The Trap

by Carol Ericson

  “DCFS should’ve allowed him and Charlotte to adopt you. For all the issues that may have presented, how is it not better than foster care?”

  Kyra lifted her shoulders. She’d been through this with Quinn and Charlotte a million times. It didn’t change a thing—didn’t change that she’d lived in more foster homes than she cared to remember, culminating in the one where she’d killed a foster father in self-defense and to protect the younger girls in the home.

  But Jake knew all about her sordid past, and it hadn’t scared him off. When her phone buzzed, she blinked, wondering where the sound was coming from. Jake had been right about the two-plus glasses of wine on an empty stomach, but she was entitled to numb the pain.

  Jake handed her the phone. “It’s Billy.”

  “Why is your partner calling me?” After staring dumbly at the display for a few seconds, she answered. “Hi, Billy.”

  “Hey, Kyra. I heard about Quinn. Just want to let you know how sorry I am. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  Fresh tears spilled from her eyes. “Thank you, Billy. Do you want to talk to J-Mac? He’s right beside me.”

  “That’s where he should be, baby. No, I don’t need to talk to him. Just called to offer my condolences on your loss and make sure you’re doing okay, but if J-Mac’s with you, I know he’ll take care of you.”

  She thanked Billy again and ended the call. “I guess the word is out about Quinn’s death.”

  “I knew it wouldn’t take long.” He held up the bottle. “More wine? Warm bath? You should eat more, but I’m not going to force you. Something besides pizza?”

  “I’m okay.” She stroked the cheek of the man who would stick by her through anything. He’d already proved that, and Quinn had approved of Jake. Quinn had had plans for them and their future, hers and Jake’s—marriage, children. Now Quinn wouldn’t be there to share in their future. Maybe those plans would all fall apart now.

  “I do have one request.”

  “I will feed Spot if he comes meowing at your door.”

  She lifted a corner of her mouth, the closest she could come to a smile right now. “That, too, but could you stay the night? Just hold me? I couldn’t bear waking up in the middle of the night alone and thinking about Quinn.”

  “I will absolutely spend the night with you. Like I said earlier, I don’t much feel like being alone, either.”

  Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it, still clutched in her hand. “It’s Captain Castillo. Hello, Captain.”

  “Hello, Kyra. We heard about Quinn. I’m—I’m devastated. Such a loss. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, Captain Castillo. It was a shock finding him on the floor like that.”

  Castillo paused. “Heart attack? That’s the word, and I know he had his difficulties.”

  “That’s what it looks like now, but they’re going to do an autopsy.”

  “They are?” Castillo’s voice cracked and Kyra glanced at Jake.

  “Jake said they probably would, given who he was.”

  “He’s right. They probably will.” Castillo cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, anything the department can do for you.”

  “I will. Thanks again, Captain.” He ended the call, and Kyra set the phone next to her paper plate, the cheese on her pizza hardening into an unappetizing glob. Her stomach gurgled. “That was nice of him.”

  “Castillo and Quinn always shared that bond of being the first ones at the scene of your mother’s murder.”

  “Were they?” She tilted her head.

  “Castillo was working patrol at the time. He’s the one who responded to your 911 call. As soon as he walked into your mother’s house, he called Quinn because he knew they had another one of The Player’s victims on their hands. Quinn was nearby, so the two of them were at the house alone with you...and your mother’s body for several minutes before the hordes showed up. I guess you left the bedroom for Quinn, but you wouldn’t come out for Castillo.”

  “That’s weird. I’m sure I read that, but I don’t even remember. I knew Castillo had worked the case with Quinn, but I just thought he was on the original task force.”

  “Yeah, he was. After your mother’s death, Quinn asked Castillo to join the task force. Castillo’s career took off after that. From what I heard, it never hurt to have Detective Roger Quinn in your corner.”

  “And now he’s never going to be in anyone’s corner again. Certainly not mine.” She dropped her head to her hands.

