“I know.”
A knock on the door stopped their conversation.
FBI Media Manager Ryan Fox walked in. Midthirties with thinning blond hair, dressed in a suit as blue as his eyes.
Dixon turned to Jake. “Ryan’s been fielding calls all day. Bit of a siege from what I understand.”
“The peasants are certainly revolting. LA Times wants to ride along with SKU. USA Today is setting a feature for the weekend on why LA is becoming the Spree capital of the country.”
“Great,” said Jake sarcastically.
Ryan ticked the rest off on his fingers. “CBS News is doing a live broadcast from out on Wilshire as we speak. NBC and Fox have both got requests in to film in the incident room. I’ve done holding pieces on a million radio news bulletins and they’re all running phone-ins on ‘How safe are our streets?’ Unless Obama gets caught screwing a hotel maid or Donald Trump comes out as gay we’re going to be top story and hammered for the next few days.”
Jake could feel bad news coming. “So what have you got in mind?”
Ryan looked to the section chief to deliver the message.
“You need to front up a presser, Jake.”
His face said that wasn’t something he’d relish. “I’d rather you did it. You’re the one who has a way with words.”
“Not this time,” said Dixon. “After your heroics at the Observatory, seeing you in front of a camera will reassure people.”
“We’d like to schedule something for tomorrow,” added Fox enthusiastically. “How about late morning?”
Jake knew he’d been set up. “Fine. Though Christ knows what we’re going to say.”
“Give them some of Danielle’s profile,” suggested Dixon. “The press loves profiles. It’ll keep them slobbering until next week.”
“Can I get a copy?” asked Fox.
Jake shook his head. “No offense, but I don’t want the full profile seen by anyone nonoperational. I’ll mail you a summary.”
“Thanks. Is it an idea to have Danielle there as well?”
“It is. A very bad idea.” Jake explained himself to Dixon. “We don’t see eye to eye on some points. Best not to have us disagreeing in public.”
“It is usual to have the profiler there,” said Fox unhelpfully.
Jake shot him a scalding look.
He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m just here to advise you.”
“Advice noted,” said Dixon. “No profiler, Ryan. I guess we’re all going to this memorial service tonight, so let’s make sure no one says anything to any reporters. The three of us should meet at nine in the morning and finalize what we’re going to say. Okay?”
They both nodded and Fox headed for the door.
Jake wanted a private word before he followed. He waited until the press guy had gone.
“Something on your mind?” asked Dixon.
“Yeah. There’s been a development.”
“Good or bad?”
“I’m told the UNSUB may have deliberately dropped some paper at the scene. Labs are processing it at the moment.”
Dixon rubbed tired eyes. “If it’s a note, you know what it means, don’t you?”
Jake frowned. “I’m not sure I do.”
“Killers that communicate are the worst kind. Think Son of Sam. Think BTK. It means our whole nightmare just moved to Elm Street.”
13
FBI Field Office, LA
Chips had done more than just “acquire” and edit the mall footage. He’d set up a spreadsheet showing thumbnails of what pictures had been shot from what cameras at exactly what time of day. There was an accompanying plan of the mall with all the camera positions numbered and marked, along with a red dotted line indicating the path the UNSUB had taken.
The first thing that jumped out at Angie was how planned and well executed it had all been. The gunman had walked briskly in and out of the mall, pausing only once. He’d been efficient, ruthless and unemotional.
Now that the rape-homicide she’d been working was done and dusted, she desperately needed a new challenge to sink her teeth into. And this case was it.
Despite the warnings to stay away—or maybe because of them—she knew this was going to be one of those investigations that got talked about for decades. It would be up there with Kemper, Bundy and the rest.
Tomorrow she’d have another go at her boss. And at Jake. If what Chips had spotted on the video turned out to be a note left by the UNSUB, then that was a clear sign she was right about him being more Serial than Spree. Plus, she’d be more adept at interpreting the meaning of the note than Danielle Goodman.
Her right arm was all wrapped up in a sling and using her left was taking some getting used to. Even the two calls she took in the cab on the way back to her apartment felt awkward.
The first was from Suzie Janner suggesting lunch and a pregnancy planning talk next Monday.
The second was not one she’d wanted or expected.
“Angie, it’s Sandra McDonald.” Her tone was brusque. “Are you in the building?”
“No, I just left. I’m on my way home to change for the service at the mall.”
There was a slight hesitation before her boss continued. “I heard from Jake that you took quite a beating and weren’t coming in?”
Angie pieced things together. McDonald was pissed she hadn’t called her. It meant there was a good chance she knew about the Cayman case as well. “Yes, I’m sorry, I should have updated you. I dislocated my elbow and took a few whacks. I would have stayed off work and called you, but Cal O’Brien wanted me to help on the rape-homicide.”
“I know. I just got a message from the deputy chief at the LAPD, voicing appreciation for your help. Why didn’t you at least tell me the case was closed?”
“My bad. The interview only went down a couple of hours back and he hadn’t been formally charged and processed when I left the detention center.”
