by Nancy Skopin
Vasey was a thirty-five-year-old Caucasian, six-feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, khaki slacks, a red windbreaker and white athletic shoes. The better to kidnap your child in, I thought.
Since it was a weekday, kids over six were in school, so the children visiting the park with their parents were all toddlers. A couple of them approached Buddy as their moms or dads looked on. I hoped this wouldn’t give Vasey ideas about getting a dog in order to attract children.
I was wearing my sunglasses, in spite of the cloudy sky, so I could watch Vasey without being obvious. He was watching me too. Elizabeth was right about this guy being intense. His eyes were practically boring holes into me, shifting manically from my face, to the dog, to the toddlers petting the dog. When the kids wandered away from Buddy, I selected a bench near the playground, sat down, and took out my book.
Vasey hovered near a merry-go-round, which was occupied by a little boy and a little girl. Luckily their mom was right there, spinning the contraption as they shrieked happily. He moved to an unoccupied swing set, seated himself awkwardly, and swayed a few feet off the ground. After a while a dark-haired boy climbed out of the sandbox and made a beeline for the swings. I looked around anxiously for a dark-haired parent, but I didn’t see one. There was an older woman seated at a picnic table casually watching the little boy while knitting. I walked Buddy over to the table and sat down next to her.
“Is that your grandson?” I asked.
She slowly turned her bifocals in my direction. “What?”
“The little boy on the swing. Is he your grandson?” It wasn’t a complex question.
“Why, yes. How did you know?”
Vasey was on his feet, pushing the toddler’s swing.
“I don’t have time to explain, but the man pushing your grandson on the swing is a convicted sex offender. He hurts children. I need your permission to get your grandson away from him. Any objection?”
“Oh my dear lord, Jimmy!” she screeched.
“Please, don’t alarm Jimmy. I’ll go get him.”
Buddy and I approached as Vasey continued to push the swing.
Jimmy giggled and shouted, “Higher!”
When we got close I could see the sheen of sweat on Vasey’s face. His compulsion was working him and Jimmy was dangerously close to becoming a statistic. For the second time that day I withdrew the defense spray from my purse and gave it a shake. There was a strong breeze and it was coming my way, so if I was going to hit Vasey with the spray I’d have to get upwind of him first. I’d also have to make sure Buddy was behind me when I squirted the noxious liquid, so he didn’t catch the fallout.
When I was a few feet away from Vasey I said, “Okay, Jimmy. Grandma says it’s time to go.”
Vasey’s head whipped around, his eyes dilated with anticipation, his lips parted in an aroused sneer. While he was looking at me, Jimmy swung back and hit him hard in the chest. The kid didn’t weigh more than thirty pounds, but Vasey wasn’t braced and the impact knocked him off balance. As he struggled to regain his footing I snatched Jimmy off the swing and headed toward Grandma.
“Hey,” Jimmy squealed.
Vasey made a lunge for the boy and I pivoted out of his reach as Buddy leaped into the air and clamped his teeth on Vasey’s wrist.
“Call nine-one-one,” I shouted at no one in particular.
Jimmy’s grandma was on her feet, brandishing a knitting needle. “Get away from my grandson, you prick!”
I handed Jimmy over to his grandmother and turned on Vasey, who was trying to disengage himself from Buddy. The jacket kept Buddy’s teeth from penetrating his flesh, but he wasn’t letting go and I was afraid Vasey would hurt him, so I tugged on the leash and said, “Buddy, drop it!” He responded by growling deep in his throat, but did not loosen his grip. “Buddy, let go now.”
Vasey twisted his arm, Buddy released him, and he staggered backward.
“I’ll sue!” He snarled.
“I’d like to see you try,” I hissed. I shortened the leash as Buddy strained to get back at Vasey. “I know who you are, and I know what you do for kicks. I’ll be reporting this to the police.”
Vasey glared at me menacingly, looked down at my slavering eighty-five pound pup, and took off running.
I turned back to Jimmy and his grandmother. “Everybody okay?” I asked.
Grandma had Jimmy in a bear hug, still holding the knitting needle in case she needed to defend him. “We’re fine. Thank you, young lady. I’m indebted to you.”
I took out my cell and called Bill’s office number. “Would you be willing to make a statement to the police about what happened here?” I asked, as my call rolled into voicemail.
“I most certainly would,” she said. Feisty.
I left Bill an abbreviated message, then called his cell.
“Anderson.”
“It’s Nikki. I’ve been watching Vasey and he just made a move on a little boy in Huddart Park. Can you send someone to take a statement from the boy’s grandmother?”
“I’ll come myself,” he said.
I knew Woodside wasn’t technically Bill’s jurisdiction, but he’d probably call the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department from his car.
“I’ll wait here,” I said.
After we hung up I tried to calm Jimmy’s grandma, explaining that I was a PI working on an investigation that required me to follow registered sex offenders.
“My goodness. That’s a dangerous line of work for a young woman. You must be very brave.”
I didn’t bother to tell her that more than thirty percent of PIs were women. I didn’t want her to go into information overload.
