Edgerton, the tech expert, had taken the cell phone Cotton had happily given him to try to trace the phone of the mysterious caller who wanted to meet up for a drug sale in the mall parking lot. An officer was also bringing him Ashley’s home laptop so he could do a deep scan to discover anything she might be hiding.
Suarez was typing up the reports from his interviews with Thelma Gray and Miranda Sanchez. Cantwell was doing a search of sales of black vans matching the abductor’s in LA County over the last month and checking the owners for criminal records.
Ray had gone back to Ashley’s high school to meet with the principal and review surveillance footage of the surrounding streets in recent days. They hoped the abductor had cased the school and made some kind of mistake, maybe gotten sloppy and gotten out of the van so he could be identified.
Brody had been pulled from the search entirely to investigate a drive-by shooting in Westchester. Hillman himself was reviewing recent cases of teen abductions in the county, looking for similarities.
Keri got Hillman to let her check out Walker Lee, the older guy Ashley seemed to have taken up with in recent weeks. She knew he’d said yes just to get her out of the station and away from the heart of the investigation. But she didn’t mind. She didn’t have much hope for any of those other areas of pursuit and figured she may as well try a fresh lead.
Walker Lee lived in North Venice just off Rose Avenue. The area was teeming with art galleries, vegan brunch spots, organic spas, and hundreds of artist lofts, which was just a fancy way of describing unfurnished, bare bones studio apartments. But because they were called “lofts” and were located in Venice, the building owners could charge $2,500 a month for 500 square feet. The same place in Sherman Oaks would go for under $1,000.
Lee’s place appeared to be a variation on the theme. It was in what looked like an old auto body shop, in which each repair station had been walled off from the others and transformed into a living space. Keri doubted the loud music his neighbors heard coming from his unit was in any way diminished by the cheap drywall separators.
She banged on the front door again. Minutes earlier, Walker Lee had shouted that he’d just gotten out of the shower and needed a minute to get dressed.
“It’s been long enough, Mr. Lee. Open up now or I’m going to open this door for you.”
A second later, the door opened.
Walker Lee—Ashley’s new boyfriend—stood in front of her. He looked like the guy in the photos. As in many of them, he was currently wearing no shirt or shoes, only a pair of jeans with an open button and a half-zipped fly that showcased his six-pack abs. His long blond hair was damp and water dripped from a few strands onto the concrete floor at his feet. He was so beautiful that it took effort for Keri not to stare.
“Come on in. You said you had some questions about Ashley?” he said as he rubbed a towel through his hair.
Keri nodded and followed him into the loft, trying not to stare at his backside. No wonder Ashley had been smitten. This guy was eye candy even by Hollywood standards. He led her through the main area, which served as the bedroom, through the kitchen that used to be a body shop office, and into what she guessed had once been the break room. Keri noticed that the door and walls were padded. Her internal alert system went off briefly as she wondered why he was guiding her into a soundproof room. But when she looked inside, she understood. It had been converted into a tiny rehearsal studio, complete with speaker towers, drums, microphones, soundboards, amplifiers, guitars, boxes, crates, endless wires, and even a couch to crash on. There was barely room to move. Lee plopped down on the couch and waited for Keri to speak. She took a seat in a metal folding chair across from him.
“As I said before, the reason I’m here is Ashley Penn. Do you know where she is?”
The man raked his fingers through his hair, a confused look on his face.
“Home?”
“No.”
“She’s not here if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Do you own a black van?”
“No.”
“Do you know anyone who owns a black van? Someone in the band, maybe?”
“No. I don’t get it. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“You don’t watch the news?”
“I don’t have a TV and since we weren’t gigging tonight, I’ve been rehearsing in here all evening. I only quit to shower fifteen minutes ago.”
“Were you alone? Can any of your band mates verify your whereabouts?”
“No. I like to work on new material by myself. Are you asking if I have an alibi? Seriously, what is going on?”
Keri explained how Ashley went missing after school this afternoon, all the while studying his face, trying to detect if he already knew what she was talking about. He betrayed nothing suspicious, only shock. She didn’t know if it was genuine or if his performance skills extended to police interviews.
As she spoke he grabbed two shot glasses, splashed whiskey into both, and handed one to Keri.
She shook her head so he set it on a speaker.
“Thanks, but no.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not when I’m on duty,” she lied. “Who’d want to take Ashley?”
Walker drained his glass.
“There’s some stuff going down,” he said. “But man, I can’t be talking to the cops about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could all come back to bite me in the ass.”
“Look, nothing personal but I don’t give a rat’s ass about your ass,” Keri said. “Unless you had something do with it, I’m not interested in you. So drop the drama and just talk to me.”
“Ah, man—”
“You want to help her, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then talk. Tell me what you know.”
