by Robin Mahle
“So neither you nor Raquel saw anyone in the area? A man or anyone else walking by?”
Vanessa again looked away.
“Vanessa, it’s very important that you tell me if you saw anyone that night. Anyone at all. You were very near where that young girl was murdered and we think the person who did it might have been in your area prior to the attack.”
“Rocky wanted to tell the cops, but I told her not to. I told her it would only be trouble for her and now she’s dead.”
“Vanessa, I understand how you must feel.”
“Do you?” Her voice rose in anger. “You know what it’s like living with this shit day in and day out? Your friends getting killed?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Kate replied.
Vanessa rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “Sure. Looks like you live a real hard life, lady.” She paused for a moment and took a breath. “We saw some freak who stopped to talk to us, but then he left.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like? We only have a vague description and we need someone with a first-hand account who can meet with one of the forensics artists to get a sketch drawn. We’re hoping you can do that for us.”
“Oh, hell no. I ain’t going to the police station. No way. Are you fucking crazy?”
“Are you mixed up with similar people as your friend?” Nick asked.
“No. I ain’t that stupid, but it don’t mean I don’t know people who get locked up and get pulled over for shit all the time. I ain’t risking that. No way.”
“What if we could bring the artist here for you? Or somewhere you feel would be safe?”
Vanessa began shaking her head. “I don’t know. Shit, man. I didn’t want none of this.” Her eyes began to well. “Now Rocky’s dead.”
Kate reached for her hand. “They’ll find whoever killed your friend, Vanessa. And right now, you can help find the man responsible for killing at least four women and severely injuring another.”
“You mean you have someone who didn’t get killed?”
Kate nodded.
“Then why can’t you talk to her? She’s going to know more than me.”
“She only remembers a few details about the attack and a hazy description of her attacker. But what we need from you, is a description that we’re hoping will match that man she remembered.”
“It won’t take long and we can have the artist meet you at a coffee shop or a comparable place,” Nick said.
Another moment passed with Vanessa in silence, but then she pursed her lips and held Kate’s gaze. “Fine. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but I’ll tell you what I remember.”
“You think you can get the rest of the day off and we’ll make the arrangements? I’m afraid timing is vital, Vanessa.”
“You want to pay me for my missed hours?”
“We can help you with that,” Kate said.
CHAPTER 20
Andre Knight entered the 77th Street precinct, ushered in by Detective Sharpe. He’d spared him the embarrassment of handcuffs but kept a firm grip on his left arm as they walked inside and into an interrogation room.
“Right through here, please.” Sharpe opened the door and led Andre to a chair tucked beneath the table. With deliberate steps, highlighting with each one the gravity of the situation, he walked to the other side of the table and sat down. Sharpe leaned in and stared, a final action to ensure Knight understood who was in charge.
After an agonizing silence, Andre began, “Am I being charged with something?”
“You did come down voluntarily; however, it remains to be seen whether you can explain your whereabouts last night. We both know you were there, so you can drop the story that you were home with your wife. She might be defending you now, but I bet she has no idea what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Then tell me why you were at Leimert Park at one a.m. this morning? We have a witness who saw you run from the woman you assaulted and, of course, there’s the issue of your car on closed circuit.”
“Okay. I was there, but I didn’t hurt that woman.”
“Then why did you run?”
“I was scared.”
“Of what? You saw an injured woman and you didn’t think to call 911?”
“I was scared people would think I hurt her. I didn’t, though. I swear it.”
“You haven’t answered my question as to why you were there. If you only saw the woman and then took off because you were afraid, why were you there at all? Scoring drugs?”
Andre averted his eyes and whispered, “No.”
“Were you meeting someone? Can you give us a name so we can verify your story?”
“I was alone. I wasn’t there to get drugs or meet with anyone.”
“Andre, you’re running out of options here. There are four other women who have died; all staged, all made up like they were at some sort of modeling shoot. Only this last one survived. Was it because someone saw you? Was that why you took off? Couldn’t finish the job?”
“No!”
“Then you’d better tell me what the hell you were doing there because with what we have, it’s enough to bring charges against you. Do you know what that means, Andre?”
Andre was silent for several moments and then looked at Sharpe. “I was following him.”
Sharpe rubbed his face with both hands, appearing frustrated. “You were following who, Andre?”
“I don’t know his name. I follow him on a blog and he said he was going to be there. I didn’t know why, though. I just wanted to meet him.”
“A guy who writes a blog was supposed to be at Leimert Park.” Sharpe began to nod. “And you wanted to meet him? Who is he? Does this blog of his have a name?”
Andre was silent but soon continued. “If I tell you, he’ll come after me. I think he might already be coming. I think he planned all of this.”
“I’ll tell you what, you think this guy is going to cause you some problems if you talk? If you don’t talk, I’m going to throw your ass in jail and no judge will grant bail on a case like this.”
“He’s an artist, sort of,” Andre said. “He does like performance art and stuff.”
Sharpe’s brow furrowed as he listened.
