by Sean Black
63
Two LAPD Hollywood Division patrol cars were parked nose to nose at the entrance to the Hollywood Hills property. Lock pulled up in his Audi and got out, Ty with him. He’d spent the night poring over the data from the hard drive that Li had cracked, a copy of which was also with the LAPD. Lock had made sure that, straight from the jump, he and Ty had given their full co-operation.
Ty sipped from a cup of coffee as they walked toward the two patrol cars. ‘How’d your evening go?’
‘It was fine,’ said Lock.
‘Tarian holding up?’ said Ty.
Lock ignored him as one of the patrol officers, a barrel-chested Hispanic sergeant, walked over to them. Lock introduced himself and Ty, name-dropping the two detectives who had said they’d keep him as informed as they could, and quickly explained the circumstances. The sergeant was polite but wasn’t going to give away much more than was in the public domain.
‘So far we got three vics. All female. All buried out back next to some kind of firing range. House has been occupied until recently, either before the shooting in Brentwood or shortly thereafter. That’s about as much as I know,’ he told them.
‘The house belong to Charles Kim?’ Lock asked.
‘Not directly. Some kind of family trust deal. But he was living there with his crew,’ said the sergeant.
‘He leave anything interesting behind?’ said Lock. ‘Only I found some fairly heavy-duty ammunition at his apartment.’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Some milk in the fridge, clothes, but nothing like that. You have any other ideas where he might be holed up?’
‘None,’ said Lock.
Lock and Ty walked back to their car. Lock called Tarian’s cell. She was awake but sounded groggy. She thanked him for staying with her and for the note. She was fine. If she needed him, she’d call.
They headed back down into Hollywood. It was only mid-morning but the crazies and tourists were already out on the streets. Lock kept driving. The trail was cold. Los Angeles had twelve million people and there was no guarantee that Krank and the others were even there. In a few days the story would start to fade. The longer it took for them to be found, the less likely it would happen. People did just disappear. Krank and his crew had money, resources, and they’d already proven that they were good at vanishing into thin air.
At the same time, they weren’t career criminals. They weren’t robbing banks or kidnapping for ransom. They were cult-like. They clearly had an axe to grind with society or, more specifically, with women. They were operating like a terrorist cell. That made them even harder to locate.
Career criminals had associates, patterns, places they tended to hang. The three people currently on the loose, if it was three and not more, had each other. Lock could feel his frustration grow as he drove, and Ty kept flipping through the contents of the hard drive on his tablet computer. They were missing something. Lock knew they were.
‘Anything good?’ he asked Ty.
‘Just lots of crazy shit. Blog posts. Message-board stuff. None of it makes any sense. AFC, alphas, the natural order, they got their own language.’
‘AFC?’ Lock said.
‘Stands for “average frustrated chump”. Like a dude who’s a regular Joe.’
‘You wanna drive?’ Lock said. ‘Let me take a look.’
‘You think you speak crazy better than I do?’ said Ty. He smiled. ‘Wait. You don’t need to answer that one.’
‘Very funny,’ said Lock. He pulled the car over. The two men got out and switched seats. Ty pulled back out into the traffic. Lock began swiping at the screen as he scrolled through the fevered thoughts of one small corner of the internet.
‘Where we headed?’ said Ty, as they came to a freeway on ramp.
Lock didn’t look up. ‘Santa Monica. I want to check on Tarian.’
For once Ty bit back whatever wisecrack was on the tip of his tongue. He spun the wheel of the Audi, powered up the ramp and merged onto the freeway heading west.
64
Having checked in with the front desk, Lock called Tarian from the lobby. Before he left he had told her not to answer her hotel-room door unless she was expecting someone. Hotel security, whom Lock had found to be more than capable, had instructed housekeeping to let their guest know ahead of time if they needed access. The front desk were also being extra vigilant in not allowing anyone who wasn’t a guest or a verified visitor near the suite. The suites came with a hefty price tag and were typically used by celebrities or high-net-worth individuals so security around them tended to be fairly high level.
Not that Lock anticipated Krank turning up to finish the job. Tarian had already identified both him and Gretchen. Forensics would likely confirm their guilt. The more Lock had thought about what had happened at the house, the more convinced he’d become that the killers had left Tarian alive deliberately. Going by the wounds evident on the other victims, they’d had the firepower to get access to the bathroom. So why hadn’t they? There was one obvious answer. They didn’t care whether they left behind a witness or not. In fact, a witness who could identify the killers to the authorities might have been a positive. So far it was a hunch.
Lock proceeded to the bank of elevators that would take him to the suite. As he waited he thought about the material he’d read that had been recovered from Marcus’s computer. Lock wasn’t a big internet guy. Like a firearm, it was a tool. Something he used when he needed to. From the sheer volume and the records of when material had been accessed, Marcus had spent a huge part of his time reading blogs, writing his own, or commenting on various message-boards that revolved around what they called the ‘manosphere’. After a while it appeared that Marcus had discovered an extreme edge where it wasn’t sufficient for young men to pick up and sleep with as many women as possible – not that Lock fully understood even that mentality.
