by Robin Mahle
“Then what is it?”
“I told you, it’s nothing. You look tired. You should go to bed. I’ll be up in a little while, okay?” He kissed her cheek.
“Fine. I can see I’m not going to get anywhere tonight.” She pushed up from the sofa. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t forget, Ty has practice before school so he’ll need a ride early. You said you’d take him, remember?”
“I remember. Goodnight, babe.”
“Goodnight.” She slogged up the stairs again.
Andre looked toward the ceiling and listened for their bedroom door to close. After waiting several minutes to be sure no one would be getting back out of bed, he retrieved his laptop, which he’d placed on the side table after dinner.
He began to log on to the site after ensuring sufficient concealment of his online identity. What he’d hoped to find was an update as to when to expect the next video performance and if he was lucky, maybe a reply to his comment.
Andre noticed the growing numbers of visitors to the site and he began to worry about the increase in popularity that could result in exposure of the man behind the camera. But all indications still pointed to the man’s continuing forward movement of his art form. And, he did spot something that raised not only his hopes, but also elevated his status as something more than merely a follower. “Oh, my God.” Andre read the comment posted below his own.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t offer advanced notice as to my next performance. I apologize and completely understand your need for the build-up. I feel it too and from this point forward, including a new blog post that you’ll find here, you’ll see that I’ve been generous with my narrative, and if you look carefully enough, you might find something useful.”
A new blog had been posted and Andre began to devour it in search of when the next show would begin. “Tonight?” he whispered. “Shit.” The man behind the camera had gone so far as to apologize for the lack of previous warning, but now it seemed he was intentional in his deception. How could Andre possibly make it there in time? A timer had been posted on the site that counted down until midnight. That was when it would happen. Midnight. And now Andre had to figure a way to get out of the house.
He began to study the clues. The man behind the camera, who seemed to always leave hints as to his locations, was more obvious than usual. This time, he’d made reference to the place once called the black Greenwich Village. Andre began searching for this reference and discovered the answer. A former resident and filmmaker once called Leimert Park this because of its cultural arts scene.
Andre smiled because of course he would choose this location. He was performing art himself and so this would be the perfect place. He considered, however, that this was also a highly populated area. Though less so during the week, which was perhaps why he’d decided to do it tonight. Still, it was a large area. The community itself was over a mile radius, but Andre had to assume the man behind the camera was referencing the park in and of itself. So that was where he would go.
Perhaps this time, the man behind the camera would ask Andre to join him. It seemed he’d left enough information in which to find him, but wondered too who else might pick up on the clues? Andre couldn’t risk someone else getting there before he did and spoiling it for everyone. He’d almost regretted not revealing his presence at the events sooner. The invitation was clear and Andre wouldn’t miss out on this one.
Within minutes, he’d slipped on his kicks, a hoodie, and grabbed his keys. It would be about a twenty-minute drive, maybe less this time of night. Once he arrived, he’d have to put on his disguise, just like the man behind the camera. His excitement soared higher than he’d ever imagined. The prospect of participating. It was too much to hope for.
Andre did consider what might happen if Dina woke up, but his desire to partake in the show outweighed the consequences of her discovering he’d slipped out of the house. Besides, he could always make up a story. He was good at that.
The lamp on the side table flickered off as Andre flipped the switch and made his way to the front door. With a careful turn of the handle, he pulled it open just enough to slide out. He secured the deadbolt and walked to his car.
The small engine hardly made a sound as he turned the ignition. Leaving the headlights off, he reversed out of the driveway and onto the road and only when he was a block away did he turn on the lights.
Andre considered himself lucky that he lived nearby and knew the city well enough to decipher the clues. His intellect hadn’t gone unnoticed either. The man behind the camera gave him even more clues. Yes, he was sure he would be allowed to at the very least watch the performance, and if he was lucky enough—no, he couldn’t get ahead of himself. Not yet.
Ahead was the park and so he killed the lights again in case the man was already there, plotting, staging his area. He was about to catch a glimpse of greatness. Of an art pure in form. It was adrenaline-charged, titillating at the highest level his body and mind could feel. Total and absolute gratification the likes of which he’d never experienced before.
He parked on a paved area that was shadowed behind trees and stepped out of the car. In the back was where he kept his disguise. Again, he pulled on the wig and baseball cap, this time pulling his hoodie over it to further obscure his identity.
Andre began to walk around the park, working to identify the most secluded location because that was where it would be done. He was certain of it. The park was closed, A-frame gates blocking the entrances to the parking lots. A few people were dotted around, but most were either drug addicts shooting up or drunk and making their way out of the park. That was when he spotted the location. The final clue on the website.
Ahead he spied a pedestrian overpass, a concrete bridge held up by large storm-drain-type culverts. Not that he could ever recall a flood in the area, but he supposed it must have been possible. But he knew inside those enormous round concrete pipes, that was where the man would perform. Outside of the overpass were a few benches. He would choose one of them in which to place the artwork. A perfect location.
