The Trap

by Carol Ericson

  Jake drew in a sharp breath. “How do you know that from an address? Did you look it up online?”

  “I’m sitting across the street from it.” Her muscles tensed.

  He didn’t explode, but he did mutter a few choice curses under his breath. “Tell me you did not go into that motel.”

  “I didn’t. I’m waiting for you. The texts also warned me not to call the cops, but you don’t count because he had to know I’d contact you. You don’t want to careen in here with patrol cars on full alert anyway, right?”

  “You could’ve called me and stayed in Santa Monica.”

  “Naw, I can’t do that, Jake, and you know it. I’m in this up to my eyeballs.”

  “Give me the address and sit tight. Do you have your gun?”

  “Of course.”

  “Keep it handy, and if you’re parked in an isolated area, move.”

  She gazed over the top of her steering wheel at the lights of the busy boulevard. “I’m facing Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  He ended the call, and she expected him in about fifteen minutes. He knew those winding roads in the Hollywood Hills like the back of his hand.

  When she saw the motorcycle zip onto the side street fourteen minutes later, she finally relaxed her clenched muscles. He walked the Harley she’d inherited from her foster brother and sold to him up to her window.

  She buzzed it down, and Jake flipped up the visor on his rain-spattered helmet. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s that dump?”

  “That’s it. Room number 15.”

  “I suppose it won’t do any good to ask you to wait in the car.”

  “None at all.” She grabbed her weapon from the console and flipped up her hood.

  She waited while Jake parked his bike in front of her car. He took her arm and they crossed the street, looking like two ninjas all in black.

  Jake bypassed the front office and counted the numbers nailed to the doors. Some had fallen off, but they located number 15 around the corner of the parking lot.

  Jake’s step faltered. “That white car out front is Walker’s. Now, I’m going to insist that you stay back so I can get a handle on things here. It looks like I can get a look into the room from the gap in the blinds.”

  “Okay, it’s all yours.” She took several steps away from the door and wandered toward the back of the motel. Two more rooms rounded out this side of the building, and then the back of the motel faced an alley and a patch of wild growth that could’ve been another parking lot.

  The wind lifted the ends of her hair and carried the scent of the wet asphalt through the air. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of garbage. A dumpster hunched where the pavement met the overgrown weeds.

  The hair on the back of her neck quivered, and she clutched the gun in front of her. She crept forward on silent feet, holding her breath, the stench getting stronger as she approached the dumpster. Standing on her tiptoes, she flipped back the hard plastic lid, and peered inside at the trash and flattened cardboard boxes with the flashlight on her phone.

  She went down on her heels and staggered back a few steps, the light from her phone picking out something behind the dumpster in the long grass.

  With her gun leading the way, she circled the dumpster and choked. A man, his head sticky with a dark substance, lay on his back, one arm extended to the side, his eyes wide open.

  But Adam Walker couldn’t see anything anymore.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The scream came from outside, not inside the neat motel room, and Jake reared back from the window. He spun around, his heart thundering in his chest, but Kyra wasn’t where he’d left her.

  He rounded the corner of the building, where a door to one of the rooms cracked open, throwing a sliver of light onto the buckled pavement. He hadn’t imagined the scream. Others had heard it, too.

  Heading for the back of the motel, his gun clutched in his hand, he took the final corner and stumbled into an alley. He spotted Kyra next to a dumpster, her hand raised, her face a pale oval beneath the hood of her jacket.

  He rushed toward Kyra, and she pointed behind her, wordlessly. He smelled the body before he saw it. It hadn’t been there long, but the rain had ripened the flesh for decomposition. Before approaching it, he yelled over his shoulder, “Call 911.”

  With Kyra’s steady voice in the background, Jake peered at the face, the light from his cell phone illuminating the one side of the man’s face not covered in blood. He had an exit wound on the right side of his forehead. He’d most likely been shot in the back of the head, execution style, and he’d spun onto his back maybe in midturn, or the killer had rolled him over.

  His fingers itched to dig into the man’s pocket for his wallet to confirm his identity, but Jake hadn’t brought any gloves with him and he didn’t want to muck up this crime scene. He rose to his feet and called Billy. His partner had already heard Kyra’s 911 call, so Jake said, “I think we found Adam Walker.”

  An hour later, Jake waded through officers from LAPD’s Hollywood Division and his own task force to reach Kyra standing by the motel’s front office, now awash in white light. Once the sirens blared on the scene, several of the motel’s guests had ventured from their rooms, some peeking out from behind their doors and others hanging on the fringes of the scene, asking questions.

  When he reached Kyra’s side, he asked, “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m fine. Nobody told me directly the dead man’s identity, but I’m guessing he’s Adam Walker.” She raised her eyebrows at him hopefully.

  “It is Walker. Not only did we find his driver’s license in his wallet, we found Ashley Russell’s and Tina Valdez’s licenses. He’s our guy.”