  Jake lightly squeezed the back of her neck. “I’m in your corner now—and I’m not going anywhere.”

  She wouldn’t be able to answer without bursting into tears again, so she just pressed her body close to his.

  Spot’s meows broke the spell, and Jake pushed off the couch. “I’m going to feed this mangy cat. Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll clean up everything here and join you later.”

  Kyra dipped her head and rose woozily from the couch. Her eyelids drooped and she silently thanked that bottle of cabernet. Without it, she never would’ve been able to sleep tonight.

  As Jake bustled through her kitchen, she brushed her teeth and washed her face with cool water. No need to remove her makeup. Her tears had already done that job. She smeared on some night cream, shed her clothing and crawled between the sheets.

  Her eyes grew heavy, waiting for Jake to join her. Then the harsh ring of his work phone jolted her awake.

  His body shifted beside her as he removed his arm from her waist. She peered over his shoulder at the digital clock and realized with a start that she’d drifted off and had slept through the whole night.

  Jake’s voice mumbled a hello. The mattress bounced as he shot up against the headboard. “You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Kyra struggled to sit up, her hand squeezing Jake’s bicep. “What? What’s going on?”

  Had they found out something about Quinn’s death? Something suspicious?

  Jake growled into the phone. “When will it end? When will this end? I’m on my way.”

  He said goodbye and tossed his phone onto the nightstand. Then he twisted around and cupped her face with one hand. “We have another copycat killer. Our fourth.”

  Kyra clutched the covers in her fists. “He’s taunting Quinn—even in death.”

  Chapter Two

  Jake navigated the trail on the way to the body’s dump site more sure-footed than he usually was, as he hadn’t bothered to return home to change into a suit. The soles of his running shoes crunched the pebbles and twigs that littered the path beneath him.

  No place to park a car here, so the killer must’ve carried the victim from the parking area almost a half a mile away. Strong. Bold. Sure of himself.

  Kyra functioned as the task force’s victims’ rights advocate and all-around hand-holder and typically accompanied him to a crime scene, but he’d convinced her to stay behind today. On the heels of Quinn’s death, she didn’t need to be out here thinking about the one who escaped Quinn’s net twenty years ago, the one who killed her mother.

  He beat his partner to the scene, even though it had taken him almost an hour to reach the Angeles National Forest from Kyra’s apartment in Santa Monica. As he tromped down the trail toward the yellow tape beckoning him through the trees, he caught the scent of pine that wafted down from the higher elevations of the park. The sun still dappled the ground between the leaves swaying above, but a distinct chill in the air had Jake hunching into his jacket.

  The patrol officers guarding the body stood at attention when he approached. He didn’t recognize them. The Angeles National Forest, the site of several dumped bodies over the years, didn’t fall into the jurisdiction of LAPD’s Northeast Division, but LA County’s entire law enforcement world knew to call in the Copycat Player Task Force.


  The name of the task force had morphed with the three different killers it had investigated and brought to a rough justice. They’d dubbed Jordy Lee Cannon, the first copycat, the Copycat Player for mimicking the MO of The Player. Little did they know at the time, they’d have three more killers terrorizing women in LA. The second killer, Cyrus Fisher, had earned the name Copycat 2.0, and they’d taunted the third copycat, Mitchell Reed, by calling him Copycat Three.

  However, once they’d learned that the original serial killer, The Player, was responsible for encouraging and leading this new crop of killers, they’d decided to go back to Copycat Player for the task force name. In Jake’s mind, he’d call this new guy Copycat Four. He just had no words or snappy nicknames left in his arsenal for this wave of evil.

  He shook hands with the officers and then slipped on a pair of gloves. “Who discovered the body?”

  Officer Llewellyn, a short stocky guy with a blond mustache, jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the emergency vehicles that had crowded the trailhead. “Two sanitation workers.”

  Glancing at the ground covered in a thick carpet of leaves, twigs and berries, Jake asked, “Any footprints?”