“Well he has now. And I expect that report tonight, along with a full explanation of how you ended up getting assaulted at a victim’s home.”
“I’ll do it straight after the mall memorial.”
“Do it before. I’m your immediate boss; I need to be in the know before anyone else asks me about it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. And let’s meet in the morning. We need to speak about a few matters.”
The line went dead without so much as a good-bye.
Angie had to do more left-hand conjuring to pay the driver.
She dropped her door keys twice while trying to get into the apartment.
She kicked off her shoes and felt more like slipping into bed than typing up a report and getting ready to go out. Ordinarily, she’d shower and put on fresh makeup, but the pain in her banged-up arm had gone off the scale.
She slipped off the sling and struggled out of her work clothes. In the wardrobe was a midlength black dress that she only ever wore for funerals. It took her an age to get into it. The contortions left her needing to raid the bathroom cabinet for extra-strength Advil. She sat on the bed with a glass of water, took two tablets and spent the next half hour on her laptop writing the email McDonald wanted.
The clock on the nightstand said 19:05.
A physically hard and mentally draining day was still a long way from being over. She risked closing her eyes for five minutes.
An hour and a half later she woke up.
The memorial service was about to start.
14
SKU Offices, LA
Jake always kept a plain black suit in his locker at work. It was a failsafe for funerals, big meetings with FBI top brass and visiting the homes of victims.
It took him several attempts to get a good knot on the plain black tie and at the same time not end up with one of the tails a yard longer than the other.
As he and Ruis headed to the Sun Western Mall, he had mixed feelings about the memorial service. It had been arranged at alarmingly short noti
ce by a combination of State Governor and City Mayoral offices. As a result, it felt more like a bid to boost commercial confidence than a respectful event to remember those who had died.
By the time the two men got there it was twilight and cool out on the streets. The blue-black sky buzzed with circling news and police copters, the streets below filled with thousands of black ants, all marching to the same central spot.
Since the shootings, people had been spontaneously laying flowers on a spread of lawn near the Citibank side of the mall, off the Avenue of the Stars, and this was the focal point of the night’s ceremony. Giant video screens had been positioned on all the surrounding streets to relay footage to those far away.
Ruis dipped a hand into his pocket and grabbed his ringing cellphone. He eased away from Jake as they walked and put a finger in his ear to block out the street noise. Meanwhile, Jake scanned the crowds and wondered if the UNSUB was among the mourners. Danielle was certain he was already out of town but Jake wasn’t sure. He’d remembered Angie talking about how serial murderers liked to go back to the scene of their kills, to relive the thrill of what they’d done, and he figured a Spree might not be too different.
One of the huge street screens came alive with aerial footage of the gathering crowds. Jake was moved by the sight of thousands of flickering candle flames, symbols of sympathy for those who’d died.
Ruis came back to his side. “Some good news.”
Jake’s eyes drifted from the screen. “That I could do with.”
“Look at this.” He passed his boss his cellphone. “I just got it from the labs.”
Jake studied the display. It was an opened JPEG.
“What exactly am I looking at?”
“It was a note, found in pooled blood at the mall. The techies had to clean it up to read it.”
Jake angled the phone so he could see better. “Why is the color so pale? It looks like sherry more than anything.”
“The victims’ blood got diluted by gallons of water that flooded the place after the gunman shot out one of those big water dispensers.”
Jake handed it back. “And you’re sure this was dropped by the UNSUB?”
“Not a hundred percent. We still have other bits of litter to match to victims, or just trash from outside. But none of the other pieces of paper have handwritten messages on them.”
Jake looked puzzled. “Judy-Ju’s is the shop name. Why would the perp write a note warning of danger after the event?”
“Because he’s a crazy, mad sonofabitch?”
The two men fell silent as the mayor of LA, Mike Lewandowski, stepped up to a podium microphone. “This city has been united in grief.” His voice echoed across the streets. “The atrocity in the mall has joined the hands of every church leader, every politician, every social class and every man and woman, not just here in Los Angeles but across America. And tonight, as we bow our heads and pay our respects to the innocents lost here, we send the perpetrator of this obscenity a loud and clear message. We will find you and we will bring you to justice.”
Jake listened to the slow thunder of applause as it spread down the jammed sidewalks and roads. It was spine-tingling to hear the city motivated block by block. Not that fine words and public outrage would stop the UNSUB. Just the opposite. He’d watch tonight and leech off the energy. All that public anger and fear would make his dark secret seem all the more important.
As the applause died down, church and gospel choirs started up. Victims’ families and loved ones headed a long, candlelit procession; they would walk the whole block and return to a spot now christened Memorial Square, where they’d lay new flowers and messages.
More local politicians hustled up to the microphone and spotlight to have their say.
“This eulogizing is going to go on forever,” Ruis whispered. “Every vote-grabbing goon in LA is gonna want to shed a tear out there.”
Jake didn’t reply. He’d just spotted Angie checking through an LAPD control point. He shook his head. “I knew it was too much to hope she’d take it easy and stay at home.”
