by M. Z. Kelly
After a long moment, he began working the device again and the voice said, “The wasp…uses the spider…it uses innocence…but it is after…something else.”
I had no idea what he meant. “You’re talking about the Prophet. What does he want?”
More typing and then, “Just like the wasp…The Prophet is pupating and transforming…becoming immortal…through death.”
My anxiety level continued to spike, but I was still at a loss to understand what he meant, something that he apparently noticed as he went on. “The Prophet...is being resurrected but can only transform if that which is good is defeated. You must be defeated.”
THIRTY FIVE
After leaving Caufield’s house and filling Dawson in on what his brother had said, I went home and collapsed into bed sometime after midnight. I had a restless night, Caufield’s words continuing to haunt me as I tossed and turned. Our conversation had been so strange and disjointed that I still didn’t understand much of what he’d said. All I did know was that, for some reason, I’d been chosen as an adversary, The Prophet was on a killing spree, and he was challenging me to stop him.
After discussing the conversation with Dawson, he’d said that he thought maybe his brother was losing his mind or the medications he was taking were affecting him. He’d also said that he didn’t think anything that was said had brought us closer to finding Riley Miller. I had to agree with him. The clock was ticking faster now and we had no leads.
I got up a little after six and walked Bernie around the apartment complex. The courtyard was deserted and a heavy fog had drifted in during the night. Maybe it was my conversation with Caufield, but I kept thinking someone was going to come out of the fog and attack me. I eventually dismissed the thought, telling Bernie that maybe I was just afraid of the local zombie population.
After showering and having some toast, I went next door and had coffee with my friends. I saw that Mo had a copy of the morning’s edition of the Herald-Press open on the coffee table. Haley Tristan had already printed The Prophet’s latest message. While she hadn’t mentioned Riley Miller by name, the reporter had said that another young girl had been taken.
“You’re gonna have your hands full after the public sees the latest,” Mo said, referencing the article. “Somebody needs to put a sock in that reporter’s mouth.”
“Maybe we need to go lean on her,” Natalie suggested. “Send her a message she won’t forget.”
My friends were dressed in their Sistah Sweet PI combat gear, consisting of lots of black leather, utility belts, handcuffs, and pepper spray. It reminded me of a bounty hunter show I’d seen on TV.
“It wouldn’t do any good trying to intimidate her,” I said. “You’re better off staying out of things.”
“You need our help,” Mo said, giving me her one-eye stare down. “That maniac’s got another girl and we’re running out of time.”
I sighed and stirred some sugar into my coffee. “If you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears.”
“If I was you, I’d start looking in caves, places similar to where the other girls were taken.”
“We’ve already thought of that. We’re checking out everything from caverns to tunnels, beneath the local bridges, anything we can think of that’s underground.”
Natalie had another thought. “I’d be willing to bet that Prophet bloke’s already setting up a display somewhere. We’ve got to find the girl before the day’s out.”
I took a sip of my coffee and stood up. “You’re right. I’d better get going.”
As I was putting my cup in the sink, Natalie came over to me and said, “How did your date with that hunky teacher go the other night? You gonna start staying after class, asking for extra credit?” She winked.
I laughed. “I think we’re a long way from that, but we did have a nice time.” I met her eyes. “And, for the record, we’re just friends.”
“It’s a good thing you’re starting to circulate again. Mo and me were beginning to worry you’d end up in a rockin’ chair with a box of cats.”
I saw Mo nodding her big head out of the corner of my eye. I turned to her as she said, “Maybe you should think about doing some time in detention with your teacher, maybe bring along a pair of these.” She twirled her handcuffs.
“Hey, maybe the bloke teaches sex-ed classes,” Natalie suggested. She looked at Mo. “Kate could use a lot of remedial work.”
I decided there was no way I was going to tell them that I was planning on seeing Dillon Walker again. Instead, I just headed for the door and said, “You forget, I’m a relationship drop-out. I’ll see you both later.”
