from the Promenade but it
was almost 1 p.m. At this rate, she wouldn’t
have much time to set things in motion once
she got there.
Edgerton’s text came in and Keri punched
in Castillo’s phone number.
“Jamie here,” said a cheery voice.
“Officer Castillo, it’s Detective Keri
Locke. I’m sorry to bother you on your day
off. But I may need to ask a favor.”
“Of course, Detective. What can I do to
help?” Castillo responded without a moment’s
hesitation.
“Hold on a second,” Keri said.
She looked at the time again—1:02 p.m. Borderline
desperate, she grabbed the siren from her
passenger seat, turned it on, and put it on
her roof. Then she rolled up her window
“Sorry about that,” she continued. “You
said you used to work in West LA Division.
Does that mean you happen to live in the area?”
“You bet. My commute to the station was
less than five minutes.”
“Any chance you’re in the vicinity right
now?” Keri asked hopefully.
“I just got out of a movie in Westwood,”
Castillo answered happily.
Keri blasted through the intersection at Centinela
Avenue, honking at an oblivious pedestrian
in the crosswalk.
“Are you carrying your service revolver?”
she asked.
There was a brief pause on the other end of
the line.
“I am,” Castillo answered, her voice now
completely serious.
“Okay, Officer, I’m going to make an unusual
request of you. If you decline, no hard feelings.
But I could really use a hand and it’s kind
of time-sensitive.”
Less than a second passed before she got her
answer.
“What do you need?”
“Get to your car and drive to the Third
Street Promenade. I’ll explain en route.”
“I’m starting my car now, Detective. Fill
me in.”
Keri hesitated for second, aware that opening
up like this could put her at risk. But at
this point she was out of options. She dove
in.
“All right, here’s the short version.
You know my daughter was abducted five years
ago. I have a lead on a potential suspect.
I’m supposed to meet him on the Promenade
near the corner of Third and Arizona. He thinks
I’m a potential client who wants to pay
to have someone abducted.”
Keri was about to cross the intersection at
26 th Street when a pickup truck, ignoring
her siren, blasted through. She hit her brakes
hard, coming within three feet of T-boning
the idiot. Rivers of adrenaline shot through
her arms and up to her fingertips. All her
extremities were tingling.
“Are you okay, Detective Locke?” Castillo
yelled over the phone.
“Mostly,” Keri answered. “Where was
I?”
“You’re a potential client.”
“Right. So I’m headed there now. Since
the guy would recognize me, I have to find
someone to serve as my emissary and give this
abductor a message. I’m hoping he’ll consider
that a sign that his potential client is careful
and can be trusted. Does all that make sense?”
“Absolutely,” Castillo said. “So you
want me to be the emissary?”
Keri had briefly considered that possibility
before she called but had dismissed it as
too risky.
“No, I think he’d be more comfortable
if the decoy was a guy. I’m going to have
to find someone credible when I get down there.
I need you for backup. I want you to position
yourself on an adjacent roof where you can
see everything. If the guy shows up, you can
feed me intel from your vantage point. If
things go south somehow, I’m not alone trying
to take him down.”
She stopped talking and realized Castillo
hadn’t said anything in a while. She worried
the younger woman was getting cold feet.
“You okay, Jamie?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m just getting the sense that
this isn’t a department-sanctioned stakeout.”
Keri fought the urge to convince the impressionable
officer to throw caution to the wind.
“It’s not,” she admitted. “That’s
the other thing. This whole plan is a rogue
operation. I came by the information about
this guy through questionable methods. Lieutenant
Hillman would definitely disapprove if he
knew. My plan isn’t exactly meticulously
planned out. And it’s potentially dangerous.
So like I said, no hard feelings if you pass.
In fact, I recommend it.”
Keri passed Lincoln Boulevard. She was only
minutes from the Promenade now. Biting her
lip, she waited for Castillo’s response.
The silence seemed to last an eternity. Finally
the rookie officer replied.
“Text me when you get down there and let
me know exactly where you want me to set up.”
“You sure?” Keri asked, giving her one
last out. “I kind of called you because
no one who’s been on this job for a while
would even consider doing it.”
“I should be there in ten minutes,” Castillo
answered and hung up without another word.
Keri smiled to herself as she turned off the
siren and returned it to the passenger seat.
She made a quick left onto 5 th Street and
pulled into a covered parking garage. She
looked at the time—1:10. There was still
a lot of work to do and only twenty minutes
to do it.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Once she parked, Keri allowed herself thirty
seconds to take a few breaths and refocus.
She was wired and that could lead to mistakes.
She couldn’t afford mistakes.
Grabbing a sheet of paper from a notepad,
she wrote a short message in basic block lettering.
It read:
“Sent this stranger as a go-between. Forgive
my caution. Troublesome co-worker needs a
long vacation. Could use assistance. Please
e-mail.”
It wasn’t a literary masterpiece, but under
the circumstances, it would do. Keri put her
hair up in a bun, threw on a cap and sunglasses
and, now in a perfunctory disguise, stepped
into a vintage boutique on 4 th Street to
buy a cheap red T-shirt. The least expensive
one she could find was $30 but she didn’t
have time to keep looking so she got it.
After a pit stop at an ATM to grab $200, she
rushed over to 3 rd Street, one block south
of Arizona, and looked around for a likely
candidate for the job.
She found the guy she was looking for leaning
against a magazine rack at a newsstand in
the middle of the promenade, perusing a woodworking
magazine. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
He had a wispy beard and wore a gray T-shirt
that said “check out my wood.”
But instead of approaching him directly, Keri
decided to take an extra level of precaution.
She’d use two decoys. That way, if the Collector
asked the woodworking fan who sent him there,
her identity would still be protected.
She searched the area for the other half of
her team. It took a minute before she found
someone acceptable. Finally she saw her stand-in—a
chunky guy in his early forties with plastered
down blond hair and a turtleneck sweater.
He was sitting on a bench by a fountain, scrolling
through his phone as he finished a sandwich.
She only had ten minutes until the designated
time and had to move fast. Walking up to the
sandwich guy, she put on her most charming
smile. She stood over him for a second, waiting
for him to notice her. When he did, he seemed
startled, which was what Keri was going for.
“Hey there,” she said as sweetly as she
could.
“Hi?” he asked more than said.
“Are you busy right now?”
“I was just finishing my lunch. I have to
be back at work at one thirty.”
“Oh, where do you work?”
“At GameStop.”
“Cool. Anyway, it sounds like you still
have a few minutes. I was wondering if you
could do me a teensy favor?”
“What is it?” he asked warily.
“It’s going to sound weird. But it’s
harmless. And if you do it, I’ll give you
a hundred dollars.”
“I don’t know. This sounds sketchy.”
He looked like he was about to bolt.
“Listen. I’ll tell you the favor. If you
think it’s too crazy, just say no. But if
it just sounds standard weird and you say
yes, you get a hundred bucks. Nothing to lose,
right?”
“Tell me the favor and I’ll see.”
“I want you to go over to that guy,” she
said, pointing at the woodworker. “You need
to get him to put on this red shirt and go
sit down in a metal chair by the sculpture
near the end of the block up there. You can’t
mention me or even look at me. The guy has
to think it was your idea.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because you’re going to give him one
hundred dollars,” Keri said in her best
spokesmodel voice.
“Why don’t you ask him to do it yourself
and save a hundred bucks?”
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Randall.”
“Randy, I’m Carol, by the way. You may
be a little too smart for your own good. I
have my reasons. All you need to know is that
if you successfully get him to do what I asked,
you get five twenties. Are you up for it or
not?”
“I guess so.”
“What a trouper. Now there’s one more
little thing.”
“I knew there was a catch,” Randall said
indignantly.
“It’s not a catch. You just need to tell
him that he has to sit in the chair at exactly
one thirty and he needs to stay there until
at least one forty-five. If anyone approaches
him, he should give the person this note.
He’s not to read it. Now that’s only seven
minutes away, so you better get cracking.”
Randall took the money and folded note and
started to head over to the other guy when
Keri thought of an added incentive.
“Hey, Randy, if you make this happen, I’ll
give you my number.” She winked for emphasis,
fighting down her gag reflex.
His beleaguered expression changed to a combination
of excitement and fearfulness. But it seemed
to do the trick. He nodded and walked toward
Woody with what appeared to be more purpose.
She moved behind the fountain and watched
as Randy GameStop chatted up Woody. As she
suspected, Woody didn’t need much convincing.
The moment he saw the money he was all in.
He put on the shirt, snagged the bills and
note, and immediately headed in the direction
of the chair.
“He went for it,” Randy said when he returned.
“I kind of figured. Did you tell him to
sit down at exactly one thirty p.m.?”
“Just like you said,” Randy assured her.
“So can I get my money now?”
“Of course,” she said, handing him the
bills.
“And your number—can I still get that?”
“You know what, Randy, why don’t you give
me yours? You seem like a really good guy.
But a girl can’t be too careful these days.”
“But you promised,” Randy whined.
“Don’t you have to be at work in five
minutes? I don’t want you to get in trouble,
Randy. Give me your number and I promise I’ll
get in touch, okay?”
Randy gave it to her, although his sour expression
indicated he had no confidence that she’d
call. When he headed off, Keri made her way
as quickly as she could to the Coffee Bean
& Tea Leaf across from the metal chair, where
she could watch events unfold without being
seen.
As she walked, she texted Castillo to find
out if she’d found a good observation post.
The reply came quickly.
“On roof of movie theater. Watching you
walk now. Saw you with the boys. Assume I’m
scoping red shirt?”
Keri responded just as fast.
“And anyone who approaches him.”
Keri stepped inside the coffee shop and found
a small window table where she sat restlessly,
trying to look casual. She pretended to read
the business section of the LA Times, while
she was really focused on Woody in the red
shirt standing a few feet from the chair.
She glanced at her watch for the third time
in the last three minutes. It was 1:28 p.m.
The meet was supposed to happen in two minutes.
She sent Castillo one last text.
“Going dark to stay focused. Keep me apprised.”
At 1:30 p.m. exactly, Woody sat down. Since
he didn’t know what to do beyond that, he
mostly looked around cluelessly, note in hand,
waiting to be approached.
Keri scoured the area for anyone who looked
even vaguely like the man who’d abducted
Evie five years ago. But no one even came
close.
Even with her sunglasses on, she made sure
to look down at the paper intermittently.
If the Collector had really come, he was probably
scoping out everyone as well. She had no real
expectations that the man who took her daughter
would just walk up to Woody and say “Hi,
I steal kids for a living. How may I help
you?”
And if he was there, the Collector needed
to know that his potential client, unless
the person was an idiot, wouldn’t actually
sit in that chair. That’s why she’d offered
up Woody, with his head bopping around like
a caffeinated squirrel. Even before he read
her note, she was sending the Collector a
message that his potential client was careful
enough to send a sub.
After fifteen uneventful minutes, Woody got
up and walked away, looking confused but generally
happy. He’d just made $100 for sitting in
a chair.
Keri’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it.
It was a text from Castillo:
“I’ve got nothing. No one approached.
Was going to follow red shirt in case someone
makes contact later. Cool?”
Keri typed back:
“Yes, thanks. Going to keep eyes on the
chair. Keep me posted.”
Keri sat there for another forty-five minutes,
just in case. Finally, she gave up. As she
prepared to leave, she called Castillo.
“Anything?” she asked.
“Nothing. He walked to some bar and met
a few friends. He’s been playing pool for
the last twenty minutes. I’m sorry, Detective
Locke.”
“No, that’s okay,” Keri said, forcing
down the catch in her throat. “It was always
a long shot. Thanks anyway. I owe you one.
And Castillo, please remember—”
“This is just between us,” the young officer
said, reading her mind. “Don’t worry.
My lips are sealed.”
Keri hung up and returned to her car, typing
out a quick e-mail to the Collector on the
way back that said simply “where were you?”
It wasn’t until she closed the door of the
Prius and was cocooned in the silence of the
parking garage that the full impact of the
failure hit her. She’d known intellectually
that the meet was unlikely to bear fruit but
part of her had hoped anyway. Now that hope
had been dashed.
Before she knew what was happening, she felt
massive, chest-wracking sobs consume her.
Her whole body shook, rattling her ribs, her
shoulder, and everything else. But she couldn’t
stop it and she didn’t care. She just gave
in to the all-consuming pain, crying until
there was no water left for tears.
And then she was driving, not even entirely
sure where she was headed, letting her pain
and her fury and her most primal instincts
guide her wherever they wanted. When she finally
stopped, she looked up to see where she was.
It took a second to register but once she
recognized the place, she knew why she had
come here and what she had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Keri, raw with rage and numb to everything
else, walked purposefully through the huge
lobby atrium of the massive office tower where
her ex-husband worked, ignoring the security
guard who called after her. She punched the
elevator button and waited impatiently.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she was going
to say to Stephen when she saw him. But she
felt like she’d just had Evie ripped from
her a second time. And despite their differences,
he was the one person in the world who could
understand what she was going through right
now. And he might be the only one who could
help.
Just as the elevator arrived, the guard caught
up to her. He was a squat, doughy guy in his
late twenties with a weak mustache and watery
eyes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to
sign in. Please come back to the security
desk.”
She stepped into the elevator without a word,
flashed him her badge, and pushed the button
for the forty-sixth floor. The guard was still
squinting to read her ID when the doors closed
on him.
The two women standing next to her, both in
their fifties, could sense the fury emanating
from her and inched uncomfortably to the far
corner of the elevator. Neither made eye contact.
Keri didn’t care. When the doors opened
at the seventeenth floor they scurried out
as quickly as they could. Keri watched them
go with mild amusement.
As she stepped out on the forty-sixth floor,
she could tell that, despite showing her badge,
security had already warned the receptionist
about her arrival. The young woman looked
barely old enough to vote. She stood up, partially
blocking the fancy vanity logo for the company,
ACA, or the Agency for Creative Artists.
“May I help you?” the girl asked, her
voice wavering.
“Yes. I’m here to see my ex-husband, Stephen
Locke. No need to buzz him. I know the way.”
She started walking down the hallway of the
Century City talent agency she hadn’t visited
since before she and Stephen got divorced.
Since then, he’d gotten remarried to a young
starlet, had a little boy with her, and been
promoted to the head of the agency’s TV
department. But she knew he’d still have
the same office as before. Stephen hated change.
The receptionist was trying desperately to
keep up with her but had trouble because of
her five-inch heels. By the time Keri got
to Stephen’s door, the poor girl was a good
fifteen paces back.
Stephen was standing behind his desk, wearing
a headset, talking quickly and animatedly
waving his hands about. He looked much the
same as the last time she’d see him, almost
two years ago.
His longish, wavy brown hair fell casually
across his face and he wore thin, stylish
glasses. He looked trim and healthy and the
bags he always had under his eyes when they
were together were gone.
When he looked up and saw Keri, he froze for
a moment before regaining his composure.
“I’m going to have to call you back,”
he said to whoever was on the other end of
the line. Then he hung up and took off the
headset.
The receptionist had finally caught up and
stopped in the doorway next to Keri.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Locke. She just stormed
right by me.”
“It’s okay, Brandi,” he said.
“Security is on their way up.”
“That’s all right. You can cancel that.
Ms. Locke isn’t a security risk. You can
leave us be. Can you close the door behind
us, please?”
“Yes sir,” Brandi said and did as he asked
as Keri stepped inside.
They looked at each other for a long second
before speaking. Now that she was actually
here, Keri wasn’t sure how to begin.
“Keri, this is a surprise. I heard about
your run-in with that guy who kidnapped the
senator’s daughter. You’re looking pretty
good considering I heard you were hospitalized
for a while.”
“Thanks,” she said, ignoring the fact
that he’d never even called to check on
her. She needed to stay in control and resentment
wouldn’t help with that. “You’re looking
well.”
“Thank you. I’ve turned into a bit of
a CrossFit fanatic. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help, Stephen,” she said,
not wasting any time.
“With what?” he asked warily.
“I have a strong lead on the man I think
took Evie. But I can’t use department resources
to go after him. So I need access to yours.”
Keri watched Stephen take a moment to let
it sink in.
“What do you mean? Why can’t the department
help?”
She could already tell he was getting his
guard up. This wasn’t going how she’d
hoped it would go. She’d been in such a
rush to get here that she hadn’t thought
through what to do next. Now she was committed.
She’d have to be more forthcoming than she
wanted.
