Unleashed

by Jacob Stone

  Morris took the homicide file and asked Lemmon and Greta whether they preferred pizza or something else. Both of them gave the thumbs-up for pizza and Greta volunteered to call in an order. Morris took Swan’s homicide file back to his office, put his feet up on the desk, and resisted the urge to close his eyes. The last thing he felt like doing was immersing himself into another of this psycho’s murders, but Fred was right—it might spark an idea. He was thumbing through the pages when he came across the photo of a smiling Julia Swan that Bogle had taken from a picture frame. He was sure he had recently seen the guy in the photo with her. Then he remembered where. It was Sunday at the Santa Monica pier. Parker had growled at him and this was only minutes after Hannah Kammer had approached Morris about petting the bull terrier.

  This guy from the photo had been stalking Matt and Hannah Kammer.

  Morris searched through the file to get the name of Swan’s live-in fiancé. He fought to hold back his excitement when he called Bogle to ask whether the guy in the photo was Duncan Moss.

  “I assumed so,” Bogle said. “I found the photo in their bedroom.”

  “Could you check with the Boston police? I need to know positively whether that’s Moss.”

  “Okay,” Bogle said. “What’s your reason?”

  “He’s our Cupid Killer.”

  “Wait a minute,” Bogle stumbled out, as if he were trying to collect his thoughts. “Moss had a broken jaw and was hysterical when the police found him bound and gagged inside the apartment. He couldn’t have been responsible for Julia Swan’s death.”

  “I know that.”

  “So why is he the Cupid Killer?”

  “Somehow he found out that the guy who killed his girlfriend was in LA, and he’s been killing these women here in the same way and with the same tattoo on his wrist, so we’d find the guy who killed Swan.”

  “That’s pretty messed up,” Bogle said. “Any frame-up would fall apart if Swan’s killer had an alibi for when any of the Cupid Killer killings happened.”

  “He doesn’t care about that. He just wants to know who the guy is so he can take care of matters himself.”

  “You’re telling me he killed four innocent people to do this?”

  “More than that. He attacked Rachel earlier today and shot Doug in the stomach.”

  “Oh hell. I’m sorry, Morris. How’s Rachel?”

  “Some bruises. Emotionally distraught.”

  “Is Doug going to make it?”

  “They don’t know yet.”

  “I’ll light a candle for him tonight. That’s got to be Moss in the photo, but I’m off now to the BPD to rattle some cages.”

  Morris drifted into a Zen-like trance while he waited for Bogle to call him back. A short time later Lemmon walked into his office and asked him what was up.

  Morris said, “You came into my office, not the other way around.”

  “That was to tell you the pizza’s here. But something’s up.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’re way too calm.”

  “Fred, when you’re right, you’re right.” Morris pointed to the photo of Julia Swan and Duncan Moss. “I’m waiting for Charlie to identify this guy.”

  Lemmon gave him a suspicious look. “You already know who that is. The fiancé of the woman who was killed in Boston.”

  “I’m waiting for confirmation.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’s our killer.”

  Lemmon didn’t look convinced. “You were able to divine that from the homicide file?”

  Morris pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll explain over pizza.”

  “You better get a move on it, then. Greta ordered five pies, which should’ve been more than enough, but Polk—aka ‘the bottomless pit’—showed up five minutes ago. If we’re lucky we might still grab a slice each.”

  Lemmon had exaggerated. Only half a pie was gone by the time Morris and Lemmon joined Polk, Greta, and Felger in the conference room. As promised, Morris explained how he’d figured out that Moss was the Cupid Killer—or at least, the man from the picture who he assumed was Moss. He was working on his third slice when he received a text from Bogle with Moss’s driver’s-license photo and the message I rattled some cages and it’s Moss.

  Morris showed the text to the others in the room. “It’s been confirmed,” he said. “We know the sonofabitch’s name.”

  “So that’s it?” Polk asked. “You’ll give that to the LAPD and we’re done?”

  “Not quite yet,” Morris said. “But for now, all of you go get drunk or stoned, or go home and get some sleep, or whatever it is you want to do. We’ll be busy tomorrow, though.”

  “How’s that?” Lemmon asked.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Nine sharp.”

  Lemmon said, “A free night, huh? In that case, I’ll be heading over to UCLA Medical Center. There’s someone I’d like to stand vigil for.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Polk said.

  “Agreed,” Felger added.

  Lemmon asked Morris, “How about it? Would you like a ride over there?”

  “You go on without me,” Morris said. “There are a few things I need to take care of first.”

  Chapter 62

  Morris wanted additional confirmation regarding Duncan Moss, and he got it when he texted Moss’s photo to Missy Alderberg, who was the cashier at the Hollywood gift shop, and then called to ask whether she’d ever seen the man before. She asked him to wait. He heard her humming for a minute or so, and then received a text with a photo of Moss that was taken inside the gift shop, apparently surreptitiously.

  “Sometimes I take pictures of cute guys who come into the shop,” she said. “It helps with the boredom. But if he had bought the ‘cutest couple’ mugs, I would’ve remembered.”

  “What time was the photo taken?”