***
On the way to the station I got a call from Lexi, telling me that she got the part of Emily in her school play. “The first rehearsal is tomorrow night,” Lexi said, her voice bubbling over with excitement. “Do you think maybe you could go with me? I’m really nervous.”
Despite my crazy schedule, I promised that I would take her. After I’d ended the call I hoped that I hadn’t promised something I couldn’t deliver on. My friendship with Lexi and her excitement about the play seemed to be the one normal thing I had going on in my life.
When Bernie and I got to the station, we learned that the feds had called a taskforce meeting in downtown Los Angeles for late morning. Oz was in a meeting with the brass, so we made plans to attend without him.
As Ted drove Selfie and me to the FBI headquarters, I opened a window, giving Bernie some air, and filled them in on last night’s events, also summarizing what Lucas Caufield had said. “He made it sound like what’s happening is personal, like The Prophet needs to defeat me so that he can…I guess so that he can go on killing. It’s pretty weird.”
“Maybe he knows about you from that case the media called Sisters of the Blood,” Selfie suggested. “That case got lots of attention. There were even a couple of stories in the national media.”
She had a point. Maybe it was the fact that Bernie was the first-ever canine assigned to robbery-homicide, but we’d both been featured in some articles that had nationwide circulation after solving the case. I’d even been interviewed, albeit reluctantly, on one of those nighttime crime shows about the insane killer who had called himself Azazel.
“I’ve got an idea about how we can use what Selfie just mentioned,” Ted said, glancing over at me as he drove. “Maybe we can chat for a minute about it before the meeting. If you agree, I’ll bring it up to the taskforce.”
I had the impression that he wanted to discuss his idea privately, so I agreed to what he proposed.
When we got to FBI headquarters, I saw that John Greer was there, along with the other members of the taskforce, with the exception of Jeremy Spender, who we were told was on another assignment. Dawson sat next to Lavern Wallace, across from Greer and Allison Schwab, while Ted, Selfie, and I had the unfortunate luck of having to sit across from Christine Belmont and Alex Hardy.
After calling the meeting to order, Greer announced that he was now assigned to work on our case full time and was taking charge of the fed’s side of the taskforce. He then added, “We’re ramping up our efforts, giving 24-7 attention to this case, especially given that the media is in a feeding frenzy. We may be adding additional manpower in the next few days.”
Dawson and I then spent the next hour going over what we’d found at Tyler Linden’s house, the kidnapping of Riley Miller, and my meeting with Lucas Caufield. After I discussed Caufield’s strange statements about The Prophet transforming and that, for some reason, he wanted to defeat me, Greer took over again. He spent a couple of minutes informing the group for the first time that Caufield was Dawson’s half-brother and of their past involvement in the case.
When Greer finished, Christine Belmont spoke up. “I don’t understand why this information was withheld from us. We’ve been working the case without all the facts.”
“What else haven’t we been told?” Alex Hardy demanded.
“You’ve been told everything,” Dawson growled. “And t
he fact that Lucas Caufield is my brother doesn’t have any bearing on this case.”
“Joe and I want nothing more than to solve these crimes,” Lavern Wallace added, supporting his partner.
“Why should we believe you or Dawson?” Belmont countered. I had the feeling that she was feeling empowered because Oz wasn’t in the room. Her dark eyes shot lasers at Dawson. “It could even be that your brother is in league with The Prophet. He seems to have a lot of inside knowledge about what’s happening.”
Dawson’s pale eyes regarded her. “My brother has ALS. He’s on lots of medication. He’s got some past knowledge of The Prophet, having worked the cases back east and because of some phone conversations he had with him, but I’m not sure anything he’s telling us is even relevant.” He leaned in closer to Belmont. “And he sure as hell isn’t in league with The Prophet.”
“I think Dawson should be removed from the case,” Hardy said to Greer. “He’s too close to the investigation.”