“The methods I used to get the lead weren’t
totally legal,” she admitted. “If I go
to my lieutenant, I’ll have to explain where
I got the information. He won’t be able
to authorize it and I might get arrested myself.”
“Jesus, Keri, what did you do?” he asked.
His face had that same quizzical expression
he wore so often when they were together.
He’d seemed baffled by her through much
of their marriage and apparently nothing had
changed.
“I really can’t say any more than I already
have. You could get in trouble if you knew.
But there’s nothing wrong with you, as a
private citizen, providing resources to investigate
a lead. That’s what I need from you—money
and the willingness to use it.”
“How would you use it?” he asked, clearly
intrigued despite his apprehension.
“I’d hire a tech expert to do some digital
searching. I’d also need a full-service
investigative agency with human and surveillance
resources, one with experience trailing subjects
without being detected. I know of a couple
of quality options.”
Keri could tell that he was feeling overwhelmed.
But Stephen got easily overwhelmed by most
things that didn’t involve making deals
for his clients. And she didn’t have time
to hold his hand through this. She needed
to get the process started soon. So, despite
his obvious unease, she pressed on.
“In addition, I’d need walking around
money I can pass out to people in the abduction
underworld, people who might have useful information.
And I’d need it all quick. My lead is time-sensitive.
Twenty-four hours from now, it might go cold.”
Stephen sat down at his desk and put his head
in his hands. Keri wanted to shake him, to
scream at him that he should be jumping at
their first real chance to find their daughter’s
kidnapper.
Instead, she stood quietly, waiting for him
to pull it together. Stephen had a habit of
shutting down emotionally when things got
bad. She hoped he could rein in that instinct
this time.
After what felt like forever, he looked up
at her. Studying his eyes, she knew his answer
before he spoke.
“I’m sorry, Keri. But I just can’t.
I can’t be involved in something that is
so legally questionable.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything legally
questionable,” she insisted. “I’m basically
asking for a loan. It just so happens that
it’s a loan that could help find our daughter.”
Stephen sighed deeply before responding.
“I know part of you believes that,” he
said. “And part of me wants to as well.
But I think that deep down, you know the truth.
Evie’s never coming back. And the sooner
you make your peace with that, the sooner
you can start to heal.”
Keri felt the anger start to bubble up inside
her and tried to force it down.
If I blow up at him, he’ll never help.
“Stephen, what will help me heal is getting
our daughter back. Short of that, I’ll even
take knowing what really happened to her.
Giving me this money can help me achieve that
and it in no way impedes your ‘healing.’”
She knew that last sarcastic line was counterproductive
but she could feel her control starting to
slip away. Stephen, as usual, remained impassive.
“Keri. You’re obsessed. Think about what
you’re doing. You took a job that requires
you to search for missing children. Every
day you go into work and rip off the same
scab over and over again. It’s not good
for you.”
He said it with such bland aloofness that
she wanted to punch him. She used to love
how his cool reserve tempered her perpetual
hot-headedness. But now, without Evie to smooth
out the edges between them, she couldn’t
stand him. His emotionless condescension was
too much to bear.
“Are you going to give me the money or not?”
she asked one last time.
“I’m sorry, Keri.”
Hearing that, the last vestiges of restraint
disappeared and she let herself go, saying
the words she’d wanted him to hear for years
now.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that
you care more about your reputation than your
child. We both know that you aren’t even
sure you want Evie back. It would be too disruptive
to your perfect world to have an emotionally
damaged thirteen-year-old back in your life.
It’d be too raw for you. After all, you’re
set, right? You’ve got your actress wife.
You’ve got your little replacement child.
How old is little Sammy now—two? And Shalene
doesn’t want to be a stepmom to a girl she’s
never met and who might require extra attention.
It’s all too messy, right, Stephen?”
There was a long, thick stretch of silence
between them before Stephen finally spoke.
“I think you should go,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess I should. No reason to stick
around. But remember, when I find her, and
I will find her, your daughter’s going to
ask what you did to help. And you’ll have
to explain to her that you didn’t do a damn
thing. And why? Because it was inconvenient.”
She left, slamming the heavy door behind her
so hard that a painting fell off the hallway
wall, shattering the glass. She stormed back
to reception where two security guards were
waiting. When they saw her, both of them stepped
aside without a word, letting her enter the
elevator alone. The doors closed but Keri
waited until it had starting going down before
she began screaming in helpless fury.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Everything was fuzzy. Keri blinked several
times, trying to drive the cloudiness from
her eyes. Her mouth felt bone dry and her
whole body ached. An annoying ringing in the
distance seemed to be getting louder. She
forced her eyes open and took in her surroundings.
She was on the houseboat, sprawled out on
her stomach on the loveseat in her tiny living
space. Her right arm and leg dangled off the
side. When she tried to move them, she realized
both were asleep.
Her head throbbed and she felt like she might
throw up. And still, the ringing sound kept
getting louder. Finally she realized what
it was—her alarm clock. It was over by her
bed, about six feet away, a seemingly insurmountable
distance.
Then her phone began to chime too. It was
lying on the coffee table, only three feet
away. But that still felt like a hundred yards
to her. She tried to shimmy over to it but
lost her balance and fell off the love seat
completely.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this hung
over in my entire life.
She managed to get a hand on the phone and
turn off that alarm but the clock by the bed
still seemed like an impossible journey. She
rolled over onto her knees and used her elbows
to push off the coffee table and reach something
approximating a standing position.
She lurched over to the bed and punched the
button on the clock, finally silencing it.
Then she sat on the bed, trying to move as
little as possible. She was tempted to lie
down but something told her she shouldn’t.
She looked at the clock. It read 7:15 a.m.
Why had she set her alarm so early last night?
She must have made the conscious choice to
do it. But she couldn’t recall the reason.
Everything from the night before was mostly
one big haze.
Flashes of detail from the evening came to
her. Stopping at Ralph’s to get some chicken
wings and a fresh bottle of Glenlivet on the
way home from her awful meeting with Stephen;
watching one of the interchangeable series
about the Kardashians while she downed the
whole thing; throwing up.
Before she could piece together any more details,
her phone rang. Realizing she’d left it
on the coffee table, Keri used the wall to
pull herself upright and lumbered back over
to grab it.
“Hello,” she said, not even looking at
the caller ID.
“Keri, are you up?” The voice belonged
to Detective Kevin Edgerton.
“Of course I’m up. Why are you calling
to ask me that?”
“Because you told me to when you called
last night.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you said you were going to get rip-roaring
drunk and told me to call you this morning
at seven fifteen to make sure you were up
in time to get to the Burlingame update meeting
at eight.”
Oh shit—the meeting. How am I going to make
myself presentable and get to the station
by eight? Meanwhile, Edgerton thinks I’m
crazy.
“That’s right. It slipped my mind. Thanks,
Kevin, although you’re a little late. I
have the time as seven eighteen.”
“I know. I’m sorry about—”
“Don’t sweat it,” she said, pleased
that she’d put him on the defensive. Hopefully,
he wouldn’t dwell on the whole drunk thing.
“See you soon.”
She hung up and stumbled toward the bathroom.
The woman staring back at her in the mirror
looked like a stranger—pale, blotchy skin,
red eyes with dark circles under them, matted
hair. She looked ten years older than her
thirty-five years.
She grabbed a bag and quickly began stuffing
it with what she’d need for the day—a
change of clothes, her towel and shower toiletries,
her gun belt, and a huge bottle of water.
Then she hurried from the boat to the comfort
station on the dock. The chill in the morning
air both revived and annoyed her.
I’ve got to check out that apartment Ray
mentioned. What adult woman has to walk a
quarter mile to take a shower?
As she walked, Keri checked her phone. There
were multiple texts and voice messages from
yesterday, all of which she’d either ignored
or missed. One text was from Ray in the late
afternoon, asking why she never met up with
Rene, the guy with the apartment to rent.
Another text was from Stephen, pleading with
her to get help.
Next up was a voicemail:
“Hi, Detective Locke. This is Susan Granger
calling. I don’t want to bother you. I know
you got hurt a lot fighting that bad guy.
But you promised you would come visit me when
you got better and I was hoping you didn’t
forget. Anyway, thanks. Bye.”
Keri hadn’t thought she could feel any worse,
what with the pounding headache, dehydration,
nausea, sore ribs and shoulder, and self-disgust.
But now she could add guilt to the ledger.
Susan Granger was a fourteen-year-old runaway
who’d been forced into street prostitution
by a pimp named Crabby. While investigating
the disappearance of Ashley Penn two weeks
ago, Keri had come across the two of them
on a Venice street and briefly mistook Susan
for what she imagined a teenage Evie would
look like.
After beating up Crabby and getting him put
away, she got Susan placed in a group home
in Redondo Beach. They’d been in touch on
the phone a few times but Keri had assured
the girl she would visit when she felt better.
Somehow, the combination of her injuries and
her reluctance to be face to face again with
a girl who reminded her of Evie’s possible
fate had kept her away until now. But the
disappointment in Susan’s voice on the message
told her she’d stalled far too long.
Keri got in the shower and tried to push the
shame she felt away, focusing only on the
soap and shampoo. It didn’t work, as images
of Susan, all tarted up and wearing a miniskirt
on the street in the middle of the night,
kept creeping into her head.
After getting dressed and throwing on a bit
of makeup to hide her rough night, Keri booked
it over to the station. She walked into Conference
Room A at 7:58 a.m., with two minutes to spare.
Even Lieutenant Hillman hadn’t made it in
yet. She sat down between Suarez and Edgerton
and leaned over to the younger man.
“Thanks for this morning,” she whispered.
He nodded and smiled but didn’t reply as
Hillman had just entered the room.
“Okay,” he said without any opening pleasantries.
“I understand we’ve got some updates this
morning. Who’s first?”
Garrett Patterson raised his hand and Hillman
motioned for him to come to the front of the
room. Patterson stepped forward and turned
on the big computer monitor screen that dominated
the back wall.
“So, we know that Kendra’s individual
checking account was emptied and that a ticket
was purchased in Palm Springs by someone who
looked like her under the name A. Maroney,
which fits with her middle initial and maiden
name. The ticket was for a bus to Phoenix
but there is no evidence of the woman getting
off there. But we now think we do know where
she got off.”
“Where?” Brody asked impatiently.
“Blythe, California, just west of the Arizona
border,” Patterson said, as the monitor
displayed a receipt on the screen. “We have
a record of a car being rented down the street
from the bus station. The name on the credit
card was A. Maroney. The car was turned in
yesterday morning in El Paso, Texas.”
“Great,” Brody grumbled. “She could
have walked across the border into Mexico
from there and we’d never know where she
went after that.”
“Actually, we think that’s exactly what
she did. But we didn’t lose her. Right,
Manny?”
Detective Manny Suarez took that as his cue
and stood up next to Patterson.
“Being the only bilingual member of this
unit, I volunteered to get in touch with the
Mexican authorities. Eventually I was put
in touch with the right folks and they sent
me this.”
The screen was replaced with a printout of
what looked like an airplane manifest. Suarez
continued.
“This is a record of a flight from Juarez
to Mexico City yesterday. Notice the seventeenth
name on the manifest—A. Maroney. And here’s
surveillance footage from the gate area as
people boarded the flight.”
Keri looked at the grainy images. After a
few moments she saw what looked like the woman
from the Palm Springs bus station. She was
wearing a different outfit but had the same
headscarf and sunglasses and was careful to
keep her head down the whole time.
Suarez put a new image on the screen.
“This is a record of a different flight,”
he said. “This one is from yesterday late
afternoon. It went from Mexico City to Barcelona.”
“Barcelona, Spain?” Cantwell asked, stunned.
“Yep,” Suarez answered. “Here’s footage
of the same woman boarding that flight. And
this image is from early this morning at the
Barcelona airport.”
On the screen were several screen captures
of what looked like the same woman. One was
of her leaving the gate after getting off
the plane. Another was of her walking down
a concourse. And the last image was of her
waiting in line at a bus stop outside the
airport departure area.
“That’s the last shot of her we have of
her. Buses do pickups there every ten minutes
and stop throughout the city. There’s no
way to track her after that.”
“And there’s something else,” Edgerton
added, piping up for the first time. “Manny,
can you go to the cleaned up shot from the
bus station waiting area?”
As Suarez looked for the image, Edgerton turned
to Keri.
“Do you remember how you asked us to clean
up the footage of her reading that magazine
in the station? Well, we did and this is what
we found.”
On the screen appeared a close-up of the woman
holding the magazine. The title was a little
fuzzy but Keri could make it out. It was called
Living Spain.
“Well, I’d say that seals it,” Brody
announced triumphantly.
“What about the prints from the snow globe?”
Keri asked.
Edgerton shook his head.
“Palm Springs PD is still going through
them. They’ve identified fourteen prints
definitively but nothing from Kendra yet.
They’re still processing others but they
told me that even with her touching it, they
might not be able to get a clean print. Just
too many fingers on the things.”
Lieutenant Hillman looked at Keri. She knew
he was waiting on her since she was always
the last one to want to close out a case.
That instinct had served her well when everyone
else had assumed Ashley Penn had run away.
She had doggedly stayed with that case against
direct orders and was eventually proven right.
A teenage girl was alive because of her stubbornness.
But despite her gut feeling that something
was off, she couldn’t think of anything
concrete that could justify not closing the
case.
“Her sister told me she was fluent in Spanish,”
she said reluctantly. “So it makes sense
that if she wanted to get away, she’d go
to a place where she knew the language. It
all fits.”
“I agree,” Hillman said, stepping forward.
“Here’s how this is going to work, folks.
We’re not going to officially close the
case yet. It’s only been seventy-two hours
since she’s gone missing. Something might
still turn up. And besides, the husband will
raise a stink if we tell him we’re closing
it out. This woman is the closest thing to
a saint we’ve got in this city and we don’t
need Burlingame going to the press, saying
we’ve abandoned his wife. But for all practical
purposes, we’re closing it out. Move on
to your other cases. If anything pops on this
one, we’ll revisit it. Understood?”
Everyone nodded their assent.
“And Locke,” he added, “take the rest
of the day off. I think we pushed you back
in the field too early. You look like death
warmed over. Get a good night’s sleep and
we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes sir,” Keri said. For the first time
in a long time she didn’t feel like fighting
him. All she wanted was to go home and sleep.
She headed out of the station, checking for
any messages she might have missed during
the meeting. There was one e-mail waiting
for her.
It was from the Collector.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
In shock and suddenly feeling weak-kneed,
she reached out for the closest wall to keep
from falling.
The message was in response to her e-mail
from yesterday afternoon asking “where were
you?”
His reply was short and to the point:
i was there. you were not. caution is good.
you passed that test. but trust is key. maybe
next time.
Keri got in her car, closed the door, and
sat quietly, not moving. She couldn’t decide
if the message was crushing or hopeful. He
hadn’t ended the communication completely.
He’d even hinted that a next time was possible.
But she had no idea how to ensure that possibility
without risking scaring him off. Finally she
decided, in violation of the very essence
of her character, to do nothing, at least
for now.
I’m tired. I’m hung over. I feel sick.
I’m physically hurt. And I’m stressed
beyond belief. This isn’t the time to reach
out and risk making a mistake. Just let it
go.
With the decision made, Keri felt a weight
suddenly lift. She still felt like crap. But
at least she could move forward. At least
she could function. At least she could focus
on other tasks without feeling like a raw,
throbbing nerve every second. And she knew
the task she needed to focus on at this moment.
*
As she pulled up in front of the group home
in North Redondo Beach, Keri hung up the phone.
She’d just finished leaving what she hoped
was a gracious message for Randall the GameStop
employee.
For some reason she was in a generous mood
and he was the beneficiary. She thanked him
for his help yesterday and said that while
he was cute and sweet, she’d decided to
get back together with her boyfriend. Feeling
proud of herself for the first time all day,
Keri got out of the car and headed for the
house.
To the average person the South Bay Shared
House looked like any other home in the neighborhood.
It sat back from the street, surrounded by
thick palm trees, and the Mediterranean-style
design fit in with the surrounding residences.
The only signs that the place was any different
were the unusually high stone walls that surrounded
the house and the unobtrusively placed cameras
that stared out at the sidewalk and street
in both directions.
They were an unfortunate necessity as many
of the residents, all teenage girls, were
victims of domestic violence. On rare occasions
the perpetrator discovered the house’s address
and tried to make an unannounced visit.