He began to traverse the park lawn and found that most of this area had already been deserted. With his hands in the pockets of his hooded fleece, he continued with careful and quiet steps to the location he was sure was where the performance would take place. Andre was good at solving clues and he was confident he was right this time, as he had been before.
The night sky was partially obscured by clouds. A slight breeze cooled his exposed face and Andre continued, his excitement growing with each step. A sound from the west reached his ears. He stopped cold and turned to listen, but it ended. Must’ve been a raccoon or some other night creature that roamed the park in search of scraps.
Andre stepped again, his shoes crunching the fallen leaves, making him wince out of fear of being discovered. But nothing could stop him now. He was much too close to what he longed to see. The beauty of fear and terror that imbedded itself in their eyes and in their faces. Their flawlessly made-up faces, complete with red lips, soft pink cheeks, and smoky eyes. As though they were ready to adorn the cover of a magazine. They were the embodiment of perfection. Beautiful, lifeless perfection.
Only a few feet ahead lay the overpass with its concrete ducts. That was where he needed to go and that was the direction he continued. Again, his eyes shifted left, then right. Still no one could be seen.
Something just on the inside of the culvert caught his eyes. “It’s him.” Andre darted for cover against one of the large pipes. Soon, he peered out again. There he was. Andre swallowed hard as he watched the man behind the camera plunge the knife into her gut. He could hear the woman try to scream, but her mouth was covered. It was too dark to see much more than two figures struggling against one another and there was no doubt the man was winning.
Again, he thrust the knife and when she finally collapsed, sliding down against the curve of the concrete pipe, he reached for a box. Andre couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a small case. He’d
become so engrossed in the act that he no longer felt the cold breeze or heard the noise of the night creatures around him. For a moment, he considered making himself seen, hoping he might be invited to join. Instead, he watched.
The beam of a dimmed flashlight shone on her and it was the first time Andre could see the damage. Even from that distance, he saw the blood, but he quickly pulled back. Fear prevented him from taking the steps needed.
The time had come for the man behind the camera to set her up and record his art. He packed up the small case and turned off the light, slipping each one beneath the flaps of his hooded jacket; large pockets he must’ve sewn in.
Andre watched as the man peered out of the culvert in search of people. When he was confident of his seclusion, he raised the woman in his arms and carried her like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. He was a large man, which made Andre even more fearful of exposing himself. But he wanted to; more than anything in this world, he wanted to.
Within moments, Andre began walking through the culvert. Dark stains adorned the walls that could only be one thing and that thought brought him even greater cravings. His lips began to part just enough to reveal a thin smile as he drew nearer. From where he stood, he could see the man already had her in place and had begun to film her with his cell phone.
Andre peered at his feet. He was about to step outside the culvert, exposing himself to the man. Was that what he’d wanted all along? Andre couldn’t be sure and so he froze in place.
When the recording was finished, the man looked around and when his eyes landed on Andre, he smiled and ran his index finger beneath the woman’s shirt and raised it to his lips. He licked off of his finger what Andre could only assume was blood.
That was his invitation, but Andre waited too long. The man fled from view and he wondered if someone had spotted him. When he was sure the man was gone, Andre continued out of the culvert. He could see the woman’s flowing dark hair, perfectly coifed and cascading over the back of the bench.
Only a few more feet and he would witness the art for himself. He couldn’t contain his excitement and began to move quicker, with a wider stride. He checked again for any sight of other people that could squash his plans. He knew it would only be a matter of time and so he would have relish what he was given and not squander it, concerned for the arrival of others.
Finally, there she was. Legs crossed, one arm behind the bench, the other resting in her lap. Her hand on one knee. Her head slightly tilted to the right. A string around her neck was tied to the back of the bench to keep her in place. A larger, thicker rope bound her waist and was pulled between the slats in the bench. It was partially obscured by her blouse, which hung open just enough to view her perfectly smooth and caramel-colored décolletage. Below, blood seeped through her shirt.
Andre placed his hand gently on her hair and slowly caressed it. The soft and silky texture made his pulse race even more. He devoured her with his eyes. It was too risky to touch her body, though he wanted nothing more. Her eyes were closed and made her appear as though she was merely napping. No blood on her face, no marks on her exposed skin. But it did make him wonder how he’d done it so cleanly.
Andre pulled back at the startling feeling that crawled up his spine. He whipped his head around and he saw a man some forty feet away. His eyes widened and his heart raced. He looked at her again and knew he had to go, no matter how badly he’d wanted to stay.
“Hey?” the man shouted. “Hey! What are you doing?”
When Andre turned around again, the unwelcomed guest began to jog closer.
“What the fuck are you doing here, man?”
Andre began to run. Back through the culvert, back toward his car. When he felt he had a comfortable lead, he turned back and noticed he was no longer being followed. The man must’ve stopped for the woman. He continued again until he reached his car and jumped inside, keying the ignition with speed. A moment later, he pulled away from the curb that fronted the park and roared out onto street.
The man who’d been chasing Andre now stood over the woman, but when he heard the sound of squealing tires, he turned and saw the car. A white Honda CRV, but it was too dark to see the plates.
