“Okay, then, let’s get moving. Brody, you supervise the search at Rivers’ house on Woodlawn. Edgerton, work with tech to see if we can get any quality location tagging off that phone. Suarez, get Ashley’s friends, Thelma Gray and Miranda Sanchez, in here for interviews. Make sure they each have a parent with them. We don’t need any blowback. Patterson, coordinate with all the local businesses near the school to get any security footage they have. You’re on the black van hunt. Sterling and Cantwell, you’ve got the Denton Rivers questioning. He’s in Interrogation Two.”
Everyone scrambled out of the conference room.
Keri and Ray were left alone in the room with Hillman, unsure what to do. They hadn’t been given assignments. Hillman pointed at them.
“You two come with me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Monday
Evening
Hillman led them into his small office. There was a comfy-looking couch against the wall but he directed them to the two uncomfortable metal chairs in front of his desk and sat down across from them. Keri could barely see him over piles of files that took up most of his desk.
“Good work out there, Detectives. Ray, you know that Brody’s retiring at the end of the year, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That means there will be an opening in Homicide. You interested?”
Keri watched Ray’s mouth drop open. He stared at Hillman, then at her. She smiled at him even as her heart sank. That seemed to help him regain his composure.
“Do I have to answer right now?”
“Of course not. Just don’t wait too long. There’s a lot of interest but I want you to apply for it.”
Thank you, sir.”
Hillman nodded, then turned his attention to Keri.
“Locke, first off, well done. It was your tenacity that got this case rolling. We’d really be behind the eight ball if you hadn’t gotten that head start. And after that rough beginning, you nailed the breakdown in the all-hands meeting in there. I think you’ve got a real future here.”
She felt it coming.
“But…” she said.
Hillman looked genuinely pained.
“But this case is getting political fast. We have to tread lightly considering who’s involved. And we’re probably only hours from the Feds taking over. We can’t have any missteps.”
“There won’t be,” she promised.
Hillman’s eyes flashed. Any sympathy he’d had disappeared from his face.
“Denton Rivers threatened to file a complaint against you for assault.”
“For what?” Keri demanded, displaying more self-righteousness than she felt.
“How about that massive welt on his head?”
“He already had that when we got there. And then he tripped and hit it on a coffee table.”
“Stow that bullshit! Don’t insult my intelligence, Detective. The decision has been made. We can’t have any more suspects tripping into coffee tables. You’re off the case.”
“Off?” she repeated, stunned.
Hillman nodded.
“We’ll still tap you as a resource if need be. You’re obviously well versed in the case particulars. But beyond that, yes, you’re off. I can’t risk anything that puts a conviction in jeopardy.”
Ray cleared his throat.
“With all due respect, sir—”
Hillman held up his hand.
“Don’t waste your breath, Sands. The decision has been made.”
He continued to talk but Keri didn’t hear it. An image flashed through her head of a little girl being tossed into a van, of a loud thud as her body slammed into the wall. Then a voice snapped her out of it.
“Locke, are you there?”
Hillman’s voice was loud, as if he’d asked the question more than once.
She said, “Yes, sir.”
“Okay. That’s it then. Go home and get some sleep.”
Ray stood up and said, “Sir, if she’s off the case, I’m off too.”
Lieutenant Hillman frowned.
“I need you to coordinate the surveillance footage with Patterson.”
Ray exhaled, deciding, then said, “Detective Locke is my partner. We’re both on or we’re both off.”
The look on Hillman’s face was one Keri had never seen before. His mouth twisted into a warped pucker. The lines in his forehead formed even deeper grooves than usual. He seemed to be desperately struggling to contain his temper.
“It wasn’t a request, Detective Sands,” he finally growled.
“In that case, sir, I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to take some sick time.”
Keri said softly, “Ray, don’t.”
He ignored her, staring hard at Hillman with his one good eye.
The older man stared back, and after what felt like an eternity, seemed to relent. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “Fine. Take your ‘sick time.’ Now get out of here before I suspend you.”
They walked out of his office.
Keri turned to him; he looked as dazed as she felt.
“What do we do now?” Keri asked.
“Meet me at your car in five minutes. I have to wrap a few things up.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get drunk,” he answered.
*
Fifteen minutes later, at just after eight, they sat at a tiny corner booth at Clive’s, a Culver City bar popular with cops. Keri was on her second Glenlivet. Ray sipped a light beer.
“Trying to keep your girlish figure?” she teased.
“I have to stay in shape in case the next suspect you attack tries to fight back.”
“I deserved that. You know, I’m starting to think that having me for a partner isn’t all that great for your career, Ray.”
“Starting to think…?” he asked incredulously.
“Seriously—I don’t have much in the way of impulse control and you always to seem to bear the brunt of that. You stood by me with Hillman, so now he’s pissed at you, possibly putting that Homicide job at risk. I’m like a human tire fire. You should stay clear of me.”
“What if I don’t want to stay clear of you?” he asked with more sincerity than Keri was prepared for.
