by Jacob Stone
“He didn’t care. He expected me to get a good look at him. Instead Annie spent ten minutes face to face with him. I think the only thing we can assume about his identity is that he’s Caucasian, in his thirties, and that he doesn’t have red hair, wear glasses, or have a beard or mustache. And that he’s five feet eleven inches tall.”
“How did you get his height?”
“We have a point of reference with how he’s standing next to the door. The crime scene folks insist that’s how tall he is, assuming he’s not wearing lifts in his shoes.”
Morris continued the video. The killer came to life carrying a box across the lobby and placing it on top of the security desk. While the doorman couldn’t be seen in the video, the clipboard that he handed over to the killer could be. As the killer took the clipboard with his left hand, he reached behind his back with his right and pulled out a gun, which he pointed straight ahead. Morris again paused the video.
“The gun barrel looks unnaturally long,” Finston noted. “A suppressor?”
“Yep. A 9 mm with a suppressor attached. The gun will still make a noticeable popping sound when fired, but if the bathroom walls are constructed solidly enough, it’s likely no one outside of the lobby would’ve heard it. Forensics will be figuring that out. The blazer and tie he wore when Annie spoke to him must’ve been inside the box.”
Morris continued the video, and it showed the killer transferring the gun to his right hand, sliding the box under his left arm, and disappearing out of the frame. Morris again stopped the video.
“At this point he must have taken the victim to the bathroom. The crime scene folks were able to determine from the blood splatter and the angle of the bullet wound that the victim was on his knees when he was shot in the back of the head. The killer then changed his clothes and masqueraded as the doorman.”
“After putting an ‘Out of Order’ sign on the bathroom door.”
Morris said, “Correct. There’s also a surveillance camera covering the back door, and it shows him leaving the building at one thirty-seven, again carrying that same box. That was about the time Annie and I were sitting together in the park across the street.”
Finston got up so she could walk over to the vestibule door. “He would’ve been able to see you from here,” she said.
“That’s right.”
Finston appeared deep in thought as she stroked her pointed chin and made her way back to her chair behind the security desk. She looked up at Morris with thoughtful eyes.
“Those inscribed business cards weren’t left simply to get you involved in these murders,” she said. “While his plan might need you to be involved, he also wants to taunt you. This is personal with him. Very much so. We know he’s in disguise, and he could even be wearing prosthetics, but is it possible that you know him?”
“No, not possible. I don’t care how much he might’ve disguised himself, I’ve never seen him before.”
“His animus toward you could be because of a relative you arrested, or even something unrelated to your time as an LAPD detective. Morris, you need to explore that avenue.”
Morris felt the same dull throbbing behind his eyes that he had experienced earlier that morning. This was turning into a mess. While he knew Finston was right, he still asked whether it was possible that the killer simply wanted to prove his superiority to the famed serial killer hunter. “After all, you said the guy’s a narcissist. Isn’t that what an extreme narcissist would do?”
“There’s more to it than that. He didn’t come here just to gloat. He wanted you to be tormented by the fact that you had him and let him slip away.”
“If that’s true, why did he flee instead of sticking around so he could face me?”
“Because he realized he had made a mistake with Detective Walsh, and he was afraid you’d pick up on it.”
Morris started massaging his temples, hoping to soothe the throbbing that had spread from behind his eyes to the back of his skull.
“Possibly,” he admitted. “He stuck around after executing Javier Lopez for some sort of demented thrill, but I think he might’ve had another reason for killing Lopez. You know the story he told Annie about Heather Brandley yesterday returning from a run, and then an hour later coming back down to the lobby dressed to kill, as if she had a hot date? I’d bet money that’s true—that this was yet another way for the killer to smirk at us, in this case by telling us what actually happened. I’d also bet money that her hot date was with the killer. That he had met her at the end of her run. And I’d also bet that somebody let him know when she had left the building to go running and how long she usually ran for, so that the killer could accidentally meet her.”
“A doorman working here would know that.”
Morris said, “My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter 16
“A soft guy like you won’t fare well in prison. If I were you, I’d use the time you got left on the outside to toughen yourself up.”
Dalton Fowler’s reaction gave him away. He should’ve either acted confused or angry; instead he froze for a heartbeat before forcing a big horselaugh.
“You’re a funny guy, Brenner,” he said, his laughter giving way to red-faced chortling.
The reason Fowler called Fred Lemmon by the name Brenner was because when Lemmon was brought in three weeks ago to fill Eckhardt Engineering’s newly created position of vice president of corporate compensation, he was introduced as Mark Brenner. This was a bogus position, and only the company’s CEO knew who Lemmon really was.
“That might be true,” Lemmon said, “but ten years in prison is no laughing matter, even if you’re lucky enough to serve it out in a federal country club instead of in the California correction system.”
Fowler decided to change tack. The amusement dried up instantly, leaving his face chalky white with indignation. He should’ve gone with indignation first, but he had badly miscalculated. His hands balled into fists as he got up from his chair and took a step toward Lemmon.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a soft, menacing tone.