  Llewellyn spoke again. “Not that we noticed, sir. No tire tracks, either, except for the sanitation truck’s, but then, a car making its way down here in the middle of the night might be noticed.”

  “I figured he must’ve parked farther down and hiked here. Cameras on the parking lot?” He hadn’t noticed any and Llewellyn’s partner confirmed.

  “No cameras, sir.”

  “Okay, thanks. Just keep the press out. I’m expecting my partner, and then we’ll let the forensics team get to work.” Jake ducked under the tape the officers had strung up between three trees and a stubby bush, keeping his eyes trained to the ground.

  The officers had been correct. The thick carpet of dead plant life yielded no footprints or impressions when you walked on it. When Jake reached the lifeless body of the young brunette, he circled her. The queen of hearts protruded from her mouth and her left hand lay palm up, missing its little finger.

  All the other copycats had taken their own trophies, and now the task force knew that the killers must’ve been sending the severed finger to The Player. He had to be getting some vicarious pleasure from this, but Jake knew the fingers from the other killers couldn’t compare to the ones The Player had taken for himself twenty years ago.

  He left the card in place for the crime scene photographer and crouched next to the body to verify the cause of death. With a gloved finger, he flicked a lock of hair from the woman’s throat to reveal a necklace of deep purple bruising. Strangulation, but did her killer also use drugs to incapacitate her? The first copycat had relied on drugs to get women into his car. The second killer had attacked while his prey slept. The third had used the victims’ natural state of intoxication to overpower them.

  Footsteps crunched the ground, and Jake jerked his head to the side. Billy, dapper in a navy blue suit and pocket square, shook out a pair of gloves as he approached. His partner had obviously spent the night at his own place, and he’d had time to dress for work. They didn’t call him Cool Breeze for nothing.

  Stopping a few feet away from the body, Billy surveyed the area, his nostrils flaring, no doubt taking in every fallen leaf and every broken twig. Then he continued toward Jake and crouched beside him. “How’s Kyra holding up?”

  “She’s doing okay. I told her to take the day off, but when she heard about this murder, she said Quinn would’ve wanted her to continue her work.”

  “She’s probably right.” Billy lifted the woman’s left wrist to inspect the gaping wound on her hand, and her charm bracelet tinkled. “Bastard. Another woman murdered on The Player’s orders on the very day Quinn dies. That’s a slap in the face, man.”

  A muscle at the corner of Jake’s eye throbbed. “The Player wouldn’t have known about Quinn’s death yet. Besides, we don’t know if he’s giving his minions the precise day for a killing or not.”

  “But we know he’s directing them.” Billy’s jaw tensed for a second.

  Jake rose, brushing his hands against his jeans. “Are there people on the task force still saying that the person orchestrating these murders is not necessarily The Player?”

  Billy gave a sharp nod. “Me? I’m gonna go with Detective Roger Quinn’s instincts and knowledge of the case. He made it clear that nobody could’ve known about the yellow diamond wedding ring missing from one of The Player’s victims except The Player himself.”

  “Then we’ll proceed accordingly, because I believe it, too.” Jake pointed to the ground leading away from the body toward a denser area of the forest. “You see a little disturbance in the pattern of the detritus here?”

  “If by detritus, you mean the stuff on the ground? Yeah.” Billy joined him and stirred the accumulation of leaves, bark and stems with the gleaming toe of his shoe. “Not a trail, exactly, but a disturbance of some sort.”

  Jake followed the disruption of the material on the soil surface toward a bush, where it seemed to veer off toward the left. “Could he have walked this way for some reason?”

  Billy answered, “Maybe he thought this would be a better place to dump the body and then changed his mind—too secluded.”

  “Maybe. I’d like to get a couple of uniforms to follow this path, if they can see it. I’m not losing my mind, am I?” Jake fingered a twig, freshly snapped from another bush. “Looks like someone went through this area not too long ago.”

