“McGinnis,” he called. “Get over here. Bring your camera.”
One of the plain clothes officers joined them, a big DSLR hanging around his neck. Tommy and Sam pointed to various places on the ground, and McGinnis took pictures.
“Okay,” Sam said when Tommy was satisfied they had enough. “Hang on.” He began to walk again slowly, placing each foot very carefully only after surveying the ground. After a few moments, he stopped again.
“Look here,” he said. “Here’s a footprint.”
Tommy and McGinnis joined him and all three crouched down.
“Small foot,” Sam said. “Maybe size eight. I doubt he weighs more than one-fifty.”
Tommy pulled out a metal tape measure and laid a length of it alongside the track. McGinnis took several pictures.
“So he parked behind the dumpster,” Sam said, “and brought the body around.” He pointed to several footprints going the opposite way. “Because he was dumping a whole body and not pieces like before, he was more conspicuous and he was in a hurry to get away. See the scuff marks on these prints heading back to the car?”
More pictures. Sam continued his walk around. When he closed in on the dumpster itself, he studied the sides and edges closely.
“You might want to check this out,” he said. Tommy joined him and squinted where Sam pointed. “A little bit of blue latex. Could have caught a glove here on this sharp edge and torn off a piece.”
Tommy snapped his fingers at the other officers and another stepped forward with a sterile plastic zip bag and a pair of tweezers. Once McGinnis had taken multiple pictures, the officer plucked the tiny bit of blue plastic and bagged it.
“What else?” Tommy asked.
Sam stood quietly where he’d moved out of the way, just staring at the ground. Lacey recognized that he was not using his physical eyes, but his metaphysical ones.
“Eddie, Teddy, Freddy,” he said in a low voice. “Something with Ds.”
“What’s that?” Tommy asked.
“That’s his name,” Sam said. “Freddy, Teddy, Eddie, something like that. I hear her saying, ‘Oh, Freddy.’ Then screaming.”
A chill patterned up Lacey’s spine. Like Freddy Krueger? Had the guy taken the name of the horror movie character on purpose, or was it just a coincidence?
Sam raised his head and scanned the area one last time. “That’s all.” He stepped away. “You guys can go ahead and finish here.” Tommy signaled to the others to go on with their work, and he and Sam walked to Lacey.
“Do you know why this one is different?” Tommy asked.
Lacey perked up at that. She wanted to know, too.
Sam didn’t answer right away. “I hope I’m wrong,” he said slowly, “but I don’t think I am.” He didn’t look at Tommy, but met Lacey’s eyes with something akin to dread. “I think he knows I can get in his head.”
~~~
ELEVEN
Lacey drove them down to the station, her stomach tied in knots. She wanted very badly to know all that was going through Sam’s head—but then again, maybe she didn’t. She also recognized that he needed to process it, to let it percolate so he could give the PD as much information as possible.
Tommy was definitely getting a feel for how Sam worked, and when he asked them to come to the station, they both agreed it was a good idea. For one thing, Lacey knew they needed to hear about the mother thing. Every little bit of information that Sam got led them closer.
She followed Tommy’s car into the gated back lot, and was grateful for the offer. There was a knot of media people at the front door, no doubt wanting the scoop on the latest murder. More than one watched her little red Toyota zip into the back lot. Word would get around quickly that Firecloud and Fitzpatrick were on the job.
Tommy led them to one of the interrogation rooms. “Don’t mind that,” he said, waving toward the two-way mirror on one wall. “I just think we should record this so we get it all.”
“Sure,” Lacey said, but it felt funny to be on the question-answering side of the room.
They took seats and Tommy brought them each a bottle of water. Lacey got out her phone and prepared to record the session as well. She, too, wanted to miss nothing.
There was a single knock on the door and then it swung open and the captain came in. He took the fourth chair.
“Thanks for coming in, you two. I hear you’ve got some things to share with us.”
Lacey sat back in her chair, leaving the center stage to Sam. This was his show.
He hunched forward, his arms on the table. “I woke up to him killing her,” he said. “He was stabbing her fiercely, as hard as he could. He’s angry when he’s doing it, but also… sad. Anguished.”
“What time was this?” Tommy asked.
Lacey spoke up. “It was 2:05 a.m.”
“Do you know why he’s angry?” Captain Shaw asked.
Sam nodded. “He’s trying to kill his mother. These women are just stand-ins for her. She’s the one he’s angry with.”
“Do you know why?” The captain’s voice was quiet.
Lacey had a feeling they all knew.
“She… abused him. Molested him. As a child. Hell,” he said, shaking his head, “as an infant. He’s never known a time when she didn’t have power over him.” He stared off at the ceiling, and his voice dropped into a low register. “He had no control over his own body. She, with her hands and her mouth, controlled him. Brought on his erection, even as he tried to resist. Brought him to orgasm. She robbed him of everything, his power, his innocence, his self-esteem. All for her delight. She enjoyed being able to control him. She fed on it. Her own child.”
The silence in the room was thick.
Lacey looked at each man in turn, seeing how this news affected them. Men were not often the victims in sexual abuse, but she could see that the scenario Sam described hit them hard. She turned back to Sam.