Keri rang the bell at the exterior gate and
waited for someone to respond. She could tell
there was a camera trained on her as well
and she held up her badge and ID to make things
easier for whoever was checking her out. After
a moment, a voice came over the intercom.
“How can I help you, Detective?” asked
a raspy-voiced woman.
“I’m Keri Locke, here to see Susan Granger.
She requested a visit.”
“We normally ask that visitors make prior
arrangements, Detective Locke.”
“I understand. But I’ve been incapacitated
for a while. This is the first chance I’ve
really had to come by. Can you make an exception?”
There was a long silence. Then Keri heard
a buzz. She pulled the gate door open and
walked to the front door, where a tiny woman
waited for her. She had thick glasses and
her gray hair was tied up in a bun. Her powerfully
wrinkled skin suggested a lifetime of smoking
and too much sun.
“Incapacitated for a while,” she said
as Keri approached, sounding like she was
mildly amused. “That’s one way of putting
it. I saw you on the news, Detective. I’m
surprised you’re walking already. I would
have thought you’d be in a wheelchair for
a month.”
“Yeah, well. They got sick of me at the
hospital so they kicked me out. I figured
if they were willing to let me leave on my
own two feet, I should try to stay upright
on them.”
The woman started to laugh but it quickly
turned into a long, hacky cough. Oblivious,
she waved for Keri to follow her in. When
she recovered, she closed the door and proceeded
to secure the three separate locks on it.
“Susan will be happy to see you,” she
said as they walked down a long hallway decorated
with intricate ceramic tile flooring. “I’m
Rita Skraeling, by the way. I run the place.
Call me Rita.”
“Hi, Rita, call me Keri. How’s she doing?”
“Good days and bad. Therapy sessions have
been tough this week. But she’s really trying.
And the other girls have taken her under their
wing. A lot of them know what she’s been
through so they can relate.”
“How many girls do you have here?”
“It varies, usually between four and eight.
Right now we have five with Susan. She’s
in the library.”
They rounded the corner and Keri saw that
the library was just a sun room with two full
bookshelves. There was a loveseat by the window
and two beanbag chairs, one of which Susan
occupied. She was casually reading a Nancy
Drew mystery.
She looked shockingly different from the one
and only time Keri had seen her on that Venice
street. That night she could have passed for
nineteen or twenty. But now, wearing sweatpants
and a navy-blue T-shirt, free of makeup, with
her blonde hair in a loose ponytail and her
legs curled up under her, she looked closer
to twelve.
Susan sensed eyes on her and looked up fearfully.
But the second she saw Keri, she softened
and her face broke into a wide smile. She
clambered to her feet and ran over, hugging
her tight. Keri winced but forced herself
not to grunt as her ribs were crushed.
“Careful, Ms. Granger. Remember, Detective
Locke is still recovering from her injuries.”
Susan immediately pulled back.
“Sorry. I forgot,” she said quietly.
“That’s okay,” Keri assured her and
lifted her arms like a bodybuilder showing
off his muscles. “Strong like bull.”
Susan giggled.
“I’ll leave you two be,” Rita said and
left without another word.
“Want to sit down?” Keri asked. Susan
nodded shyly and they sat down on the loveseat.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. I’m sorry it took me so long,”
Keri said, deciding not to explain beyond
that.
“That’s okay. I know you’ve had a lot
going on. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t
forget.”
Keri ignored the fresh wave of guilt that
washed over her.
“No, of course not,” she said reassuringly.
“So how are things here?”
“Pretty good. Ms. Skraeling’s tough—but
in a good way. The girls are nice. Mostly
I just like being able to be awake in the
day and sleep at night.”
Keri nodded, trying to ignore the catch in
her own throat. She remembered that this girl
had spent almost every night of the last few
years walking the streets, satisfying the
grotesque urges of men three and four times
her age. The thought made her want to cry,
gag, and punch someone all at the same time.
“That’s good,” she managed to say with
an even voice.
“How’s the other girl doing, the one who
was taken—Ashley?” Susan asked.
“Oh wow. I haven’t had a chance to check
in on her either. She was hurt pretty badly,
especially her leg. But I know she was recovering
well physically. The doctors said she’d
even be able to surf again at some point.
I should really go see her too. Maybe I’ll
do that later today.”
“I worry about her,” Susan said with a
sincerity that took Keri’s breath away.
“I do too, sweetie,” she said. “But
she’s like you, tough. She’ll be okay.”
“Speaking of tough, you promised me you’d
teach me some of that Krav Maga stuff you
used to take down Crabby. I know you’re
too sore right now. But when you’re feeling
better, do you think you could come back and
show me some moves?”
“You bet. But for now, I think couch time
is the way to go.”
Susan laughed again, giving Keri a jolt of
energy that seemed to make her aches and pains
fade, at least for a moment. The girl looked
at her shyly before working up the courage
to ask the question that had obviously been
in the back of her head.
“When did you decide to become a detective?”
“Ah, I see you’re reading Nancy Drew.
Got detectives on the brain, huh?”
Susan didn’t answer but waited quietly.
She wanted a real answer and wouldn’t be
diverted. Keri decided to respect her enough
to give her the truth.
“Well, it was a few years ago. I was a professor
who taught about crime and criminals. One
day in the park my daughter was abducted,
right in front of me. I felt so helpless.
And I really fell apart for a while after
that. To be honest, I’m still not all put
back together. I lost my job. My marriage
broke up. But a detective friend of mine convinced
me that with my experience, I might make a
good detective myself. And I started to think
that he might be right. I thought that it
might be a way to help other people in trouble,
even if I couldn’t help my own little girl.
So that’s what I try to do now. Help people,
especially missing people, find their way
back home.”
She finished speaking. Susan took her hand
and squeezed it. Neither of them spoke for
a long time. Finally, Susan broke the silence.
“I think you should come to visit me a lot.
I don’t want you to be lonely.” Her voice
was full of genuine concern. Keri didn’t
know whether to chuckle or cry.
“How about this?” she replied. “Why
don’t we make this a weekly thing? With
this job, I can’t make too many promises.
But I’ll try to visit every week to discuss
whatever you like. We could even turn it into
a Nancy Drew book club. I’ll read the same
one as you and we can talk about it when I
come by next. What do you think?”
Susan nodded, holding up the book title so
Keri could write it down. It was called The
Secret of the Old Clock.
Then the girl got quiet again, as if lost
in thought.
“What is it, sweetie?” Keri asked. “Are
you okay?”
After several more seconds, Susan looked up
at her and spoke with great solemnity.
“I think I’d like to be a detective one
day too,” she said.
“I have a feeling you’d be a great one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Keri was so lost in thought that she barely
noticed the freeway signs or the traffic around
her as she headed back from Redondo Beach.
Then something seemed to suddenly click inside
her, like she’d been in hibernation until
now and had only just woken up.
Instead of getting off the 405 freeway and
returning to the houseboat, she continued
north. Her conversation with Susan had reminded
her of something.
No matter how screwed up my own life is, I
am good at what I do for a living because
I care. I fight for those who can’t fight
for themselves. That’s what I do. And that’s
what I’m going to do for Kendra Burlingame.
Something had been eating at Keri, nibbling
at the edges of her brain. But she’d been
ignoring it because it didn’t seem worth
pursuing. But that’s what she did—pursued
leads wherever they took her. And that’s
what she would do now.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived at an unimpressive-looking
three-story building in Culver City, literally
thirty feet from the freeway. It housed Los
Angeles’s best known alternative weekly
newspaper, Weekly LA. It was also, much to
Keri’s surprise, the workplace of Margaret
“Mags” Merrywether.
Keri checked in at reception and was met in
less than a minute by Mags herself. She wasn’t
wearing an evening gown this time, but even
her regular work clothes were stunning. She
wore a loose cream blouse unbuttoned well
past where Keri felt comfortable, fitted black
slacks, and a pair of heeled sandals that
clomped loudly as she walked. Her flaming
red hair was pulled up into a messy but somehow
still elegant bun.
“This is a magnificently unexpected surprise,”
she said, a broad smile on her face.
“Hi, Mags. It’s good to see you. You mind
if we talk privately?”
“Of course not. Is this a ‘go down the
street to the coffee shop’ chat or a ‘closed
office door’ discussion?”
“The latter, I think.”
“Oh dear. Well, come on back then.”
She led the way down the hallway, seamlessly
navigating the boxes piled everywhere and
the occasional stray desk or chair. Eventually
they arrived at an office only slightly larger
than Keri’s galley with a view of cars zipping
by, dangerously close, on the freeway. It
was packed to the gills with stacks of neatly
organized papers piled high. Every bookshelf
was full. The walls were covered with photos
and framed front pages of the paper.
“Please excuse the mess. I’d like to say
it’s unusual. But it’s not. Have a seat.”
Keri closed the door behind her and maneuvered
herself into the small wooden chair in front
of Mags’s desk.
“What exactly do you do here?” she asked.
“I write a column under the name ‘Mary
Brady.’”
“That’s the muckraking column—the one
that got the deputy mayor indicted and exposed
the payoffs in the sanitation department.
That’s you?”
“Guilty as charged,” Mags said, her eyes
gleaming with delight.
“Based on the other evening, I wouldn’t
have taken you for a ‘power to the people’
ink-stained, shoe leather type.”
“Yes, well, I guess we’re all full of
secrets, aren’t we? So what’s up, Detective?
Have you made any progress in finding Kenny?”
“Almost none. Despite what everyone she
knows says, everything suggests she left town
of her own accord. In fact, my being here
would probably annoy my boss, since he probably
rightly thinks the case is ready to be closed.”
“And yet, here you are,” Mags noted.
“That’s right. I was talking with Kendra’s
sister yesterday—”
“Oh yes, Catherine. A woman of pure contentedness
if ever I met one,” Mags said in a tone
that could be interpreted as both insult and
compliment.
“Yes, well, she said something that I haven’t
been able to get out of my head.”
“What’s that?”
“She suggested that Kenny might have gotten
a little bored with her life as Mrs. Jeremy
Burlingame. She didn’t know just where that
boredom might lead, but said that you might,
as you and Kenny were closer than the two
of them these days. So is there anything to
that? Did Kenny’s boredom ever send her
down an unexpected path?”
“Ah, Catherine, always chafing at being
seen as the less principled Maroney sister.
How clever of her to hint that Kenny might
not be as proper as everyone thinks without
saying it outright. Impressively passive-aggressive,
don’t you think?”
Keri stared hard at Mags. She liked her, probably
more than she should like someone she was
questioning. She could imagine how fun it
would be to have a friend like Margaret Merrywether.
The woman was like a modern-day Dorothy Parker.
But it was dangerous to get sucked in too
much by the charm of any interview subject.
It made it easy to miss things. And she got
the distinct sense that Mags was trying to
snow her.
“You know, Mags, I noticed that amid all
those linguistic flourishes, you never answered
my question.”
“Didn’t I?”
“Well, maybe I missed it amid all the ‘passive-aggressive’
psychobabble. So let me ask you a little more
directly. To your knowledge, was Kendra Burlingame
having an affair?”
“Oh my, so all our cards are being laid
on the table, are they?”
Keri didn’t answer, refusing to let Mags
talk her way out of this one. Finally, she
dropped her head and let out a big sigh. When
she looked up again, the playfulness had left
her eyes.
“Detective Locke, do you recall how I shared
the information about Kenny’s photo shoot
with you on the condition that you keep it
quiet if at all possible?”
“I do. And I believe I honored that request.”
“I’m going to make the same request of
you again. Will you agree to it?”
“As long as what you tell me ends up not
being relevant to the case, I’ll do my best.
But I can’t make any promises.”
“I understand. And as before, your word
is good enough for me. Five years ago, Kenny
learned that she couldn’t have children.
She took it hard at first. But eventually
she started thinking about adoption or a surrogate.
Unfortunately, Jeremy wasn’t interested
in being a parent, no matter how the child
came their way. He said it would be too disruptive.
She decided that if they weren’t both committed
to the idea, then it wasn’t a wise choice.
But she was unhappy. I’d go so far as to
say depressed.”
“Did she take anything for it?”
“She did. And I think it helped. But she
was still a bit lost. And I think she resented
Jeremy a bit too. It was right around that
time that she met a man in her yoga class.”
“What’s his name?”
“Alex Crane. She told me he’s an illustrator
for children’s books, very in touch with
his emotions—the antithesis of Jeremy. And
he’s a little younger. When they met, Kenny
was thirty-three and I think he was in his
late twenties. Also apparently he’s gorgeous
and buff and you know, all of it.”
Keri nodded. She knew the type. Mags continued.
“Anyway, they started out just talking,
getting coffee after class. And extremely
long story short, she ended up having a brief
fling with him, maybe six weeks. I’m not
even sure she enjoyed it, she felt so guilty.
We’d talk and she’d just torture herself.
She was betraying her husband, her principles,
her very perception of who she was as a person.
Anyway, she stopped it.”
“How did Alex react?”
“Not especially well. I think he’d fallen
in love with her. I mean, could you blame
him? He called her and tried to see her a
few times. But eventually he got the message
and moved on. I know he’s married now and
has a baby.”
“Did Kendra ever say that she was worried
he might be dangerous?”
“She never used that word. She called him
passionate. Sometimes I think she meant more
than that though.”
“Do you think Jeremy ever found out?”
“I never saw any indication of that. She
considered telling him, just coming clean.
But she worried it would hurt him too much
and that he wouldn’t look at her the same
way afterward. Plus, she decided that telling
him would be just a way to lessen her guilt.
It wouldn’t be for him.”
“She was probably right,” Keri said, speaking
from painful personal experience.
“To be honest, I think Jeremy was oblivious
to even the possibility that she might do
something like that. I’m not even sure he
knew she was taking yoga classes. He’s so
in his own world much of the time, focused
on his work, that I think he just doesn’t
notice details like that.”
“Okay, Mags. Thanks for this. Is there anything
else I should know about Kenny? Now’s the
time to tell me. I won’t be so accommodating
if you hold back again.”
“That’s it, Detective. Kenny is a good
person. She’s made some bad choices, but
not many. And she beats herself up for them
more than anyone I know. I just don’t want
her good name dragged through the mud.”
“I understand. But my priority is protecting
her life. Her good name is secondary.”
“Of course. It’s just…it’s hard to
find really good friends out here. And Kendra
is a great friend. The thought that she might
be gone…” Mags trailed off.
For the first time, Keri saw real emotion
behind the tough-broad façade.
“I’ll do my best for her,” Keri promised.
Mags nodded, grabbed a tissue, and dabbed
at what almost looked like a tear.
“So now that we’ve completed the ‘closed
door’ part of your visit,” she said, regaining
her composure, “did you want to join me
for that coffee?”
“I actually would. But I can’t right now.
I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“Somewhere exciting, I hope?”
“I guess it depends. Do you consider interrogating
buff, yoga-loving, kids’ book–illustrating
home wreckers exciting?”
“I do actually,” Mags said.
“Yeah, so do I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Keri was a little ashamed of the anticipation
she felt as she knocked on Alex Crane’s
apartment door. But her salacious curiosity
about the man who’d made Kendra Burlingame
stray had gotten the better of her.
Unfortunately, Alex wasn’t as exciting as
Keri expected. When he opened the door to
his Mar Vista apartment, he was paunchier
and balder than she’d anticipated. He wore
loose jeans and an extra large maroon T-shirt.
Keri could hear a baby squealing unhappily
in the background and a female voice trying
to soothe the little one.
“Can I help you?” he asked
“I think so. My name’s Keri Locke. I’m
a detective with LAPD Missing Persons. I need
to talk to you about Kendra Burlingame.”
Crane’s expression turned panicky and he
quickly looked over his shoulder to see if
his wife was close by.
“Do we have to do this now?” he whispered.
“Who is it?” his wife called from another
room.
“I’m afraid we do,” Keri told him firmly.
“It’s no one,” Crane shouted back over
his shoulder. “Just some woman whose car
battery died. She’s asking if I can give
her a jump. I’ll be right back.”
“Please hurry, Alex,” his wife called
back. “I could really use some help here.”
“I’ll be quick,” he answered as he grabbed
his car keys and stepped outside. He silently
led Keri out of the complex and down to the
street, where he actually opened his trunk
and started to reach for jumper cables. Keri
noticed a crowbar suspiciously close and her
right hand automatically went to her holster.
“Stop, Mr. Crane. Remove your hand from
the trunk and close it.”
“But if my wife comes out, I need to have
these with me.”
