A Trace of Crime

by Blake Pierce

  “Agreed,” Ray said. “Can you honcho that so I can keep reviewing this footage?”

  “Of course. Are you coming back to the station afterward?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered noncommittally. “Depends on what I find.”

  “Okay, well, keep me posted,” she said.

  “Will do,” he replied and hung up without saying goodbye.

  Keri ordered herself not to focus on the perceived slight and put her attention into preparing the Amber Alert and getting it out. As she was finishing up, she saw her boss, Lieutenant Cole Hillman, walking toward his office.

  He was wearing his usual uniform of slacks, sport coat, loose tie, and short-sleeved dress shirt that he couldn’t keep tucked in because of his ample girth. He was a little over fifty but the job had aged him so that there were deep lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair was more salt than pepper these days.

  She thought he was going to come over to her desk and demand a status update but he never even looked in her direction. That was fine with her, as she wanted to check with the CSU folks to see of they’d found any prints.

  After she submitted the Amber Alert, Keri walked though station bullpen, which was unusually quiet for this time of night, and down the hall. She knocked on the CSU door and poked her head in without waiting for permission.

  “Any luck on the Jessica Rainey case?”

  The clerk, a twenty-something girl with dark hair and glasses, looked up from the magazine she’d been reading. Keri didn’t recognize her. The CSU clerk job was a grind and had a lot of turnover. She typed the name in the database.

  “Nothing from the backpack or bike,” the girl said. “They’re still checking a few prints from the phone but the way they were talking, it didn’t sound promising.”

  “Can you please have them let Detective Keri Locke know as soon as they’re done, regardless of the result? Even if there are no usable prints, I need to check that phone.”

  “You got it, Detective,” she said, burying her nose back in the magazine before Keri had even closed the door.

  Standing alone in the quiet hallway, Keri took a deep breath and realized there was nothing else for her to do. Ray was checking the school surveillance footage. She had put out the Amber Alert. The CSU report was pending and she couldn’t look at Jessica’s phone until they were done with it. She’d either spoken to or was waiting to hear back from everyone she had called.

  She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, allowing her brain to relax for the first time in hours. But as soon as she did, unwelcome thoughts flooded in.

  She saw the image of Ray’s face, hurt and confused. She saw a black van with her daughter inside rounding a corner into darkness. She saw the eyes of the Collector as she squeezed his neck, draining the life out of the man who’d abducted her daughter over five years ago, even as he was already dying from a head wound. She saw grainy footage of a man known only as the Black Widower as he shot another man in the head, took Evie from the man’s van, and shoved her into the trunk of his own car before disappearing forever.

  Her eyes snapped open and she saw that she was facing the evidence room. She’d been in there many times in recent weeks, poring over photos from Brian “The Collector” Wickwire’s apartment.

  The actual evidence was held at Downtown Division because his apartment was in their jurisdiction. They had consented to let the West LA police photographer take pictures of everything as long as it stayed in the evidence room. As she had killed the man, Keri wasn’t in a position to argue with them.

  But she hadn’t gone through the photos in several days and now something about them was eating at her. There was an itch at the edge of her brain that she just couldn’t scratch, some kind of connection she knew was hiding just out of the corner of her consciousness. She walked into the room.

  The evidence clerk wasn’t surprised to see her and slid the sign-in sheet toward her without a word. She checked in, then went straight to the row with the box of photos. She didn’t need the reference data as she knew exactly what row and shelf it was. She grabbed the box from the shelf and lugged it to one of the tables in the back.

  She sat down, turned on the desk lamp, and spread all the photos out in her front of her. She’d looked at them dozens of times before. Every book Wickwire owned was catalogued and photographed, as was every piece of clothing and each item from his kitchen shelves. This man was believed to be involved in the abduction and sale of as many as fifty children over the years and the detectives from Downtown Division were leaving no stone unturned.

  But Keri sensed that what was teasing her wasn’t in any of those photos she’d studied previously. It was something she’d only registered in passing before. Something had been jogged in her mind when she stood in the hall minutes before, letting all her painful memories wash over her.

  What is it? What’s the connection you’re trying to make?

  And then she saw it. In the background of a picture of the Collector’s desk was a series of nature photos. They were all 5 x 7 images lined up in a row. There was a frog on a rock. Beside it was picture of a jackrabbit with its ears pricked up. And next to that was a beaver working on a dam. A woodpecker was in mid-peck. A salmon caught on film as it leapt from a stream. And next to it was the image of a spider on a patch of dirt—a black widow.

  Black widow. Black Widower. Is there something to that?

  It might have just been a coincidence. Obviously the Downtown detectives didn’t think much of the photos as they hadn’t even been catalogued as evidence. But Keri knew that the Collector liked to keep coded records.

  In fact, that’s how she’d found the addresses where Evie and multiple other abductees were being kept. The Collector had hidden them in plain sight, in an alpha-numeric code on a bunch of seemingly innocuous postcards in his desk drawer.

  Keri knew that the Collector and the Black Widower shared a connection: they had both been hired at various points by the attorney Jackson Cave.