He seemed to be contemplating his options, then looked Keri straight in the eyes and said, “Drink your glass first.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, I know, you’re on duty,” he said. “You want me to talk and tell you stuff that might come back to bite me? Fine, then let’s even the score. You do something that can come back to bite you. You drink, I talk. That’s the deal.”
Keri sized him up. Then she picked up the shot glass and leaned in toward him, putting on some of the flirty airs she remembered from a previous lifetime.
“Let me ask you a question first,” Keri said, already aware of the answer, “you’re how old?”
“Twenty-three. Is that too young for you, Detective?”
“You’d be surprised,” she told him, leaning back again. “And Ashley’s fifteen, if I recall. So what you’ve been doing to her is technically statutory rape. I assume that’s one of the things you’re worried about getting bit by.”
The man nodded. Keri put the shot glass back down and stared at him hard.
“Let’s be clear, Walker. You don’t mind if I call you Walker, do you?”
He shook his head, unsure whether she was still flirting or not. She cleared it up for him.
“Walker, in addition to statutory rape, I’m guessing your phone has a number of nude photos of Ashley. That’s possession of child pornography, which is also a sex crime. In fact, each photo is a separate count. Ordinarily I’d call my very large partner and let him punch you until your internal organs oozed out in your stool, but right now I don’t have time. The only thing I have time for is finding Ashley. So talk. Tell me something, tell me anything, and stop worrying about yourself for ten seconds. If you’re straight with me, you won’t have anything to worry about. If you’re not, I’m going to be your worst nightmare, I guarantee it.”
Walker gulped. It was nice to see the smirk disappear from his face, if only briefly. After he regained his composure, he spilled everything.
According to him, even though his band, Rave, was doing decently here in LA—they even had a single in rotation on KROQ—he didn’t think they could break out of the pack
. There was just too much competition here. Walker—the lead singer and songwriter—was thinking of dumping the band and going to Vegas to try to make it solo. He was the face of the band, he wrote the songs, he played lead guitar. He figured he’d be a big fish in a smaller pond in the desert. Once he established himself, he could come back and fill theatres instead of clubs. Ashley was going to come with him.
“So you two were going to run away?”
Walker shrugged. “Start living is more like it. I’m going to be huge. She is too. You’ve seen her, right? She’s gorgeous. She’d been looking into some modeling agencies there. They were interested.”
His information fit with the web searches Keri had found on the laptop in Ashley’s room.
“There was just one little wrinkle,” he continued. “She’s always had money—never had to ask for it. She knew her parents wouldn’t give her any if she just took off. So she started to joke about faking her own abduction and ransoming them.”
Keri tried to hide the shock she felt. Could Ashley actually be behind her own disappearance? That didn’t fit with anything about the case so far.
“Do you think that’s what happened?”
He shook his head.
“No, it was just a joke. If I had to lay money down, I’d put all this crap at the feet of Artie North.”
Keri had never heard the name before.
“Who’s Artie North?”
“He’s a super creepy security guard at Ashley’s school. He caught me and Ashley one day, out behind the bleachers, you know, being …affectionate. He got video of it on his phone. Then the little freak tried to bribe Ashley into having sex with him. Otherwise he said he’d upload it to a bunch of porn sites.”
“So did she? Have sex with him?”
“No. Someone beat the shit out of him instead.”
“You?”
He shrugged.
“I can’t recall. The important thing is, she told me he’s been giving her dirty looks ever since.”
Keri turned it over in her head, trying to make sense of everything she’d been told. Predatory rock star boy toys, creepy security guards, possible faked abductions—she’d just gone from no leads to too many. She stood up.
“Don’t leave town, Walker. I’m going to check out every one of these leads. And if it turns out you’ve been lying to me, I’m going to bring my partner back for an up close and personal visit, you understand?”
He nodded. She grabbed the shot off the speaker, downed it in one swallow, and tossed him the empty glass as she walked out the door.
“And for Christ’s sake, put on a frickin’ shirt.”
Outside, she called Suarez and asked him to work up anything he had on Artie North and get back to her right away. Then she called Ray.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I just wrapped up at the school. I’m headed back to the station.”
“I’ll meet you there and pick you up. Don’t even go inside.”
“What’s up?’
“We’ve got a new suspect. And I’d like your company when I have a little chat with him.”
“Okay. You sound peppy.”
“I got multiple new leads while getting hit on by a himbo, so you know, confidence boost.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Ray said sarcastically.
“I knew you would be. See you in five.”
Keri hung up, put the siren on her roof, and turned it on. She loved driving with the siren on.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday
Night
Keri and Ray pulled into the parking lot for the Lawndale Division 22 Metrolink maintenance and storage yard. Artie North, it turned out, wasn’t just a security guard at Ashley’s school, but also worked a second job as a security guard at the yard housed just off Aviation Boulevard near Rosecrans Avenue.