“He makes them up after—you know—then he puts them on display and films them.”
“The fuck? Films them?”
“Yeah. And that’s what he puts on his blog. They’re his performance pieces.” Andre wiped away a tear that traced his cheek.
“You’re telling me you wanted to meet this guy and that’s why you were there? You knew what he was going to do and didn’t bother to call the cops? Well, I’ll tell you, Andre, if what you’re saying is true, you’re still going to prison.”
“But I didn’t…”
The two of them stopped cold when they spotted Agent Jameson and Sergeant Moore enter the room.
Sharpe noticed they appeared to have some news. “The car here?”
“Yes,” Jameson said.
“We found something. Something we’ve been looking for,” Moore added.
Sharpe stood up while holding Andre’s gaze. “What is it?”
Moore held in his hand an evidence bag. Sharpe knew immediately what it was and reached out to grab it. “You found this in his car?”
“Yes, sir. Jameson and I searched the vehicle, careful not to contaminate it, and he found this in a bag shoved behind the spare wheel.”
“What else was in the bag?”
“A t-shirt and a baseball cap,” Jameson replied.
Sharpe’s expression immediately masked in triumph and he turned to Andre. “This your blonde wig?”
Andre shrugged.
“It was in your car, along with the shirt and ball cap.” Sharpe dropped the contents in front of Andre.
“It’s mine. So what?”
“So what?” Sharpe smiled. “That wig there, I’d wager that it will match a fiber we found on one of the victims. We’ve been looking
for this wig, Andre, and what do you know? Here it is. So you want to rethink that tale you just spun?”
♦ ♦ ♦
The sun lowered in the sky and its rays burned through the windshield as Nick drove to a nearby café with Kate in the passenger seat and Vanessa Ruiz in the back.
“I see it, just ahead.” Kate pointed to the right. “He should be here by now.”
Nick pulled curbside and glanced over his shoulder. “Okay, Vanessa. This is the place. It won’t take more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the outside to give him the description and then we’ll have you back at your store.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Kate led the way into the coffee shop. She spotted the LAPD forensics artist at the far end and raised a hand to confirm he was the right guy.
“Officer Phillips? I’m Agent Reid and this Agent Scarborough. Thank you for meeting us here.”
“Pleasure. Detective Sharpe said this was urgent. And this is Ms. Ruiz?” He offered a greeting, but when she didn’t accept, he pulled his hand away. “Okay, then. Guess we should get started. Why don’t you all take a seat?” He waited a moment for the three to settle in. “Ms. Ruiz, the person you saw, can you tell me what his eyes looked like? Were they round or almond shape or large or small?”
“Um, kinda almond-like, not too big. Brown, I think. Dark at least.”
“Great, and what about his hair? Color and style?”
“It was weird, like curly and dark and laid on his shoulders, I guess.”
“When you say weird, what do you mean exactly?”
“I mean, like it didn’t look real.”
“Like he was wearing a wig or something?”
“Yeah, something like that. A wig. It was just like all Jheri-curled and shit. I mean, what white guy wears a Jheri curl?”
“Right. Okay.” Phillips glanced to the agents and quickly returned his attention to Vanessa. “Can you tell me a little bit about his facial features? What kind of nose did he have?”
Vanessa placed her hand on her own nose. “Sort of like, you know, wide and shit. Um, like the tip of it was wide.”
“Like this?” Phillips began to sketch. “Kinda bulbous, you mean?”
“Yeah, just like that. And you got the hair right too and his eyes, except one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He was wearing a Chicago Bulls baseball hat.”
“You remember that it was the Chicago Bulls?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, we’re in LA, right? This guy’s wearing a Chicago hat. I knew he wasn’t from around here.”
“Okay. We’re getting somewhere now. Ms. Ruiz, what about his cheeks? Were they really high and sharp, or were his cheeks fuller, kinda fat, you know?”
“I think they were, um, kinda like normal. I mean, like I don’t remember them being anything special like all cut, you know?”
“Okay.” He continued to sketch.
“And finally, you’re confident he was white?”
“He was white. Definitely a white guy.” She paused. “Well, I mean, maybe he coulda been Latino, but if he was, he was really light-skinned.”
“Any facial hair?”
“No. no beard or anything like that.”
Officer Phillips was quiet for a moment longer while he put the finishing touches on this sketch. “Did he look like this?” He turned his pad of paper for her to see.
“Oh my God. You’re really good. Yeah, that’s him. I’m sure that’s him. Holy shit.” She looked at Kate. “That’s really good.”
Kate smiled. “The fact that you remembered as much as you did was what helped him to be as accurate as possible. Thank you for your help, Vanessa. I know your friend would’ve been proud of you.”
“I remembered a lot about him ‘cause he was so strange. Creepy and shit, you know? Even Rocky thought so.” She began to fidget with her hands. “I wish she would’ve done it like this, you know? I mean, not go to the police station. She might still be here.”