“I don’t give a damn about your charade
for your wife. Your hand is very close to
something I consider a weapon right now. Pull
it away, close the trunk, and sit down on
the curb—now.”
Crane did as he was told. After he sat down
he looked up at her.
“I wondered if someone would be paying me
a visit.”
“You could have come to us.”
“Come on. I have a wife and child. I haven’t
seen Kendra in years. I didn’t see any point
in dredging up old news for no good reason.”
“The point is, now you look suspicious,
Alex. If you’d come forward, you might have
earned a few brownie points. Now I have to
tear your life apart.”
“Please—I had nothing to do with this.
I’ll answer all your questions.”
“All right, let’s start with where you
were on Monday morning.”
The flustered look on his face was almost
immediately replaced with one of relief.
“Is that when she disappeared? That’s
great.”
“That’s great?” Keri asked angrily.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant. It’s
just I was out of town then. I was on a work
retreat in Ojai from Sunday through yesterday.
There were at least a dozen people there the
whole time. I was in like, fifteen meetings.
Plus, I shared a hotel room with a co-worker.
I can account for every second.”
“What job was the retreat for?” Keri demanded,
ignoring the sinking feeling that suddenly
consumed her. “I thought you illustrated
children’s books.”
“I used to. But it didn’t pay enough.
So I got a job as a technical illustrator.
I draw the pictures for the instructions you
get when you buy cabinets and desks and stuff.”
“Really?”
“I got married and had a kid. I needed something
steady, okay? It sucks obviously. I mean,
what instructional manual company requires
weekend retreats, right? But it pays. And
it’s where I was. So am I cleared?”
Keri looked at him, sitting slackly on the
curb, and suspected that he probably was.
Alex Crane was pathetic and self-involved.
But she couldn’t bring herself to buy that
he was a lust-fueled abductor. He didn’t
look like he had the energy for it.
“If your alibi pans out, you’ll be fine.
But you need to help yourself, Alex.”
“What do I have to do?” he asked eagerly.
“Call Detective Manny Suarez at this number,”
she said, handing him a card. “Tell him
you spoke to me and that you’re making a
statement. Tell him everything—the affair,
the Ojai trip, and anything else he wants
to know. Do it now. Got it?”
He nodded and pulled out his phone right then.
Keri left him sitting there and headed back
to her car.
Crane may not be my man but there’s still
someone else who might be. Unfortunately,
to find out for sure, I’m going to have
to break that promise to Mags.
*
Jeremy Burlingame’s Marina del Rey medical
practice was in a twenty-story glass tower
within walking distance of Keri’s houseboat.
She’d driven by it countless times without
ever really noticing it. But now, as she rode
up in the glass-sided elevator, she marveled
at the view of the entire marina. Even her
piddling little place, just a dot in the distance,
looked respectable from this height.
The door opened and she stepped out into a
sterile blue-and-gray-walled office with a
vaulted ceiling and a view of the city. A
receptionist smiled at her as she walked over.
“My name’s Keri Locke. I have an appointment
with Dr. Burlingame at two p.m.”
“Okay, Ms. Locke,” she said pleasantly,
“if you could just fill out these forms
and let me make a copy of your insurance card
and driver’s license, we’ll be right with
you.”
“Oh, it’s not that kind of appointment.
I’m Detective Keri Locke, here about his
wife. We spoke earlier and he said he’d
fit me in.”
“So sorry about that, Ms. Locke. I do see
the note in the computer here. That’s my
fault,” she said, sounding far more mortified
than Keri thought was necessary. “Give me
one moment and we’ll get you right back
there.”
Keri walked around the reception area while
she waited, looking at the framed images on
the wall. Most of them were of smiling children,
apparently happy success stories. A few others
were of women in what looked like actor head
shot pictures. Those all had the word “Butterfly”
printed in the lower right corner of the photo.
Keri had no idea what that meant.
A nurse opened the door and beckoned for Keri
to follow her. They went down a long hall
and around a bend to a large office in the
northwest corner. The nurse knocked on the
open door to get the attention of Burlingame,
who was hunched over a file.
He looked up, slightly startled, then recovered
and waved her in.
“Thanks for coming here, Detective. I wanted
to see you as soon you called and I figured
this was more convenient for both of us, logistically.
Truth be told, I have appointments lined up
until seven tonight so this works much better
for me.”
“Not a problem, Dr. Burlingame. Thanks for
making the time. I just wanted to touch base
with you about the case.”
“Yes, thank you. I keep checking in with
Lieutenant Hillman, but he never has anything
to share. He mentioned that the investigation
so far suggests she just left. I’ve told
him repeatedly that that’s not possible.
I’m starting to worry that he’s made up
his mind and that Kendra’s case isn’t
the priority for him that it is for me.”
“Definitely not so, Doctor. We’re still
pursuing every available lead aggressively.
In fact, I was interviewing someone of interest
just before I came over here. Let me ask you,
does the name Alex Crane mean anything to
you?”
She watched him closely but Burlingame just
looked mildly perplexed.
“I don’t think so. If he was a patient
I’d remember. Is he a witness or a suspect
or something?”
“At this point, neither. What he was, at
least for a time, was your wife’s lover.
Were you aware that Kendra was having an affair,
Dr. Burlingame?”
The doctor’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
“What?” he stammered. “What are you
saying?”
“Your wife had an affair with a man named
Alex Crane. Did you know that?” she asked
more harshly this time.
“No, I mean, no, that’s not true. It can’t
possibly be. This man, he must be lying—you
know, fifteen minutes of fame. Please, you
can’t believe this. Kendra would never do
that.”
Keri didn’t respond at first. All her attention
was focused on Burlingame’s face, looking
for any hint of deception. She didn’t know
him well at all so she didn’t have much
to compare his reaction to. But he seemed
genuinely distressed.
The cool reserve with which he normally carried
himself was gone. He looked like a little
boy who’d been separated from his mom in
a big crowd and was now desperately searching
for her.
“She never mentioned anything about this
to you?”
“No, never. Are you saying she ran off with
this man? Is that why Hillman won’t be straight
with me? I can’t believe any of this.”
“The affair occurred five years ago. It’s
been over for a long time, Doctor. She hasn’t
seen Crane since it ended.”
“Wait, what? Then why are you telling me
this? What good will it do?”
Keri watched the wheels turn in his head.
He looked down at the desk, then back up at
her, trying to control his rapid breathing.
She could tell he’d figured it out.
“You thought I might have known about this
man,” he finally said, “that I might have
done something to Kendra as payback. You wanted
to see how I’d react when you told me.”
“Yes,” Keri said.
“And do you think I did something?”
“I honestly don’t know, Doctor.”
That wasn’t exactly true. Nothing Jeremy
Burlingame had said or done had given her
reason to suspect him. The only mark against
him was that he was her husband. And husbands
are always suspects.
“Well, what can I do to prove to you that
I didn’t?” he pleaded. “Can I take a
lie detector test? Do you want to take my
phone to check my location the last few days?
Do you want to interrogate the doctors I worked
with in San Diego on Monday some more? What
can I do to assure you of my innocence and
keep you looking for her?”
There was a hint of desperation in his voice,
as if he might lose it at any moment. But
Keri had to keep pushing. It was her job.
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can
do, Dr. Burlingame. After all, it’s almost
always the husband. So you’ve got to expect
that you’d be under suspicion.”
“Yes, but I figured a good detective would
follow the facts and not just make lazy assumptions
based on clichés. I didn’t expect you to
walk in here and use allegations of an affair
to test me. An affair, by the way, I think
you may have just made up.”
There was a knock on the door. A nurse stood
meekly at the threshold.
“What is it, Brenda?” Burlingame demanded
harshly.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. But Mrs. Rossetti
has been waiting for twenty minutes and she’s
getting upset.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said brusquely.
“Yes sir,” Brenda said, backing away meekly.
He looked back at Keri, clearly frustrated.
“Are we done here, Detective? Or are you
going to arrest me?”
“You’re free to resume your schedule,
Doctor.”
“Let me ask you this, Detective Locke. Is
there any legal reason why I can’t hire
my own private investigator to pursue this?
I mean clearly, the police aren’t interested.
And despite what you may believe, I love my
wife. Hell, I’ve been sleeping on the couch
because I can’t bear to lie in our bed without
her beside me. I feel completely helpless.”
“You’re free to do as you wish, Doctor,”
Keri said, trying to keep her voice cool and
professional. “But I can assure you, I’m
still very much interested in this case.”
With that, she got up and left.
It wasn’t until she got into the elevator
that Keri allowed herself to breathe normally.
She had just taken a huge risk. She’d conducted
an aggressive interview with the missing woman’s
spouse, without the permission or even awareness
of her superior.
And what did she have to show for it? Nothing.
She was no more convinced of his guilt now
than when she walked into his office. In fact,
the sense of panic and powerlessness he projected
made her feel like he was as much a victim
as Kendra.
As the elevator plummeted to the ground floor,
she couldn’t help but wonder if her career
was headed in the same direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
With a pit of apprehension in her gut, Keri
drove from Burlingame’s office to visit
Ashley Penn in Venice. She was almost there
when she got the call she’d been dreading.
She hit the speakerphone button and braced
for what she knew was coming.
“What the hell were you thinking?” bellowed
the furious voice of Lieutenant Cole Hillman.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” she said
as pleasantly as she could, “I’m not sure
what you’re referring to.”
“I’m referring to you invading Burlingame’s
office and treating him like he’s suspect
number one when we all know there is no suspect.”
“With all due respect, sir, you yourself
said the case wasn’t officially closed.
I was just following up.”
There was a long pause. Keri braced herself
for another explosion.
“Locke, I thought I told you to go home
and rest. Why can’t you just follow orders
for once, especially when they’re for your
own good?” He sounded less angry than pleading
now.
“I just want to do the job right, Lieutenant.”
“I get that. And I know you’re itching
to get back in the game. But part of your
job is listening to your superior officer.”
“Yes sir.”
“So hear me now. You are to stop investigating
this case. Go home. Sleep. Watch TV. Eat food
that’s bad for you. I don’t care what
you do, as long as it doesn’t involve pursuing
this nearly closed case. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir. I just—”
“Good,” he said, cutting her off and hanging
up before she could get in another word.
Keri pulled the car over. She was parked on
the street near Ashley Penn’s house in the
Venice canals. She had been ordered to drop
the case, to go home.
Actually, he said he didn’t care what I
did as long as it wasn’t pursuing the case.
Checking up on a girl I rescued from certain
death isn’t pursuing the case.
Satisfied that she was following the letter
of Hillman’s orders, Keri got out of the
car and walked to the Penn house.
The home of Senator Stafford Penn, his wife,
Mia, and their daughter, Ashley, was a massive,
three-story mansion surrounded by high walls
and situated next to a canal modeled after
those in the Italian city. Keri buzzed the
outer door and waved at the camera looking
down at her.
After a few seconds, the gate buzzed and she
walked toward the front door, which opened
suddenly to reveal Ashley Penn. The fifteen-year-old
girl stood in the doorway, supported by crutches,
with an enormous cast on her right leg from
ankle to hip. Her left wrist was wrapped in
a soft cast.
Despite that, she wore a huge grin. Her blonde
hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She
had on a white tank top and navy shorts, both
of which contrasted with her deeply tanned
skin. Before Keri could stop her, the girl
hobbled toward her, dropped the crutches,
and wrapped her arms around her, giving her
a powerful hug. Keri didn’t mind the ripple
of pain that shot through her.
“It’s so good to see you,” Ashley whispered
in her ear. When she finally stepped back,
there were tears in her eyes. Keri’s were
wet too.
“You look pretty good, considering,” Keri
said and meant it. From the waist up, the
teenage girl looked like she was ready for
a modeling shoot. She picked up the crutches
and returned them.
“Thanks,” Ashley said as she led Keri
into the house. “So do you. The last time
I saw you, you were in a wheelchair with your
arm in a sling. Now you’re dressed all professional
woman–like. I’d never know you were in
a hospital like, a week ago.”
“I look better than I feel, trust me.”
They sat down in the front sitting room. It
was a little formal but Ashley obviously couldn’t
go long distances and this room had the closest
couch. A maid came in and asked if they needed
anything. Ashley asked for lemonade and Keri
followed suit. A tall, solid-looking man in
a crisp suit stood just outside the room,
silent but alert. Keri recognized him as part
of Senator Penn’s security staff.
“Is this just a social visit or is it related
to the case?” Ashley asked, a hint of apprehension
in her voice.
I just wanted to check in, see how you were
doing,” Keri assured her. “I felt bad
that I hadn’t had a chance to stop by yet.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s probably better
that you waited anyway. Things have been a
little crazy around here.”
“What do you mean?”
“My folks are separating. Dad moved out
over the weekend. He’s issuing a statement
tomorrow to try to beat the tabloids to it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ashley.”
“It’s okay. It’s been coming. My mom
hasn’t been happy for a while. Me getting
kidnapped by a guy who was hired by my father’s
brother didn’t help. And my dad trying to
keep it all quiet because it would hurt his
reelection chances was just sort of the cherry
on top.”
“I wish I could say I was stunned. But I
have to admit, your father didn’t seem to
love it when things went…off-script.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it. Look,
I love him. He’s my dad. But family is not
his top priority. It sometimes felt like we
were an obstacle to his perfect little life.
He’s kind of a control freak, you know?”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”
Keri asked.
“No way. When things don’t go how he planned,
he just kind of loses it. He’s learned to
control it because he’s a politician and
voters don’t like rage monsters. But when
things don’t go his way, especially when
he thinks he’s been wronged, he seethes
to himself. And eventually, it comes out later.”
“Through violence? He hasn’t hurt you
or your mother, has he?” Keri asked, alarmed.
“No. He’s not violent. But I remember
that in his last election, some local councilman
endorsed his primary opponent after privately
promising my dad he’d support him. Within
a year, the guy had lost his seat, his home
had been foreclosed on, and he was being investigated
by the city attorney.”
“Well, if the guy was corrupt—”
“He wasn’t. It was all bogus. But by the
time the truth came out, his life had been
destroyed. Then there was this rich Malibu
socialite who reneged on hosting a campaign
fundraiser at the last minute. My dad got
her kicked out of her country club. He had
her investigated for a zoning violation. That
ended up being false too. But by then, she’d
been shamed into moving. She lives in La Jolla
now. I could tell you a dozen other stories
like that. He’s not a great guy.”
“I’m sorry,” Keri said, unsure what
else she could add.
“Me too. It’s just good my mom knows all
this stuff too or he’d probably try to crush
her in the divorce. But he can’t because
she knows where all the bodies are buried.”
Their lemonade arrived and Keri used the distraction
as a chance to change the subject.
“When do you go back to school?” she asked.
“Next week. I’m a little nervous. All
that publicity—I’m not sure how people
are going to react.”
“Your friends have come to visit you, right?
Have they acted any differently toward you?”
“No, they’ve been awesome. Someone’s
been by every day to bring me homework and
just hang out.” Ashley smiled at the thought
of it.
“See, the people who matter have already
shown their true colors,” Keri said, then
leaned in to whisper her next comment. “I
say screw anyone who doesn’t get with the
program.”
Ashley nodded but Keri could tell she wasn’t
totally convinced. She decided not to push.
“Have the doctors given you a timetable
for when you can start surfing or playing
basketball again?”
Ashley’s face brightened at the question.
“If I stick to my physical therapy, they
say I could be back on my board by spring.
I won’t be doing aerials for a while. But
I just want to get back out there, you know?
Basketball’s a little rougher. This will
be a lost season. And the doctors don’t
want me doing any impact sports until next
fall anyway. So we’ll just have to see on
that one.”
“Well, I’d love to come to one of your
games,” Keri said. “Or even before that,
maybe you could give me a surfing lesson or
two. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Ashley giggled. Apparently the thought of
Keri Locke on a surfboard was inherently funny.
Just then, the maid poked her head in.
“Miss Ashley, your physical therapist is
here for your afternoon session,” she said.
“Thanks, Maricela,” Ashley said, then
turned to Keri. “My work is never done.
I have morning, afternoon, and evening sessions.
At least the evening guy is cute.”
“Ashley Penn, please steer clear of guys
for a little while, especially the cute ones,”
Keri said, surprised at how mom-ish she sounded.
Ashley laughed out loud. The sound gave Keri
a hit of pure joy. After everything the girl
had been through, the fact that she retained
her sense of humor was something of a miracle.
Ashley must have been thinking the same thing
because the laugh quickly gave way to tears.