  Kyra’s shoulders slumped a little with the verification, but she continued to twist her fingers in front of her. “Why’d he do it, Jake? Why did The Player rat out one of his own?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since you called me. Remember the other copycat killers, and how they acted? Cannon pretty much chose death by cop. He had to know I was going to shoot once he threatened you with that knife. Fisher actually did kill himself with that cyanide tablet, and do you recall Mitchell Reed’s question when we burst in to take him down and rescue you?”

  She worried her bottom lip. “He said something like, ‘Did he send you?’”

  “Yeah, I think he meant The Player. He’d told The Player where he was holding you. He wanted special props for capturing The Player’s favorite plaything—you. But in the end, he knew The Player would rather see him dead than arrested.” Jake jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Same thing here. He knew we were closing in on Walker, so he took him out before we could get to him.”

  “How did he know? The task force never announced Walker as a suspect.”

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe he was watching Walker’s place. Maybe he made me and Billy earlier. Maybe Walker noticed us and told The Player—big mistake.” Jake circled his finger in the air. “He just checked in to this dump today. He was on the run, but he couldn’t outrun The Player.”

  Kyra said, “I offered up my phone with the text messages on it, but nobody seemed interested. Are you just assuming he sent those messages from a burner phone? Shouldn’t you check? Jordy Cannon stole a phone to make a call about the body he left in Malibu Canyon where the fire was raging, and it led you to a location and eventually his capture—I mean, death.”

  “We already know where the messages came from, Kyra. The Player sent them to you from Walker’s cell phone.”

  “Oh.” She folded her arms over her midsection. “Did any of the other guests see anything? Hear anything?”

  “The only thing they heard was your scream when you discovered Walker out back. The gun must’ve had a silencer.” He cocked his head and asked the question that had been bothering him since that
scream. “Why’d you go back there? What led you to the body? The stench wasn’t strong enough yet to reach the motel.”

  “I can’t tell you. It was as if something was pulling me around the back, to the dumpster and beyond.” She placed a hand at her throat. “It’s as if The Player and I have this connection.”

  He curled an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “That’s going to end. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  “I’m going to make sure of it.” She flipped up her hood as the clouds above ushered in another spate of rain. “I forgot to tell you that I have an appointment with Dr. Gellman tomorrow at five. Can you make it? You won’t be watching for Walker anymore, but you don’t have to go.”

  “I want to go with you. Five is good. Is he closer to your place or mine?”

  “Closer to mine. His office is in Brentwood.”

  “I’ll try to be there for you, but we’ll be busy tomorrow trying to tie Walker to the three murders. Thank God this guy was held to three.”

  “I guess we have The Player to thank for that, but then he was partly responsible for the murders of Ashley, Tina and Erica.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry if you can’t make it to the appointment. You can’t come inside during the hypnosis, anyway, and I promise to tell you all about it. Shai warned me that it might take several sessions. It’s not like I’m going to remember everything after being under just once.”

  Jake shook his head. “I would hate that—someone in my brain, having control over me.”

  “It’s not exactly like that.” She pulled her jacket close. “Are you done here? I think I am, right? I’ve given my statement, offered up my phone. I can’t say I feel sorry for the guy.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can I ask you to wait a minute? I have a few things to wrap up, and then I want to see you home.”

  “Jake, don’t be ridiculous. It’s late, it’s raining, you’re on a motorcycle. I’ll be fine. I have security cameras at my place, strong locks and a gun. If The Player wanted me, he could’ve ambushed me when I got to the motel without you.”

  “Yeah, about that.” He clenched his jaw. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to get on her about her risky behavior. She had a stake in this case, a...connection to The Player. She felt entitled to know every part of the investigation and to be involved in it. She had been involved until this point, and there was no way she’d back off now.

  She tugged at his sleeve. “You can walk me to my car.”

  He blew out a breath that fogged in the chilly air. “It’s the least I can do.”

  They wended their way through clutches of people, including the press, and crossed the street without anyone following them. Jake turned and surveyed the people on the sidewalk in front of the motel. Was he here? Had The Player stayed to view his handiwork? They’d been taking the videos at every crime scene since the first copycat killer and hadn’t been able to identify anyone who’d been at more than one of them—outside of the cops, CSI and media. Why would tonight be any different?

  Kyra unlocked her door and turned to face him. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

  He watched her drive toward Hollywood Boulevard and turn left. Why did The Player have to keep pulling her into his sick games? He suspected The Player might be yearning for the notoriety he’d shunned twenty years ago. Maybe The Player thought it was time to get caught—and Jake was ready to oblige the evil bastard.

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Jake stood in the middle of Adam Walker’s house in Altadena. Copycat Four had left in a hurry—dishes in the sink, perishable food in the fridge, mail on the floor, and closets and drawers gaping open in the bedroom.

  Clive was picking up prints throughout the house, and Geoffrey, another member of the Forensics team, was sifting through Walker’s dirty clothes in the hopes of finding some DNA from the victims. They’d towed Walker’s car from the motel parking lot, and the techs had already notified Jake that they’d discovered one long strand of brown hair—Tina’s?