  “You are not losing your mind. I see it, too, and you know I’m no outdoorsman skilled at tracking.”

  “Yeah, you’re not exactly Daniel Boone.” With his gaze pinned to the forest floor, Jake followed a route through the trees and bushes that someone had traversed recently. A few pieces of trash—food wrappers, a trashed sock, even a few old cigarette butts—littered the area, but the stuff had been around forever.

  Billy whistled behind him. “I found something.”

  Jake spun around and charged toward Billy, who was holding up a piece of white paper. “It’s not old, is it?”

  Waving the paper, Billy said, “It’s a receipt—from two days ago.”

  Jake clapped his partner on the back. “Daniel Boone ain’t got nothing on you, brother.”

  * * *

  KYRA SMOOTHED A hand down the thighs of her gray slacks and straightened her shoulders as she walked into LAPD’s Northeast Division. It seemed weird coming here, knowing she wouldn’t get to mull over her workday and the murders with Quinn later. She had a hard time remembering he was gone from her life forever.

  No. She pressed a hand against her heart. He’d always be here, with her always. She sniffed and shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head. She waved at the officer manning the front desk and jogged upstairs to the task force war room.

  She poked her head inside. Jake and Billy hadn’t made it back from the crime scene yet, but by the way everyone buzzed around the room, she knew they had a fourth copycat killer on the loose.

  As she scooted a chair up to her desk and pulled out her laptop, her phone rang. She glanced at the unknown number before she answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Kyra Chase?”

  “It is. Who’s this?”

  The person on the other end of the line sighed. “I hoped this was the right number. This is Terrence Hicks. I’m Roger Quinn’s attorney.”

  “Yes, I know. Quinn told me years ago he’d retained you to handle his estate planning. He gave me your card.”

  “I’m sorry that we finally have to meet this way. Quinn thought very highly of you...no, more than that. He loved you like a daughter.”

  Kyra’s nose tingled again and she snatched a tissue from the box on her desk. “I—I was going to call you.”

  “I’m sorry to intrude on your grief, but I know Quinn would’ve wanted me
to contact you as soon as possible.” Hicks paused. “You know, Quinn left almost everything to you. You’re his primary beneficiary.”

  “I know he wasn’t that close to his sister’s children, and Charlotte didn’t have any nieces and nephews.” Kyra chewed her bottom lip. “I suppose that means the Venice house.”

  “The house in Venice and the cabin in Big Bear. Back in the day, Quinn and Charlotte liked to go up to the mountains for a little skiing in the winter, a little fishing in the summer.”

  “I remember that cabin.”

  “Well, it’s yours now. When can we meet, Ms. Chase? I can come out to you. There’s no will to file. Quinn had a living trust, and you’re the beneficiary. Clean and simple.”

  “Please call me Kyra.” She tapped her phone’s calendar and perused her appointments. She’d had two patients from her practice cancel on the same afternoon. “I have some availability tomorrow afternoon, if that works.”

  “I will clear my calendar for you. Quinn was my favorite client.”

  When she ended the call, Kyra drummed her fingers against her phone. Quinn had always told her he planned to leave her the house in Venice. She’d loved that house, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to live there without Quinn or Charlotte.

  She entered her appointment with Terrence Hicks into her phone and flipped open her laptop. As she launched her email, Jake and Billy strode into the room. Jake looked fresh in a charcoal suit and dark blue shirt. He and Billy must’ve stopped off at his place on the way over here.

  Jake clapped his hands. “Listen up, everyone. Yes, it’s true. We have a fourth copycat killer. Body dumped in the Angeles National Forest, no identification yet, but Cool Breeze here is going to get started on the missing person reports, and he needs a couple of people to help him. In the meantime, we found a receipt from a Walmart in Glendora—time-and date-stamped, so we can pull the video. As long as those cameras are working, we should be able to identify the owner of this receipt quickly.”