“What you think is duly noted,” Greer said, giving the pudgy detective a measured look. “Any personnel decisions, are mine alone, not yours. Let’s move on.”
Tension hung in the air and the room was quiet for a moment. Selfie excused herself to take a call before Ted addressed the gathering. “On the way over here this morning, Kate and I discussed that, if what Lucas Caufield said is accurate, The Prophet could be focusing on Kate because of her work on some past cases. If that’s true, it occurred to me that maybe we can use that to our advantage.”
“What do you have in mind?” Greer asked.
Ted and I shared a look as I gave him my unspoken consent. We’d briefly discussed what he was going to propose as we walked into the meeting. “We go to the media, maybe the Herald-Press, and make a plea for The Prophet to contact Kate directly. We make this personal by sending him a message that we want to engage him in a dialogue.”
“What Ted’s proposing has worked in the past,” I said, looking at Greer. “As we know, Caufield engaged The Prophet in a series of discussions before he got ALS and retired from the agency. We’ve got nothing to lose.”
The discussion went back and forth for several minutes. Dawson thought what Ted had suggested was worth a try, while Belmont and Hardy said that it was unprofessional to engage a wanted killer in a discussion and a waste of time.
Selfie came back into the room as Greer was starting to weigh in on the discussion. Allison Schwab, the agent assigned to the L.A. office spoke up, interrupting Greer. “Since the FBI is heading this taskforce, I think one of our agents should be the contact person for the media article. It takes Detective Sexton out of the line of fire, but still gives The Prophet an opportunity to engage with us. I’m volunteering to be the point of contact.”
I told the group that The Prophet had taken a personal interest in me and that I should be the contact person, but I was overruled by Greer. “We’ll work with the Herald-Press and get something out in the media today that Agent Schwab is the point of contact. We’ll probably end up with a bunch of crank calls, but we’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I just got a report that came in about something of interest,” Selfie said, sounding a little breathless as she took a seat back at the table. “As you know, we’ve had a BOLO out on the van registered to Tyler Linden since last night. One of the patrol units in an area near Elysian Park just made a report that the vehicle has been found in a parking lot. As you probably know, it’s a rugged area in the hills overlooking the city.”
Ten seconds later, the room emptied as we all ran to our cars.
THIRTY SIX
A pale light filters down, snaking its way from the entrance to the tunnel, and spilling over the figure that works on the girl. The persona of Tyler Linden has gone away. The young man with the girl is now an ephemeral, half-being, something that is neither man nor beast; a creation of The Prophet.
He is an apprentice.
Riley Miller is asleep on the raised platform, awaiting her fate. A soft buzzing sound fills the air. A plastic canister filled with a liquid insecticide is used to prepare the girl and her surroundings. He knows the drill, exactly what he must do.
“Nothing can disturb the site where the girl is transformed,” the disciple had warned during his teachings. “She must be pure, untouched until…”
“…until The Prophet arrives.”
When he’s finished spraying the area, the apprentice turns his attention to the girl. While he loves Riley Miller with all his heart, he knows that he can only have part of her, this moment of preparation. She belongs to a higher power, just as his own life is now also consumed by that force.
After he removes the girl’s clothing, he takes out a brush and combs her hair. “I love you, Riley,” he whispers. Each stroke is a caress, an embrace of tenderness before the final parting that is to come.
As he prepares the girl, a part of the apprentice’s mind, before he was chosen by The Disciple, tumbles back to a moment in time when he was about the girl’s age. An image forms that is a familiar one to the man who was once Tyler Linden.
He was fifteen when he had gone to a friend’s birthday party. He had sat alone, ignored by the other kids. He’d found a bench that was in the yard, below the patio where the party was held. It offered some solitude, a small refuge from the hateful comments. But even there, he could hear the voices as they filtered down to where he sat.
“Did you see what Tyler is wearing?” he’d heard a giggling girl say.