Keri slid over and wrapped her arms around
the teenager, who squeezed her back tight.
“I still have nightmares about him,” Ashley
whispered in her ear between sniffles. “I
picture myself strapped into that machine,
my arms and legs being pulled in different
directions, him standing over me, getting
pleasure from my agony.”
“I know,” Keri whispered back, holding
the shaking teen close. “I have them too.
But I promise, they’ll fade over time.”
“Are you sure?” Ashley asked quietly.
Keri pulled back so the girl could look into
her eyes.
“I am. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things,
Ashley. And almost all of them fade with time.
This will too. Just don’t shut down. Keep
talking to your doctors, your therapists,
your mom, to me. And remember. Alan Pachanga
is in a hole in the ground. Next spring you’ll
be doing air spirals in the ocean.”
“Aerials,” Ashley said, breaking into
a little grin.
“Yeah, those. Listen, I’m going to go.
You’ve got your physical therapy and I have
to make Los Angeles safe for juvenile delinquents
like you. But I’d like to visit again if
that’s okay. Maybe next week?”
“I’d really like that,” Ashley said.
They hugged one last time. Then Keri headed
out. As she left the room she exchanged glances
with the security guard near the door. He
nodded politely and Keri thought she might
have seen a tear trickling down his cheek.
She hoped it wasn’t her imagination.
As she headed back to the car, she couldn’t
help but be impressed with the kid’s resilience.
In the last three weeks, she’d been abducted
and tortured, broken multiple bones in her
body, discovered her uncle was a murderous
sociopath, and learned her parents were getting
divorced. And still, she saw Keri off with
an authentic smile on her face.
As she got in the car, Keri wondered if she
might be better off replacing some of her
Glenlivet time with visits to other kids she’d
helped. It was definitely a healthier way
to get a rush.
Of course, not every kid bounced back like
Ashley had. And not every vengeful control
freak acted out by pushing for foreclosures
and zoning violations. Some of them took their
revenge in more personal, intimate ways.
A thought began to dart in and out of Keri’s
mind, just out of reach, like a wisp of smoke
she couldn’t quite grab hold of. Keri closed
her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to force
all the extraneous junk out and focus on the
idea that was teasing her, so close to showing
itself.
Control is everything. Order must be maintained.
Chaos must be punished. Vengeance must be
had. Personal. Intimate. Retribution.
Without warning, an image popped into her
head, seemingly out of nowhere. It was of
the receptionist in Dr. Burlingame’s office
earlier. She’d looked almost frightened
when she’d realized she hadn’t seen the
note about Keri’s appointment in the computer.
And then there was the nurse, so hesitant
to interrupt their conversation, so quick
to leave once she’d been rebuked.
What made them both so edgy? Lots of doctors
are short with their staff. There is that
whole God Complex thing. But this somehow
seemed like something more.
Keri remembered how Mags had said Jeremy wasn’t
interested in kids. And that made sense. Children
are messy, not just physically but emotionally.
They disrupt an ordered life.
But to reject your wife’s desire to have
a child under any circumstances—no adoption,
no surrogate—just because it would be a
hassle? That’s taking the need for a tidy
life to another level.
Still, none of these things were crimes. They
weren’t evidence of anything more than him
being an ultra-anal, type-A asshole.
Besides, Jeremy Burlingame wanted to pursue
his wife’s case even as the police were
planning to close it. He offered to take a
polygraph. He seemed truly devastated at the
news that Kendra had cheated. And he had an
alibi.
Or did he? Keri remembered that his alibi
had been verified by Detective Frank Brody,
the laziest, most slovenly cop she’d ever
met and one who was just months from retirement.
It wasn’t a stretch to think he might not
have pursued every lead vigorously.
Keri picked up her phone and searched for
the number she needed. After she found it,
she punched in the digits and waited. While
the phone rang, it occurred to her that she
was about to violate Hillman’s specific
directive not to pursue the case.
A male voice picked up and said, “Hello.”
It wasn’t too late. She could still hang
up. She could still just go home and sleep.
“Hello?” the voice said again.
Last chance, Keri. Just hang up.
She didn’t hang up.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Keri gulped hard, ignored the part of her
that said she was making a career-ending mistake,
and spoke.
“Hello, this is Detective Keri Locke of
the LAPD. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Dr. Vijay Patel of San Diego Plastic
Surgery Associates. What can I do for you,
Detective?”
“I’m calling about a colleague of yours,
Dr. Jeremy Burlingame.”
“Yes, another detective from your department
was here the other day asking questions about
Dr. Burlingame as well.”
“Right, I’m just following up. My understanding
is that he was in surgery the whole time he
was down there. Is that correct?”
“Yes. That was my recollection and I conferred
with several other doctors and nurses to be
sure. He arrived at the hospital around nine
thirty in the morning. We began the procedure
just after ten a.m. It ran until around two
thirty p.m. He was there the whole time, except
for one very brief break.”
“I guess everyone needs a bathroom break,”
Keri joked.
“I suppose that’s possible, Detective,”
Dr. Patel answered without a trace of humor,
“although it would have been an extremely
brief one.”
“What do you mean?” Keri asked politely,
although she felt her breathing quicken.
“I suppose I’m just being temperamental.
You see, the closest restroom is a good three-minute
walk from the surgical suite. It’s something
we’ve repeatedly complained about to the
administration.”
“I’m not sure I take your point, Doctor,”
Keri said, confused.
“It’s just that he was gone less than
five minutes. Not really enough time to do
much of anything, if you get my meaning.”
Keri let that sink in.
What other reason could Burlingame have for
stepping out in the middle of an involved
procedure?
“I see,” she said. “Is it possible he
stepped out to take a call or check a voicemail
or text?”
“It would be unusual to have a phone in
the operating room at all,” Dr. Patel said.
“Generally it’s not allowed. They’re
not sterile and sudden ringing or buzzing
can be a big deal when you have a scalpel
in your hand.”
“Did you hear any buzzing?” Keri asked
hopefully.
“No, I didn’t. And to be honest, Detective
Locke, I probably wouldn’t have said anything
even if I had. Dr. Burlingame made a special
trip down to assist us. He did it completely
pro bono. No one was going to make a fuss
over any of his peculiarities. If he needed
to take a half dozen breaks during the procedure,
we would have been happy to accommodate him.”
Keri could sense the doctor getting impatient
and decided to wrap things up.
“Of course. How nice of him to go all the
way down to San Diego and spend so many fully
accounted-for hours with your team. One more
thing, when did he step out?”
“It was pretty early on. Maybe ten thirty
a.m. give or take.”
“And you said he was gone less than five
minutes?”
“Yes, and that includes having to re-gown
and scrub back in.”
“Thanks, Dr. Patel. You’ve been very gracious.
We’ll try not to bother you again.”
Keri hung up and sat quietly in the car for
a moment.
Why am I still obsessing over Jeremy Burlingame?
Is it because things went sideways with the
Collector and I have to have someone else
to pick on? The man has been more supportive
of my investigation than my own boss. And
yet I keep coming at him. This is turning
into a witch hunt.
After a minute, she started the car, pulled
into traffic, and dialed Kevin Edgerton’s
number.
If this doesn’t pan out, let it go.
“Edgerton here.”
“Kevin, I need a favor.”
“Keri, what are you doing calling in? The
lieutenant said not to call you about the
case.”
“I’m calling you, so you’re not in trouble.
Why would you call me? Do you have new info
or something?”
“No,” Edgerton said unconvincingly.
“You’re a terrible liar. Just tell me
what it is.”
“No way. What if Hillman comes back and
hears me? He’ll kill me.”
“So he’s not there—great. You have no
excuse now.”
“I can’t.”
“Kevin, tell me what you have or I’m coming
into the station right now. And when Hillman
sees me, I’ll rat you out.”
“Okay, jeez. It’s just the fingerprints.
We’ve got IDs on every recognizable print.”
“And…?”
“Kendra Burlingame isn’t among them. Although
Palm Springs PD says there were still nine
partial prints they just couldn’t ID.”
“So we still don’t know definitively if
Kendra was ever in that bus station or if
the woman we saw was her,” Keri said.
“Hillman thinks she was one of those nine
partials. He’s ready to close the case.
In fact, I think he’s going to sign the
paperwork when he gets back.”
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“He went to get a bite—left a few minutes
ago.”
“Good,” Keri said, “then you have to
do that favor I asked of you.”
“What is it?”
“I know Suarez already did this. But I want
you to check Jeremy Burlingame’s cell phone
records again, specifically for any incoming
or outgoing calls on Monday morning between
ten and eleven a.m.”
“Come on, Keri. I could hear Hillman screaming
at you earlier about bothering that guy.”
“No one’s bothering him,” Keri insisted.
“We’re just looking up some phone numbers.
It’s harmless. And while you’re at it,
I need you to do one more thing.”
“You’re killing me. I literally feel the
life force leaving my body.”
“Don’t be a wuss, Kevin. I need you to
go back through the train station footage,”
she said, ignoring him. “You’re looking
to see if the headscarf woman ever makes a
phone call. I don’t remember one and I think
I would have noticed it. But just in case.”
“Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.
“Yes, please. Pull up the photos of the
folks who were identified from the fingerprints.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to want to look at
them when I get to the office in five minutes.”
She hung up before he could respond.
*
No one said anything to Keri as she walked
across the bullpen to Edgerton’s desk, but
she could see a bunch of people looking at
her in shock out of the corner of their eyes.
She ignored them all.
“Give me good news,” she said as she pulled
up a chair and sat down next to Edgerton,
who was staring at his computer monitor.
“I don’t know if it’s good, but I have
news,” he said, pointing at a phone number
on the screen. “There’s no call to or
from Dr. Burlingame’s cell phone during
the window you gave me.”
Keri’s heart sank. She had been sure he’d
made or received a call or text. What other
reason would he have for stepping out of surgery
for such a brief period?
Maybe he had a cramp. Maybe he had to fart.
Maybe he just needed a private moment to regroup.
You do that all the time.
“Could he have used a burner phone?” she
asked, aware that she sounded desperate now.
“Sure. But I’d have no record of that,”
Edgerton answered.
“Okay, were you able to check the bus station
footage to see if our mystery woman was on
the phone in the time window around ten thirty
a.m.?”
“I was not.”
“Why not?” she demanded, her voice rising.
“Why don’t I just show you?” he said,
pulling up the video, which was cued to 10:22
a.m.
He hit play and Keri watched as the woman
walked down a hall and rounded the corner.
Another camera picked her up as she turned
right and walked through a door marked “Women.”
Edgerton hit pause. The time on the screen
read 10:23 a.m.
“She was in the bathroom?” Keri asked.
“She was in the bathroom,” Edgerton confirmed,
smiling. “And look what time she leaves.”
He fast-forwarded until the woman left the
bathroom, notably not wearing her gloves.
The time said 10:31 a.m.
“So she could have made a call during that
time?” Keri said.
“It’s not definitive. It’s not proof
of anything. But yes, she could have. Or she
could have just had digestive problems.”
“And there’s no way to track if a call
made from that bathroom on a burner phone
went to a burner phone at the hospital in
San Diego?”
“That’s a real stretch, Keri. First of
all, there’s no evidence that anyone made
any calls on any phone at any time. It’s
all just your speculation.”
“Wow—that’s a little harsh,” Keri
said, though she knew he was right.
“I’m just stating the facts, Keri. Even
if that was our working theory, it would require
weeks to untangle call records. Even then,
we couldn’t identify who made any of those
calls. And need I remind you, Hillman’s
closing this case completely when he gets
back.”
Keri slumped in the chair. She was out of
ideas. In addition to having no reason to
suspect Burlingame, it seemed there was no
way to prove anything even if she did.
People do sometimes just run away. Not everyone
is a victim.
“But…” Edgerton said quietly, hesitantly,
almost in a whisper.
Keri’s head popped up immediately. There
was something in Edgerton’s voice. It reminded
her of Evie’s voice when she found an unexpected
cookie at the bottom of the jar. It was the
sound of someone who’d discovered buried
treasure.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Keri’s whole body tingled. All the aching
seemed to have subsided. She looked at Edgerton
excitedly and could tell immediately that
there was more.
“What is it?” she asked.
He sighed heavily before pulling up a series
of DMV photos.
“What are these?”
But then she realized what she was looking
at. These were all the people whose fingerprints
had been identified on the snow globes in
the bus station gift shop. There were sixty-seven
photos in all.
“Can you screen out all the men and any
women not between thirty and fifty years old?”
The speed with which he completed the task
suggested to Keri that this wasn’t the first
time he’d tried this filter.
After he was done, the monitor displayed eight
women. Five of them were clearly not a match.
Four were seriously overweight. One’s license
listed her as five foot two.
Of the three remaining women, none fit perfectly.
One was blonde and at forty-six, was at the
outer range of the age limit. Another was
probably too short at five foot seven and
at thirty, she just looked too young. The
final woman was brunette and about the right
height. But her jaw line was so square and
pronounced that even without ever getting
a clear look at the woman in the bus station
footage, it was clear that they weren’t
the same person.
“I’m sorry, Keri. I checked all of them
earlier. I didn’t want to tell you because
I knew you were hoping. But none of them looks
to be a match, not even close. This just reinforced
the lieutenant’s confidence that it was
Burlingame herself in the video. That’s
why he was so comfortable closing the case.”
Keri stared at the screen, going over each
of the women more closely. She felt that itch
again, the sense that there was something
right in front of her if she could just look
at it from the proper perspective.
Her mind drifted to her own recent adventure,
trying to avoid detection as she navigated
her way through a building littered with security
cameras.
I managed to get away with it—at least so
far. It is possible.
“Show me the blonde again,” she said suddenly.
Edgerton pulled up her license full screen.
It read:
JENNIFER HORNER, 46 YRS OLD, 5 FOOT 9, 125
LBS., SHERMAN OAKS, CA
Horner had renewed her license just two years
ago so it wasn’t too dated. Her short pixie-style
haircut flattered her, making her look younger
than her age, as did her immaculate makeup.
It was one of the best DMV photos Keri could
recall ever seeing.
“What does Jennifer do for a living, Kevin?”
Keri asked as she looked into the woman’s
eyes.
“She’s a makeup artist. It looks like
she mostly works on crappy reality shows.
The license says Sherman Oaks but she lives
in Silverlake now. She’s single. Has a sister
who also lives in town. No obvious connections
to the Burlingames as far as I can tell.”
“Are you able to make alterations to her
DMV image, Photoshop it a bit?”
“I guess but it’ll be pretty rough.”
“That’s okay. Give her long dark hair.”
Edgerton’s fingers zipped around the keyboard
and mouse. It took less than thirty seconds
for Jennifer to become a brunette.
“Now give her sunglasses and a headscarf
like the other woman.”
That process took only two minutes. Without
being asked, Edgerton pulled up a screen grab
of the woman in bus station footage and placed
it side by side with Horner’s retouched
DMV photo.
Keri stifled a gasp, not wanting to influence
her colleague.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think maybe we shouldn’t close this
case. They could be twins.”
Keri nodded, trying to keep cool and not let
the sudden rush of euphoria she felt overwhelm
her. The train station footage was grainy
but there was no doubt that these two women
looked shockingly similar.
Finally, a break!
“You willing to say that to Hillman?”
Keri asked. Seeing him hesitate, she continued
before he could reply. “How about before
we take that step, you call Ms. Horner? Hillman
says I can’t do it…or anything. Let’s
find out where she is now. If she picks up
the call and agrees to come in for an interview
this afternoon, we know we have the wrong
gal.”
“I’m still not sure any of this is enough
to go after Burlingame.”
“It’s not. Technically, these things are
completely unrelated. Just like it may only
be bad luck that the bus station woman never,
not once, looks up so we can get a quality,
head-on shot of her.”
“Awfully suspicious though,” Edgerton
said.
“Yep,” Keri agreed. “Just like it’s
suspicious that she never takes off her sunglasses
or headscarf the whole morning, even though
she’s indoors. And maybe it’s only a coincidence
that the camera angles that would best help
us ID this woman—the ones at the entrance
to the bus station and on the bus itself—were
both down that morning. None of it is enough
to take to a prosecutor. There’s no evidence
that any crime has taken place.”
“So what do we do now?” Edgerton asked.
Keri sat quietly beside him pondering the
same question. An idea started to form in
her head but before she could get it out,
her phone rang. It was from her department-assigned
psychiatrist, Dr. Beverly Blanc. Keri was
required to check in with her periodically.