“It’s not always dangerous,” I said. “This is an unusual case.”
Bill arrived five minutes later in an unmarked car, and a Sheriff’s department cruiser pulled into the lot behind him. I waved them over as Buddy began spinning on the lawn, wrapping his leash around my legs. He’d caught Bill’s scent and was doing his happy dance.
After I’d given my statement and was on my way back to the marina, I realized I was exhausted.
Buddy and I went to the office and brewed a pot of coffee. I looked over my schedule for the week, moving things around so I wouldn’t have to do any surveys that night. I needed a break.
I took out the cigarettes I’d purchased earlier and lit one, inhaled deeply, and felt the nicotine kick-in. I was tempted to have a shot of tequila with my cigarette. I opened the Pendaflex drawer where I keep the liquor, and my phone rang. Saved by the bell.
“Hunter Investigations.”
“Hi, Nikki.” It was Scott.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
I glanced at my watch. “Are you calling from home?”
“I’m on the school bus.”
“So, what do you think of your uncle?”
“He’s cool, you know, for an old guy.”
“He likes you too.”
There was a moment of silence before he said, “What’s happening with the investigation?”
So this was a business call. I wondered how much I should tell him. He was my client, but he was also a nine-year old boy, albeit a very mature one.
“One of the subjects we were following got murdered when no one was watching him,” I began. “We think the killer might be a woman.” He didn’t need to know that I suspected the killer was also a cop.
“Was it one of those guys who hurts kids?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“That’s okay, then.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I agreed with him, but I didn’t want to admit it.
“It’s still wrong,” I
said.
“How’s Buddy?” Much more comfortable subject.
“Buddy is a very good dog. He helped me save a little boy today.” I told him an abbreviated version of what had happened in Huddart Park.
After Scott and I hung up, I called Lily. She said Lewis had shown up at home around 1:15, was inside the apartment for half an hour, and then drove to the library. He’d gone to the reference section, seated himself at one of the public access computers and logged onto MySpace, an internet chat room frequented by preteens.
“Bill’s trying to get a warrant. I’ll tell him where you are. If Lewis moves, call me back.”
I dialed Bill and told him Lewis was at the library. He already had the warrant. I told him to look for Lily and she would point Lewis out. I have to admit it was exhilarating, knowing one of these guys would be locked up, even for a little while.
I called Jack McGuire. He was still with Morales, who was now at the Kmart on Veterans Boulevard.
“You think Elizabeth would like a stuffed panda?” he asked.
“Elizabeth loves stuffed animals. If she doesn’t already have a panda you should definitely buy her one. The bigger the better.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
“So what’s Morales up to?”
“Same as before. He’s hanging out in the toy department, flirting with pretty young mothers with toddlers in their carts.”
I gave him Bill’s cell number and said, “If he does anything illegal give Bill a call.”
“If he does anything illegal I’ll detain him and call you. You can call Bill. Bill doesn’t like me very much.”
“That’s not entirely true. He just doesn’t like what you used to do for a living.”
“If you say so.”
“Thank you, Jack. I owe you big time.”
“You will never owe me, Nikki, and we both know why.”
I recalled the case that had brought us together and flinched at the memory.
I opened the bottle of Jose Cuervo Especial and poured half a shot into my coffee. Then I called J.V. Trusty.
“Hello, Nicoli.”
“Hi, J.V. What’s new?”
“I’m furniture shopping,” he said. “What do you think about bunk beds? I’m getting two twin over twin bunk beds.”
“I think if you’re nine years old there’s nothing better.”
“I want Scott to be able to invite his friends overnight on the weekends. See? You think two bunk beds will be enough?”
I tried not to laugh. “Two should be plenty.”
“I got a nice little desk and some bookshelves. Maybe I’ll get him a bicycle.”
“Scott might like to pick that out himself.”
“And sheets. I’ve got Spiderman sheets, Incredible Hulk sheets, and Fantastic Four sheets. It’s all comin’ together! I gotta tell you, Nikki, I’m having the time of my life.”
“I’m glad.”
“I even got him his own iPhone so he can call me any time he wants.”
“Excellent. So when’s the physical?”
“Tomorrow morning. They’re coming to check out my house on Thursday.”
“Have you booked your flight for this weekend yet?”
“Yes. I’m on the same flight as last time. Nine fifty-three Saturday morning.”
“I’ll meet you at baggage claim.”
“Thank you, Nicoli.”
I hung up the phone, sat back in my ergonomic swivel chair, and sipped the tequila laced coffee. Even if I never caught the person who had killed his mom, I knew Scott would have a good life with J.V.
Chapter 23
Nina’s mouth went dry as she stared at the copy of Nicholas Tooker’s autopsy report. She’d known there were risks and had been willing to take them, but this wasn’t the kind of threat she had envisioned. She’d thought she might get caught and spend the rest of her life in prison. That she could handle. Contracting AIDS was not something she had bargained for.
Tooker’s blood had gotten into her eyes. She’d showered as soon as she got home, but it was probably too late. She’d wait a few weeks before going to a clinic for an HIV test. In the meantime, she would take out as many pedophiles as possible.
