Play With Me

by Patricia Logan

  “Yes. He’s at my place. He’s gonna make me dinner,” Kane said.

  She snorted a laugh. “You shameless little hussy.”

  Kane laughed as she turned off the car. “I’m not talking about Luca with you anymore. I don’t know why I tell you anything, Murphy.” He opened the door and unfolded himself from the seat before shutting the car door, muting Kelly’s laughter that followed inside the car.

  As they walked into the building that held the ATF LA field office, Kane had a real pang of homesickness. He missed his job as an ATF special agent. He missed his partner, Dev, even though Kelly was a great LAPD partner, and he most of all missed the people he worked with. Jarrett, Thayne, Jose, Nico, and his boss, Sarah Connor, were all incredible professionals who loved their jobs. The laughter they shared as they solved a multitude of crimes was always heartwarming.

  They walked into the ATF’s large conference room and Kane was surprised to see that his colleagues from the ATF had already gathered. Sarah and her counterpart at the FBI, SAC Claudia Diaz, had set up two large boards in the room and they were both standing in front of them, tacking pictures onto them, joining other photos already there. At the top of one of the boards was a photo of Slade Ruiz and underneath that, pictures of the two male prostitutes he was known to associate with, Freddy Lombardi—AKA Gabriel Mason—and Kendal Mercer, the man whom Cassidy and Mike had called them about. He had been one of the lucky ones. Ruiz had most likely been grooming him to die on film before he stumbled out of the “party” but he was now safely hidden away in a safehouse.

  The other board had a picture of Martin Carlow and Kane walked to the front of the room to get a better look at it. Beneath his picture someone had written “Boston” and “LA” and beneath that were photos of his victims. All his victims had been killed by bombs, and it was shocking how many pictures were on the board. Kane counted at least twenty-four in Boston to go along with the six people—four of which had died—from the bomb at Marty’s, and the three dead from the rehab facility that morning.

  Some of the people killed in the Boston bombings hadn’t been on the mob’s hit list. They’d been collateral damage, killed when the pipe bombs went off. The killer hadn’t cared who got in the way. They were truly in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a good chance that the bomb at the rehab was the same thing—an act of cowardice that killed anyone in the vicinity of his intended victim. The damage the man had done with his bombs was staggering. If he was a serial killer using bombs as his weapon, Kane couldn’t discern any definable victimology since the victims from Boston were a mix of races and genders.

  Don’t serial victims have something in common? Kane had questions.

  He took a seat between his two partners, Kelly and Dev, as everyone else also gathered at the massive table. The door to the conference room opened and Kane was happy to see Cassidy and Mike step inside along with Lincoln, Mac, and Casey Watterson, the FBI profiler. They took seats at the back of the room, nodding at everyone already there. SAC Sarah Connor cleared her throat as her husband Lincoln, the last one in, shut the door. Kane turned to face the front of the room as SAC Diaz took a seat at the head of the table, leaving Sarah as the only person standing.

  “Okay, so, I know most all of you have been out to the scene from this morning’s bombing in Hollywood. Devecchio and Galvez brought back bomb fragments and are in the process of reassembling them. I’ll keep this meeting as short as possible so they can get back to that.” That explained why Kane hadn’t spotted Nico and Jose at the scene that morning. They’d probably already been there and collected fragments before he and Kelly ever arrived.

  “What can you tell us about the fragments, guys?” Sarah asked, looking directly at Nico.

  “Just what we would expect to find if Carlow was the bomber,” Nico began in his thick Brooklyn accent. “Two pipe bombs using exactly the same shrapnel as the ones that blew up Marty’s, the gay bar in West Hollywood, namely roofing nails, ball bearings, and needles. The bomber placed the devices at two support columns on the back side of the house. It brought down the upper floor, pancaking the building onto the lower floor and into the basement.”

  “There was a basement?” Thayne asked. “Unusual for Southern California.”

  “Yeah, when a lot of these very old houses were built, basements were dug,” Lincoln Snow added with a smile. “LA trivia. Try it some time.” Several people chuckled as Thayne made a face at his friend.