Ruis gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder.
Angie read Jake’s face as she approached. “Before you ask, I’m feeling a lot better.”
“You don’t look it,” he answered.
“Gee, thanks.”
He kissed her. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Congratulations,” said Ruis once they’d finished. “Getting a rape-murderer off the street wins big applause in my book.”
“Thanks. I’m glad it’s closed.”
Jake changed subjects. “Ruis, show Angie the paper from the lab.”
He lined up the image and passed her his BlackBerry.
Angie tilted it for a better view. “Is that blood all over the note?”
“Blood and water,” explained Ruis. “Bullets burst one of those big drink dispensers and flooded the place.”
She passed the phone back. “Judy-Ju’s was the name of the store, right?”
“Right,” confirmed Jake. “We were just talking about that. I don’t get why he sends a written warning when the deed’s already been done.”
Angie thought on it. “Serials often feel compelled to make contact with law enforcement—”
“Spree,” countered Jake.
“He’s more serial than you think.”
He could see she was in no mood to concede the point. “You eaten?”
“No.”
Jake looked to Ruis. “The procession will take an age. You mind covering while I take the good doctor for a slice of pizza?”
“Sure, but bring me back something spicy.”
They started walking. Jake turned and shouted, “We’ll get you a large pepperoni, ham, sausage and egg.”
Ruis gave him the thumbs-up. “I love you, man.”
Jake laughed and shouted back, “Love you, too, buddy.” He waited until he and Angie were out of the crush of the crowd before he asked the obvious question. “So, how are you really?”
“Exhausted, but I needed to be here for this. Like everyone else who’s turned out, I want to pay my respects.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re a very special lady, Angie Holmes.”
“I know that. I have to be to put up with you.”
He stopped and kissed her. Warmer and longer than before. A kiss that said he’d be there for her.
She leaned into him and for a brief moment all the pain vanished.
Someone across the street wolf-whistled. They broke with smiles on their faces.
Jake draped a giant arm over her shoulder and guided her along a side street. “You feeling anything with the baby yet?”
She curled her one good arm around his waist. “It’s way too soon for that, you idiot.”
“It is?”
“I’m seven weeks, that’s all. You don’t feel kicks and punches until about sixteen, maybe eighteen weeks. Though I may punch you, if you carry on like this.”
He laughed. “I feel safe because you’ve only got one functioning arm and you punch like a child with your left.”
Now she stopped the walk. “And I feel safe because I get the impression you’re growing used to the idea of being a father.”
His face turned sad. “I’m really sorry about how I reacted when you told me. And to be honest, I’m not all the way there yet with the idea, but I’m far enough to know I’m going to be.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m not a complete idiot—only a partial one. And I realize many people go through life never finding true love and never having the chance to raise a family. So I’m lucky. Very, very lucky.”
“Me too.” She got on her toes and kissed him even longer this time. Kissed him like their lives depended upon it.
15
Sun Western Mall, LA
Pizzafazt was as close a rip-off of Pizza Hut as you could get without actually stealing their tables and staff.
The eat-in queue was Disn
ey-ride long, so they decided to order takeaways for themselves as well as the one they’d promised Ruis.
Angie went for a thin-crust vegetarian special. Jake ordered his usual quattro formaggi, plus what was billed as “A Beast of a Meat Feast” for his SKU colleague.
While they waited, TV news played on a large flat-screen mounted high on a wall. It was predictable stuff from the ceremony: helicopter footage of the crowds, comments from politicians, flashbacks to the bedlam when the shootings had happened, close-ups of the families and friends making their way around the block.
“I love the way so many people have just come out with candles,” said Angie. “In a small way it restores your faith in human nature.”
“Most people are good people,” said Jake. “They know it could have been them in that mall and they’re counting their blessings.”
“It’s an anagram.”
He frowned at her. “What is?”
She dropped her voice so no one else could hear her. “The note that was dropped. DANGERJUDYJU—it’s not some stupid postevent warning; it’s an anagram. That’s why he left it.”
“Anagram of what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not worked that out yet.” She fell silent and began trying to unscramble the letters.
Jake could see she was getting absorbed in thought. “Angie, don’t waste your time trying. You can’t work this case. Dixon’s already got a wasp in his hole about you even suggesting it to McDonald.”
Someone turned the sound up on the TV. Mourners had started arriving at Memorial Square. Most held placards bearing photographs of dead relatives and friends. Happy faces, snapped in favorite pictures, hung eerily in the darkness of the night.
The guy behind the pizza counter shouted out, “Takeaways for Pawlik, Voigt and Pavlovic.”
Up on the screen, a father and a young teenage boy put down a poster-size picture of a blond woman who until the mall shooting had been the center of both their lives. The child held it together at first, but when the tears broke there was no stopping them. His pop had to smother him in his arms and carry him away from the cameras.
“Takeaways for Kuentzle, Kessler and Jensen.”
Spree Page 19