  Brandon Nguyen had already secured Walker’s laptop from the motel room and had started a forensic analysis on it. Jake was confident they’d be closing the case on Copycat Four shortly.

  But that sense of satisfaction eluded him. He was happy to offer justice to the families, but the main perpetrator was still roaming the streets, still had Kyra in his sights. The Player might be setting up a fifth copycat right now. He’d clearly abandoned Walker, had, in fact, killed Walker, but it didn’t mean he’d given up his diabolical school for serial killers.

  When he checked the time on his phone, he grimaced. Kyra had that appointment at five o’clock today, and he’d wanted to be there for her, but it wasn’t looking good. He knew she’d been busy today with Tina’s family and trying to set up a group session for the family members of all the victims. Once they’d learned a few months ago that Kyra herself was a family survivor of The Player, their trust in her had gone through the roof. They shared that bond.

  “Look at these,” Billy called from across the room and bobbled some tokens in the palm of his hand.

  “What are those?” Jake strode across the room and peered into Billy’s hand at the AA sobriety medallions. He shook his head. “He must’ve gotten the idea that these women in recovery would make good victims while he was actually attending meetings himself. He wouldn’t have attended Ashley’s meeting, as that was for women only and there’s no evidence yet he attended Tina’s, but he obviously attended meetings somewhere.”

  Billy’s hand closed around the medallions. “Who even knows if the guy was in recovery? Could’ve all been a scam.”

  “I’m just hoping The Player left as much evidence as Walker when he killed him.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Billy held up his fingers and ticked off each one. “No prints at the scene, nobody saw a car, a person, heard a voice, a gunshot, no cameras at the no-tell motel. Looks like a ghost murdered Walker.”

  “A ghost who used the same weapon that killed the true crime blogger, Sean Hughes, a few months ago.”

  Billy spread his hands. “Where’s the weapon? Where are the prints from Quinn’s place? Where are the witnesses from Quinn’s place? How are we going to trip up this guy?”

  Geoffrey interrupted them, holding a large plastic bag in front of him. “I have some clothes here and a pair of shoes we can test. I think we’re going to have some overwhelming evidence against Walker.”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Billy dipped into the pocket of his suit jacket. He held out a prescription pill bottle between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s the pill bottle that belongs to Piper Moss.”

  “Kyra already contacted Piper to let her know Erica’s killer was probably dead. That’ll put Piper’s mind at ease.”

  “At least someone’s happy about this case.” Billy punched Jake’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. We’ve got our guy. He’s not going to kill anyone else. He messed up by leaving that witness. It was the beginning of the end for him.”

  “I’m ecstatic.” Jake aimed a finger at his face. “This is my ecstatic look, and you’re right. Walker never should’ve left the witness at the scene and tried to take care of her later.”

  Knots tightened in Jake’s gut. The Player had made the same mistake. Would he fix it twenty years later?

  * * *

  “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. I’m fine.” Kyra put her phone on speaker and stuck it in her cup holder. “I’m on my way to the appointment now, and I’m sure Shai will just scratch the surface with me. If I’m too rattled to drive after the session, I’ll order a car. You guys killed it today and sealed the deal. I was able to spread good news to all the family members.”

  “The Player handed him to us. He may have even planted all the evidence so there would be no doubt we had Copycat Four.”

  “Stop saying that.” Kyra squeezed the steering w
heel. “Lori lifted Walker’s print from Tina’s wallet. You would have tracked him down eventually. The Player gave you nothing. He killed Walker out of self-preservation.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m glad we ended this for the victims—or at least this chapter. It never really ends for them, does it?”

  “No. It just becomes a part of you.” Kyra blinked. “Hey, I just took the freeway exit for Brentwood. I’ll call you when I’m done. Maybe I’ll hand you The Player.”

  “Take it slow and easy... I love you.”

  Kyra’s heart bumped against her chest. Jake usually reserved those words for postcoital bliss, but she’d take them anytime, anywhere. “I love you, too, J-Mac.”

  She drove the rest of the way to Shai Gellman’s office with a silly smile twitching her lips. She parked on San Vicente along the green strip and jogged across the street to the two-story office building with its red-tiled roof and courtyard ringed with fragrant plumeria and jasmine crawling along the low stucco walls. A fountain gurgled in the center of the courtyard, shimmering water tumbling from a lion’s gaping jaws. Shai’s office occupied the bottom level, tucked beneath the stairs that led to the upper floor.

  Leaves floated in little puddles of water left over from yesterday’s rain, encouraged by the shade that shrouded Shai’s office door. The gray skies threatened more of the same for this evening, and LA rejoiced at the precipitation that cleared the air and soaked the parched hillsides. Of course, too much saturation could lead to mudslides, and they’d had their share of wildfires at the end of the summer to make that a real possibility. The city always seemed to perch on the cusp of paradise and disaster, sort of mirroring her life.

  Shai had a discreet sign by the side of his dark wood door, and Kyra tried the handle. Some therapists locked their front doors to keep all but clients out of their offices. Shai wasn’t one of them.