  “Anywaaay…,” Sarah drawled, sending her husband an affectionate frown. “Go on with what you were saying, Devecchio.”

  “Yeah, okay. One of the devices was set beside a footer holding up a support column on one side of the kitchen and the other was set beside one of the footers holding up the support column on the other side of the kitchen. When the bombs went off, they destroyed the column and the beam that ran horizontal across the back of the house. Without those, the upper floor pancaked onto the lower floor like I said previously.”

  “The shrapnel was exactly the same that was used to blow up the bar?” Kane asked.

  “Right down to the millimeter of the ball bearing,” Jose replied with a confident nod. “It’s the same guy.”

  “Okay, thank you, Jose, Nico,” Sarah said. “That’s it for the ATF so far.” She looked at SAC Diaz. “Would you like to tell us about what the FBI has?”

  “Sure,” Claudia Diaz said, standing up as Sarah took a seat. “The FBI has been working on a profile of the bomber so you’ll know what type of criminal you’re looking for. I’ve asked Casey Watterson to come in and share that with us. By the way, those of you who heard his rough profile still need to listen carefully. Some things may have changed since then.” She nodded at Watterson. “Casey, please come on up here.”

  Kane turned and watched the man get up from his place at the table and walk up to the front of the room as SAC Diaz sat down. Casey cleared his throat.

  “I’ve been working on a profile of the bomber and have come up with a few things,” Casey said. “Forgive me if I’m repeating things for some of you.” He walked over to the board with Slade Ruiz’s picture, pointing to the image. “I’m ruling out Mr. Ruiz as our bomber. He doesn’t have a history using bombs to kill any of his victims. In fact, he’s never been charged with murder though he does have a rap sheet for pandering in San Diego. After reviewing the scene at Marty’s and reading police reports, I do believe he was tied in with Freddy Lombardi AKA Gabriel Mason, a WITSEC protectee.” Kane swallowed hard as Watterson pointed to the photo of Luca’s friend.

  “Ruiz was a pimp and Cassidy and Mike suspect Lombardi was working for him along with another man. That man…,” he said, tapping the other photo, “is a Mr. Kendal Mercer and he is now in a safehouse. Based on what he told detectives Ryan and Williams when he was interviewed, he was being groomed by Ruiz to star in a snuff film. This was something Ruiz had been known to do to other men, though there was never enough evidence to bring a case against him in San Diego. Apparently the DA down there deemed all the witnesses unreliable.”

  “I worked down in San Diego for the SDPD at the time. That was very frustrating for the detectives trying to bring a case against Ruiz. They were seriously pissed off at the District Attorney for not even trying to take the case to court,” Kane said.

  Watterson nodded and then moved to the second board. He pointed to Martin Carlow’s picture.

  “This man, Martin Carlow, fits the profile of our bomber. After reading his file, I noticed that he has a background in munitions in the US Army before joining Special Forces as an Army Ranger. Since most of that part of his military file is classified and redacted from his service records, I can only presume that he was assigned to the Rangers because of his skills with explosives. That likely means he is our bomber, not to mention the fact that surveillance from security cameras show him walking into Marty’s shortly before the bombing with a backpack and then coming back out empty-handed.”

  Kane knew all of this. He hoped W
atterson would get to something interesting soon.

  “I ruled out Carlow being a group cause bomber because he wasn’t trying to send a message of protest with his bombs. I also ruled out him being a personal cause bomber who would typically post a manifesto telling the reasons why he set off the device. Personal cause bombers always take credit for why they set off their bombs. He’s not a psychologically disorganized bomber because what he did with the shrapnel he used—needles, ball bearings, and roofing nails of a particular size—was precise, not spur of the moment. A disorganized bomber would have thrown in anything at hand. Not this guy. He planned out this bomb.”

  “What does that leave us with, Casey?” SAC Diaz asked.

  Watterson nodded. “I believe he’s a simple criminal bomber with an agenda. In this case, the bomb was set off in order to cover up evidence in Slade Ruiz’s murder of Mr. Lombardi in the men’s room,” he said.