  “Let me look.” More humming, then, “Saturday at three-thirty-six.”

  Morris thanked her. Given this confirmation, he tried calling the mayor’s office and was promptly given the runaround. He tried again and got the same result. On the third try, he was shuffled off to a low-level assistant, and this time he told the assistant that if the mayor didn’t call him back in five minutes he’d be holding a press conference and would claim the mayor wasn’t giving him adequate assistance to solve the Cupid Killer murders. Three minutes later, he got an angry call from the mayor demanding to know whether Morris was threatening him.

  “Damn straight,” Morris said. “You weren’t making yourself available.”

  “I’ve been busy,” the mayor snapped back. “My deputy assistant was critically wounded earlier this evening.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, Doug is my daughter’s fiancé, and she was attacked also.”

  “I did forget,” the mayor said contritely. “It’s been a madhouse here since word came down about Doug. I have, of course, been in touch with the medical staff, but I haven’t had a chance to get over to the hospital yet. Morris, what can I do for you?”

  “I know the identity of the Cupid Killer.”

  The mayor sounded nonplussed as he asked, “Did you give this information to Commissioner Hadley?”

  “Not yet. I still have a few t’s to cross first. But I do have an unusual request for you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Morris told him his request and his reason for making it, and the mayor agreed that it was unusual, to say the least. “You really believe this is needed?”

  “I don’t know. The LAPD might be able to pick him up on their own, but my gut is this is our best chance to catch him before he hurts any more innocent people.”

  “I noticed that you were careful to qualify that with the word innocent.”

  “I’ll also try to keep him from killing the less-than-innocent, if possible.”

 
“I’ll take care of your request,” the mayor promised. “If there are any problems, I’ll call you.”

  Morris knew that with the mayor handling what he needed there wouldn’t be any problems. He next called Margot Denoir. She answered on the first ring, sounding breathless.

  “Morris, darling, I was so hoping you would call. Rumor has it that you arrested a suspect for the Cupid Killer murders earlier this evening.”

  “Not our guy. But, Margot, I can give you the scoop of a lifetime.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “What I’m about to tell you is off the record. If you burn me, you don’t get the exclusive. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “There will be conditions, but nothing you won’t be able to handle.”

  “Morris, sweetie, you’ve got me on the edge of my seat. Spill it already before I burst!”

  Morris smiled at the thought of Margot ever getting that worked up. No one in the business was cooler and calmer than her, but she could be quite theatrical when it suited her.

  “We arrested someone today that I pegged for the Cupid Killer. A lowlife named Jack Readinger and we picked him up on a criminal-conspiracy charge. I was wrong about him being the Cupid Killer. We have a new suspect and this one is a hundred percent.”

  Margot asked incredulously, “This isn’t the scoop?”

  “No. The scoop is why the Cupid Killer is doing what he’s doing, and the story is a doozy.”

  “It better be, with what you’re giving me off the record! When are the police releasing details about your new suspect?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given them the name yet, and they’ll have to figure out how they want to handle it. They might decide to keep the information quiet until they pick him up.”

  “Do you have an address?”

  “Nope. No clue where he is.”

  “But you’re sure he’s the Cupid Killer?”

  “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”

  “Can you tell me what you have? We’re still off the record, after all.”

  “Not yet. So let me tell you my conditions. Jack Readinger will have his bail hearing tomorrow morning at nine-thirty. Bail will be set at ten grand—enough so he can’t raise it. You, however, will step in and offer to have your station put up the bail in exchange for an interview that morning. And you need to make sure to give out his apartment address in the interview. And run the interview enough times so it gets picked up by the national media.”

  Margot’s voice had a chill in it as she asked why she would want to interview Readinger.

  “Because he was a suspect in the Cupid Killer murders.”

  “Why was he a suspect?”

  “He has a wolf’s-face tattoo on the underside of his right wrist. Fangs are bared, very unique.”

  “And the Cupid Killer has the same tattoo!” Margot exclaimed angrily. “I knew the FBI profiler you sent on my show was holding out on me!”

  “Margot, it couldn’t be helped. One last condition: When you interview him, I want you to sandbag him and ask him if he was in Boston on April twelfth, 2018, and in Oakland on October eighteenth, 2017. And when you end the interview, I want you to wish him an ‘especially wonderful rest of the day.’”

  “What’s the significance of all that?”

  “Patience. All in good time.”

  “You want me to help you use this Readinger as bait,” she said accusingly.

  “Are you in or not?”

  “This scoop better be as big as you’re saying it is.”

  “It’s bigger.”

  “You bastard,” she said, laughing. “I’m in, as you damn well knew I’d be. When am I getting this scoop to end all scoops?”

  “Soon. With some luck, tomorrow.”

  “Until then. Ta-ta, darling.”

  “Whew!” Morris said after Margot got off the call. He made the motion of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. He knew that if she had heard about what happened at Rachel’s apartment, she would’ve been relentless in calling him that evening, but still, it was a relief that their call ended without her asking about it. Just like he knew he could count on the mayor, the same was true of Margot. She’d climb Mt. Everest with the four-inch heels she liked to wear on her show if it meant getting a story as big as the one he was offering.