She downed some more scotch and let it warm her insides. The shots were starting to take the edge off and she considered giving a heartfelt response. Was there a better time to address this than now? Her position in the unit was in question. Ray might be moved to Homicide. Maybe they should finally shoot straight about what exactly they were to each other—partners, friends, more?
But before she could reply, Ray seemed to lose his nerve and spoke up quickly.
“I mean, if I lost you as a partner, who would teach me all those dope Krav Maga moves?”
Keri felt the moment passing and decided to let it go—for now.
“Yeah, you’d be lost without me. Otherwise, you’d have to depend on those boxing hooks and jabs and crewcuts.”
“Uppercuts,” he said softly, smiling.
“Yeah, those.”
“You know, that’s what I thought Lenny Jack was coming at me with in that last fight, an uppercut. But he surprised me with that hook and—blam—goodbye eyeball. I was too arrogant.”
“Arrogant isn’t a word that comes to mind when I think of you; cocky, maybe, but not arrogant.”
“You didn’t know me back then, Keri. I was arrogant. I was raking in pretty good money. I had nice things. I had a woman who loved me and two kids who adored me. And I took it all for granted. I burned through cash like it was going out of style. I cheated on my wife. I didn’t spend time with my children. I treated people badly. And I went into that fight lazy, feeling entitled. I got what I deserved.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I deserved to lose that fight. And I deserved to go bankrupt. I deserved to have Delilah leave me and take the kids. And I deserved to lose that eye too. Looking back, it actually changed my life
for the bet
ter. I actually started to give a shit about other people. It gave me the freedom to try to make a difference. It’s weird to say, but it may be the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, almost the best thing.”
Pretending not to pick up on that last comment, Keri nodded. They’d both had life-changing events which sent them on a new career path. The difference was that for Ray, law enforcement was a calling. For her, it was a mission with one ultimate goal—to find her daughter.
“I had the dream again last night,” she said.
“The one at the park?”
She nodded.
“This time I got so close. I was running so fast. I looked down and saw my bare feet leaving bloody footprints in the gravel. I could almost reach out and touch the back of the van. Evie was looking at me through the rear window. She was screaming but no sound came out. The van hit a bump and she dropped out of sight. Then I woke up. I was so soaked in sweat that I had to change clothes.”
“I’m sorry, Keri,” Ray said. She refused to look up at him, afraid to let him see that her eyes were damp.
“Ray, am I ever going to find her?”
“We’ll find her together. I promise. And when we do, she’ll have a lot of birthday parties to make up. Maybe I’ll come as a clown,” he added, trying to lighten the mood. She decided to go along.
“Because that’s not scary at all.”
“What do you mean? I’m a sweetheart!”
“You’re a pituitary case. Putting you in clown makeup isn’t going to make it better, Paul Bunyan.”
“Whatever you say, Fievel.”
Keri opened her mouth to fire back when Ray’s phone rang. He answered it before she could get a word out.
“Saved by the bell,” she muttered.
“What’s up?” he asked the person on the other end of the line. He listened, pulling out his notepad and writing furiously. He didn’t say a word until the very end.
“Thanks, Garrett. I owe you.”
“What is it?” Keri asked after he’d hung up.
“We gotta go,” he said, standing up and dropping some bills on the table. They headed for the door.
“Who was that?”
“Detective Patterson. Before we left the station I asked him to call me with any major updates. He’s been checking surveillance from near the school. You know how the front license plate on the van was covered up?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it looks like the guy forgot to cover the rear one. The security camera from a tattoo parlor on Windward caught it. They got a hit. It belongs to a guy named Johnnie Cotton. He’s got a long rap sheet. I can fill you in on the details in the car. But the most important one is that he’s a small-time drug dealer.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you know one of his clients.”
“Who’s that?” Keri asked as they hurried down the street to her car.
“Denton Rivers. Patterson said the kid just admitted it to Sterling and Cantwell. That’s who gave him the first bump on his head and the scratches too. Apparently Denton hadn’t been paying his bills.”
“You’re thinking that Johnnie Cotton took Ashley as collateral?”
“It’s a theory.”
“So why are we in such a hurry?”
“First give me your keys,” Ray said.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t handle your Glenlivet as well as you think you do.”
Keri had to admit that the warm feeling from the shots hadn’t subsided. She tossed him her keys.
“Now will you tell me why we’re in such a rush?”
“Because Patterson told me that Hillman’s assembling a strike team to hit Cotton’s place. They’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
“So what?”
“So, Cotton lives near the Baldwin Hills oil fields.”
“That’s ten minutes from here,” Keri said.
“Yes, it is. Care to go on a field trip?”
“I thought we were off the case.”
“You’re off the case. I’m on sick leave. But I’m feeling better all of a sudden. Can I help it if you were in the car with me when I decided to pursue a viable lead?” He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Hillman’s going to kill you.”
“Not if he wants me to take that Homicide job, he’s not. So are you in or not?”