As a young man and then an adult, Lock had never lacked female attention. He had never sought it out. He had never had to. He was, he guessed, what Marcus would have called a natural alpha, possessing certain qualities without being aware of them. Thinking about it, he guessed that much of his attractiveness lay in his self-containment. He had never needed a woman to be content until he had met Carrie. Losing her had devastated him. Work had allowed him to cope. Since her death he had found some women attractive but he had never been able to open himself up with them like he had with her. Part of it was the fear of another loss. He wondered if that was what had attracted him to Tarian. She was beautiful. She found him attractive and didn’t hide it. But she was married. Or had been. And now? If he’d gotten a call from her a few months down the line telling him she’d left Teddy, that would have been one thing. But this scenario, her family killed in front of her, hardly made for the start of a fairytale happy-ever-after.
The elevator doors opened. Lock stepped out. He spotted the man lurking in the hotel corridor. He was wearing a jacket that was better suited to Maine in winter than LA’s year-round sunshine. He had a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. He was about five nine and had some weight to him. He was standing with a clipboard making a show of inspecting a fire alarm. The fire point was about twenty yards from Tarian’s suite.
The man hadn’t heard the elevator doors opening, or he was ignoring Lock’s presence. Lock drew his SIG Sauer 226 in one fluid motion. There was already a round in the chamber. He was good to go.
He aimed for the man’s back. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ he said to the man. ‘They drop out of sight, I drop you.’
The man froze. The pen he was carrying fell from his hand. ‘Take it easy, man,’ he said.
‘Leave the pen. Turn round,’ said Lock, advancing on the man.
The man did so, his hands up, one still clutching the clipboard. He was sporting oversized black-framed ‘nerd’ glasses and a hipster goatee. He shot Lock a smug smirk. ‘Take it easy, brother,’ the man said. ‘I just want to speak to the lady.’
&
nbsp; ‘She’s not speaking to anyone,’ said Lock.
‘Then let me hear it from her, and I’ll be on my way. Know what I’m saying?’
Lock grabbed his shoulder, spun him round so he was facing the wall, and jabbed the muzzle of the SIG into the back of his neck. ‘What is that know-what-I’m-saying bullshit anyway?’ Lock asked him. ‘Is it like some kind of verbal tic?’
‘Hey, hey,’ the man protested. ‘Chill. I’m just doing my job, Homes.’
Lock lifted the back of the man’s jacket and frisked for a gun, then leaned in closer. ‘Tell me to chill again, in fact say one more word to me, and I’m going to beat you so hard you’ll need new kidneys. You understand me, asshole? Nod for yes.’
The man nodded.
‘Paparazzo?’ Lock asked.
The man nodded again.
‘How did you know Tarian Griffiths was here?’ Lock asked.
This guy twisted his head round.
‘This time you can use words,’ Lock told him.
‘One of the security guys gives us tips. We usually stay outside and catch people as they leave. But we knew this lady wasn’t leaving.’
Of course he does, thought Lock. ‘Name?’
‘No way, man. A journalist has to protect his—’
Lock slammed a fist into the guy’s right side. He let out a gasp as all the air left his lungs and doubled over. Moving in, Lock spun the guy round and fished for a wallet. He found it tucked into the front pocket of his pants, flipped it open and pulled out a California driver’s license. He noted the name, tucked the card back in the wallet and handed it over. ‘Listen, asshole, you’re not Woodward or Bernstein. Real reporters don’t stalk the survivors of mass shootings on private property with a video camera, then post it on the internet. You’re a douchebag paparazzo. Now, you are going to tell me the name. It’s not a matter of if but when. And if you tell anyone about this, remember I just got your name and address. So you say anything, I will hunt you down. We’ll have a shorter chat than we’re having now, and no one will ever find your body. And while we’re at it you may have adopted the lingo, but your accent tells me you’re from freakin’ Connecticut. Now, are we clear, homes?’
‘Marco Jacks. That’s the guy who told me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lock, lowering his SIG and placing it back in its holster. He dug out his cell and texted Ty.
He spun the guy back round. He put one hand on his shoulder and made sure to maintain eye contact. ‘Okay, listen to me. This hotel and, especially, this person are off limits now. Spread the word. If I catch you or any of your colleagues here I will cause pain. I’m not a cop. I don’t have to play by the rules and I won’t. Do you understand what I just told you?’
‘Yeah. I understand.’
‘Good,’ said Lock, as the elevator doors opened and Ty strode out with his game face on. ‘Tyrone, show this young man to the exit.’
Ty didn’t say anything. Ty rarely had to. His mere physical presence ensured co-operation. The paparazzo went limp to the point at which Ty had to tap his face and tell him to straighten up.
He grabbed the guy’s collar and navigated him past Lock, marching him back toward the elevator as Lock knocked at the door of the suite and waited for Tarian.
65
Krank’s index finger ran over the contours of the map. Gretchen and Loser followed the movement from over either shoulder as he traced his way across ridges and down into the canyons around northern Malibu and beyond. He plucked a red marker pen from an empty coffee mug and began to circle the locations he’d spent months selecting. There were eighteen in total. Six per person. Together they formed a rough circle. He had scouted each one personally. He’d used online satellite maps to check for any major changes. He’d also kept an eye on things like applications for building permits.