There was laughter before another girl had responded, “He looks like he’s homeless. I’ll bet he lives in a car with his parents.”
He remembers the final comments, the ones that had pushed him over the edge. “He’s so gross. I don’t know why he was invited. He doesn’t belong at a party with the rest of us.”
There was more laughter as the other girl responded, “He should be kept in a cage.”
The voices had abruptly stopped, silenced by the rage that had exploded in his head. What had followed was an ugly scene as he found a knife and chased after the girls. There was lots of blood as he took by force what he knew none of the girls would ever give him by choice. In the end, the boy known as Tyler Linden had spent several years in a juvenile reformatory for sexual assault and battery.
In the years that followed, he had been more careful, choosing only the most vulnerable victims. He’d counted them several times. Thirteen. He had taken thirteen girls against their will before he’d slipped up again and had gone to prison. It would never happen again. He’d learned his lessons the hard way.
A rustling sound near the entrance to the tunnel pushes the images away. The apprentice lays the nude girl back down on the platform. He stands, wondering if this is the moment when he will finally meet The Prophet.
Seconds later, a light washes over his naked body. When he sees the female cop and her partner, the apprentice realizes that he has only one option—he must kill to save the girl.
The Prophet will demand nothing less.
THIRTY SEVEN
When we arrived at Elysian Park, we split into two-person teams. Joe Dawson and I took a trail above Solano Canyon Drive near a parking lot where Tyler Linden’s car had been found. Ted went in the opposite direction with Lavern Wallace. Other teams were dropped off around the park to scour the hillsides.
“What do you know about this area?” Dawson asked, as Bernie led us up the heavily wooded trail. The afternoon was warm and clear. It would have been the perfect day for hiking, if you weren’t looking for an insane killer with a hostage.
“It’s one of the largest parks in L.A. County, about six hundred acres, as I recall. The police academy and Dodger Stadium is nearby.” My gaze moved off, surveying the hillsides. “It’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“What about caves or tunnels?”
“Not sure. I know there’s miles of hiking trails.”
A half an hour later, the trail pitched higher and our frustration was building. I glanced over at Dawson w
ho was breathing heavily and perspiring.
“There’s got to be a better way,” I said, stopping in the shade of a massive eucalyptus tree and pulling out my phone. In a moment, I had Molly Wingate on the line. I explained what was happening and said, “We need whatever you can pull together in a hurry regarding tunnels or bridges in the area, anything that runs underground.”
While we waited for Molly to call us back, I sipped some water and then called Ted.
“We’re just seeing lots of trails and hills,” Ted told me. “Not sure this is getting us anywhere.”
I told him I would check in with him later, ended the call, and then my phone chirped.
“I pulled up some old maps of the area,” I heard Molly say. “There’s a drainage system with what looks like some large pipes that lead into the reservoir. It borders the 110 Freeway and Grandview Drive.”
I thanked her, ended the call, and told Dawson what she’d said. “I think we’re in the wrong area, wasting our time. We need to be on the other side of the park.”
“Let’s get a chopper to take us over to the reservoir.” Dawson pulled out his cell phone and made arrangements for a helicopter that had been searching the area to pick us up in a clearing.
A few minutes later, when the chopper landed, Bernie took a couple of steps and then stopped. I knew he wasn’t fond of flying. It took a lot of pleading and pulling to get him on board.
“Put this ghetto bird in gear,” Dawson yelled at the pilot. “You see any drainage ditches or tunnels, put us down there.”
“The area’s pretty hilly and rugged,” the pilot said. “I’m not sure how close I can get to the reservoir.”
“Grow a pair,” Dawson yelled. “Or I’ll have you working the Dumbo ride at Disneyland.”
Less than five minutes later, the pilot set us down on a bluff near the Elysian Reservoir. When the roar from the rotor blades finally faded away, Dawson pointed to an area above where we had landed. “I saw the glint of sunlight off metal that must be part of the drainage system. Let’s take a look.”