“Of course you do,” Lemmon said. “But let’s not waste any more time. Just sit down, okay?”
“Stand up!”
Lemmon sighed and stood up. Fowler took another quick step forward and threw a punch at Lemmon’s jaw. Lemmon could’ve just stepped away from it, but he instead ducked the punch while at the same time driving his right fist into Fowler’s stomach. That took the air out of Eckhardt Engineering’s vice president of public relations. Lemmon took hold of his elbow and guided Fowler back to his chair, and then retook his own seat.
“Let me explain the situation to you so you don’t keep acting stupid,” Lemmon said. “My name’s not Mark Brenner and I have no idea what a vice president of corporate compensation would even do. I’m an investigator with MBI, and I was brought in here to find out who’s been selling Eckhardt’s bids to Thompson Solutions. And you’re the guy.”
Fowler sucked in just enough air to force out, “That’s insane. I don’t have access to the bids.”
“You might not, but Alice Gleason does, and I followed the two of you to the Sunspot Motel three nights ago. I even snapped a couple of photos of you while you got on her laptop. This was when she was in the shower.”
Alice Gleason was the administrative assistant to the vice president of new business development. As far as Lemmon was concerned, the company had too many vice presidents. Lemmon had also fibbed about what he told Fowler. The part about following them to the motel was true. It was also true that Gleason had brought her laptop with her. But the blinds had been closed so Lemmon was unable to see what went on inside the motel room, although he knew Gleason had taken a shower after she and Fowler had had their tumble in the sack, and he also was pretty sure around fifty minutes after they had entered the room he heard through the flimsy motel door not onl
y the shower turn on, but also the sound that laptop computers make when they’re powered on.
Lemmon could see the calculating look in Fowler’s eyes as he remembered that the blinds had been closed that night.
“One of the slats didn’t fit right and it created just enough of an opening through the blinds for me to take photos,” Lemmon said. “But that’s only part of what I have against you. You’re done, Fowler. At least if I show anyone what I have.”
Fowler reacted as if he’d been slapped. He bit his lip and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I might want to burn what I’ve collected,” Lemmon said with a guilty smile. “I’ve got expenses with two kids in college, and I’ve had my eye on a sailboat. A Corsair. Forty-eight grand used. So I’m offering you a one-time deal. A hundred and fifty thousand and I tell Eckhardt that it’s just bad luck that they keep getting underbid by Thompson.”
“So you’re a greedy swindler,” Fowler said.
“Fortunately for you, not that greedy. Otherwise I’d be asking for everything Thompson gave you. You’re still going to make out.”
Fowler laughed bitterly. “Not after you grab seventy percent.” There was more of that calculating look, then, “I’ll give you forty grand. That’s it.”
Lemmon breathed in deeply as he manufactured a pained look. “Make it forty-eight grand so I can buy the sailboat.”
“I ought to kick the crap out of you for sucker punching me earlier,” Fowler said, his mouth forming a soft pout. “But fine, I’ll pay you. It will be worth it to never have to see your cheap, swindling face again.”
Lemmon smiled at that. “I don’t know, forty-eight grand doesn’t make me all that cheap, but whatever makes you feel better about this. I want the money wired to my account today.”
Lemmon handed Fowler a folded sheet of paper, who took it as if it were something diseased.
“You’ll get it. Now get out of my office before your stench makes me lose my lunch.”
Lemmon shook his head sadly at Fowler as he got up from his chair. “If you’re going to be a thief you should learn to treat your fellow thieves with more respect.”
Lemmon whistled the tune “We’re in the Money” as he left Fowler’s office. Waiting for him in the office he’d been given was Chester Eckhardt, the founder and CEO of Eckhardt Engineering. Eckhardt’s round, jowly face was livid with rage.
“Did you get all that?” Lemmon asked, because he had kept an open cell phone connection with Chester Eckhardt while he had been in Fowler’s office.
“Every word,” Eckhardt said, his voice shaking with anger. “I’d like to go in there now and break his jaw.”
“I don’t blame you. If it will make you feel any better, I gave him a good shot right in the breadbasket.” Lemmon tapped his own stomach. “The way the color drained out of his face, I’m lucky he didn’t puke on my shoes. The good news is you have enough now for an arrest, but I’d suggest waiting for him to wire the forty-eight thousand into the account you set up. It will make the case against him that much stronger.”
Eckhardt was still seething. “You don’t think Alice Gleason was involved?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I grilled her pretty good. If she fooled me, she’s a damned good liar. And a sociopath.”
“I don’t believe she’s that,” Eckhardt said with a decisive nod of his head. “Just someone who got taken advantage of. But I’ll be talking to her. And I’ll be wanting to look at her banking records.” He held his hand out to Lemmon. Lemmon took it, and fought to keep from wincing. It was almost like a python had wrapped itself around his hand.
“I’d been hoping that being underbid like we were was a fluke. That sonofabitch Fowler might’ve cost my company eighteen million dollars.” Ekhardt cleared his throat, and added, “This incident has made me realize I need to open a new position. Vice president of corporate security. It’s yours if you want it.”
