by Linda Berry
Their next call was another human waste collection. Trying not to breathe in the stench of urine, hands protected by latex, Lauren and Steve relocated two noisy winos from a rat-infested alley to the station: both staggering, stumbling, and incoherent, into the drunk tank. Barely on the road again, they pulled over a low-rider packed with six teenage gangbangers. The fifteen-year-old liberally tattooed driver had no driver’s license, but plenty of attitude, and a concealed pistol. After cuffing and booking him, Lauren got his clueless father out of bed to come pick up the car and his son’s stranded amigos.
Thankfully, the pace slowed down after three a.m. Steve took time to do a little sidewalk community service, laying an inspired lecture on a few drug-dazed hookers on Capp Street. Lauren humored him. One day, these women would be found the same way the earlier addict had, only dead.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT SIX A.M., Steve pulled into the lot at Valencia Station. Inside the main corridor, he and Lauren were greeted by the soft murmur of voices, the rustle of crisp uniforms, and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes. Night shift was heading out. Day shift was trickling in. Officers were gathering their equipment.
While Steve turned in the shotgun, radios, laptop, and car keys, Lauren headed down the polished linoleum of the main corridor, passed the roll call and computer rooms, and stole a glance into the booking room. On the other side of the bulletproof window, lockup was quiet, occupied by the two drunks she and Steve had brought in, both now comatose. At the end of the hall, she paused outside the captain’s office. His shift started an hour after hers ended, but sometimes he came in early to use the gym.
She knocked softly, opened the door, and found Jack Monetti seated on the edge of his desk dressed in workout clothes, a phone receiver pressed to one ear. He waved her in. Standing at ease, she studied the man who had been her boss for the last three years. Tough. No-nonsense. Charismatic as hell.
Jack looked like he’d been up all night—unshaven, dark hair tousled, eyelids puffy. His gym clothes were wrinkled and his running shoes looked ready for the garbage heap. Being both a single parent and station commander didn’t leave him much time for laundry or shopping.
“I understand your concern, Dick. Yeah, I know the girl’s a freshman at Cypress High. We’re doubling up on personnel. We’ll put every bit of extra manpower we have on this case.”
Lauren surmised Jack was talking to Dick Townsend, the city’s deputy mayor. It appeared Melissa’s case was taking priority. Jack wasn’t in the habit of tossing around loose rhetoric just to sooth an official’s ruptured nerves. He put action behind his words. At forty, he was the youngest station captain in the history of the department, and he’d brought new ideas to an old-boys’ bureaucracy. The cops under his command respected his hands-on, open door management style, which stood in sharp contrast to his predecessor’s tight-assed autocratic approach. The city’s power players trusted Jack. They worked with him, not around him.
He listened for a minute, gave a few yes and no answers, hung up the phone and turned his full attention to Lauren. He hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to hug her or not. Feeling his proximity like a magnetic field, she made the decision for him by sinking into one of the chairs facing his desk.
“Are you okay?” The morning light slanting through the blinds brightened his blue eyes, the best feature in a face almost too rugged to be called handsome, and strong enough to evoke respect, even fear.
“Been better.”
“You had a rough night.” Concern darkened his features. “Why didn’t you call me at home?”
She heard a new familiarity in his voice, felt his eyes on her like a touch. “That’s not professional behavior.”
“I thought we’d gotten beyond that, Lauren.”
They’d had one date. Did that change everything? She had felt ambivalent about accepting his offer to get together last weekend. He’d framed the invite as an innocent outing at the zoo for their kids, and he’d been easygoing and playful with Courtney and his eight-year-old son, Jason. But his thoughtful attention to Lauren, and his lingering stares made it feel more personal. She let her guard down, and at the end of the evening, she let him steal a kiss in the shadows of her porch while Jason waited in the car. She kissed him back, passionately. The intensity of that kiss stayed with her all week, but confusion set in, too.