Kate pressed her hand against Vanessa’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ll take you back to work.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Nick walked back to the car while Kate waited there for his return. He slid into the driver’s seat. “I tried to give her fifty bucks, but she refused. Said she did it for Raquel.” He keyed the ignition.
“I feel bad for her, for her friend too. What a sad thing to have to live in fear and worry about who you talk to and where you go,” Kate said. “Must make you feel like some sort of prisoner.”
“I’m sure it does.” He pulled away from the store. “We’d better get this sketch to Sharpe. He said he’s got the guy in custody who owns the white Honda. Guess we’ll find out if he matches Vanessa’s description.”
It had reached the full height of rush hour and traffic back to the station moved at a snail’s pace. When they returned, both seemed equally hurried to get inside and show the sketch to Detective Sharpe.
Nick handed it to Kate. “You made this happen. You might as well show him what you got.”
“Thanks.” Kate continued to walk along the hall toward Sharpe’s office. “Detective?”
“Agents Reid and Scarborough. Glad you could finally make it.” He stood up from behind his desk and walked around to meet them.
“Traffic was a nightmare. Sorry we were delayed,” Kate replied. “But we have the sketch from Vanessa Ruiz. This was what Raquel Garcia wanted to show us, but we couldn’t help her in time.”
Sharpe took hold of the sketch. “You make copies of this yet?”
“No, but Officer Phillips had a carbon copy, or whatever that paper is that he uses. I don’t know, do they use carbon anymore?”
“I don’t think so. Most of them use a tablet they can draw on so they have it electronically,” Sharpe said. “But I think Phillips is a little old school.”
That phrase coming from him seemed ironic. “So, what do you think? This look like Andre Knight to you?”
Sharpe walked back to his desk to retrieve his glasses and slid them onto his face. He held up the paper and began to study it.
It was when his expression dropped that Kate realized something was wrong. She regarded Nick with concern and he noticed it too.
“This isn’t him.” He began to walk by them and into the hall. “Come on; I’ll show you.” He led them to the viewing room adjacent to where they held Andre Knight. “Look for yourself.”
Nick and Kate stood in front of the monitors and looked at Andre Knight, who still sat at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee. He sat in the direction of the camera but hadn’t looked up for confirmation.
Sharpe leaned in and pressed a button. “Mr. Knight, someone will be with you in a moment.” His voice sounded over the speaker in the other room.
Knight then looked up at the camera and they both saw his face clearly.
“It’s not him.” Kate turned. “I don’t understand. How can this not be him?”
“He’s not wearing the wig,” Nick began.
“No, but look closer.” Sharpe pointed to the sketch. “This shows his eyes are narrower. Take a look at that guy. His eyes are round, his cheeks and jawbone, more squared off.” He began to shake his head. “Son of a bitch. He was telling the truth.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked.
“He started on some cockamamie story about how he was following this guy who had a blog or some shit and he wanted to meet him. But get this, whoever the guy is, Knight says he was putting the girls in these positions and then filming them for his website.”
“For God’s sake.” Kate recalled her own conclusion that whoever this was could have been uploading the images to the web. Turned out, she was right and she regretted not pursuing the idea further.
“That’s not the worst of it.” Sharpe turned to face the monitors again and peered at Knight. “He said the guy put the videos on his blog and has a shitload of followers. Knight was one of them.”
“He k
new what was happening?” Kate said.
“And didn’t do shit about it. Yep,” Sharpe replied.
“I don’t know. I can’t believe a bunch of people would watch these videos and not one reported the crime?” Nick said.
“Agent Scarborough, you work in BAU. I thought you’d have seen far worse than that.”
“I guess I have, but we’re usually dealing with one unsub, with few exceptions.” Nick glanced at Kate in brief recollection of Edward Shalot and how he manipulated so many people; his followers. “To have his crimes playing out on a blog.” Nick trailed off. “Wait a second. Did he give you the name of this website? Have you looked into it?”
“No. He’s scared shitless of the ‘man behind the camera,’ he calls him. Hasn’t given us anything to go on yet.”
“What if he’s lying about that too?” Nick continued. “What if he’s working with this other guy? Helping him out? Maybe that was why he was at Leimert Park. And this whole website blog bullshit could just be a lie. Supports the initial theory that there could be more than one. Either way, we know he’s involved in this.”
“How do we get him to talk?” Kate asked.
Sharpe placed his hands on his hips. “His family. I think the only way this guy gives us the truth is using his family. I highly doubt his wife knows about any of this. At least, it sure didn’t seem like she did when we paid her a visit. And he’s got kids.”
“Okay. We’ll play that card. He’s either going to tell us he was involved, or he’ll have no choice but to give us the name of this so-called ‘man behind the camera’ and his website.” Nick said.
“And if that is true,” Kate began. “Then we’ll have a whole lot of accomplices.”
CHAPTER 21
The door handle turned and caught Andre’s attention. Detective Sharpe and two people he didn’t know entered the interrogation room. He pushed his shoulders back and sat up tall as though awaiting a verdict.
