Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  I paused, not trusting myself to go on. “Nate, I . . . I can’t do this.”

  “Please, Dad. Finish.”

  Seeing the need in his eyes, I took a moment to compose myself. Then, again hearing Allison’s voice in my mind, I began anew.

  “I know you have doubts about yourself, places inside where you’re afraid to look. Don’t be. You have so much love inside; all you have to do is let it out. Decide what kind of man you want to be, and be it. It’s all up to you.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said softly.

  “You’re going to be okay, Nate.”

  “I know, Dad. So are you.”

  After that, Nate and I sat for a long time, neither of us speaking. And as we sat, gazing down at the monolithic towers and film studios and business parks of Burbank, their glass and steel steeples marching unabated to the distant mountains, Catheryn’s final letter sounded in my mind as well. But this time it was Catheryn I heard, speaking to me across a gulf neither of us could cross.

  “Please try to find joy in your life,” Catheryn’s voice murmured in my mind. “Don’t be alone. Open up to the people around you. They love you, too, and they can help. And please don’t remember me with sadness. Focus on our good times together—our marriage, the love we shared, the birth of our children, our parties at the beach, our laughter, our friends, all of it—and remember me with a smile. Please take care of our family. And remember that I loved you with all my heart.”

  Finally, as the sun neared the horizon, I pushed to my feet. “Let’s go home,” I said.

  Nate rose to join me.

  As we started down the slope, my phone rang.

  It was Deluca.

  With a dark premonition, I answered his call.

  “We need you back to the station,” he said. “Taylor just found something that changes everything.”

  39

  Surprise Visit

  I made several hurried calls on the drive back to West L.A., the first to Dorothy—once more asking her to pick up Nate at the station. Whatever Deluca and Taylor had to tell me, I had the feeling it was going to take some time.

  While I had Dorothy on the line, I also asked that instead of remaining at the beach house that night, she drive Nate and Callie to her home in Santa Barbara and stay there until further notice. Although disturbed by my request, she agreed without asking too many questions.

  As expected, my second call wasn’t as successful. “No way, Pop,” Allison replied stubbornly after I had explained the situation. “I told you before, I’m not packing up my family and sneaking out of town every time you piss off some creep.”

  “This isn’t just ‘some creep’ we’re talking about, Ali.”

  “Who, then?” A moment, then, “Oh, my God. The Magpie? I thought your search in San Diego was a bust.”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  “All the more reason for me to stick around,” Allison maintained. “Look, Dad, I’ll lock our doors, set the security system, and have someone walk me to and from my car at work. Mike is home now, too. He has a handgun, and I know how to use it.”

  “I know, Ali. I taught you, remember?” I said, deciding I was fighting a losing battle.

  “So it’s settled. I’m staying. On another subject, thanks for forwarding my request to Captain Snead. It was a good interview. I’m just sorry that things worked out the way they did.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Will you keep me in the loop if something breaks?”

  “I’m off the case now, riding a desk.”

  “When did that ever stop you?”

  “Good point. Take care of yourself, Ali.”

  “You, too, Dad.”

  Twenty minutes later, after handing off Nate to Dorothy in front of the West L.A. station, I climbed the stairs to the second-floor squad room. Deluca and Taylor were waiting impatiently when I arrived.

  “What took you so long?” Taylor demanded.

  “Traffic,” I replied. “What did you turn up?”

  “We found Krüger’s second residence,” Deluca explained. “Actually, Taylor found it. Along with being a kayak champ and a Bureau hottie, she might actually make a good investigator someday.”

  Taylor turned. Before she could speak, Deluca grinned and added, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “Exactly,” Taylor laughed.

  “Talk to me, somebody,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  Deluca glanced at Taylor. Despite routinely jerking her chain, I now saw a look of respect in his eyes as well. “You did the work, Taylor,” he said. “You tell him.”