“Why sad?” she asked. “Is that remorse for killing them?”
Sam slipped back into his reverie. “No. There’s a little of that, but that gets wiped out because they came after him. They wanted to lord their power over him, just like his mother did. So, in his mind, they deserve to die.” He paused, letting the feelings gel. “No, the sadness is for what was. And wasn’t. The life he had and the life he didn’t. Incredible sadness. And depression.”
The air was heavy with it.
“Did he kill his mother?” Lacey asked softly.
Sam seemed to struggle with that. His eyes closed halfway and his brow creased with concentration. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I do think she’s dead. Beyond his reach. Unresolved. And never will be.”
Tommy cleared his throat. “Earlier you said he was in a hurry with this one, and that’s why he didn’t cut her up. Tell me again why.”
Sam’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “He knew I saw it. I was in his head. So he got rid of the body as quickly as possible.”
Lacey touched his hand. “Does he know who you are?”
“I think so.” He threaded his fingers between hers. “Yes. I think he knows.”
“All right,” Tommy said. “You know it’s a silver car?”
The session went on, concentrating more on the valuable insights the PD could use to track down the killer, but Lacey was only peripherally aware. Try as she might, she couldn’t push past the frightening idea that the killer—Freddy 2—knew Sam could pick up his thoughts, and knew who Sam was. If that was true, it changed everything. It was already changing things. Freddy 2 had acted differently. He was aware he was being monitored. There was no telling what he might do now.
By the time Tommy and the captain had exhausted every line of questioning they could think of, Lacey was anxious to leave. As soon as the men signaled an end to the session, she was on her feet.
“Thank you,” Shaw said, shaking both their hands. “If you get anything else…”
“Right,” Sam said.
Tommy walked them out the bac
k door. “Thanks for coming in. We’ll chase it all down, as much as we can. See where it takes us.” He glanced toward the chain link that separated this lot from the public one. “Uh, oh. You may have trouble getting out.”
Lacey followed his line of sight. At least twenty media people were milling around near the gate. At sight of Sam and Lacey, they pressed forward along the fence, cameras and microphones in hand.
“Crap,” Lacey muttered.
“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “Well, just don’t run anyone down, okay? I’ll see if I can get Win out to the front door to throw ‘em a bone.”
The whole time Lacey was starting the car and then propelling it slowly toward the gate, she was wondering about the best way to do this. Go slow, so no one got hurt? Or just barrel through the gate? She finally opted for safety, which was just as well. The automatic gate slid open at a leisurely pace, giving the press plenty of time to surround the car and call out questions.
“What can you tell us about this latest murder?”
“Do you know who the killer is?”
“What are you getting, Sam?”
Lacey inched the car forward, but of course the throng came with them. She resolutely stared straight ahead, thankful the windows were up and the doors were locked. Most of the people gathered at the side windows, but a few still walked ahead of the car, primarily cameramen. If they’d just step out of the way…
“Lacey, he’s here!” Sam exclaimed.
“What?” She glanced over, but then quickly looked forward again, mindful of people in her path.
“He’s here! Look! Over there!”
Sam pointed past the small crowd, beyond the parking lot to the street. On the opposite side of the street, maybe a hundred feet away, stood a slight man. He wore a dark jacket, and had both hands jammed in his pockets.
Dark jacket, dark pants, dark hair down over his forehead.
“That’s him!” Sam said. “Go!”
“Go?” Lacey cried. How could she go with people directly in front of her? She laid on the horn, and a couple people jumped aside in alarm. Others, though, just backed away, still in front of the car, cameras rolling. She honked again, revved the engine, and moved the car forward.
“Get out of the way!” she yelled, waving a hand at them. “Move!”
One by one, and in no particular hurry, the last few people stepped aside. When the way was finally clear, Lacey stomped on the gas and sent the car lurching toward the exit. At the curb, she stopped and scanned the sidewalk across the street.
Empty.
“Where’d he go?” she asked.
“That way,” Sam said, pointing. “Up that side street.”
Lacey fumed as she waited for traffic to clear, then zipped across two lanes and into the left turn lane. Again she was forced to wait out the cross traffic, and after several excruciating minutes, finally turned up the side street.
Empty.
She cruised up the street at a crawl, checking doors, windows, back allies. “Do you see him?” she asked Sam. She knew he was tracking his side of the street.
“No. Keep going.”
She did. But after several blocks, there was still no sign of him. She drove a crisscross pattern on the return, taking one cross street a block or two, then coming back on another one. No luck. After almost a half an hour, they had to admit defeat.
Unhappily, they agreed to let it go.
“How about some lunch?” Sam suggested.
“What time is it?”
“Almost one.”
“Holy cow,” Lacey said. “This day has been such a whirlwind, I had no idea. Yeah, we need to eat. There’s an IHOP. That okay?”
“Sure.”
She pulled into the lot and parked, still cursing the fact that they had lost Freddy. Once they were seated inside and had ordered, she let go of her pique long enough to ask Sam about it.
“Did you just see him?” she asked.