Keri raised her eyebrows.
Did this guy forget who he’s talking to?
“Drive,” she said.
Within seconds they were tearing down the street, siren blaring. If they made good time, they’d be at Cotton’s place a half hour before the cavalry.
And if Ashley’s hurt, you’re going to be begging for them to show up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday
Night
As they weaved through the late rush hour traffic, Ray reviewed the info Patterson had given him on Johnnie Cotton. He’d been swept up in a child pornography sting six years ago, when he was twenty-four, and ended up spending two years in Lompoc. Out now, he would be on the sex offender registry for the rest of his life. That might explain why he lived in an industrial section of town, where it was far less likely that he’d violate the rule to stay 100 feet away from any schools or playgrounds.
But as troubling as that offense was, it wasn’t what had them headed to his place now. Instead, it was his van and Denton’s allegation that he was his dealer. Those two things together were enough for Hillman to get a warrant for his strike force. But Lieutenant Cole Hillman was a cautious man. Keri and Ray were both confident that just like the yelling they heard at Denton’s house, these details about Cotton created exigent circumstances that didn’t require a warrant. Neither of them needed to say it out loud: they were going in.
Cotton lived adjacent to Baldwin Hills, a wealthy, primarily African-American neighborhood in the heart of West Los Angeles. Most of the homes were on sloping hills that rose high enough to give panoramic views of the city on light smog days. But Cotton didn’t live in that neighborhood. His place was just to the south, in a mostly desolate stretch of land populated by oil fields and the always pumping derricks that sucked them dry.
His two-acre property was just off Stocker Street, on a stretch of Santa Fe Road, littered with rock and gravel suppliers, fabrication shops, junk yards, and the ramshackle homes of those businesses’ owners.
Keri and Ray got to Cotton’s place just after sunset. They had turned off the siren when they pulled off nearby La Cienega Boulevard. Now Ray turned off the headlights as well. They parked on the street, several hundred feet down from Cotton’s place, near the adjacent property. It was some sort of graveyard for broken down bulldozers, excavators, and eighteen-wheelers, which cast eerie black silhouettes against the fast darkening sky.
There were no streetlights in the area, exacerbating the shadows. A few of the buildings had small lights over the doorways but they were so far off the road that they weren’t much help to Keri and Ray.
They reviewed the plan before going any further.
“We’ve got about twenty-five minutes, tops, before the strike team arrives,” Ray noted. “Let’s keep our focus on finding Ashley and getting her out safe. We’ll let the pros handle the takedown if possible. Sound good?”
Keri nodded.
The side gate for the vehicle graveyard property parallel to Cotton’s place was open so they entered as quietly as possible.
I guess the owner of this place isn’t too concerned about anyone making off with his stuff unnoticed.
The properties were only divided by a five-foot-high chain-link fence. They carefully traversed the area for a hundred yards, before they finally saw a structure on Cotton’s property. It was a small one-story house with yellow interior lights peeking through the pulled curtains.
Behind it, farther back into the blackness, they could now see several other structures, the largest of which looked like a two-story metal building—possibly a welding shop from
the look of it—followed by several others, smaller and more shed-like. None of them had any interior or exterior lighting.
They climbed over the fence, landed on Cotton’s property, and approached the house quietly, moving in a wide searching circle, navigating through the broken husks of old rusty cars squatting on flat, airless tires.
Except for the dull hum of traffic a half mile away and the distant barking of one lonely dog, they heard nothing.
“I don’t see a van,” Keri whispered. She tried to ignore the sweat creeping down her back, making her shirt cling to her clammy skin. Despite the sweltering heat, she felt a chill.
“He might not be home.”
They kept moving, one careful step at a time, never quite sure if they were about to snag a tripwire or step on a homemade explosive of some sort. With a guy like Johnnie Cotton, who clearly didn’t like unannounced visitors, you could never tell.
They got all the way to the house and peeked through the narrow gap between the curtains. They could see a small living room. An old tube TV with rabbit-ears sat in one corner with nothing but static on the screen. There didn’t seem to be any movement inside. The light they’d seen came from a table lamp. A small fan on the floor oscillated back and forth in a futile attempt to keep the place cool. Other than the hum of the blades, they heard no sound coming from inside.
They crept around the side of the house, passing a blacked out and closed window, and then continued to the back, where a sliding window was in the up position for air flow. Through the screen, they saw a bedroom. A bit of light trickled into the room from a hall, enough to show that the bedroom walls were plastered with magazine pictures of young girls, almost all of whom were in outfits like nighties and bathing suits. It wasn’t kiddie porn—everything on the walls was available at a newsstand. But the sheer volume of it was disturbing.
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Ray muttered,
They continued their search, looking in every available window, and finally concluded that the man wasn’t home. They found the back door, which Ray unlocked with a credit card, entered, and did a quick search of the place, flicking on light switches only when necessary and only for a few seconds, in case Cotton came back unexpectedly.
A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1) Page 6