  “So, why did he team up with Ruiz?” Sarah asked. “Most bombers work alone.”

  “That’s true,” Watterson said. “He must have teamed up with Ruiz for some reason. My gut is telling me that it has to do with the WITSEC list that the US Marshals say was hacked. I’m just not sure what it is just yet. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you all here. Does anyone have any ideas?”

  Kane cleared his throat before glancing at Kelly who nodded. “Tell them, Kane.”

  “You got something, Delancey? Speak up,” Sarah said, boring holes in him with her gaze.

  “I’m not completely sure but Murphy and I were talking about it on the drive over,” Kane began. “Tell me if I’m wrong but something occurred to me,” he said, looking directly at Casey Watterson.

  “I think we’ve been looking at Martin Carlow all wrong,” he began. “We suspect that he is a hitman for the Boston mob. We’ve considered him to be a contract killer but doesn’t that also make him a serial killer?”

  “Not necessarily,” Watterson said. “Assuming he was working for the mob as a hitman, Carlow wouldn’t be picking his own victims like a serial killer would.” He turned and tapped the board. “The victimology of his intended victims in Boston is all over the place—rich, poor, white, black, male, female, gay, straight, old, young—there’s no clear pattern which we would expect if he was a serial killer.”

  “Right,” Kane said. “Serial killers pick their own victims based on the type they desire to kill not the person their bosses want killed… but… what if once he moved west, he started choosing his own victims?”

  Watterson frowned, thinking about that. He nodded slowly. “Okay, let’s look at the bombing at Marty’s. The patrons were gay like Lombardi but he was deliberately killed beforehand. We suspect the bomb was used to destroy evidence. That said, if we consider this morning’s bomb, then those victims might also fit a pattern. Junkies—or former junkies in this case—and gay.”

  “Gay?” Kane asked. “What did I miss?” He looked at Kelly who shrugged.

  “Sorry, Delancey,” Cassidy said, speaking up. Kane turned to him. “We just learned that the rehab that blew up catered specifically to the LGBT community. All the residents were gay or lesbian and the house manager was as well. In fact, when we interviewed the residents who didn’t die in the blast because they were at the supermarket, we learned that the largest LGBT AA meeting and the largest LGBT NA meeting in the area were held in that house three times a week. People drove to Hollywood from all over LA and the southland to attend it. The residents told me that most of their social life was geared around the friends they made at those meetings.”

  “I didn’t realize Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous held LGBT meetings though I probably should know that,” Kane said.

  “Yes, and they’re very well attended,” Cassidy said.

  Kane nodded. “Okay, so we know that Freddy Lombardi was an addict—made so by Slade Ruiz. Maybe he attended those meetings, trying to get off drugs… Look, we dismissed the connection between Carlow and Ruiz as being only temporary because bombers—Carlow in this instance—are solitary killers. They don’t seek out partners because they are narcissists.”

  “Right,” Watterson said.

  “But what if their relationship was more than just one of convenience?” Kane asked.

  Casey frowned. “I’m not following. You mean they were somehow romantically involved?” he asked.

  “No. Not at all. I mean, you said you weren’t certain why Carlow chose Ruiz as a partner,” Kane said. “I think I might know what it is.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, this goes back to victimology. What if, when Carlow was carrying out hits back in Boston using bombs, he accidentally stumbled on the type of victim he wanted to kill all along? What if that one “type” of victim—for lack of a better word—was the one that did it for him? Maybe he got off on killing that one. I mean, we already know he’s a unrepentant killer. But what if one of his kills, maybe the last one he did in Boston, triggered something emotional inside of him and he’s gone after victims just like that one ever since?”

  “Wow, you’ve been readin’ up on this, Delancey,” Jarrett drawled. “Maybe you have a deep dark desire to be a profiler.” He grinned until his husband Thayne elbowed him making him huff out a loud “Ooof.”

  Kane chuckled.