Lemmon thanked him for the thought, but told Eckhardt he was afraid the position would become too boring once the other employees saw what happened to Fowler. After a few more words with Eckhardt, Lemmon bid adieu. He waited until he was outside before shaking his hand crushed by Eckhardt’s beefy paw. He further waited until he was in his car before calling Morris.
“I rolled the dice like we talked about and got a useable confession, and am available to help with this serial killer case.”
“That’s good,” Morris said, his voice sounding weary over the phone. “We got another body. A doorman by the name of Javier Lopez who was working at Heather Brandley’s condo building.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, it was, although I think it was partly a murder of necessity. That the killer needed Lopez dead. We should be able to confirm this after we get a look at some phone records. But I also suspect this psycho wants to keep us from catching our breath. Anyway, I can certainly use you on this. Are you still in San Diego?”
“Yep, I just got in my car. I’ll call you when I get to LA.”
Chapter 17
“Excuse me, Miss, do you have this in teal?”
For several minutes, Hannah Welker intentionally ignored the skinny man with the scraggly beard as he performed an assortment of pantomimes to get her attention. One of the perks of working for Hipster Dipster was that the sales personnel were required to be rude. It was considered part of the ironic charm of the store. But she also had an English Lit paper due tomorrow on Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor, and she still had over a hundred pages that she needed to read before her shift ended, so she was planning to be more than just ironically rude to this guy. If she could get away with it, she was going to flat out act as if he didn’t exist.
“Wise Blood. Cool book,” the guy said. “Must be hard reading it with customers like me bugging you, huh, Miss?”
“It’s Ms.,” Hannah hissed under her breath.
“Ah ha! I got your attention. Finally. So will you see if you have this in teal? Twenty-eight waist, thirty-six length.”
Hannah had made the mistake of acknowledging his presence. He wasn’t going to leave now. She looked up from her book to see the skinny guy grinning widely. After all, treating him like dog poop was all part of the fun. Sighing and giving him her best put-upon look, she said, “If that’s the only way I can get you to leave me alone, fine, I’ll go check.”
She got up and flashed him an exasperated look. He giggled, thinking it was part of the act. It wasn’t. On her way to the stockroom, she gave an extra-long look at a mannequin she passed in the women’s section. This one was dressed in tan leather boots, plaid green and yellow pants, a gray blouse, and a flowery cotton sweater. It wasn’t the outfit that made her stare. She kind of liked it. But each time she had passed the mannequin that day something about it seemed off, and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
She found the teal-colored pants that the skinny guy was asking for. She almost went back empty-handed, because now she was going to have to spend time ringing up the sale. But doing something like telling that guy the store didn’t have an item that it did could get her fired, and this was a sweet gig, especially with all the time it gave her for her college work.
She stopped to look again at the mannequin. Something was definitely wrong about it. She decided after she finished Wise Blood she’d satisfy her curiosity and figure out what it was that bugged her.
“Your lucky day,” she told the skinny guy in her best bored voice as she handed him the pants.
“I’m sorry if I interfered with your reading pleasure,” he said, still grinning.
“English Lit assignment,” she said.
“Paper due?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Ah ha. You figure out yet what your paper’s going to be about?”
“I’m not sure yet. I still have over a hundred pages to read. But something about sin and faith.”<
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A loud popping noise, like what a large firecracker might make, got both of them turning in the direction of the stockroom. This was followed almost immediately by a crashing noise.
“What was that?” the skinny man asked.
Hannah had no idea.
“I better go see,” she said.
“I’ll join you.”
She wasn’t going to turn down his offer of chivalry. What really spooked her was where the crashing sound came from. It might’ve only been her imagination, but she could’ve sworn it was where that creepy mannequin had been set up—the one that had something off-putting about it.
The skinny guy, who told Hannah his name was Josef, led the way toward the stockroom, and sure enough it was the mannequin that had crashed to the floor and now lay in two pieces—the upper torso and the lower half. The lower half was by far the bigger piece, and it didn’t look right to Hannah. Whatever the popping noise was, it had split the pants revealing not plastic, but instead what looked like bloodless, way-too-white flesh.
“That’s not blood, is it?” Josef asked.
He was pointing at a small puddle leaking out of the lower half. Hannah all at once felt woozy, and she would’ve collapsed to the floor if Josef hadn’t caught her.
Chapter 18
The killer had wanted an outdoor table at the café directly across the street from the Hipster Dipster, but they were all taken. “I could seat you inside,” offered the hostess, a petite redhead with a face dotted by freckles.
“Any by the window?”
“Let me check.”
When the hostess came back, she smiled apologetically. “Nothing right now. But if you want I could sit you at the bar until either a window or outdoor table opens up.”
The killer only had seven minutes before the device he had planted in his mannequin-corpse creation was set to go off, and waiting around for a table wouldn’t do, so he instead hurried over to the bakery half a block away and got seated outside there. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d still have a view of the show, albeit an obstructed one. But that would be for what went on outside. For the real show, he’d have a front-row seat.