“I’ve got to take this,” she told Edgerton
as she got up to leave. “But here’s what
you should do. Try to contact Jennifer Horner.
If you can’t, reach out to her sister and
her employer. If they can’t account for
her whereabouts, let Interpol know to be on
the lookout for her, specifically in Barcelona.”
“And I assume you’re going home to take
a nap?” he said sarcastically.
“That’s right, Kevin. I’m certainly
not going to look for evidence that a crime
has taken place. At least as far as Hillman
knows.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Keri tried to keep her cool but it wasn’t
easy. As she sat in her car in the police
station parking lot and listened to her psychiatrist,
she was getting more anxious, not less.
Isn’t therapy supposed to reduce my stress,
not increase it?
“Keri,” Dr Beverly Blanc said in her perpetually
cool but concerned tone, “Lieutenant Hillman
really sounded like he was on the verge of
dismissing you. I’ve never heard him so
angry.”
Keri hated that she was required to see a
mental health professional but all things
considered, she could do worse than Beverly
Blanc. The woman was no-nonsense. She genuinely
seemed to care about Keri’s well-being.
And she didn’t pester her with annoying
calls all the time. But her description of
Hillman set Keri on edge.
“No offense, Doc. But I hear him that angry
multiple times a day. It’s not that big
a deal.”
“Have you ever considered why you always
seem to be there when he blows his stack?
Do you think there might be some connection
there?”
Keri considered it. As usual, Dr. Blanc might
have a point.
“What are you asking me to do?” she asked
as she started her car and pulled out of the
lot.
“Listen, you’ve told me about this Burlingame
case and I can tell you’re frustrated that
you’re not being allowed to pursue it. I
can also sense that there’s something else
going on that you’re not telling me about.
I suspect it has to do with Evie but I’m
not going to take that up for now.”
“I appreciate that.”
“What I am doing is asking you to follow
your boss’s orders,” Dr. Blanc said. “Go
home. Rest. Or go to a support group meeting.
It’s five thirty-five right now. There are
several six p.m. meetings I can direct you
to. Or come in and see me. I’m through with
appointments for the day.”
“Thanks, Doc. That’s very generous of
you. But I’m good.”
“Are you, Keri? You say that but you’re
still so closed off. When are you going to
come out of your cocoon?”
“With you on my side, I’ll be a beautiful
butterfly in no time.”
“I feel like you’re not taking me seriously.”
“I am but I have to go. You know, to nap.”
“Keri…” Dr. Blanc started to say.
“Thanks, Doc. Got to go.”
Keri hung up and pulled over on the side of
the road. Something Dr. Blanc had said about
cocoons had triggered a vague memory for her.
It was a couple of years ago. She had been
on the houseboat late one night, channel surfing
and scarfing down pizza, when she’d stumbled
across a reality show about women unhappy
with their appearance. They all agreed to
undergo a weight loss and exercise program
and to have plastic surgery. The show was
called Butterfly.
Keri realized that was what the word in the
corner of those photos in Burlingame’s office
referred to. Those women were contestants
on the show and he must have been one of the
plastic surgeons.
She did a search on her phone to see what
reality shows Jennifer Horner had worked on
as a makeup artist. Sure enough, there it
was. She was credited as “head makeup artist”
on the show’s one season before it was cancelled
due to poor ratings.
There was no proof yet that she and Burlingame
had ever interacted. That would require interviews
with the crew of the show. But finding and
interviewing those people, all now working
on other series, would require time and manpower,
neither of which she currently had.
If the woman at that bus station and on the
flight to Barcelona was Jennifer Horner, then
Kendra Burlingame was missing. And someone
wanted to keep that from the world. Keri didn’t
have enough to arrest Jeremy Burlingame or
even to get a search warrant. She didn’t
have the support of her superior or anything
other than circumstantial evidence and her
gut instinct.
But that was enough for her. So she turned
her car around and headed north, in the direction
of Beverly Hills. She was going to the Burlingame
mansion.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Keri was in serious discomfort. She had been
kneeling in the bushes near the outer gate
of the Burlingame compound for nearly fifteen
minutes. Her thighs were burning and her ribs
were starting to throb under the strain of
being in a crouch for so long. It didn’t
help that she was wearing her bulletproof
vest, which weighed her down even more.
She could see Lupe, the maid, going back and
forth to her car in the roundabout and suspected
she was preparing to leave for the night.
But she was taking her sweet time and Keri
was running out of it. She looked at her watch.
It was 6:29 p.m. Burlingame had told her he
had appointments today until seven. That didn’t
give her a ton of time to search the house
for evidence and get out undetected before
he got home.
At 6:30 p.m. exactly Lupe walked out for what
appeared to be the last time and got in her
car. Apparently she was a real stickler for
not leaving early, even when she was the only
one there. As she approached the gate, she
clicked a remote to open it. She eased out
onto the driveway connected to the residential
street.
Keri forced herself to stay low and still,
even though she desperately wanted to dash
through the gate. She checked her waistband
for about the fifth time. Everything was still
there—her gun, her handcuffs, her Taser.
Halfway down the driveway, Lupe saw the large
rock Keri had placed there earlier. She put
her car in park and got out to move it. Only
when Keri was sure the maid was focused on
that task and couldn’t just glance back
in the rearview mirror did she rush from her
hiding spot, dart through the gate just before
it slammed shut, and hide behind a large stone
pillar.
She peeked out in time to see Lupe toss the
rock into the grass. The maid gave one last
look back at the mansion, returned to her
car, and drove off. Keri was alone.
She moved quickly. The sun was already starting
to set and within the next half hour she’d
be in relative darkness. If Kendra Burlingame
was being kept hidden somewhere on the compound,
she only had a short time to find her.
She started outside, checking a gardening
shed and then the pool house. There was nothing
out of the ordinary in either. She banged
on the walls of each and stamped on the floors,
feeling for hollow spots that might suggest
hidden rooms. Nothing.
Then she moved to the house itself. She’d
checked on the drive up to the mansion to
see if the Burlingames used a security system.
Apparently they had one but only used it when
they were traveling. Still a little worried,
she delicately jimmied the lock to the kitchen
door, opened it, and waited for any beeping
or siren. She heard nothing.
After a minute, she felt confident enough
to enter. She used the floor plans she’d
downloaded earlier to make her way straight
to Dr. Burlingame’s study. She didn’t
bother going through his papers. If he was
behind this, it was highly unlikely that he’d
leave proof of it in easily discovered documents
in his office.
Instead, she looked around for anything that
seemed out of the ordinary: Indentations on
the hardwood floor that might suggest furniture
had recently been moved. Unusual drafts of
air that might indicate a hidden room. She
again knocked on the walls, but they were
all solid.
Next she moved upstairs to the bedroom to
get a better look around than the last time
she was there.
Arguments often started in the bedroom and
could easily escalate. If there was some kind
of physical altercation, this might be the
best place to find evidence of it.
But nothing seemed odd. No picture frames
were out of place, no wall paintings were
askew, no bloodstains were hidden under area
rugs. Of course, Lupe would have corrected
the first two, so drawing any conclusions
was probably pointless.
Keri moved into the bathroom and looked around.
Nothing jumped out at her. There was a long
counter with dual sinks. One side was immaculate,
with everything—razor, toothbrush, comb,
hand towel—it its proper place. The other
looked like a tornado had ripped through it.
Keri moved closer to the section that Kendra
obviously used and studied it. Strewn out
next to the sink were a hair dryer, a plastic
tub full to the brim with makeup, two hairbrushes,
and a long lonely strand of floss. The only
things obviously missing were a toothbrush,
toothpaste, and any medication.
That made sense if one bought the theory that
Kendra had bailed and only taken the essentials.
It also made sense if one suspected that the
sink was carefully set up to create that impression.
Keri turned off the light and pulled her trusty
flashlight out of her pocket. In one mode
it was a traditional flashlight. But push
a button and it became a black light, which
used UV rays to detect material invisible
to the naked eye.
She shined it carefully over the floor, searching
for any hint that blood might have been spilled
in the room. Finding nothing, she moved over
to the tub and shower. Still nothing.
Keri looked at her watch. It was 7:04 p.m.
Burlingame would be done with his final appointment
of the day by now. If he headed back immediately,
he could be back at the house in thirty to
forty-five minutes. She had to be long gone
by then. Running out of time, she tried to
focus.
Where else might a meticulous, controlling
type do his dirty work?
And then it popped into her head, so obvious
that she felt like kicking herself. Keri rushed
down the stairs, ignoring her still-sore ribs
and shoulder, and made her way to the garage.
She opened the door and turned on the light.
It was empty, of course. Kendra’s car was
with the Palm Springs police and Jeremy was
currently driving his here.
But even so, it looked like it was rarely
used for the cars. The floor was spotless
and the tools along the far wall were perfectly
organized.
Excited, Keri turned off the overhead light
and tried her black light again. But there
wasn’t a hint of blood anywhere on the floor.
Keri turned the main light back on and sat
on the garage step, trying not to let her
frustration overwhelm her investigative sense.
Was it possible that she was wrong about all
of this? That it was all just a big coincidence
and Kendra had really run off to Spain? While
it didn’t seem likely, it wasn’t inconceivable
that both Kendra and Jennifer Horner had been
at the Palm Springs bus station in the last
few days.
There was even the chance that Jennifer had
developed some sort of fixation on the Burlingames
and pulled some kind Talented Mr. Ripley –style
identity theft scheme. Keri doubted it but
if she was honest, she’d never really even
thought to chase that lead.
For that matter, she’d never seriously pursued
the possibility that Lupe the maid was somehow
involved; or Becky, the cokehead friend; or
even Mags. She’d left a lot of stones unturned.
Regardless of what had happened, she had to
admit that she hadn’t found a single definitive
shred of evidence that Jeremy Burlingame had
done anything wrong.
She stood up and wandered over to the wall
of tools, absently perusing them as she turned
over the possibilities in her head. Most of
them, despite being well organized, were caked
in dirt. Apparently cleaning gardening tools
wasn’t in Lupe’s job description. Considering
how worn and grimy many of them were, Keri
suspected that the less fastidious Kendra
had the family’s green thumb.
Finally, she came to the shovel at the far
end of the wall. Surprisingly, it looked to
be in pretty good shape. In fact, it was so
clean that it appeared like it had never been
used. Keri turned it over and saw that it
still had the barcode and Home Depot stickers
on the back.
Every other tool in this garage is dirty.
But this shovel has never been used. It looks
like it was just bought to replace an old
one. But why would the old one need to be
replaced? Unless it was broken. Or there was
something incriminating about it.
Suddenly Keri realized she’d been searching
in the wrong place.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
She grabbed the shovel and ran outside, trying
to control the adrenaline shooting through
her system. It was almost completely dark
now and she struggled to find her way to the
spot she was looking for.
Eventually she got sight of the lighted pool
in the distance and used that to guide her
to her destination. When she got there she
knew she had the right place.
She stared down into deep pit beside the pool
that had been excavated to make room for the
hot tub that was being built. The pit was
a good five feet deep now. But there was no
reason the Bobcat couldn’t have created
a hole much deeper, where a body could be
buried and covered over.
But using an industrial excavator to pour
the dirt back over the hole would have been
risky. If something went wrong, it could accidentally
dig back into the hole, risking cutting into
the body below.
Better to use a shovel to cover it up and
just use the Bobcat to pat the earth down
firmly afterward. But who knows what human
DNA might accidentally get on that shovel
when it was burying the body? The safe move
was to dispose of it and just get a new one.
Keri was just about to jump into the hole
and start digging when her phone buzzed. It
was Edgerton. She picked up,
“What is it, Kevin? I’m a little busy
here.”
“You said to call when I had some information.
So I’m calling.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“We just got a hit on Jennifer Horner,”
he said.
“Great. Where is she?”
“She’s dead.”
“What?” Keri asked, unsure if she’d
heard him right.
“She was found in a Barcelona hotel a few
hours ago. The full autopsy results won’t
be ready for weeks but the pathologist told
me it looks like she’s been poisoned.”
“How is that possible?”
“They found massive amounts of potassium
in her system.”
“Potassium? Like in bananas?”
“Yes, but this was over five hundred times
what you’d find in a banana. In doses that
high, it causes kidney and heart failure.
But it was slow-acting, so it took about three
days to have its full effect. That explains
why she was able to travel for a while. And
Keri, only a medical professional could access
it in amounts that large.”
“You know what this means, right, Kevin?”
“It means Burlingame was eliminating the
one person who could rat him out.”
“Exactly. And I found a connection between
the two of them. They both worked—”
Keri head a twig snap behind her and started
to turn around. But before she could, she
felt a massive explosion of pain in the back
of her head and then everything went black.
*
She heard sounds before she could see anything.
Keri wasn’t sure how long she’d been unconscious.
But she knew it hadn’t been a fainting spell.
Someone had whacked her in the head.
As she lay there trying to get her bearings
and ignore the screaming agony in her skull,
Keri could tell somebody was moving around
nearby. There was also a loud humming sound,
metallic in nature.
Then she felt a sudden shock of weight land
on her. It took everything she had not to
grunt audibly. The stab of pain that shot
through her body immediately cleared her ringing
head.
She could smell something familiar in the
air and kind of taste it too. After a moment,
she realized what it was—dirt. She was being
covered in dirt.
And then she recognized what the metallic
humming was—the Bobcat. Someone had turned
it on and was using it to dump the extra dirt
on top of her.
She squinted her eyes open just a bit. It
took a second to understand what she was seeing.
She was in the hot tub hole, lying on her
back. Most of her body was covered in dirt.
She couldn’t see her legs but she could
tell they’d been somehow bound at the ankles.
Her hands were free but weighed down by dozens
of pounds of dirt.
No one was visible but she heard the Bobcat
getting closer. The lights of the machine
grew brighter. All of a sudden it was right
above her, at the edge of the hole. The bucket
dumped a huge mound of earth on top of her
and she felt it starting to crush her chest.
She couldn’t tell whether the pain she felt
was her ribs being destroyed anew or a brand
new kind of torture.
As she tried to inhale, some of the dirt went
down her throat and she coughed involuntarily.
The Bobcat engine suddenly eased down and
she heard footsteps.
“Look who’s awake,” she heard a familiar
voice say.
The figure stepped in front of the excavator’s
headlights and she saw him: Jeremy Burlingame.
He appeared calm and impassive, as if burying
an LAPD detective alive was just a regular
evening’s activity.
He was dressed in his dress shirt and slacks
from this afternoon, although he’d removed
the jacket and tie. There was a thin line
of sweat on his brow and tiny stains under
his armpits. But otherwise, he looked unruffled.
“I’m so sorry it had to come to this,
Detective Locke. It’s not how I wanted this
to go at all. It’s just that I heard you
talking on the phone. I heard the word ‘potassium’
and realized you had to know about Jennifer.
And here I thought I had planned that out
so well. But I guess it’s true what they
say—there really is no such thing as the
perfect crime. That’s really disappointing,
considering all my hard work. I just have
to know, how did you find out about her?”
Keri coughed some more, then spit out the
remaining dirt in her mouth before whispering
to him.
“Hard…to …speak with…this on…chest.”
“I would imagine so. Just shimmy a little
and it should fall to the sides a bit. That
should help.”
While he waited, she rocked her shoulders
a bit and some of the dirt did slide off enough
for her to breathe a little easier. As the
weight subsided, she shoved her hands through
the dirt until they were at her waistband.
She felt around but couldn’t find what she
was searching for.
“Looking for this?” Burlingame asked as
he held up her belt with her gun, cuffs, and
Taser attached. “Or maybe you were after
your phone? Here it is.”
With that he kicked the smashed wreckage of
her phone into the pit with her. She saw he
was holding something between his thumb and
forefinger. He continued.
“Sorry. I had to remove the locater. Can’t
have your police buddies finding you too soon,
you know. I mean, they’re going to find
you eventually. But it’ll be too late to
do you much good—or to do me much harm.”
“No alibi…for …this,” she muttered
hoarsely.
“That’s true. It’s a little frustrating,
I have to admit. I put so much energy into
my alibi for Kendra’s disappearance and
to not have anything for you, it’s quite
embarrassing. Luckily, I have a contingency
plan.”
“What’s…that?” Keri asked.
Just keep him talking. He seems to like that.
He hasn’t had anyone to share his master
plan with. He wants to gloat. He wants to
be admired and respected. The longer he discusses
his brilliance, the more time I have to figure
out a way out of this hellhole.