Jack was a complex man, politically powerful, and a vital force in the department. Lauren wasn’t sure she was ready to take him on and suffer the risks of a failed romance. It was well within his power to move a junior officer to another district. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said finally. “You have enough on your mind.”
“The lieutenant had me up most of the night. A serial rapist is on the loose. He tried to kill you. You think I could sleep?”
“You read Lilly’s report.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have another version?”
“One point. If it makes a difference.”
“Try me.” Jack sat back on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed and waited.
“This guy’s a brutal, sadistic rapist, no question. But for the record, he’s not a murderer. He had me in his sights and could easily have killed me, but he didn’t.” A little chill touched the base of her spine as she relived the experience. “He circled me with wild shots. Taunted me. Then he disappeared.”
Jack clenched and unclenched his jaw.
“From what Lilly told me, he doesn’t kill his victims,” she added.
“He’s come pretty damn close.”
Lauren met his steady gaze. “I’d like special access to this case.”
He was quiet for moment, searching her expression. “Talk to Lilly. This is her gig.”
“I did. She shut me out.”
“Why’s it so important to you?”
“Courtney’s also a freshman at Cypress High.” She swallowed. “When her swim meet runs late, she takes the same bus home.”
Jack’s expression softened, and he said gently, “I understand, Lauren. Until he’s caught, every high school girl in the city’s at risk.”
“I fired a few rounds at him last night. Did I hit him?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
“You did your best.”
“Not good enough.” She stood and paced, her mind piecing facts together. “What I know so far is this: the offender abducts fourteen-year-old girls, holds them for several hours, strangles and assaults them.” She met Jack’s gaze. “Were the Oakland girls staged like corpses?”
“Correct.”
“Anointed with some weird scent?”
“Yes.”
“I saw a gold band on Melissa’s left hand. It struck me as odd. Did the others have rings?”
He half smiled. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”
“I try not to.”
He looked impressed. “Profile this perp for me.”
She stopped pacing. “He’s organized. Methodical. Plans these assaults in advance. He stalked Melissa, learned her routine, and picked the best place to abduct her. Knocked out the streetlight. The way her makeup was applied and the careful way she was staged shows he strives for perfection. He appears to have some kind of pathological death fixation.” She paused a few beats, recalling another puzzle piece. “Were the Oakland assaults reported anonymously?”
“Yep.”
“Melissa was unconscious the whole time. The other girls, too?”
“Yep.”
“There never were any screams. The assailant reported the crimes. He wanted them found quickly. A murderer wouldn’t have placed those calls.”
Monetti looked skeptical.
“Do we have a physical description?”
“Sketchy.” Jack reached behind him, picked up a document and scanned it. “One of the Oakland girls says he attacked her from behind. She struggled against him, got a sense of his height. About six feet tall. Unusually strong. Wore a bandana over his face, but she saw his eyes. They’re bl
ue.”
“Blue eyes. Six feet. Strong.” She sighed. “Not much to go on. What did he use to subdue them?”
“Chloroform.”
Lauren resumed pacing, lost in thought. She said with directness, “Jack, I want to work this case. There must be something I can do.”
He rubbed his chin, expression inscrutable. “You could do some outreach. Go to Cypress High, find out how the kids are doing. Talk to counselors, teachers. See what you can pick up.”
Her spirit brightened.
“Remember, public service. Not interrogation.”
“Got it. Thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I better run. I need to get Courtney off to school.”
Jack walked her to the door, reached out a finger and pushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Find anything, run it by me. Call my private number if you need to.”
She nodded, getting a little lost in his eyes, noticing little green specks in the blue. He pulled her close, and his mouth came down on hers. For such a big man, Jack’s touch was gentle, his kiss tender and stirring. His arms tightened, his kiss became bolder, more arousing.
A shuffle sounded in the hallway, the door opened abruptly, and Patrol Officer Cindy Hornby stood in the threshold staring at them, eyes widening. “I … uh … sorry. I’ll come back.” She pulled the door shut behind her.
