Whether the killer was the same trafficker or not remained unclear. What was clear was that he was on a mission to punish those wholesome girls working the sex trade. These victims were sex slaves, teen girls plucked from all around the world and sold against their will on the black market. It had opened their investigation up to the disturbing reality of sex trafficking, which didn’t make it any easier for Landers to sleep at night, two doors down from his own twin teenage daughters.
He had enough baggage under his eyes to set off on a trek around the world, and many nights he wished he could do exactly that.
He walked to his office, coffee in hand, prepared for another long night. Detective Kelly Harris met him at the door. “He’s here,” the younger officer said, and Landers nodded.
“Show him in.”
Landers rounded his desk, which was overrun with paperwork, and which Detective Harris had tried to make sense of exactly once before he’d thrown his hands up in frustration. They worked off of each other, a bit like the Odd Couple. Harris was his partner and a hell of a good kid, but they were exact opposites. While Landers enjoyed his bacon and his donuts, Harris spent two hours a day at the gym, always training to be at the top of his form.
Even at twenty-seven, he had already received commendations for his work, because he lived and breathed the job. He was a firecracker who channeled all his energy into what he considered a higher calling. Landers was able to leave the job at work, mostly, by the time he clocked out at the end of the day. He had a wife and kids, a mortgage, and a timeshare in Florida. But not Harris. He was there early and left late, especially after the first teen slaying in February.
So it was Harris who took the call when the feds decided to get involved. It was an election year, and lawmakers across the country wanted to use this unsolved, disturbing case as an example of a broken system that failed to keep citizens safe. It didn’t hurt that the victims were all white, young, and Caucasian, mirroring daughters all across Middle America. Intentionally or not, the killer was definitely making a statement about the consequences that arise from the perversion of innocence, which fit neatly in bumper-sticker slogans. This made their local case a story that had captured the nation, which meant all of them were now under the microscope, with powerful people around the globe breathing down their necks to get this monster off the streets.
Just one mistake, one overlooked clue that led to one more senseless murder, and their failure would be broadcast around the world.
And now M.J. Bennett was involved, he thought, rolling his eyes. That was all he needed, but he supposed it was inevitable. M.J. had been helping street kids for years, fighting the sex trade on the front lines from the inside out by literally freeing these slaves from their masters and sending them somewhere else. Somewhere safe.
And now she had done this with a witness. This mystery girl could have information that led them all straight to their killer, but he knew getting M.J. to turn her over would take an act of God. He’d muscle her if he thought he could get away with it, but he already knew his boss would never allow it. They’d been down that road before. He’d be damned if he wound up there again.
He would find another way. There had to be a better way.
Harris led their guest into their shared office. “This is Federal Agent Benjamin Llewellyn,” he said as they came to a stop in front of Landers’s desk. Landers stood to greet the younger man, understanding immediately that he would only get in the way of what they needed to do. He could tell in the first five seconds that this kid was some hotshot know-it-all, but he was reportedly the best in the business profiling serial killers, and they needed all the help they could get. Four girls had died since February 21, and their perp showed no signs of ending his sick crusade. He had left a full set of clothes strewn in the exact same spot where the first victim had been found. It was a sick taunt for the police, and they all knew it.
He reached across the desk to shake Llewellyn’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Agent. Wish it could be under better circumstances.”
Llewellyn nodded. “Detective Harris has briefed me on most of what you’ve already uncovered.”
Landers landed back in his chair with a thud. “That should have been an interesting five minutes.”
Llewellyn chuckled. “Don’t beat yourself up, Detective. It’s clear this guy knows what he’s doing, targeting street kids. You’re either dealing with runaways who are determined to stay lost, or with those whose safety depends on keeping secrets for very powerful, dangerous people. I think it’s all part of the game to him. It’s not just about the killing anymore. It’s about the cat and mouse with the authorities. It’s like he fancies himself a modern Jack the Ripper. Instead of a “Dear Boss” letter, you got a recreation of the original crime scene.”
“They never caught Jack the Ripper,” Landers pointed out.
Llewellyn smiled with confidence. “No offense meant to nineteenth-century England, but I think we have some advantages they didn’t have, starting with modern technology. Your biggest breakthrough to date was finding that cell phone tucked in that jacket.”
“Seems careless,” Harris interjected. “He’s always been so careful to destroy anything that could give us even the smallest foothold, but he leaves a cell phone, intact, in her belongings?”
Llewellyn sat back in his chair. “It’s possible he didn’t know it was there. You said it was tucked into a tear in the lining.”
Harris nodded. “You live on the street, you get creative storing your valuables. She likely hid it there so it wouldn’t be stolen.”
Llewellyn nodded. “That makes sense. But it’s entirely possible he knew it was there and wanted to raise the stakes a little. It’s a prepaid phone. It’s not like you can trace it. Worse, it gives you two possible victims to track. They both fit the profile. Leaving that phone with these belongings seems like a taunt to me. Like it’s a race to see which of us finds her first. And you have to admit it raises a lot of questions. Did this guy pick them both up at the same time? Does he still have either, or both? Is this the lure in the water to make us all jump?” He paused. “Do you have any further leads on the girls from the photo?”