“I really shouldn’t tell you. But since
you’ll be dead soon, I feel like you deserve
to know. Let’s just say that I’ve been
planning for a quick escape ever since I hatched
this little plan well over a year ago.
“There’s a pilot on call with a plane
at the Santa Monica airport. He’ll happily
take me to a country I’d rather not name.
But it doesn’t have an extradition treaty
with the US. Nor do any of the four other
countries I have set up as backups should
things get complicated. I had hoped to stay
here and live out my years as the wronged,
sainted husband who still held a torch for
his missing wife. But spending my life sipping
rum drinks on the beach is an okay backup
plan.”
“But… why?” Keri asked, half stalling,
half genuinely wanting an answer. “She loved
you.”
Suddenly, the unruffled expression on his
face disappeared, replaced by something she’d
never seen before—pure, twisted fury.
Without speaking, he turned and walk out of
her sight. She heard the Bobcat start up again
and saw the shadow of the bucket drop down
to collect a new pile of dirt. In the brief
unwatched moment she had, Keri felt around
until she reached her back pocket. To her
relief, her small flashlight was still there.
She pulled it out and held it tight against
her chest, just as a new round of dirt slammed
down on her, covering her waist, chest, and
face.
She had been holding her breath so it took
a few seconds to realize there was so much
earth covering her face that she couldn’t
breathe.
Keri was suffocating.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
She tried not to panic. With her right hand
clutching the flashlight, Keri had no choice
but to force her left arm up, ignoring the
howling anguish in her shoulder, as she reached
up to rip and tear the heavy mound of dirt
away from her face.
As she gasped and coughed, Burlingame reappeared.
The enraged glare was gone now. He looked
like his old self.
“Sorry, Detective. But I couldn’t let
that kind of comment stand. The notion that
such an adulteress loved me is offensive.
And to think, if I hadn’t been going through
her jewelry box to find her favorite necklace
so I could buy her a matching bracelet, I
never would have found that hidden compartment.
And I never would have seen the love letter
from Alex Crane. And I never would have known
that I was living with a lying, cheating bitch.”
His face twisted up again at that last line
but he managed to regain control. Keri needed
him to keep talking, even if it risked angering
him.
“It was…five years ago. It was in… past.
She didn’t tell you …because she didn’t…want…hurt
you.” It was hard to get full breaths. Keri
worried that another mound of earth might
be too much for her to handle.
“She shamed herself,” Burlingame said.
“And she shamed me. God knows how many of
her friends knew that she’d been sneaking
off, and with some new age, wannabe lothario
from her yoga class? I have no doubt that
whenever her friends saw me, they thought
‘there goes the pathetic cuckold.’ I was
oblivious for years, a target of derision
and laughter. And not because of anything
I did. But because of her!”
“So… solution was…to…kill her? Couldn’t
just…divorce?”
“No. She had to pay a steeper price than
that. I wasn’t going to pay alimony to that
harlot. She had to know I had uncovered her
crime. She had to face the consequences fully.
That’s why it took so long, Detective. Finding
the right substitute woman to make Kendra’s
‘escape’ from town; setting up a fake
passport and credit cards for her; teaching
Jennifer all the details of her assignment
and how to avoid detection and identification
along the way; disabling the proper cameras
at the bus station and on the bus; organizing
my future accommodations in multiple non-extradition
countries; and of course, the potassium. Detective,
you can’t imagine how difficult it was to
accumulate enough for the job without drawing
suspicion—very tricky.”
His eyes were blazing with a crazed fervor.
He was getting off on describing his exploits,
pacing with manic energy. As he moved back
and forth, his attention elsewhere, Keri shook
off as much of the remaining dirt as she could
without him noticing. Then she pulled her
arms down and rested them at her sides.
When he turned back, she became still and
asked another question she hoped would appeal
to his ego.
“How did you…convince…Jennifer?”
“Oh, that was easy. I kept her in the dark
about the true nature of things. But I knew
from interacting with her on that atrocious
reality show that she was a greedy, venal
woman who was deep in debt and tired of the
thankless grind of television production.
When I told her that if she helped me, no
questions asked, I’d give her half a million
dollars, she jumped at the chance. Whatever
suspicions she had, she very pointedly avoided
asking me any questions. I think she was excited
to live the expat life.”
He laughed, apparently at the memory of her
naiveté. After a moment, he went on.
“It evidently never occurred to her that
I couldn’t just wire a half million dollars
to Europe without raising suspicions here.
She was never even apprehensive that a man
willing to engage in such mysterious, clearly
nefarious behavior ought not to be trusted.
No major loss, if you ask me.”
As he spoke, Keri formulated the rough outline
of a plan. It was crazy and desperate. But
it was the only one she could think of under
the circumstances. And for it to work, she’d
need to bait him just enough, but not so much
that he would return to burying her alive.
She decided to give him one more ego boost
before dropping the hammer.
“So your…alibi? It was real… because…you
had already…killed Kendra?” she asked,
intentionally playing up her very real shortness
of breath.
Burlingame seemed delighted by her interest.
It was hard to believe that this animated
livewire was the same man who had been so
composed and professional in their other encounters.
No wonder he enjoyed plotting this elaborate
crime. It was like a drug for him.
“Impressive, wasn’t it. By making everyone
think Kendra had run off or at the very least,
was alive until mid-morning Monday, no one
thought to check my alibi for any other time
than that. But of course, if they’d checked
my whereabouts on Sunday evening, they’d
have learned that both Kendra and I were here.
And by here, I mean literally right where
you and I are now. I was dumping huge mounds
of earth into this hole. And she was where
you’re lying, slowly choking to death, being
buried alive. Maybe when I pound the dirt
down on top of you, you’ll see her with
your own dead eyes.”
Keri took in his words like a punch to the
gut. Until now, some small part of her still
held out hope that Kendra was still alive,
being held in some hidden basement on the
property. But hearing Burlingame describe
her gruesome death so coldly, with such malevolent
pleasure, that last little flicker of hope
was extinguished.
She allowed herself to accept the truth: she
had failed to save this woman, a person who,
from all accounts, was kind and decent and
deserved far better. But to Keri’s surprise,
the thought of Kendra’s loss didn’t evoke
despair in her. Instead, she felt another,
more powerful emotion rising in her chest:
determination.
“Maybe,” Keri finally said, deciding now
was the moment to go for it, before he followed
through on his threat. “Or maybe…you’ll
screw that…up…just like…you…did with…Jennifer.
I… outsmarted you…on…that…one.”
By the end of her sentence, Keri made sure
that her voice was little more than a hoarse
whisper. She could see him leaning in to hear
her better.
“Yes, that really is the last mystery,”
he acknowledged. “You know, if you tell
me how you identified Jennifer, I might be
inclined to shoot you in the head before I
bury you. Wouldn’t that be preferable? What
do you say, Detective? That’s a fair exchange—your
secret for my mercy.”
“Yes. But…can’t…breathe,” Keri said,
barely audible now.
This is it. Either he goes for it and I have
a chance. Or he doesn’t and I die.
“Oh, fine then. You’ve piqued my interest.
After all, a good physician always learns
from his mistakes,” he said as he began
to gingerly ease his way down into the pit.
“You know, this is your fault, Detective.
After all, I chose you specifically to handle
my case.”
Now down in the pit, he knelt beside her and
began to shove the largest chunks of dirt
off her chest.
“Why…me?” Keri asked as she braced herself
for what was to come.
“Because I knew that if I could convince
even you, the famous finder of the lost, that
Kendra had run off, that I would be free and
clear. Other cops, like your colleague Detective
Brody, didn’t need much inducement to buy
my story. But if I insisted on keeping the
case open—offering to take polygraphs, demanding
to hire my own investigators—and even you
agreed to close it, then I was home free.
But you were like a dog with a bone, Detective.
You just wouldn’t give up. I guess I underestimated
you, didn’t I?”
He continued to slide the dirt off her chest,
prattling on, not even looking at her. She
opened her mouth and spoke so softly that
Burlingame had to lean very close to hear
her.
“Yes…you…did.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
At that moment, and before Burlingame knew
what was happening, Keri swung her right arm
upward, hard and fast.
Out of the corner of his eye, Burlingame noticed
the movement and started to turn his head.
But he was too slow to stop the flashlight
Keri gripped tightly from smashing into his
right temple.
He seemed more surprised than dazed. But before
he could react, Keri smashed him again in
the same place, again and again, multiple
times in quick succession. She pummeled him
so hard that the light started to crack. A
few times she missed her target and the light
smashed into his cheek, ripping it open. Shards
of plastic jutted out from his skin and blood
started to pour from the wound at his temple.
Burlingame, bewildered, reached out wildly
to grab the flashlight. But Keri avoided his
hand and, taking the now jagged base of the
light, jabbed hard and fast at the left side
of his neck.
Blood spurted from it. She jabbed again, with
even more force than the first time. The chunk
of black plastic stuck there as blood gushed
out all around it. Burlingame reached up to
grab at it, his eyes frenzied.
As he did, Keri gathered all the force she
could muster and used her right arm to shove
him to the left so that he fell over her and
landed on his back. She rolled over so that
she was lying on top of him. He didn’t seem
to notice, as he was clawing furiously at
the base of the flashlight, still lodged in
the left side of his neck.
Keri grabbed his shoulders to brace herself
as she yanked her bent legs up to rest on
his mid-section. Her ankles were still tied
together so the maneuver was clumsy and she
almost toppled over.
But she managed to right herself just as Burlingame
yanked what was left of the flashlight from
his neck. Wild with panic and rage in them,
his eyes locked on her hers.
They moved at the same time. He brought the
flashlight husk up hard, hoping to do the
same thing to her that she’d done to him.
As he did, Keri thrust her forearm out to
block him. Her arm smashed into his wrist
and the light slipped out of his blood-soaked
hand and landed harmlessly several feet away.
Without pausing, Keri flung both hands around
his neck, running thick with deep red blood.
He began to punch at her, swinging wildly,
sometimes making contact with her jaw or shoulder,
other times missing completely.
Keri ignored it all. All her focus was on
wringing every ounce of breath out of the
man until he was still. After what felt like
an eternity, the pounding from his fists grew
weaker and finally stopped altogether. His
arms dropped limp at his sides. And still
she squeezed, pressing in on him until her
hands were numb and her arms had no strength
left at all.
Only then did she let go, allowing herself
to collapse in the dirt beside him. She lay
there for some time, her chest heaving between
occasional fits of coughing. Eventually she
rolled over to a sitting position and reached
down to untie her bound ankles.
She pulled herself up to her knees, then used
the wall of the pit for support as she slowly
stood up. She slumped against the side of
the pit, resting there as she waited for her
strength to return.
The lights from the Bobcat still shined into
the pit, illuminating Burlingame in its harsh
gleam. She looked down at him—at his lifeless
body, at his ruined face, at his eyes, now
cloudy, devoid of all the mania that had consumed
them only minutes earlier.
After a couple more moments of slow, steady
breathing, she gathered herself for one more
task. And then Detective Keri Locke pulled
herself out of the pit and walked away. She
didn’t look back.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Her head, which had required sixteen stitches
to patch up, was pounding relentlessly. It
was like someone had inserted a mini-jackhammer
in her skull. But this time around, Keri only
had to stay in the hospital overnight. She’d
been diagnosed with a bad concussion and the
doctors wanted to monitor her for twenty-four
hours before releasing her.
Other than that, the damage was minimal. Her
face and shoulders were sore and discolored
from where Burlingame had punched her. But
she hardly noticed that. Amazingly the buckets
of dirt dropped on her had only bruised her
ribs, not broken them. She probably had her
bulletproof vest to thank for that.
Other than giving her statement, Keri chose
not to think about what had happened at the
Burlingame mansion for the time being. There
would be time to pore over every detail later;
to come to terms with the fact that she had
literally choked the life out of another human
being with her bare hands; that she hadn’t
been able to save Kendra. For now, she kept
those memories at arm’s length and focused
on the positive.
It wasn’t so bad, being in the hospital.
Officer Jamie Castillo came by to check on
her.
“I never got the chance to properly thank
you for what you did at the Promenade,”
Keri told her.
“No worries. I appreciate you having enough
confidence in me to take a chance.”
“Truthfully, I mostly picked you because
you were close by, very green, and I knew
you looked up to me. I was counting on that
outweighing your sense of departmental duty.”
“I know that,” Castillo said, “but I
appreciate it anyway. And I’m sorry it didn’t
work out. Hopefully that won’t stop you
from calling on me in the future.”
“I’ll keep you in mind,” Keri said in
a snarky tone that was undermined by the broad
smile on her face.
After Castillo left, Keri was able to hang
out with Ray, who was scheduled to be released
sometime over the weekend. They played checkers,
ate Jell-O, and perused websites for furniture
to add to her new apartment in Playa del Rey.
Keri still hadn’t seen it but she trusted
Ray and he trusted the apartment owner, Rene.
That was good enough for her.
“How did physical therapy go earlier?”
she asked him.
“Not too bad. They tell me that if I behave
and don’t over-exert myself, I can return
to desk duty in a week and get back in the
field in a month.”
“That’s great!”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how I’m going
to keep busy for a week,” he said. “I
think I’ll go stir crazy just sitting in
my place.”
“Not if you focus on interior decorating,”
Keri said, nodding at the catalogue they’d
been perusing. “I’m getting a little windfall
from the houseboat sale and, in addition to
the furniture, the new place still needs some
homey touches, like art and rugs and flatware
and, well, pretty much everything. You can
be my personal Martha Stewart.”
“Keri, I’m a former professional boxer
and a decorated LAPD detective. I’m not
a feng shui expert.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great. And if you
screw up, I’ll just replace it. You’ll
never know the difference.
“You’re probably right,” Ray said. “Are
you going to wrap up the Burlingame case report
soon?”
“Yep, probably on Sunday. I can pick you
up afterwards.”
“You know, everyone would have had it a
lot easier if everyone had just listened to
me from the beginning. I solved the case without
even knowing any details.”
“Oh yeah, how’s that?” she asked with
a smirk on her face.
“It’s like I predicted, the husband did
it.”
“Okay, Columbo. I don’t know how we managed
without you.”
“Me either.”
He sat quietly for a second and she could
tell he was about to get serious.
“What?” she asked.
“You never told me if anything came of that
e-mail you sent to the Collector. That makes
me think it didn’t go well.”
Keri debated how much to tell him right now.
Her head still ached and she didn’t really
feel like revisiting the details of that awful
day at the moment.
“Short version—he set up a meet in Santa
Monica. I went, but for complicated reasons,
it fell through. I think there’s a chance
he may reach out again so I’m forcing myself
not to contact him for fear of scaring him
off. You can imagine it hasn’t been easy.”
“I can,” he said as he tried to get up
to move from the chair to his bed. Keri stood
to help him.
“Take it slow,” she whispered.
“I will,” he said, then added delicately,
“Maybe you can give me the long version
when you feel up to it?”
“Absolutely. Maybe when I take you home
on Sunday.”
“Home?” he said, disgruntled. “We’re
not going straight home.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To get coffee. You told me that on the
way home, we could stop for coffee and talk
about stuff, remember?”
Keri suddenly felt a nervous pit in her stomach
but made sure not to let it show.
“I remember,” she said, as she helped
him to his feet.
“Good,” he replied, wrapping his huge
arm around her shoulder for support. “Because
I always say, stuff is one of my favorite
topics.”
*
She got permission to be discharged on Friday
evening and had just changed out of the hospital
gown and back into her own clothes when she
got a surprise visitor in her room: Jackson
Cave.
He walked in unannounced as she was putting
on her socks.
“Hello, Detective,” he said as if his
being there was the most natural thing in
the world. “I was just visiting a client
on the second floor and heard you were here.
I had to stop by and offer my best wishes.
But I do have to say, you seem to spend an
inordinate amount of time in hospitals.”
After the initial shock of seeing him there
at all, Keri studied Cave hard, trying to
determine if he knew about her late-night
visit to his office earlier in the week. Neither
his comments nor his body language betrayed
anything. She forced herself to be equally
inscrutable.
“I do use more of my healthcare dollars
than the average person. But it’s well worth
it, in my opinion. You could ask Payton Penn
about that. Or Alan Pachanga. Okay, maybe
not him.”
“No, Mr. Pachanga is certainly not available
to comment. But I’m sure he’s here with
us in spirit. I feel like he’s the kind
of man who had much more to offer before he
was taken from us.”