He added sugar to his iced tea and stirred it before answering. “I felt something as we were coming out of the back lot. I didn’t know what it was at first. It just felt like a… a tickle, inside my head. That’s when I started looking around and I noticed him.”
“It sure is weird how you’re so plugged into him. Do you think he’s sensitive, too? Maybe that’s why?”
He let out a breath. “I have no idea. But that’s a good possibility.” He folded up the empty sugar packet, frowning down at it. “That would make sense, I guess. I just don’t know.”
Lacey hesitated to ask the next question, explore the next possibility. But they needed to.
“And now,” she said, “do you think he’s plugged into you? Do you think he knew we were there at the station? Did he follow us?”
Sam glanced up at her, then quickly away. She saw the unease in his eyes.
“I certainly hope not,” he said.
Their sandwiches arrived, dispelling a bit of the dread she felt. If there was ever a time for comfort food, this was it. She salted her French fries and drizzled them with ketchup, then took a bite of her club sandwich.
Her phone chimed, and she checked the screen. “Wow,” she said. “It’s my brother. He never calls me.” She looked up at Sam. “Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead.”
Lacey answered. “Hey, Sean. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” he repeated. “Mom says you’re getting married out on an Indian reservation and you’re asking me what’s up?”
Lacey chuckled, her eyes on Sam. “Oh, yeah, that. I would have called you but I knew Mom would, and I’ve been kinda busy.” Although her brother only lived up the coast in Los Gatos, they rarely talked. She’d realized some time ago that they had very little in common.
“Am I invited?” he asked.
“Sure. You want to come?”
“Hell, yes. I only have one baby sister, you know.”
“We haven’t figured out the date yet.”
“But Mom said April. That’s only two months away.”
“I know.” She sighed. “We’ve just been really busy with a case…”
Sean’s voice dropped. “That serial killer, right?”
“Yeah. You’ve heard about it?”
“Who hasn’t? That’s a real sicko. You’re being careful, right?”
“Always.” Lacey thought it ironic that he felt the need to caution her when they hadn’t spoken in months.
“Well, anyway,” he said, “pick a date and let me know, okay? I’ll need to put in for the vacation time.”
“Okay. We’ll see if we can’t nail that down in the next few days. I’ll call you when we do.”
“All right.” He paused. Lacey felt sure he was searching for something else to say. “Take care of yourself, Lace.”
“You, too,” she said. “Bye.”
She keyed off the call and tossed her phone down next to her plate. She hoped her fries weren’t cold.
“I guess we need to do this, huh?” Sam said.
“I guess. I’ll admit, I wasn’t thinking about other people having to get time off work and stuff.”
“Like you said, we’ve been kinda busy.”
“Yeah.” She smiled crookedly. “I mean, taking time off from catching a serial killer to plan my trousseau? Somehow I don’t think Captain Shaw would be sympathetic.”
Sam chuckled. It felt good to lighten the mood a little, and Lacey was actually glad for the interruption.
He pulled out his phone and opened up a calendar. “I would say,” he mused as he tapped through the months, “the third or fourth weekend of April. What sounds good?”
Lacey considered the choices. “Weather’s about the same?” she asked.
He nodded. “Could be cool, but could be starting to warm up, too. Could be ninety degrees, or could have snow.”
“Lovely,” she laughed. “Well, okay, let’s say the last weekend. That gives us a bit more time.”
“Saturday or Sunday?”
“Saturday,” she said.
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“Okay, Saturday it is.” He tapped out a note for the day. “This is good. We can let people know and start organizing everything.”
“In our spare time,” she muttered good-naturedly.
“Yeah, well… We can’t fight crime every minute of every day.” He set his phone down and took her hand across the table. “This just gives us another good reason to get this guy, and the sooner the better.”
“That’s the truth,” she said.
He released her hand and stole a French fry. “And speaking of that, we’re now just waiting to see what Tommy and his guys come up with on the evidence from this last dumpster, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “Right at the moment, we don’t have anything else to explore with your talents.”
“Well,” he said with a crafty smile, “why don’t we play hooky this afternoon and do a little wedding planning and whatever else might come up?”
Lacey’s surprised smile widened at the thought. “Wow, a whole afternoon to ourselves? No ghosts, no kids, no work?” She laughed. “Whatever will we do?”
Sam stole another French fry and raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
~~~
TWELVE
The next day, Tommy called Lacey at midmorning.
“What have you got?” she asked.
“A couple things,” he said. “The bit of blue is from a surgical glove, sold by a hospital supply company. We’re having them check through their online and mail orders to find out who’s bought gloves in the last six months or so, but they also have a store front in their warehouse in downtown LA, so anyone buying there wouldn’t go on record unless they paid by credit card.”
“Hmm,” Lacey said. “I guess you can cross-check the list you get for addresses in midtown and/or people named Edward, Frederick or Theodore.”
“Exactly,” Tommy said.
“Okay, what else?”
“Found a surveillance camera about a block away from the dumpster. It shows a car turning into the Home Depot lot about 2:50a.m., then leaving again at 3:25.”
Blood Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 8) Page 6