Keri didn’t love the look of the place. Even in the day, it would have been unsettling. But at night, with limited light, the sprawling yard, full of motionless, hulking metrocars, was downright creepy. It was the sort of place she imagined Evie being held when her nightmares got the better of her.
Suarez had called her back on the drive south and let her know that Artie North owned a van, but it was white, not black. Obviously that didn’t clear him, as painting the thing would have been easy.
And what’s the deal with all the vans? Is every abduction suspect required to have one?
They walked up to the entrance. There was a large automatic gate in front with a security office off to the right. Keri noticed there was no van in the main lot but she couldn’t see the employee lot on the other side of the gate because of the office. No one was visible through the window so Keri pushed the buzzer by the door. Her hand went involuntarily to check her holster. Ray saw her do it and frowned slightly.
“Let’s not shoot anyone until we have to, okay. All we have on this guy is the word of your new boy band boyfriend.”
“And the van—don’t forget the van, Megatron.”
Before Ray could respond, a pudgy, sleepy-looking guy walked in from the back room of the office. It appeared they woke him up. Keri didn’t like to make snap judgments, but looking at him, she didn’t know how he could secure a waist belt, much less a school or a municipal rail yard.
As he walked toward them, Artie North’s whole body jiggled. His uniform shirt spilled over his front, seemingly propelling him forward. His face was pale and pimply and his pale blue eyes watered under the fluorescent lights. He looked to be about five foot eight but was well over 250 pounds.
It wasn’t hard to imagine that a guy who looked like this spent most of his time watching porn by the dull light of a computer monitor and might have to blackmail compromised teens to get any live action.
As he got close to the window, Keri held up her badge.
“LAPD. Are you Artie North?”
“Yes.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”
Artie hesitated.
“I should probably call the site manager.”
“Mr. North, I wasn’t really asking. I was just being polite. You need to open the door.”
He did so without another word. As they stepped inside, Ray picked up the questioning.
“You also work security at West Venice High?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you familiar with a student named Ashley Penn?”
“Sure. She’s a sophomore. Why, is something wrong?”
“She’s gone missing,” Keri said. “You haven’t heard?”
“No, I haven’t.”
That seemed dubious. It had been all over the news. Once they sent out the Amber Alert, the press had been in a permanent frenzy.
Once they were inside, Artie locked the door again and turned back to them.
“Please have a seat.”
Keri glanced around. Inside was a first-class security center with radios, landlines, all the equipment a guard could want, and a locked gun case. The back section of the building held sleeping quarters, a small kitchen, and a bathroom.
“What happened to Ashley?” Artie asked.
Keri answered his question with a question.
“Mr. North, how is it that you’ve heard nothing about this? It’s been all over the media.”
Artie smiled ruefully as he spread his arm out to showcase the room.
“All this fancy equipment but they don’t allow me a TV. And they monitor web use on the computer so I just leave it on the company website. A guy got fired a few months ago for checking out ESPN dot com while on duty.”
“Is that hard for you Mr. North, not being able to surf the web for such long stretches?” Keri asked.
He looked at her quizzically.
“What?”
“Never mind. Let me get right to the point. We’ve received a report that you have a compromising video of Ashley; that you were threatening to release it publicly if she didn’t have sex with you.”
Artie l
ooked genuinely shocked.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
“That’s not true?”
“No. Who said such a thing?”
“That’s confidential. Do you ever talk to Ashley at school?”
“A little. I talk to everyone.”
“What do you say to her?”
“Hi, have a nice day, get to class, typical stuff.”
Ray got up and started walking around, as if he were curious about the security equipment. As Artie’s eyes followed him, Keri stifled a smile. This was a standard Raymond Sands maneuver to make a person of interest a little less comfortable—wander, loiter, hover. Having a large African-American cop making himself comfortable in their personal space tended to throw most people off their game. Sometimes they let things slip.
“You’re working two jobs?” Keri asked, forcing Artie’s attention back to her.
“Yes. I work at the school until three and then come here to the yard. I’m on active duty until ten and then go to sleep but I’m here all night if they need me.”
“Then you go directly to school in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“What days?”
“Monday to Friday. On the weekends I go home.”
“Which is where?”
“I have an old farm up near Piru, west of Santa Clarita. It’s not really a farm anymore but the property is pretty valuable so I try to keep it in decent shape. Why?”
“When were you there last?”
“This morning, when I left to go to the school. I won’t be back there until Friday night, after my shift here ends at ten.”
“Do you have a van?”
“Yes.”
“Can we see it?”
“Sure. It’s at the side of the building.”
They took a look. It was still white and very dirty. Ray went over and scratched at the side with his fingertip. It hadn’t been washed in weeks and Keri doubted it had been painted since it left the plant where it was assembled. She turned back to Artie.
“Does the rail yard here have any vehicles?”
“Sure—”
“Are any of them vans?”
“No, no vans. They’re pickup trucks, mostly, and a couple of old SUVs.”
A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1) Page 9