“More to offer—like what?” Keri asked,
wondering if this was just the sick admiration
of one warped mind for another or a veiled
reference to Pachanga’s laptop, which had
set her on the path that ultimately allowed
her to crack Cave’s code.
“That’s the point. I guess we’ll never
know, will we? It’s not like he can speak
out from the grave and share his secrets,
now is it?”
“I suppose not,” Keri said, refusing to
bite. “Was there anything else you wanted,
Mr. Cave?”
“No. I just wanted to make sure you were
well. And now that I see you are, I’ll be
on my way,” he said, making his way to the
door. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing
each other again. You’re a real comer, Detective
Locke, and I’ve got my eye on you.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Cave,” Keri said, ignoring
what she considered a threat.
He started to leave, pulling the door closed
behind him, but then poked his head back in.
“If you don’t mind my asking one last
thing, Detective, I just wanted to know if
you’d ever considered dyeing your hair.”
“Why?”
“I think you’d look lovely as a brunette.”
And then he was gone, leaving Keri alone in
the room to try to get her shoes on and come
to terms with the fact that he most certainly
knew she had stolen his cipher. She tried
to disregard the shiver that suddenly ran
up her spine.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Two days later, on Sunday morning, Keri woke
up and felt genuinely good for the first time
in almost three weeks.
Her ribs only really hurt when she coughed
or laughed. Her shoulder was coming along
more slowly but wasn’t a constant source
of pain anymore. Her head still ached dully
but not so much that she couldn’t function.
And two consecutive nights of decent sleep
had left her with more energy than she knew
what to do with.
As she lay on the bunk in her houseboat for
the last time, she reviewed her plans for
what was turning out to be a busy day. The
movers would be here at 9 a.m. to take what
little stuff she had over to the apartment
in Playa.
She was leaving most of the furniture here
anyway and replacing it with items she’d
ordered online while in the hospital. The
marina management had offered to buy the boat
“as is” from her and that money would
pay for her new stuff and give her a decent
nest egg for a few months. Besides, the entirety
of her personal belongings could easily fit
into the bed of a pickup truck, which was
what the movers planned to use.
After she got squared away at the new place,
she had to go into the station to finish up
some paperwork on the Burlingame case. Lieutenant
Hillman had let her hold off because of her
hospital stay but now he was getting antsy
to officially close the case and insisted
she come in, even on a Sunday.
She needed to handle her report delicately,
as she had broken into the mansion. If Burlingame
had just shot her on sight, he might have
had a case for self-defense. Luckily he had
felt the need to share his brilliance with
her before exacting some kind of poetic vengeance.
Now he was dead and she could say whatever
she wanted in the police report. And what
she intended to say was that she had gone
to his house for an interview. When she turned
her back, he knocked her out and threw her
in the pit. Lying in her report wasn’t exactly
a source of pride. But she wasn’t going
to sweat it that much under the circumstances.
Kendra’s body had indeed been found in the
pit, about four feet below where her husband’s
ended up. The preliminary forensics indicated
that Burlingame hadn’t been lying when he’d
said he buried her alive. The thought of the
terror that woman must have felt in her last
moments shook Keri to her core. It also wiped
away what little guilt she was feeling about
strangling a man who was probably only minutes
away from dying anyway.
Burlingame had derisively called her “famous
finder of the lost.” Keri didn’t care
so much about the “famous” part. But she
embraced the rest of that label. It was her
purpose, her mission in life, to try to find
those who had gone missing and return them
safely to their families.
In her head, she knew that not all of those
people could be returned alive, but that was
still her goal. And that’s why she felt
a nagging rawness in her gut, a sense that
she had failed Kendra Burlingame, even if
the woman was dead before Keri was ever assigned
the case. She’d felt this guilt before and
she knew that there was only one thing that
made it better: time.
It also wouldn’t hurt to have distractions
and she’d scheduled one for Monday. She
was supposed to meet Mags for lunch. When
she’d gotten the voicemail message asking
if she wanted to meet up, Keri had initially
been reluctant. But then she thought about
it.
The case was over. There wasn’t going to
be a trial so there was no professional conflict.
And Margaret Merrywether was a hoot. Keri
hadn’t had a real female friend in years
and the idea that Mags might become one filled
her with something approaching comfort.
She also suspected that in the wake of Kendra’s
death, Mags needed a friend right now too.
So she was going. She might even let Mags
call her Keri instead of “Detective.”
As to the rest of her Sunday, after signing
off on the case paperwork, it would be off
to the hospital to meet Ray, who was being
discharged in the afternoon. She planned to
give him a ride home—after that coffee,
of course—and help square away his apartment
so he could function on his own.
As she got up and puttered about, brushing
her teeth and getting ready, Keri’s thoughts
turned, as they almost always did in quiet
moments, to Evie.
Standing in the shower at the marina comfort
station, also for the last time, she let the
warm water lull her into a sort of reverie.
She closed her eyes and immediately saw her
little girl: blonde pigtails, wide, gap-toothed
smile with one chipped tooth up top, eyes
as green as emeralds.
If I found her today, would Evie even recognize
me? Would she answer to that name anymore?
Would she be happy to reconcile or angry at
how I failed her?
Keri stepped out of the shower and dried off
slowly. Pulling out her phone, she looked
at the message from the Collector again.
i was there. you were not. caution is good.
you passed that test. but trust is key. maybe
next time.
That last line—maybe next time—ate at
her. She so wanted to set up a next time right
now. Her fingers itched at the thought of
typing out a reply.
But she knew she couldn’t. She likely only
had one more chance to connect with him. If
she handled it poorly, he’d be in the wind,
perhaps forever.
And right now, she didn’t have the ability
to pursue him properly. She might have the
financial resources, with the boat sale. But
all her information was obtained illegally,
so she couldn’t count on the department’s
help. In fact, if they learned what she’d
done, she could be arrested.
And just as bad, she was pretty sure Jackson
Cave was investigating her now. He might be
bugging her home. He might be tapping her
phone. He was surely having her tailed. And
if he got wind of her plan, he might find
a way to pass that information along to the
authorities, or worse, to tip off the Collector.
She had to be very careful from this point
forward. She had to behave as if she were
constantly under surveillance, constantly
being watched.
Because she probably was.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Keri, full of jumpy anticipation at the thought
of picking up Ray from the hospital, had wrapped
up all the case paperwork and was heading
out of the bullpen when Hillman poked his
head out of his office.
“Locke, I need you in here.”
She walked over, trying not to let her nervousness
show.
Has he found out about the stakeout at the
Promenade? Or worse, the break-in at Cave’s
office? Has he just been waiting for me to
close out this case to fire me?
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the
loveseat.
Noting that he usually directed her to the
hard-backed metal chair across from his desk,
she reluctantly did as she was told. He sat
down in his chair and settled there, unspeaking.
“Yes, sir?” Keri asked, unable to handle
the silence.
“Detective Locke,” he said, clearly uncomfortable,
“I just wanted to tell you that…you should
know that…well…good job.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“I’ve submitted your name for commendation
for your work on this case. When everyone
else in the department, myself included, was
ready to close up shop, you stuck with it,
sometimes in contravention of my direct orders.
We’ll set that aside for the time being.
The point is, this case would not have been
solved without your diligence and dedication.
I’ve told Captain Beecher this and she agrees
that a commendation is in order. So you know,
expect that sometime soon.”
Keri forced herself to keep a straight face.
It looked like Lieutenant Hillman had been
in literal pain as he’d spoken the words.
But he had spoken them. And she didn’t want
to mess up the best interaction they’d ever
had with an ill-timed smile.
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.
“Dismissed,” he replied, rediscovering
his typical gruff demeanor. But as she reached
the door, he added under his breath, “You’re
welcome.”
As she walked out, Keri kept her jaw set,
refusing to let anyone see how giddy she felt
inside. She hurried through the station, in
danger of being late to get Ray, who would
tease her mercilessly for it. But just as
she got to the outer doors, the desk officer
called her back.
“You received a letter yesterday,” the
woman said.
“Thanks,” Keri said, slightly perplexed,
and took the envelope. In over a year as a
detective she’d never gotten an actual mailed
letter. As she walked out to her car, she
noticed that there was no return address.
She got in and opened it. The note was typed
in all caps. It read:
WANT TO HELP. CHECK WAREHOUSE AGAIN. YOU DIDN’T
COVER EVERYTHING.
She suspected that this message was from the
same raspy-voiced person who’d left her
the voicemail telling her to investigate the
abandoned warehouse in Palms for information
about Evie. That had been a dead end and she
would have chalked it up as a cruel prank
if not for one thing.
When the techs tried to scrub the call, they
couldn’t find a thing. The number was untraceable.
The voice, while human, had been altered so
much that she couldn’t even be sure it was
male. Whoever had left that message had gone
to a lot of trouble to avoid being discovered.
Why go through all that just for a prank?
It didn’t make sense. But with everything
that had happened since then, Keri hadn’t
given it much more thought.
But since the warehouse was on the way to
the hospital, and despite her sense that she
was being played, she decided to stop by again.
It probably wouldn’t help but it couldn’t
hurt.
When she arrived, Keri parked in almost the
same spot as last time. She made the short
walk to the warehouse, keeping her eyes peeled
for anything out of the ordinary, anything
she might have missed on her last visit. Nothing
jumped out at her.
She walked past the same sign reading Priceless
Item Preservation, the one that seemed to
be taunting her, and entered the warehouse.
It didn’t look any different than the last
time. She did a cursory walk-through of the
place before returning to the one unusual
spot she’d initially discovered last time.
The metal folding chair still sat above what
she knew was a false floor panel, with chunks
of drywall resting on the seat. Other bits
of drywall debris lay on the floor beside
the chair, where they’d fallen when Keri
moved it. It didn’t look like anyone had
been here in the interim.
She slid the chair to the side again and popped
the raised button on the wooden floor panel
painted to look like concrete. Once again
it released easily and she removed it to look
at the small hole beneath. There was nothing
inside.
Keri sat down on the floor beside the hole
and tried not to let her growing frustration
get the better of her.
Why would someone do this to me? Just to be
cruel? How many wild goose chases am I going
to go on before I finally stop putting myself
through this?
Keri tried to shake the self-pity out of her
head and focus on what was in front of her.
Someone skilled had left her that voicemail.
Someone had taken the time to follow up with
a letter. Maybe there was more to this.
She pulled out the note and reread it:
WANT TO HELP. CHECK WAREHOUSE AGAIN. YOU DIDN’T
COVER EVERYTHING.
The first two lines seemed pretty straightforward—purely
informational. But the phrasing of the last
one seemed a bit off. It was more cryptic.
Why not say “you didn’t look everywhere”?
Could it be a clue? You didn’t cover everything.
What does that mean?
Drawing a blank, Keri sighed and grabbed the
wooden cover to return it to its place.
The wooden cover—you didn’t cover everything.
She stared at the square of wood in her hands
for a long second before turning it upside
down to look for anything unusual—writing
or odd markings of some kind. Nothing.
She shook it. There was the faintest rattle
from the inside. She shook the panel more
vigorously and again heard the sound. There
was definitely something in there.
She felt around the sides, searching for any
unusual protrusion. On one side, she found
a small indentation, about the size of a dime.
She pressed on it hard. There was a tiny click
and a thin slot appeared. She turned the panel
so that the slot was facing down and shook.
One small piece of paper fell out.
Keri put down the panel and picked up the
paper. It was a blank piece of plain white
paper, about five by seven. She turned it
over. On that side was an image, black-and-white,
grainy and obviously taken from far away,
likely with a telephoto lens.
It was a close-up of a girl, cropped so much
that the surroundings couldn’t be identified.
The girl looked to be about thirteen. Despite
being black-and-white, it was clear that she
had blonde hair, cut very short. Her face
was slack and inexpressive but her eyes were
sharp. Her mouth was open slightly and Keri
could tell that she had a chipped upper front
tooth.
She stared at the image for a long time, unwilling
(maybe unable) to draw any conclusions about
it. Was it Evie? Was it some Photoshopped
image of a random girl meant to torture her?
The very fact that she couldn’t tell at
first glance whether or not this was her daughter
made Keri sick to her stomach.
What kind of mother am I that I don’t know
immediately whether this is legitimate or
fake?
She felt the room starting to spin around
her, felt the world fading from her control,
as it had so many times before. Her breathing
became rapid and shallow. The warehouse grew
fuzzy. Beads of sweat appeared suddenly on
her brow. She felt herself sinking into that
familiar panicked despair.
No! I will not let this happen. I will not
fall apart. No more. I’m through with this
crap. Pull it together, Locke!
And as quickly as the panic attack had started,
it was over. Her vision cleared and her breathing
slowed. The spinning stopped and the nausea
disappeared.
After taking a moment to regroup, she made
a decision. She would take the photo to Edgerton
to see what he could do with it. She would
have the wooden floor panel and the metal
chair and everything else in the warehouse
searched for prints. She would pursue this
lead with the same ferocity that she followed
every lead involving Evie.
But she would no longer allow herself to be
the victim, forever at the mercy of her loss
and the moments of uncontrollable terror it
caused. She had to stay strong for Evie and,
just as important, for herself. For one way
or the other, she would find her daughter.
Evie, hang on, she called out to her silently.
I’m coming for you.
NOW AVAILABLE!
A TRACE OF VICE
(A Keri Locke Mystery—Book 3)
“A dynamic story line that grips from the
first chapter and doesn't let go.”
--Midwest Book Review, Diane Donovan (regarding
Once Gone)
From #1 bestselling mystery author Blake Pierce
comes a new masterpiece of psychological suspense.
In A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3 in the Keri Locke
mystery series), Keri Locke, Missing Persons
Detective in the Homicide division of the
LAPD, follows a fresh lead for her abducted
daughter. It leads to a violent confrontation
with The Collector—which, in turn, offers
more clues that may, after all this time,
reunite her with her daughter.
Yet at the same time, Keri is assigned a new
case, one with a frantic ticking clock. A
teenage girl has gone missing in Los Angeles,
a girl from a good family was who duped into
drugs and abducted into a sex trafficking
ring. Keri is hot on her trail—but the trail
is moving fast, with the girl being constantly
moved and with her abductors’ single, nefarious
goal: to cross her over the border with Mexico.
In an epic, breathtaking, cat and mouse chase
that takes them through the seedy underworld
of trafficking, Keri and Ray will be pushed
to their limits to save the girl—and her
own daughter—before it is all too late.
A dark psychological thriller with heart-pounding
suspense, A TRACE OF VICE is book #3 in a
riveting new series—and a beloved new character—that
will leave you turning pages late into the
night.
“A masterpiece of thriller and mystery!
The author did a magnificent job developing
characters with a psychological side that
is so well described that we feel inside their
minds, follow their fears and cheer for their
success. The plot is very intelligent and
will keep you entertained throughout the book.
Full of twists, this book will keep you awake
until the turn of the last page.”
--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos
(re Once Gone)
Book #4 in the Keri Locke series will be available
soon.
A TRACE OF VICE
(A Keri Locke Mystery—Book 3)
Did you know that I've written multiple novels
in the mystery genre? If you haven't read
all my series, click the image below to download
a series starter!
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling
RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes
seven books (and counting). Blake Pierce is
also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery
series, comprising five books (and counting);
of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising
four books (and counting); and of the new
KERI LOCKE mystery series.
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery
and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from
you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com
to learn more and stay in touch.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)
ONCE PINED (Book #6)
ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)
ONCE COLD (Book #8)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)
BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)
BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)
CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)
KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES
A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)
A TRACE OF MURDER (Book #2)
A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)
B L A K E P I E R C E
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling
RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes
seven books (and counting). Blake Pierce is
also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery
series, comprising five books (and counting);
of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising
four books (and counting); and of the new
KERI LOCKE mystery series.
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery
and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from
you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com
to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2017 by Blake Pierce. All rights
reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S.
Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted
in any form or by any means, or stored in
a database or retrieval system, without the
prior permission of the author. This ebook
is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be re-sold or given away
to other people. If you would like to share
this book with another person, please purchase
an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase
it, or it was not purchased for your use only,
then please return it and purchase your own
copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author. This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations,
places, events, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Jacket image Copyright Anna Vaczi, used under
license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)
ONCE PINED (Book #6)
ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)
ONCE COLD (Book #8)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)
BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)
BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)
CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)
KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES
A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)
A TRACE OF MURDER (Book #2)
A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