  Taylor turned toward me, a flush of pride coloring her cheeks. “Okay, after you left, I continued our research on Dr. Krüger,” she said. “I wasn’t getting anywhere with his academic life, so I went back and looked into his family history. Like you said, he was born to wealthy San Diego parents—Margaret Summers Krüger and Professor Adolph Krüger. Turns out the money came from the Summers’ side of the family. Anyway, when Professor Krüger eventually took his own life, his wife remarried, becoming Margaret Summers McCoy.”

  “How old was Dr. Krüger when his father committed suicide?” I asked.

  Taylor checked her notes. “He was a sophomore in high school. Probably around fifteen.”

  “Hmmm. Go on.”

  “Later, Krüger’s mother placed her estate in a revocable trust—The Margaret Summers McCoy Family Trust—listing herself and her new husband, William McCoy, as joint trustees, with young Erich designated as successor trustee. Later, a few years after Erich graduated from Stanford, his parents died in a plane crash in South America.”

  “Could you cut to the chase, Taylor?”

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” Taylor continued, ignoring my interruption. “Dr. Krüger never exercised his right as successor trustee. His mother’s estate continues to be held in trust, with Margaret and William still listed as trustees.”

  “Even though they’re dead?” I said, beginning to see where she was going.

  “I did a property search using The Margaret Summers McCoy Family Trust as owner of record,” Taylor continued, again checking her notes. “The trust holds title to a residence in the Santaluz subdivision of Black Mountain Ranch.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Seven miles from Krüger’s Rancho Bernardo home.”

  “I checked with DMV,” Deluca jumped in. “The trust also holds title to a 2004 Chevy Astro cargo van. For the past number of years, the property taxes on the Black Mountain Ranch residence and the van registration fees have been paid by Krüger Criminalistics Consulting, Inc. And here’s the clincher: Five years ago, the trust applied for a building permit, submitting plans to construct a photography darkroom in the basement of the Santaluz house.”

  We all fell silent.

  We had found Dr. Krüger’s kill site, and possibly where he was storing the van as well.

  “Good work, both of you,” I said, breaking the silence.

  “Thanks,” said Taylor. “Now what?”

  “Paul, can you bring up the Black Mountain Ranch property on Google?” I asked, considering what to do next.

  “No problem. Gimme a sec,” said Deluca, heading back to his workstation.

  “I meant what I said just now, Taylor,” I continued after Paul had left. “You did good. Really good.”

  Taylor smiled. Then, with a glance at Deluca, she lowered her voice. “I realize that I said it was none of your business, but I want you to know I filed for a new domestic violence restraining order against Mark. A temporary restraining order is now in place, with a court hearing set for two weeks.”

  I nodded. “You’re doing the right thing, Taylor. If you need anything—”

  “I’m okay. But . . . thanks.”

  “Check it out,” Deluca called from his desk. “Krüger’s house in Black Mountain Ranch.

  Taylor and I crossed to Deluca’s desk, peering over his shoulder at a satellite image on his screen.

  “Can
you zoom in?” I asked.

  “Some,” said Deluca, increasing the magnification. “Jeez, the place is huge.”

  I stared at the sprawling, Spanish-style residence on Deluca’s display. The huge, one-story structure sat on what appeared to be several landscaped acres. A wide, curving driveway accessed the house and garage, guarded by a security gate at the street. In the rear, an enormous swimming pool overlooked a golf fairway and a pond to the west. The nearest neighbor was hundreds of yards distant.

  “Plenty of privacy,” Taylor noted.

  “Roger that,” I agreed.

  “What now?” asked Deluca.

  “Still not enough for a warrant. Not even close,” said Taylor.

  “Especially with Krüger’s pending lawsuits,” added Deluca.

  I thought for a moment. “Does Lieutenant Long know what you two turned up?”

  Deluca shook his head. “He left early today.”

  “I’ll call and fill him in,” I said. “I’m going to be vague about what comes next, however—give him deniability if things go south.”

  “If what things go south?” asked Taylor.

  “I’m going down there to take a look.”

  “Damn, Kane. Don’t you think we should take this to the brass?” suggested Deluca.