  Did their paths cross at some point, maybe on a job? Was this Wickwire’s way of keeping the contact information of a fellow sinner for hire, in case they ever needed to team up?

  Keri felt a certainty wash over her, one that usually only came when she’d uncovered a crucial clue in a case. She was certain that if she could access that photo, she would find something useful about it.

  The only problem was that it was in Brian Wickwire’s apartment, which was still cordoned off by the Downtown police. The last time she’d tried to get in, two weeks ago, there was crime scene tape all around it and two cops stationed in front of the building to deter any looky-loos.

  Keri was just beginning to consider how she might navigate that challenge when her phone rang. It was Ray.

  “Hey,” she said hesitantly.

  “Can you come back to the Rainey place right now?” he asked, skipping the pleasantries.

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “They just got a ransom note.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Twenty anxious minutes later, Keri pulled up to the Rainey house. Once again a CSU truck was already out front. She knocked on the front door. Ray opened it almost immediately and she could tell from the look on his face that the situation was grim. She glanced over his shoulder and saw the Raineys sitting together on a couch. She was weeping. He looked shell-shocked.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Ray said sincerely. “I’ve only been here five minutes but I’m having a hard time keeping them from going off the rails.”

  “Is there a clock on the note?” Keri asked quietly as she stepped inside.

  “Yeah. The guy wants the transfer to happen tonight at midnight. He’s demanding a hundred grand.”

  “Jeez.”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Ray said. “You need to read the letter. It’s…weird.”

  Keri walked into the room. One CSU investigator was dusting what looked like a FedEx envelope. She looked
back at Ray, who nodded.

  “Crazy, huh?” he said. “I’ve never heard of a ransom note come via FedEx before. It was same-day. I already gave the tracking number to Edgerton. He says it was posted from a location in El Segundo. The time stamp was one fifty-eight p.m.”

  “But that’s before Jessica was taken,” Keri said.

  “Exactly. The abductor must have sent it before he grabbed her—pretty brazen. Suarez is headed over there now to look for any potential footage from the place.”

  “Sounds good,” Keri said as she headed to the living room where the Raineys sat. She was reassured that some of their best people were in the mix. Detective Kevin Edgerton was a tech wizard and Detective Manny Suarez was a dogged, experienced cop. Nothing would slip by them.

  “Hi,” she said softly and the Raineys both looked up at her. Carolyn’s eyes were puffy and red but there were no tears left. Tim was ghostly pale, his face dour and tight.

  “Hello, Detective,” Carolyn managed to whisper.

  “May I take a look at the letter?” she asked, glancing at the sheet of paper on the coffee table. It was already in a clear evidence envelope.

  They nodded wordlessly. She moved closer to get a better look. Even before reading the contents, she could tell that the letter hadn’t been printed using a computer. It had been typed on a standard 8 x 11 sheet of paper. That immediately concerned her.

  Every computer printer had its own identifiable signature, represented through a pattern of dots not recognizable to the undiscerning eye. The dots printed out in a code along with the text of the document and provided the make, model, and even the serial number of the printer used. If the person who typed this letter knew enough to avoid a computer printer, it suggested he probably wasn’t an amateur.

  The letter itself was equally troubling. It read:

  Your child has a dark spirit. The spirit must be pruned so that a healthy child can grow in its place. That will destroy the body of the child but save its soul. So sad but it must be done. The hothouse desire of the creator demands it. I can free this child of the spirit with my holy shears, the mechanism of the Lord. The demons must be uprooted from within her.

  However, if you promise to redeem her yourself through bloodletting purification as he has commanded, I will return her to you for the procedure. But you must compensate me for my sacrifice. I demand $100,000 to be made whole. It must be cash, untraceable. Do not involve the authorities, the filthy purveyors of sordid wretchedness upon this world. If you do, I will return the child to the soil from which she came. I will employ the machinery of the Lord to spread her dripping remains among the spoiled weeds of the city. I have provided proof that I am sincere in my claims.

  Midnight. Father only. For fathers alone will save this world from impurity.

  Chace Park. The bridge by the water.

  $100,000. Midnight. Alone.

  The flesh of your flesh depends on your supplication.

  Keri looked up at Ray. There was so much to process that she chose to set most of it aside for the time being and focus on the clearest elements of the letter.

  “What does he mean about providing proof?” she asked him.

  “There were several strands of hair in a baggie in the package as well,” he answered. “We’re having them tested to see if they’re a match.”

  “Okay, there’s a lot to pore over in that thing,” Keri said, turning to the Raineys. “But for now let’s focus on the non-psycho stuff. First off, you made the right choice by reaching out to us. Parents who follow instructions not to contact authorities usually have worse outcomes.”

  “I didn’t want to call you,” Tim Rainey admitted. “But Carrie insisted.”

  “Well, we’re glad you did,” Keri reiterated, then turned to Ray. “Have you talked to them about the money?”

  “We were just about to when you got here,” Ray said, then focused his attention on the Raineys. “It’s not a bad idea to secure the money, even if we hope not to hand it over. It gives us more options. Have you thought about how you might get it?”

  “We have the money,” Tim Rainey said, “but not in cash. I called our bank to talk about transferring some securities over. They said that it’s hard to do that kind of transaction after hours and impossible on such short notice.”

