Jake slumped in his chair. Identifying the victims always helped the case, even though it always came with a gut-wrenching sadness. He shot a glance at Kyra, working across the room. He’d let Billy make the announcement to the task force.
After Billy notified the room, he indicated to Jake he’d take care of the processing of Carmella’s vehicle and setting up the interviews with her friends and families.
Jake went back to his message boards, the identification of the second victim distracting him. He always compared the victims to his own daughter—and with her here, it hit him even harder.
An hour later, when his phone buzzed in his pocket, Jake backed away from the screen, his eyes blurry and his neck stiff. He could understand how these online sleuths could go down the rabbit hole. He hadn’t learned one thing about Rusty and Rocketman yet, but he had some of his own theories about a couple of these cold cases.
He cupped his phone in his hand and read the message from Kyra. He looked up, but she’d already slipped from the war room to hit the ladies’ room and meet him at his car in the lot.
He jotted down a few notes in the message board file and stuck it in his desk. By the time he reached Kyra waiting by his car, his brain had lost its fuzziness.
She’d be interested in his progress, but he didn’t feel like going through all of it—not even for her. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it, inhaling the sweet fragrance of roses from her hair. This beat burrowing into an internet abyss any day.
They decided on a sandwich place for lunch, and when he gave her a curt answer to her question about his morning, she didn’t pursue it.
They settled across from each other at a small window table. Kyra planted her elbows on the table and Jake held his breath. He wanted more than anything to put this morning’s research behind him, leave it with the amateurs for a while.
“So, how’s domestic life with Fiona?”
It took him a few seconds to comprehend the question, and then he dropped his tense shoulders. “It’s been a lot of work the past few days just getting her settled. I actually had to stock the fridge and pantry with some nutritious foods. I worked out an online study plan for her with her teachers and even set up a few social engagements for her. I think it’s going to be okay.”
“Good to hear.” She picked up a menu and held it in front of her face.
“She likes you.”
“Really?” She pinned him with a gaze over the top of the menu, her blue eyes narrowed to slits.
“She said—” he held up one finger “—Ms. Chase seems nice and she’s pretty.”
“You got like out of that?”
He shook open his own menu. “It’s better than I hoped for. Fiona’s never met anyone I’ve dated before.”
“She’s a risk taker, isn’t she? Bought a bus ticket from Monterey to LA, arrived at a bus depot in downtown LA in the middle of the night and called up a car to your place in the Hollywood Hills. A lot of girls her age wouldn’t have the...guts to make that trip alone.”
“When I think of her riding on that bus by herself and arriving downtown...” Jake clenched his teeth and an actual shiver ran down his spine. “It scares the hell out of me.”
“Yeah, she reminds me of me.” She held up a hand. “And before you get all googly-eyed about that idea, let me refresh your very recent memory. I was a horrible teenager.”
“You think Fiona’s horrible?” Jake’s mouth twisted into a smile.
“I don’t know her well enough, yet.” Kyra laughed. “I’m just giving you a heads-up.”
Kyra must’ve sensed he was on overload because she didn’t bring up the copycat case at all through lunch. Her mood lightened his, and he attributed her positive outlook to the fact that her stalker hadn’t resurfaced with this third killer.
Someone who was familiar with Kyra’s past as the daughter of one of The Player’s victims had decided to torment her with that fact during the first two copycat killing sprees. She hadn’t heard one word from him since they’d found the second killer, and that killer had taken his own life.
As the waiter cleared away their plates, Kyra said, “I told Quinn about your daughter. He was relieved and impressed in a weird way that she made her way from Monterey to your doorstep all by herself.”
“Thanks for letting him know.” He toyed with Kyra’s fingers. “I think my situation reminded him of his days with you.”
“Yeah, I’m not the only one who saw an echo of my behavior in Fiona’s. Quinn muttered something on the phone about how you were going to have your hands full.” She squeezed his hand. “But we’ll be more than happy to help you out.”
“Thanks, I think.” Jake reluctantly disentangled his fingers from Kyra’s as his work phone rang. “McAllister.”
Billy’s clipped tones assaulted his ear. “Another body. I’m already in the field. I’ll meet you there.”
Jake scribbled the address on a napkin and met Kyra’s gaze as he ended the call. “Another victim. Hikers found the body near Tujunga Canyon.”
“I’m coming with you.” She waved her hand at the waiter for the check.
“I can’t let you into the crime scene.”
“Got it.” She raised two fingers, Boy Scout fashion. “I’ll keep my distance, Detective.”
On the way to the location of the latest victim, Kyra made up for lost time over lunch by querying him about his search of the message boards.
“I confess.” He released the steering wheel and held up both hands. “I got lost in the weeds for a cold case on Websleuths, a true crime discussion board, and wasted a lot of time.”
“I’m assuming you checked the discussion threads for the copycat killers.”
“I did a search on their usernames, which Brandon gave me, and neither of them ever commented on their own cases. Probably didn’t want to seem too knowledgeable.”