Over his right shoulder, Gretchen sighed. He shot her a glance. ‘Problem?’ he asked.
She jabbed at a winding line on the map that curved its way down from the mountains to the ocean. ‘What about that?’
‘Don’t worry. I have it covered,’ he said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. As if he would have missed something so obvious. ‘I’ll need your help on it, though.’
‘Of course you will,’ said Gretchen.
Krank decided to ignore her tetchiness. Since the house, they were all a little more on edge. It was to be expected. Not that there had been any going back before but now everything was set in stone. All they could do was move forward and hope they reached their final objective before they were caught.
‘What about you?’ he asked Loser.
Loser shrugged. ‘I got it. Set, move, set, move. You need any more recon?’
‘No,’ said Krank. ‘I think we’re good.’
66
A wall-mounted television beamed live coverage from outside the Hollywood Hills house where a forensics team was busy at work completing the grisly task of unearthing what the LAPD was calling ‘a significant number of victims’. Tarian, still dressed in a bathrobe, had planted herself in front of the screen. From her blank expression it was hard for Lock to tell precisely how much she was taking in. In a lower corner of the screen some of the footage that had been culled from Marcus’s hard drive played on an endless loop. The footage had been leaked online a few hours previously. The LAPD press office had vehemently denied it had come from them, and Lock tended to believe them. The leak had served to keep the story at the top of every bulletin.
Lock poured a cup of black coffee and took it over to Tarian. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her.
She took it from him. Her eyes never left the screen.
Lock crossed to the couch, and picked up the remote. He turned the volume down. She turned and stared at him. Her look suggested she was seeing not just him but the world for the first time, and that it was a terrifying place.
‘Marcus must have helped killed those girls. Or at least he knew about it,’ she said, a statement of fact that sounded like a question.
‘Yes,’ said Lock. ‘He was involved.’
‘My son,’ she said.
Lock held up the remote. ‘Want me to switch it off? I’m not sure watching all of this is helping you. Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed?’
She didn’t answer. He tossed the remote control back onto the couch. Tarian didn’t react but he knew what she was thinking. She was asking the questions that any decent person would ask under the circumstances. Was she somehow culpable? Had her parenting contributed to what had happened? Might she have done more to help her son, or at least to stop him hurting others?
Lock walked over to her. He put his arms around her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘The only person responsible for what Marcus did or didn’t do was Marcus. You can’t blame yourself.’
‘But if I had—’
He cut her off. ‘You did what you could. Kids grow up. They have to take responsibility for their own actions.’
Tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was so angry, Ryan. Where did all the rage come from?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lock said. In reality, he could have made a fair guess. Lock wasn’t a therapist, or a shrink, but he hardly needed to be. Marcus Griffiths had grown up with a sense of entitlement that was larger than he was. Rather than make peace with the fact that he couldn’t force girls to like him, he had made it about them. Then he had run into Krank, a young man who had taken Marcus’s sense of unfairness and alienation and twisted it to his own ends.
When you’d seen as much of human frailty and plain old stupidity as Lock had, you understood that no amount of rationalization or amateur psychology could explain that some people were just assholes. Spoilt assholes, who lashed out when they couldn’t get what they wanted. That was why they were busy pulling young women out of the ground in the hills above the Sunset Strip. But none of that helped Tarian.
‘We need to move you,’ Lock said to her.
‘Wh
y?’ she asked.
‘Someone leaked the fact you’re staying here. Ty and I have found an apartment for you in the Palisades. It’s not perfect but it’ll do for the next few days until you decide what you want to do.’
“What about the children?” she asked.
“We can take you to see them any time, but it might be better if they stayed with Teddy’s cousin for now. Just until some of the media craziness settles down,” said Lock. “That decision’s up to you of course. If you want them with you, we can arrange that too.”
She nodded. ‘Thank you. I don’t how I would have coped with all this if you hadn’t have been here for me.’
Lock smiled. ‘All part of the service.’
His eyes snapped back to the TV screen. It had cut from their reporter outside the house. The running ticker at the bottom of the screen heralded ‘Breaking News’. ‘Go get in the shower. I’ll pack for you,’ he said to Tarian.
As she headed to the bathroom, Lock grabbed the remote from the couch. He waited until he heard the hiss of water from the shower before turning the volume back up.
The two anchors in the studio were talking breathlessly about ‘new footage’ that had appeared in the last few minutes on social media. Lock racked the volume up two more clicks as Ty walked into the suite. He was holding up his cell phone.
‘You see this? Just appeared on YouTube,’ Ty informed him. ‘Already got like fifty thousand hits.’
The anchors in the studio cut to the footage. Lock recognized the face of Charles Kim filling the TV and Ty’s cell screen. He was shot from the chest up. His hair was cut short and he was dressed in military fatigues. He looked a million miles distant from the one-time party animal and pick-up artist that Marcus had run into. He was reading from some kind of prepared statement in a droning monotone.
Lock turned to Ty. ‘You watched this already?’ he asked Ty.