  Watterson smiled. “You know, you might be on to something, Delancey. I’ll go back and take a look at Carlow’s last victim before moving to California.” He turned and studied the pictures on the board before looking back at the rest of them. “A serial killer who uses bombs as their weapon of choice is a strong possibility and that adds to the existing profile which can only help you guys figure out what his next move will be. If he is a serial killer who is choosing his own victims now, remember this. Every time he kills a junkie—a gay junkie—or whatever, he gets a sexual and emotional release from it. If he has finally recognized his victim of choice is a gay junkie, then Ruiz would be the perfect partner to have. A guy with an endless supply of victims at his disposal is right up Carlow’s alley.”

  “I don’t want to corrupt this well-thought-out theory but there’s something this profile doesn’t explain,” Lincoln said, interrupting.

  “What’s that, Snow?” Casey asked.

  “Lombardi wasn’t only a gay junkie but he was in WITSEC,” Lincoln said. “Was that only coincidence or does a victim on the WITSEC list tie into the serial killer angle? Could the profile be even more specific? I mean, could Carlow be targeting gay junkies who are also in WITSEC?”

  “The more specific, the better our profile would be.” Watterson said, nodding. “It is possible.”

  “Maybe there’s a type of serial killer—Carlow—who, in this case, chose from the WITSEC list, those people who are junkies and gay,” Kane said.

  “How would he know if they were gay and junkies just from a list of names?” Kelly asked, interrupting him.

  Kane turned to look at her. “Because this guy doesn’t leave anything to chance. Like Special Agent Watterson says, he’s meticulous in the building of his bombs. Assuming he’s a serial killer who needs victims, doesn’t it then follow that he’ll have researched everyone on the WITSEC list? He knows those people are nameless and faceless living under brand-new identifications in brand-new states. For all intents and purposes, they don’t exist.”

  “They still have new and established lives though,” Kelly said. “Carlow would have to think no one would miss them.”

  “He uses bombs to kill them. It’s not like he’s picking them off one by one and burying the bodies where they can’t be found. He’s making a show of it and taking as many people out as he can at the same time,” Kane said. “Remember, this guy is a narcissist. He thinks no one will tie his victims to the WITSEC list. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and we know he’s intelligent. He was an Army Ranger and those Spec Ops guys always test high in intelligence.”

  “You’re assuming he’s using the list to choose his victims,” SAC Diaz said. “That’s pr
etty specific if it’s part of his profile.”

  Kane nodded but he turned to Casey. “It’s possible, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Hell, maybe he gave the names of young gay men on the list to Slade Ruiz to have him initiate them into drugs the way he did Lombardi,” Kane said.

  Casey nodded, scribbling in a small notepad. “Okay, using that assumption then… because they go down the path of drugs—Carlow kills them. At that point, his victim would tick all the boxes… gay, male, and a junkie.” He turned to look at the board. “That could be possible, Delancey.” He pointed to the last of the Boston victims, squinting to read his name. “This is William Masters, age nineteen. I wonder what he did to make the mob take out a contract on him.”

  Kane noticed that SAC Diaz was typing on her iPad. Everyone was silent until she smiled and looked up at Casey. “William Masters was age nineteen when he was killed in a bombing at the Metropolis, described as a small gay pub in the Southie neighborhood of Boston. He was set to testify against one of the leaders of the Irish mob in the trial that was scheduled to start ten days after he was killed in the bombing. Carlow was obviously carrying out a contract for them. Masters had a long rap sheet of both solicitation and drug arrests going back to when he was a juvenile. He also has a sealed juvenile record.”

  “Okay, that makes sense,” Kane said. “He was Carlow’s final victim in Boston and something about that killing triggered an emotional response in him.”

  “Serial killers always have a stressor that precipitates their kills. What happened to make Carlow start killing for fun other than simply money?” Watterson asked the room at large. “Delancey is right. Something made him enjoy William Masters’s killing more than any other. My guess is that trigger also made him want to relocate to California from Boston where he’d lived ever since leaving the Army. Without even knowing it, the contract Carlow got and carried out on William Masters gave him a sexual and emotional release and from there, he was off to the races.”