“That’s just creepy.” She rubbed her arms. “I dipped into a few of those message boards on The Player, but I had to bounce. I couldn’t take it. Some of those posters knew as much about the case as I did. I always wondered if The Player was there, following along...laughing.”
“Probably not a good pursuit for you, and neither is this.” He pulled behind a few emergency vehicles and spotted Billy’s car. The medical examiner wouldn’t be here for a while.
He twisted his head in her direction. “Wait here.”
“I’m not going to sit in the car.” She pointed out the window. “I see my friend Megan with her cameraperson. I’ll go talk to her.”
Jake slid out of the car, grabbing his jacket on the way. He punched his arms into the sleeves as he trudged toward the trailhead. This third killer had copied the method of the first copycat, who had murdered his victims elsewhere and dumped their bodies in the vast canyons that ringed the LA basin. The second copycat had killed his victims in their homes and left them there. The Player had been known to do both, experimenting with the best method.
He approached the yellow tape marking the boundaries of the crime scene, and Billy met him at the edge, pinching a white envelope between his gloved fingers, creases of worry across his forehead.
Jake’s heart did a backflip in his chest. “What is it? Is this not our guy?”
“Oh, it’s our guy, all right—severed finger, queen of spades between the victim’s lips, underwear missing—but he added something this time.” Billy held out the envelope. “It’s addressed to you...personally.”
Jake’s mouth went dry. He struggled into a pair of gloves and took the unsealed envelope from Billy. He lifted the flap and carefully pulled out a single sheet of paper, cut to fit the size of the envelope.
The corner of his eye twitched as he scanned the block printing with blue ballpoint pen.
Billy crowded him. “What’s it say?”
He turned the note toward Billy and said, “�
��Game on.’”
Chapter Four
Kyra narrowed her eyes as both Jake and Billy emerged from the crime scene, their faces alight with some inner excitement, or maybe their gaits signaled the elation—springy, jaunty almost.
Kyra nudged Megan, her friend and a reporter for KTOP. “There’s my ride. Talk to you later.”
“Anything you can give me...friend.” Megan held her hand to her ear, mimicking a telephone. “God knows, Billy won’t tell me a thing.”
With her heart fluttering, Kyra slid into the passenger seat of Jake’s sedan before he reached it. They’d found something this time.
He joined her in the car and sat, clenching the steering wheel for a few seconds before cranking the engine. “He left something for me.”
Kyra choked at the unexpected words. “For you, personally?”
“He left a note in an envelope with my name on it.”
A feather of fear brushed the back of her neck, but she shrugged it off. Unless he lived under a rock, of course the killer would know the identity of the lead detective on his case.
Smoothing her hands against her slacks, she said, “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“More opportunity for clues. More room for error. I can’t imagine Jordy Lee Cannon or Cyrus Fisher risking a note, can you?”
“Definitely not Fisher, way too careful. Cannon didn’t have enough bravado to do that.” She drummed her fingers on her knee. “This guy’s a different animal.”
“Emphasis on animal. He murdered a young woman—strangled her, dumped her body.” Jake pulled away from his parking space a little too quickly, and the car lurched, spitting sand and gravel out behind it.
“Can you tell me what the note said?”
“I can tell you if you keep the contents to yourself.”
She nodded. “Goes without saying. You already know how good I am at keeping secrets.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “The note said, ‘Game on.’”
“Oh, that’s original.” She rolled her eyes. “Not exactly a Ted Kaczynski style of manifesto that’s worth releasing to the public, is it?”
“Nope.”
A muscle throbbed at the corner of Jake’s mouth, showing her he had more on his mind. He’d tell her when he deemed it necessary.
She asked, “Do you have the note with you?”
“Left it with the other evidence so Clive can check for prints and the lab can look for DNA transfer cells.”
“Are you going to respond?” She held her breath, watching a gamut of emotions play across Jake’s face.
“I’ll discuss my options with Captain Castillo, but I think I almost have to. Communication with the killer can lead to more evidence, slipups on his part.” He rubbed his chin. “The Player never communicated with Quinn, did he?”
“Never. Didn’t communicate with the press, either. But, so far, these copycats haven’t been as particular as The Player.”
“They’re in his fan club, though.”
Kyra clutched her seat belt with one hand as Jake took the next corner too fast. “What do you mean by that?”
“We know Cannon and Fisher are connected somehow through this true crime message board. Maybe there are a bunch of them who admire The Player. The posters to the board can hold private chats away from the main message board. They’re probably communicating that way to exchange their sick ideas and gush over The Player.”
“They all stamp their own personality or particular fetish onto the murder—jewelry, lock of hair, underwear. They all strangle to avoid blood evidence. Two dump the bodies to mask the crime scene. One killed in the victims’ homes to avoid being in public.” She’d been ticking off the killers’ similarities and differences on her fingers and as she held up another digit, Jake interrupted her.
“They leave a playing card and sever a pinkie finger to pay homage to The Player.”
“And you haven’t brought one of them in alive, yet.” She drilled a finger into the dashboard. “That’s unusual. Usually these guys want the accolades and attention.”
“The Player never did.”