Feeling her face heat up, Lauren pulled away from Jack. Cindy was a known gossip. “Christ, this is going to be all over the station.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Jack said with a touch of amusement.
Lauren didn’t answer. She didn’t feel ready to deal with big adjustments in her life, the whispers and stares of her fellow officers, or the suspicions she might be getting preferential treatment.
“Hey, don’t look so guilty. We’re both off duty,” Jack said calmly. “There’s nothing we can do about gossip. Can’t put the genie back in the lamp. Are we still on for tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Seven?”
“Seven it is.” An alarm sounded in her brain warning her to go slow, but at the same time, some boyish yearning in Jack’s face made her heart race. He leaned in close. She held her breath. His lips brushed hers and then he was walking back to his desk. She walked hurriedly down the corridor as though fleeing a crime scene.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTER changing in the locker room into jeans, a black turtleneck, and loafers, Lauren headed for home in her white Jeep Cherokee. In the distance, the towering high-rises of the financial district pierced the fog, and the bay was concealed under a blanket of fluffy white. Her attention sharpened as she turned onto King Street and Cypress Park swung into view. Sun was burning through the fog and a fine mist steamed off the grass. Stands of trees stood ablaze in autumn colors, and fallen leaves stitched vivid carpets across the rambling lawn.
The peaceful scene stood in sharp contrast to last night’s darkness and shadow. She recalled the ghostly figure darting across a footbridge, the muzzle flashes from his gun, and despite the sun’s warmth, she broke out in goose bumps. She caught herself peering into the windows of parked cars, as though some evil might spring into view.
Passing streets of row houses, she weaved up into the foothills of Noe Valley, which had a feeling of remoteness from the city, even though the bustling streets of the Mission District were just minutes away. In her self-contained neighborhood, Victorian, Craftsman, and Edwardian-style houses faced each other in charmed complacency. The houses on the east side of the leafy street, including her own, had sweeping views of the city and bay.
Fourteen years ago, when she and Ken purchased the smallest house in the run-down neighborhood, it didn’t seem like such a prize. The renovation of the ninety-year-old home had robbed them of vacation days, weekends, and the bulk of their paychecks, but by the time they slapped on the last coat of paint, yuppie families had migrated into the enclave and upgraded the remaining houses. The property value had risen steadily. Lauren had no intention of leaving her little jewel in paradise any time soon.
She pulled into her driveway and studied her tiny yard while the garage door yawned open. Even here, in the symmetry of trees, shrubs, and flowers, something sinister seemed to lurk, although the only crime she could detect with the naked eye was the absence of a man in her life to do the yard work. She needed to weed and mow today, but that would have to wait.
Lauren entered the kitchen through the garage and paused to take in the calm, ordered atmosphere of home. The table in the window nook was set. Bagels were ready to brown in the toaster oven. The frying pan sat on the stove, waiting for eggs. Her moment of domestic bliss was shattered when her mother-in-law burst into the room.
“You’re home! Finally.” Dressed in a purple velour sweat suit and spotless white sneakers, her mother-in-law, Sofie Goldstein, looked frazzled.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Courtney?”
“Locked in the bathroom.” At sixty-two, Sofie was thin, wiry, and full of restless energy. She brushed shaggy gray bangs from her hazel eyes with an impatient sweep of her hand. “She won’t come out.”
“Why not?”
“I told her to change her clothes. She wants to go to school in sprayed-on hip-huggers, with her entire midriff bare.” Sofie wrung her hands. “You go talk to her. See if you can dress her in something that’s not X-rated.”
“Okay, Sofie. I’ll take care of it.” The four nights a week Lauren worked her ten-hour shift, Sofie occupied the sleeper sofa in the home office. Her mother-in-law was key to Lauren’s peace of mind and her ability to focus on her job while at work. But lately, Sofie and her granddaughter had been up in arms.