Landers shook his head, but Harris was quick to answer. “We have one lead,” he said.
“Harris,” Landers warned at once, but the detective went on. “According to a witness, this girl was last seen in Hollywood, in an altercation with a group of gang members that left one of them dead.”
Llewellyn brightened. “That’s great. You can bring her in for questioning. Get her into custody as quick as possible.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not going to be that easy,” Landers said with a sigh.
“Why not?” Llewellyn wanted to know, and Harris and Landers shared a look. It was one thing to discuss minimal evidence for a case. If he wanted to know about M.J. Bennett, they were going to be there all night. It was time to make a whole new pot of coffee.
6. HOLLYWOOD NIGHTS
M.J. made her way through the crowded bus terminal toward the restaurant. She navigated the familiar surroundings with ease, and smiled in recognition when she spotted her old pal Edna Johnson, who ruled the downtown bus station with an iron fist.
“You kids get on out of here, now,” she barked at a group of preteens. They were enjoying some time away from their parents by blowing straw wrappers at strangers sitting nearby.
“Kids these days,” M.J. said, smiling as she approached. “No respect for authority.”
The squat older woman immediately smiled and hugged her friend. “You know it. I haven’t seen you in an age. What brings you downtown?”
“When you need a little information, you head straight to the person who knows everything.”
Edna rolled her eyes. “Girl, please.”
“Seriously,” M.J. said, her smile fading.
Edna sat back down. That didn’t sound good, and she knew M.J. well enough to know she wouldn’t have come down to the station for anything trivia
l. “What do you need to know?”
M.J. held up the photo she had conveniently forgotten to return to Landers. It was of Baby and her unknown friend. “Do you remember seeing these girls?”
Edna offered a disapproving snort. “Hell yes. I had to drive them out of the station the other day, when the one on the right arrived. Tammy said she was a friend, but I saw through that line of BS a mile away.”
“Tammy?” M.J. asked.
Edna tapped the image of the sandy blonde in the photo, shaking her head in disgust. “That girl, I swear. Down here every weekend, turning tricks in the bathrooms. I run her off and she always comes back. Sometimes she has a bus ticket, going back and forth between here and Vegas, I think. Haven’t seen her since, though. Is she in trouble?”
M.J. shook her head, even though it was an outright lie. If the police had her phone, she was in dire trouble indeed. “What about this girl?” she asked, pointing at Baby.
“I had never seen her before. Kind of beat up. I figured she was right off the bus. Dunno why they all head to downtown Los Angeles, like that’s going to be any better. ‘City of Angels’ my ass.”
M.J. offered her own snort of derision. “Right?” Then, back on task: “Did you see who they left with?”
Edna shook her head. “I lost sight of them after I ran ’em off. Tammy has a pimp, if you can call it that. He traveled with her sometimes. Older boy. Red hair. Don’t know his name, though.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s it. That’s all I know.”
M.J. offered a smile. “You know all and see all. That’s why I came to you.” She gave her a side hug. “Keep up the good fight, Edna.”
“You know it,” she agreed with a smile, one that faded as she watched the stoic redhead stalk from the station.
If M.J. was involved, she knew something big was going down.
Baby added mustard to the creamy potato mixture she was stirring. Kid joined her in the kitchen, bringing in cooked corn on the cob, wrapped in aluminum foil and stacked high on a plate. “That looks good,” he said with a shy smile. “But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
She smiled. “It’s no trouble. I love to cook.”
“Cool,” he said. “I love to eat.”
She laughed as she added the finishing touches to her potato salad. “Don’t worry. No mushrooms were harmed in the making of this salad.”
He made a face, which made her giggle more. Snake entered, triumphantly carrying a plate laden with perfectly seared steaks. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said with a grin that Baby was quickly learning to love. “Dinner is officially served.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for M.J.?” she asked. Snake and Kid shared a look. Without another word, Snake carried his plate into the dining room. Baby immediately felt bad. “Was it something I said?”
Kid shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he replied, shrugging. He followed his brother from the room. With a sigh, Baby hoisted the big bowl into her arms and followed her hosts.
They spent the rest of their evening devouring their barbecue feast and playing a rousing board game, in which they broke each and every rule. They retired to the living room to watch a double feature of gory horror films. Baby missed most of it, hiding behind her hands as she giggled in her seat, nestled between the two of them.
But no matter what they did to pass the time, hoping that she’d return and complete their happy little makeshift family, M.J. still hadn’t come home by the time the last movie ended. Baby could tell by the look on Snake’s face that this was nothing new.
She also knew he didn’t like it one little bit, evidenced by the quieter, and drunker, he became as the night dragged on.
He went to bed an hour before they did. “Is it always like this?” she finally asked Kid.
He nodded. “Snake says she’s like a feral cat. You can let her in, fill her bowl, and stroke her neck. But the call of the wild will always prevail. It’s why they’re not married,” he said. “She’s not exactly the ‘happily ever after’ kind of girl.”