Her next target was Alfredo “The Tongue” Giordano. Giordano was not a child molester. In fact, his sexual proclivities were rather conventional, but he pandered to sexual deviants and among his clients were several wealthy pedophiles. Giordano imported children from other countries for the purpose of sexual exploitation.
Although he could afford to live in a more affluent community, Giordano preferred the privacy and anonymity of Woodside Hills. He had gotten his nickname one morning when he was walking downstairs in a sex-induced haze after a vigorous encounter with a young woman. The doorbell rang and his cat, startled by the early morning visitor, had dashed down the stairs, weaving between Giordano’s legs and tripping him. He’d fallen down the remaining stairs, cracking his chin on the marble floor below. His companion had come out of the bedroom just in time to see the cat eating the severed tip of Giordano’s tongue. The incident had left him with a permanent speech impediment.
Nina had read his file and was aware that the Feds had been after him for years, but he was connected, and he was careful. She intended to put an end to his good fortune and, before she killed him, she hoped to obtain his client list. If she did have HIV, she no longer had anything to lose.
Giordano’s file contained a number of photographs of young women entering and leaving his home in Woodside. Each of them appeared to be in her twenties, slender, and had short hair. Nina was thirty, but she didn’t look her age and she had the requisite lack of curves. It shouldn’t be too hard to wrangle an invitation to his house. Once she was alone with him the rest would be easy.
Chapter 24
I changed into an old pair of jeans and my foul weather boots, and Buddy and I went for a three mile hike around the wildlife refuge. When we were both worn out, we walked back down to the boat for a late lunch. I wasn’t in the mood to cook, so I tossed a green salad together with a can of tuna. Buddy ate some kibble while I scarfed down my salad, offering him the occasional bite.
Lily dropped by at 3:45, cruising on a wave of adrenaline from the part she had played in Lewis’s arrest. I offered her a Guinness and she sat at the galley counter and told me every detail of the take down at the library. Her enthusiasm was contagious and by the end of the story I was charged up enough to continue the investigation. If nothing else, we were making the streets safer for children.
After Lily went home, Buddy and I stretched out on the settee in the main salon and took a nap. The nap was interrupted a little after 6:00, when Bill called, inviting himself over for dinner. A few minutes later Buddy heard his Mustang.
I grabbed my jacket and his leash, and let him drag me up to shore.
Bill was getting out of his car in the boat owner’s lot when we reached the gate. I scanned the area for traffic. When I didn’t see any I let go of the leash and Buddy thundered across the lawn, did a couple of rocking horse spins, and flung himself at Bill.
I felt a pleasant clench in my chest as I watched them greet each other. They both added so much to my life. I’d spent years avoiding this kind of connection because of my fear of vulnerability. Now it was hard to imagine a future without both of them in it.
Over dinner, Bill told me the DA had charged Lewis with attempted kidnapping. His parole had been revoked, and bail would not be granted. Because attempted kidnapping was on the list of serious felonies included in California’s three strikes statute, and because Lewis had two prior convictions, the DA was asking for a life sentence without the possibility of parole.
We cuddled in front of the TV after supper, trying to take our minds off the day’s events.
/> That night my sleep was interrupted by dreams of toddlers being abducted. When I woke up in the middle of the night I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that I was making a difference. I couldn’t help wondering if the killer felt the same way.
Jim Sutherland met me at my office at 9:00 on Wednesday morning. Jim is just over six feet tall and solidly built, with red hair and a ruddy complexion. Three of my closest friends, Elizabeth, Jack, and Jim, are redheads. There’s a famous quote by Mark Twain: “While the rest of the human race are descended from monkeys, redheads derive from cats.” That certainly applies to Jack McGuire, whose facial features actually resemble those of a cat.
After he had properly greeted Buddy, I offered Jim coffee. He gratefully accepted, having worked late the previous night.
I had planned to put Jim on Adamson, but after the attempted abduction in the park I decided to send him after Vasey, who would now recognize me. Bill had said the DA didn’t think there was enough for a warrant to arrest Vasey yet.
I gave Jim the printout and described what had happened the day before. He grimaced when I told him about the little boy on the swing set. Jim has not been hardened by the years he’s spent working as a PI.
When he left I called Jack and asked him to cover Adamson while I took Morales. He’d already spent two days shadowing Morales and I didn’t want his face to become familiar.
Jack showed up at 9:35 and we went over Gabriel Adamson’s file together. I described Adamson’s bungalow on 5th Avenue and mentioned that on Sunday J.V. had followed him into a local church that housed a daycare center. I would be working in the same neighborhood today. Morales lived on Kramer Lane near 5th.
We left the office together, and Buddy and I picked Morales up outside his apartment complex shortly after ten o’clock. He was five-seven and a hundred and forty pounds, in his early thirties, with short black hair and a mustache. His nose looked like it had been broken at least once, but other than that he had a pretty, almost feminine face. He was dressed in jeans and a black sweater.