When Courtney turned fourteen this year, hormonal changes kicked in like a typhoon. Her reed-thin body sprouted breasts, hips, and curves, and to Lauren’s horror, her sensible temperament went haywire. The shy, bookish girl of yesteryear was reborn as a rebellious stranger who questioned every decision and household norm. Lauren recalled the rebelliousness of her own teenage years, and the sudden, irrepressible drive to be attractive to boys, to experiment with her sexuality.
What her daughter needed right now was a strong hand to guide her through the minefield of earthly temptations, not a prison guard. Balance, she told herself.
Heading for Courtney’s bathroom with Sofie on her heel, Lauren said politely over her shoulder. “Sofie, could you see if the paper’s here?”
“Sure.” Sofie took the hint and reversed her course.
Lauren tapped on the door. “Hon, it’s Mom.”
The door opened just wide enough for her daughter’s eyes to peer out.
“Thank God, you’re home.” Courtney stood to one side, and Lauren entered the warm, steamy bathroom. Courtney’s strawberry blond hair hung in wet tendrils across her shoulders, a Sony Walkman in one hand and a mascara brush in the other. ’N Sync’s “Bye Bye Bye” spewed loudly from the headset looped around her neck.
Lauren sucked in a breath as she viewed her daughter’s outfit; a knit top that accentuated her bust line and bared everything below, down to her tight hip-hugger jeans. Appropriate for an MTV video, but not high school. The image of Melissa’s nude body flashed through her mind. Courtney had a similar body type, athletic and well developed. If Melissa dressed this enticingly, she would have attracted considerable notice.
“Grams doesn’t like my outfit,” Courtney said with a look of complete innocence. “All my friends dress like this. If Grams has her way, I’ll be wearing a pup tent to school.”
Lauren didn’t want to wage war with her daughter. Not this morning. “The pants are okay but wear a shirt that covers your stomach.”
“Mom!”
Lauren raised a hand. “Any argument, and you can change your pants as well.”
Sulking, Courtney inserted the mascara brush into its tube and tossed it into the makeup drawer.
“Hurry and change. We need to talk.”
Sofie was leaning against the counter reading the morning paper when Lauren e
ntered the kitchen. She looked up, stricken. “Oh my god, Lauren. You were shot at last night?”
Oh no! Not the front page! “Let me read that.”
Looking faint, Sofie handed her the paper and sank onto the seat of the nook built into the bay window.
As she read, Lauren heard Sofie fidgeting with the flatware and knew she was eager to resume the conversation. The article gave no more information about the assault than Inspector Camino had predicted, but it mentioned Lauren and Steve by name, and their failure to apprehend the assailant. Anger tightened her stomach. Their identities didn’t come from Jack’s press release. No doubt, leaked by Camino. A warning she was prepared to get nasty if Lauren got in her way. Thanks, Lilly.
“That poor girl. She goes to Cypress High,” Sofie said, when Lauren put the paper down. “Raped in our own neighborhood. What’s the world coming to? Nothing like this ever happened when I was a teenager.”
“Yes it did. Most girls didn’t report rape back then. The court system was against them. Still is, unfortunately.” Lauren poured herself a cup of coffee and faced her mother-in-law with feigned calm. Controlling the timbre of her voice, she did her best to reassure her that the rapist would soon be caught.
“Who was the girl?” Sofie asked.
Lauren lowered her voice. “Melissa Cox. Has Courtney ever mentioned her?”
“Melissa Cox … of course.”
“What about Melissa?” Courtney asked, breezing into the room. Tango, her orange tabby cat, ran in behind her, jumped up on a cushioned chair in the nook, and took his usual place in the sun.
“Nothing.”
Sofie nervously began to spread cream cheese on a cinnamon and raisin bagel. “Come eat your breakfast. Want some orange juice?”
“Yes, please.” Courtney slid into the nook. She had changed into a blue long-sleeved t-shirt. Still too tight, but this time Lauren would let it go.