  Now that he had finished crossing his t’s, he had no good reason to delay calling Hadley any further. Unlike Margot, Hadley didn’t sound at all excited to hear from him.

  “How come we’re not getting anywhere with this Readinger character you like for the Cupid Killer?” he demanded, his voice raspier than usual.

  “Because he’s not the guy. But he’s involved in a way. Indirectly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Morris breathed in deeply, filling his lungs before letting the air out slowly through his nose. He knew this wasn’t going to go smoothly, but he dove in, telling the police commissioner everything he knew about Duncan Moss and why Moss was the Cupid Killer. From Hadley’s impatient grumbling, the police commissioner did not sound impressed.

  “Let me see if I got this straight,” Hadley said. “Every few hours you plan to send us on a wild-goose chase after a new prime suspect? That your plan, Brick?”

  “This is our guy, Martin.”

  “Yeah, and why is that? Because of a cockamamy story you tried selling me? Or because you saw someone at the Santa Monica Pier who you thought might look like Moss?”

  “Because it makes sense, and nothing else does.”

  Hadley let out an angry snort. “It makes sense, huh? Then maybe you can explain to me why Moss came to LA to hunt for Swan’s killer? What are you going to try selling me next, that the killer sent Moss a postcard telling him he was here? Face it, Brick, you’re grasping at straws here.”

  “Martin, the cashier from Hottest Hollywood Gifts took a picture of Moss inside the store within a half hour of when those ‘cutest couple’ mugs were bought.”

  Another snort of derision. “And you also told me she claims she didn’t sell him the mugs.”

  “Moss was cautious. He had someone else buy them for him, probably convincing the person that he wanted them for himself and the cashier working inside the store. When you identify the dead man in Rachel’s apartment, you’ll find another link to Moss, and I can guarantee guests from the engagement party will recognize him.”

  “You’re Nostradamus now, huh?”

  Morris had had enough of Hadley. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger and stifled a weary groan.

  “Look, Martin, it’s late,” he said. “I need to get to the hospital and be with my wife and daughter. Moss is our guy and with a little bit of legwork LAPD will be able to prove it. You might even be able to pick him up before he ditches his ski mask and knife, and I’ve got a few ideas of how you can do it—”

  “Can it, Brick. As far as I’m concerned, you and your team of misfits are now off the investigation, and we’ll be handling it from here.” Hadley’s raspy voice softened. “I’m sorry about your daughter.”

  Hadley disconnected the call before Morris could thank him.

  Will miracles never cease, he thought. The call went pretty much as he had expected. Hadley would always have a twenty-pound bug squirming up his butt where Morris was concerned, so his expressing any concern for Rachel was a nearly earth-shattering event.

  Morris shut off the lights inside MBI on his way out. What he had in mind for tomorrow was so damned delicate, and even a slight wind could tear it apart. He didn’t want to just catch Duncan Moss, he also wanted to tie Readinger to the Swan and Markin murders, and for that to happen, Readinger would have to agree to be interviewed by Margot, and Margot would have to catch him off guard enough for Readinger to say something incriminating. But that wasn’t the
only reason he wanted Margot interviewing Readinger. As she had guessed, he wanted to use Readinger as bait.

  He waited until he was in the car before calling Natalie to tell her he’d be there soon.

  “The MBI cavalry arrived with pizza a half-hour ago,” she said. “Awfully sweet of them to come here to show their support. Me and the little guy are appreciative. Thanks!”

  “I’m sure Charlie would’ve been there too if he wasn’t still in Boston. And I’m glad to hear Polk didn’t polish off the pizza on the way there. I’ll be stopping at Five Star to pick up some vegan food for Rachel just in case we can coax her to eat something. Any word on Doug?”

  “Nothing yet. He’ll be in surgery most of the night.”

  Morris picked up the worry in Natalie’s voice, and he knew the thought she was trying hard to suppress. This would only be true if poor Doug lived that long. He cleared some frogginess from his throat, then asked how Rachel was doing.

  He heard shuffling noises, and knew that Natalie was moving to the hallway so she could talk to him more privately. Even so, her voice was barely a whisper when she told him Rachel wasn’t doing well.

  “Morris, she’s trying so hard to be strong, but this is tearing her apart, and it’s tearing me apart to see her suffering like this.”

  Morris heard a big inhale from Nat, and he knew she was struggling to keep from crying—not so much to be brave for his sake, but so Rachel wouldn’t see that she’d been crying. He pictured how worn-out and miserable she must’ve looked right then and he never felt more helpless. His voice was barely a croak as he asked about the Gilmans.

  “Rachel got a call from them a few minutes ago. Traffic from Santa Barbara was more brutal than usual, but they should be here soon. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

  Morris could imagine it. When Rachel called him earlier, he let those terrible thoughts enter his mind of how he would’ve felt if Moss had taken his daughter’s life. He prayed he was wrong about what he believed to be inevitable with Gilman. When he pressed the trauma doctor earlier, she reluctantly gave him odds of one in a hundred of Gilman surviving the surgery, and he got the sense she was exaggerating for his benefit. Blind rage surged inside him and he punched the steering wheel before realizing what he was doing.