Baby snickered. “I gathered that. Poor Snake,” she mused, thinking about the man who had opened his home to her, no strings attached. He treated her like he treated Kid. He was a big brother, with a quick smile, a quicker joke, and a strong set of shoulders that invited her to lean on him.
“Honestly, I’m surprised that she’s here now.”
Kid’s softly spoke admission caught her attention. “Why?”
“You’ve heard about the serial killer targeting teen prostitutes?” She shook her head. “Big news out here,” he said. “Some sicko has been targeting teen girls, mostly from the underground sex trade. This sadist has taken it upon himself to punish them by removing or destroying anything on them that could be used for sex.”
She gulped. “What do you mean?”
He considered for a moment whether or not he should answer. She couldn’t even hang with comical zombies. Finally he took a deep breath and answered. “He cuts off their hands and their feet and their nipples. He sews their mouths shut and cuts out their vaginas and their rectums.”
Immediately Baby wanted to puke barbecue and potato salad all over the worn rug. “Sorry I asked,” she muttered, reaching for her soda.
“The press calls him the Hard Candy Killer, because that’s what he goes after.”
“Hard candy?” she repeated.
“It’s what men call young girls. You know, like jailbait. It’s how a lot of them advertise their sex services online, so I guess it just stuck because all the victims are prostitutes.”
Again she swallowed hard.
Kid looked at her new dark hair, and was tempted to reach over and touch it. “They’ve been found all over L.A. The forest, the beach, downtown. You know Hollywood is next. I honestly didn’t expect to see M.J. till all that was over.”
Baby felt even sicker to her stomach. She thought about the look on Isbecky’s face when he’d had her pinned on the bed. He’d looked maniacal. She had been truly worried for her safety, even all the way out of his house, down the treacherous hill, and on the streets of Hollywood. As it turned out, she had been in more trouble than she knew. What had she been thinking to come out here?
“So he targets teen prostitutes?” she asked, and Kid nodded.
“A very specific type, too. He likes ’em young and blonde. Wholesome.” The color drained from Baby’s face. “Are you okay?” Kid asked at once.
She nodded, but then shook her head. She repeated both actions when he asked her if she wanted to talk about it. Instead she asked that they check the news for any new victims on his computer, and of course news had broken about the newest discovery. A gossip site had gotten their mitts on the photo, so naturally they published it as “breaking news.” They were the first to identify the next possible victims of the Hard Candy Killer.
“Oh shit,” Kid breathed when it loaded. His eyes traveled to hers, and Baby thought she might pass out completely when she saw the photo of her and Tammy from the bus terminal. She knew this photo would be shared far and wide across the country.
That was problematic in and of itself. She knew instantly that investigators would be called and she’d be tracked all the way to L.A. Hopefully no one she had made contact with in Hollywood would make the connection. It wasn’t exactly like they had cable TV in the abandoned building where she had stayed with Billy and Tammy.
Perhaps the only person who would make the connection was Isbecky himself, in which case she instinctively knew she couldn’t come forward. He had money and he had connections. No one could keep her safe from his reach, even if she ran all the way back to North Carolina. Tammy had already warned her that he had chased girls down before, punishing the ones that got away and anyone who dared give them shelter.
“You knew her?” he asked quietly.
She glanced at Kid. He had been so kind to her, as had Snake. They had given her sanctuary without question. Though she hadn’t known them for very long, for the first time in a long
time she felt safe enough to close her eyes and sleep at night. Silence was the only option left. As far as she was concerned, that girl on the computer screen was already dead. And if she claimed that identity, she might as well be, too.
“No,” she finally answered.
She went to her room without saying another word. Sleep eluded her long after she crawled under the covers. Finally she sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and reached for her brand-new sketchpad. There was only one thing to do when she felt this scared, this out of control.
She had to draw.
M.J.’s bike crawled along the gridlocked traffic on Hollywood Boulevard. Her eyes were peeled for the male prostitute who had been cornered with Baby on the night that they met. She would have normally kept a low profile after what happened in the alley, but now that she had Baby to protect she knew she had to take some risks.
She had to catch the Hard Candy Killer and deal with him before he finally sniffed his way to Baby’s door, which at the moment also happened to be her beloved’s door.
Fortunately for all of them, Snake had been away from the scene for years. He had fallen off the radar in association with M.J., and the Wyndryders, nearly a decade before. So his house was safe as any for her newest rescue, safer certainly than her apartment, should this maniac track her there. And she was confident that he could.
Baby wasn’t like the other street kids; M.J. could smell it on her from the moment they’d met. She was alone, yes. She was now homeless, yes. But she had been sheltered, M.J. would even guess pampered, in the life she left behind.
So why would she leave? What had happened to her must have been pretty traumatic to force her to face the horrors of living on the streets. In M.J.’s experience, that meant the secrets she carried could hurt someone somewhere, and they’d likely do anything to get to her before she could expose them.
Chasing Thunder Page 8