“The Player had a strong sense of self-preservation.” Kyra reached for her seat belt as Jake cruised into the parking lot of the Northeast Division.
“This current guy is veering way outside the playbook there. He wants his glory, and he’s determined to use me to get it.”
Kyra’s gaze flicked over Jake’s profile, which looked carved from stone. “You’re going to let him?”
“He can use me all he wants until his hubris trips him up...and I’ll be right there to catch him.”
* * *
KYRA SPENT THE rest of the afternoon compiling a list of the most recent victim’s friends and family members. The task force had already ID’d her as Maggie Harkenridge, wedding planner who disappeared after a night on the town. She matched the physical description of the previous two victims, with her long, brown hair. This guy had a type.
After Kyra left the station, she ran her rape survivors group, and then sent Jake a quick text before heading home to change for dinner with a friend. A week ago, she’d penciled in this night for Jake, but that was before Fiona showed up on his doorstep.
She thought Jake might suggest pizza and a movie at his place so she and Fiona could get to know each other a little, but maybe Jake could read his daughter better than Kyra thought he could. Despite her smiles and happy banter, Fiona had not been happy to see a woman at Dad’s house. She’d also been lying through her teeth about the dying phone and thinking the bus would reach LA before school let out.
She got it, all of it, but Jake and Tess had better stop letting Fiona call the shots or they’d wind up in a world of hurt. They could consult with Quinn on that.
As she locked up her office, Jake texted her back. He and Fiona were ordering pizza in—just not with her. He promised her a next time and she sent him a text back with thumbs-up and kissy-face emojis. The man had a lot to juggle right now.
Kyra spent the evening with her friend Mel, a relatively new mom, who had been anxious having her first night away from her five-month-old baby. So anxious, she’d spent half the time with Kyra FaceTiming her husband to make sure he was doing everything according to plan.
Kyra didn’t mind and enjoyed Mel’s stories about and pictures of the baby. Seemed everyone wanted to be with their children tonight.
When she got back to her apartment in Santa Monica, Kyra dumped her leftover chicken into a bowl outside for Spot, the stray cat she fed, and made a cup of green tea. Setting the mug on the coffee table, Kyra curled one leg beneath her on the couch. She pulled her laptop onto her thighs and logged in to her computer. Her emails held no promise of anything interesting so she launched a browser, hoping to get in a little late-night shopping.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but instead of bringing up her favorite online shoe store, she did a search for Websleuths, the true crime discussion board. She clicked on the link, and threads for missing people, murder victims and ongoing investigations filled the screen.
The website boasted three different discussion boards for the three distinct copycat killers. Discussion on the first two killers had waned, but the thread on the current killer buzzed with activity.
She scrolled through the theories, links to other articles, maps of the dump sites and memorials to the three victims. Some of the members already had details about the three victims that Kyra didn’t even know yet.
The posters knew about the task force and called out Jake and Billy by name in several messages. They even knew the detectives’ nicknames—J-Mac and Cool Breeze. Jake and Billy had also caused some hearts to flutter among the amateur sleuths.
Kyra’s mouth quirked into a smile as she slurped her tea. She could understand that, but how did they get all this information?
She clicked away from Th
e Player copycat boards and perused some of the other active cases. She spotted the cold case in Canada of the murdered Realtor Jake had mentioned. Apparently, DNA existed from that case, and the posters were clamoring for a genetic investigation similar to the one that had caught the Golden State Killer. If only The Player had left behind DNA. The bastard had been too careful for that, and his minions were following suit.
She stared at the usernames populating the screen—Jersey Girl, Lil Mama, Sherlock, Poppy, Mass Guy, Online Dick—Jordy Cannon and Cyrus Fisher had been posting on these boards. Did they also have innocuous usernames indicating their location or their interest in sleuthing? Although the task force knew the names, Jake hadn’t revealed them to her. She’d been surprised he’d let slip the name of this message board.
Was the current copycat on here now? Was this how they all met? Had they exchanged knowledge and tips in private chats? Jake said neither Cannon nor Fisher had posted on the copycat killer threads, but they had to have been posting on other current crimes that saw a lot of action or their posts would’ve stood out in the wilderness if they’d been commenting on cold cases.
Kyra rolled down the page, keeping her eye on the number of posts for each board and the most recent messages to that board. A discussion on a missing college girl in Alabama showed promise.
Ugh, that sounded bad even for her.
Kyra clicked on the link to create an account with Websleuths. Staring at the blinking cursor in the username field, she reached for her tea. She should choose a name to indicate that she resided in Southern California. She started entering a name and then deleted it. She had to be a man. Her fingers tapped the keyboard, and then she backed out of that name.
She cradled her mug and studied the contents as she swirled her tea. She made a decision—one that had been swirling at the edge of her consciousness, just like this tea.
She clunked her mug back on the table, missing the coaster by a mile, and entered the only name that made sense: Laprey.
A surge of power coursed through her body. She owned it now—the anagram for player. Someone had been using it to torment her about her past. For anyone in the know, it would be a clear signal that she had an interest in that old case, in the current copycats.
The Bait Page 4