“Lady? Lady, are you okay?” He shook her. “Oh shit. Oh shit. What the fuck?” He reached for his cell phone and began to dial 911. As it rang, the woman’s eyes flicked open and she began to cough.
“Holy shit. You’re alive? Jesus.”
The 911 operator answered.
“There’s a woman. She’s hurt, but she’s alive. You have to get an ambulance here now!”
“Sir, where are you?”
“Leimert Park. By the bridge.”
The woman continued to cough and tried to bring her hand down from the back of the bench.
“She’s fucking tied up, she’s bleeding. Man, you gotta get down here now!” He dropped his phone to the soft ground. “Lady, what happened? Are you okay?” He began to untie her from the bench. “Jesus, Jesus, what the fuck?”
Tears streamed down her face, ruining her perfect makeup.
“It’s okay. Help’s coming. Just, just hang on.”
CHAPTER 16
Sergeant Moore hurried into Sharpe’s office where he was meeting with the BAU team. “Dispatch just got a call. A woman was found in Leimert Park. She was tied to a bench like a prop. Good news is...she’s alive.”
“It’s him.” Sharpe bolted upright in his chair.
“A man found her, apparently after he chased someone off,” Moore said.
“Has she been transferred to a hospital?” Kate asked.
“EMTs just arrived on scene. They’re loading her up now.” Moore looked to Sharpe. “We have a witness.”
“We’re on our way.” Sharpe pushed up from his desk. “You guys coming?”
“You bet,” Dwight said. “I’d like to talk to the man who found her and who chased off what we can only assume was our guy. With your approval, detective, Agent Reid should probably get the first crack at talking to the victim. How do you want to divvy this up? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time if we stand any chance of finding the killer.”
Sharpe seemed to consider the proposal. “Agent Reid and I will go to the hospital. You, Moore, and Scarborough should get on scene and talk to our witness. Reid, you good with that?”
“I’m ready when you are.”
As they entered the parking garage, Sharpe pressed the remote and the lights on his car flashed.
“What hospital? How far away is it?” Kate asked, stepping inside the car.
“County. Won’t take long.” He fired up the engine. “I want to thank you and your team. It’s one o’clock in the damn morning and you all are still here. That means something. That holds water with me.”
“We want to catch this guy as much as you do. We’re glad to help. I’m sure as hell glad the victim is still alive. The bystander must’ve caught him before he was finished.”
“Once those three assess the scene and talk to the witness, we should know more. Between that guy and the victim, I hope to hell we can get a description and catch the son of a bitch.”
With sirens blaring along the streets of South LA, Sharpe’s unmarked SUV rolled into the emergency area of the hospital. “Go on and find out where she is. I’ll park up. See you inside in a minute.”
Kate stepped out and walked through the automatic glass doors of the Emergency Room. She approached the information desk. “I’m Special Agent Reid. LAPD Detective Sharpe will be here in a minute. We need to know the status of the woman brought in from Leimert Park.”
“Of course.” The volunteer began to type onto her keyboard. “EMTs brought in a woman by the name of Kimberly Johnson a few minutes ago. I believe she’s the one you’re looking for.” She pointed down the hall. “Right through there, you’ll find the nurses’ station. I’ll send the detective back there when he arrives.”
Kate was already steps away, heading in that direction bu
t glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She jogged until spotting the nurses’ station. “I’m here to see Kimberly Johnson. I was told she was just brought in.” Kate retrieved her credentials. “Agent Reid, helping out the LAPD.” She glanced down the hall. “Detective Sharpe should be here any moment.”
“Follow me.” The nurse stepped out from behind the station. “She’s still in triage. They’re waiting for imaging results.”
By the time she reached the victim, footsteps sounded in the distance. Kate turned and spotted the detective. The doctor who was treating the young woman emerged from behind the curtain at the nurse’s insistence.
“This is Dr. Rush. Doctor, this is FBI Agent Reid.”
Kate turned back and Sharpe had almost reached them. “Detective Sharpe is right here. How is she?”
“We’re waiting on the CT results, but it appears as though she suffered several lacerations to her upper thighs and torso. She could have some internal bleeding from the knife wounds and the force of the rope that was pulled around her waist.”
“No gunshot wounds?” Sharpe asked on approach.
“No. Knife wounds mostly, and there’s no way to tell yet what sort of damage it did to her internally. Not until we get those imaging results.”
“For God’s sake. I can’t believe she survived.” He returned his attention to the doctor. “Is there any way she’s in good enough shape to talk to? We’ve got a killer out there, Dr. Rush. Time is critical.”
“She’s conscious but heavily sedated. I don’t think you’d get much out of her. And to be honest, as soon as I get the CT results, I may have to get her into surgery.”
“Could we just try, doctor?” Kate began. “I’m sure you can understand what’s at stake here.”
The doctor seemed to consider their plight and finally stepped aside for a moment, raising the curtain behind him. He turned to the woman. “Kimberly? It’s Dr. Rush. There are police officers who’d like to speak with you. You think you can talk?”