  “I’ve reached out to our fund managers and they say the same thing,” Carolyn Rainey added. “They might be able to get it for us by early tomorrow morning, but not by midnight and not in cash.”

  Keri turned to Ray.

  “It is odd that he had the letter arrive so late,” she said. “He had to know it would be almost impossible to get the money in time. Why make it so difficult?”

  “This guy doesn’t sound like he’s operating from a full deck,” Ray noted. “Maybe he’s not up to speed on the timing challenges of financial institutions.”

  “There is another option,” Tim Rainey interrupted.

  “What’s that?” Ray asked.

  “I work for Venergy, the new mobile gaming platform based in Playa Vista. I work directly for Gary Rosterman, the guy who runs the company. He’s filthy rich and he likes me. Plus Jessica and his daughter went to the same Montessori school until last year. They’re friends. I know he has cash on hand. Maybe he’d front me.”

  “Call him,” Ray said. “But if he agrees, ask him to be discreet.”

  Rainey nodded aggressively. His dark visage lifted slightly. He seemed heartened by having renewed hope. Or maybe it was just having something on which to focus his attention.

  As he dialed the number, Ray turned back to Keri and nodded for them to step away from the Raineys. When they were out of earshot, he whispered, “I think we should take the letter back to the station. We need to have the whole unit on this, get their ideas on what it means; maybe bring in the psychologist. We should check for recent similar cases in the area.”

  “Agreed,” Keri said. “I also want to filter the letter through the federal database to see if it matches anything else. Who knows what we’ll find? I’ve got a really bad feeling about this one.”

  “More than usual? Why?”

  Keri explained her concerns about typing the letter versus using a computer. It resonated with Ray.

  “Whether this guy is crazy or crazy like a fox, he seems like a pro,” he said.

  Tim Rainey ended his call and turned to them.

  “Gary said he’ll do it,” he said. “He said he can have the cash in hand in about three hours.”

  “That’s great,” Ray said. “We’ll send someone to collect it when it’s ready. We don’t want a civilian transporting that kind of money if we can avoid it.”

  “We’re going to head back to the station now,” Keri told them. Seeing the sudden anxiety in their faces, she quickly added, “We’re going to leave two uniformed officers here with you, as a precaution. They can reach us any time.”

  “But why are you leaving?” Carolyn Rainey asked.

  “We want to run the ransom note through our databases and talk to some experts. We’re getting our entire Missing Persons Unit involved in your case. But I promise we’ll be back in a few hours. We’ll lay out the whole plan for the park with you and explain exactly what we’re doing. As soon as we leave you, I’m going to call to have surveillance set up there right away. Everything will be in place well in advance of the meet. We’ve got this.”

  Carolyn Rainey stood up and gave her a surprisingly powerful hug. She did the same to Ray. Tim Rainey nodded politely at both of them. Keri could tell that his brief respite from his angst had faded and he was back in permanent crisis mode.

  She understood his position better than most and knew that trying to talk him down or tell him to try to be calm was a waste of time. His daughter was missing. He was freaking out. He just did it more quietly than most.

  As they left, Ray muttered under his breath, “We better find her quick. If we don’t, I’m worried her dad is going to have a stroke.”

  Keri wanted to dis
agree but couldn’t. If she’d gotten a letter like this when Evie was taken, she might have literally lost her mind. But the Raineys had something going for them, even if they didn’t know it. They had Keri.

  “Then let’s find her quick,” she said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’m telling you, it’s just a cover,” Detective Frank Brody shouted indignantly. “All that blather about mechanisms and the Lord is just to throw us off. This guy is a con man, pure and simple!”

  The station conference room was a mass of noisy, angry voices and it was starting to piss Keri off. She was tempted to yell at everyone to shut up, but painful experience had taught her that some of these people needed to wear themselves out before anything useful could be accomplished.

  Brody, an old-school veteran of the unit less than a month from retirement, was convinced the letter was a sham. As usual, he had some kind of sauce on his shirt, which was tucked in but missing a button so that part of his large stomach was exposed. And as usual, Keri thought, he was more interested in being loud than in being right.

  “You don’t know that!” shouted back Officer Jamie Castillo. “You just want it to be true because that makes the case easier to understand.”

  Castillo wasn’t a detective yet, but because of her competence and enthusiasm, she’d become essentially a junior member of the unit, almost always assigned to their cases. And despite her junior status, she was no shrinking violet.

  Right now, her dark eyes were blazing and her black hair, tied back in a ponytail, was bobbing up and down along with her animated responses. Her muscular arms and athletic frame were both tightly coiled in frustration.

  “None of us are experts in this sort of thing,” Detective Kevin Edgerton insisted. “We need to bring in the police psychologist.”

  Keri wasn’t surprised that Edgerton wanted to go that route. Tall and skinny with perpetually unkempt brown hair, he was a computer genius who knew the ins and outs of everything from a smartphone to the utility grid. But not yet thirty years old, he didn’t always trust his instincts when it came to things with less clear-cut solutions. It was his nature to defer to expertise, if it was available.