  “Not yet. For one, it’s going to be tough explaining why we’re still working the case. I was ordered not to, remember? Besides, this time we have to be absolutely certain before we move.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Look, we don’t have enough for a warrant, as you both pointed out. What will the guys upstairs do besides chew us out and then screw things up? Which leaves us one option: Someone has to check out that house.”

  “And that someone is you.”

  I nodded. “Depending on what I find, we’ll proceed from there.”

  “I’m going with you,” said Deluca.

  “Not necessary, Paul. Like I said, if this turns bad, it could be a career-ender.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Damn,” said Taylor. “I suppose I am, too.”

  I regarded them both. “I’m not going to underestimate Krüger this time. We don’t know for certain yet what’s down there. If things go wrong, I’ll take the heat. No sense in everyone getting screwed. Agreed?”

  “I don’t like it,” Deluca replied. “But . . . yeah. If that’s the way you want to play it.”

  “That’s the way I want to play it. Taylor?”

  Taylor hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t like it either. But, okay.”

  “Good. Let’s hit the road. We have a long drive ahead, and there’s a stop I want to make on the way.”

  Twenty minutes later I pulled to the curb in front of a well maintained, colonial-style home in Hancock Park. I double-checked the address, then killed the engine.

  “You sure you want to do this, paisano?” asked Deluca.

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “Then good luck,” said Taylor.

  After sliding from behind the wheel, I proceed up a flagstone walkway to the front door of the house. At the top of a brick landing, I rang the doorbell. A moment later a light came on.

  “Can I help you?” asked a pretty young girl, peering through a sliver of doorway. I noticed that the security chain was still in place, and that the girl had been crying.

  “Would you please tell your father that Detective Kane is here?” I said.

  The girl closed the door. A full minute passed before the door reopened.

  “What are you doing here?” Captain Snead demanded, glaring at me from the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Behind him stood a tall, attractive woman in her early forties. Clearly, she had been grieving as well.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” I said. “Something has come up. May I speak with you in private, Captain?”

  “God damn it, Kane. This is not the time.”

  “I know, and I’m truly sorry, but you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  Snead turned to the woman. “Will you give us a minute, Beth?” Then, stepping to the landing, he closed the door behind him. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone look so angry and so broken at the same time.

  He regarded me for a long moment without speaking. Then something changed in his eyes. “You found him, didn’t you?”

  “We already found him. It’s Krüger. But now we know where he’s holding his victims.”

  “Bullshit, Kane. Krüger can’t be the killer. The Sherriff’s surveillance proved that. You were ordered not to pursue the case any further. Now you have the gall to show up here and—”

  “It’s Krüger,” I interrupted.

  Snead hesitated. “How can you—”

  “Listen to me,” I said, again cutting him off. “I’m here because you deserve to know.”

  “Know what?”

  And so I told him.

  And as I spoke, as I laid out everything we knew, I saw Snead’s expression change from disbelief, to surprise, and finally to acceptance—hardening to a look of grim resolve.

  “Despite all that, there’s still not enough to proceed with a warrant,” I finished. “And now with Krüger hiding behind his lawyers, there may never be.”

  “True,” said Snead. “Worse, he’s probably getting rid of evidence as we speak. And he’s holding another woman.”

  “I’m going down there.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “I thought you might say that. You realize this is completely off the grid?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “If anyone deserves to be present when this goes down, it’s you,” I agreed. “One condition, though. Two, actually.”

  “What?”

  “Rank aside, you are not calling the shots tonight. Understood?”

  Snead nodded. “And your second condition?”

  “There’s a chance this might backfire. That asshole has already cost everyone enough—especially you. When we get down there, I’m checking out that house alone.”

  40

  Endgame

  Over the past several days, Dr. Krüger had spent considerable time making certain he was no longer being watched.

  Meticulous perusals of his neighborhood, unexpected reversals while driving, and checks in his rearview mirror on the trip to and from his office had convinced him that the police presence was truly gone. As an added precaution, however, upon returning from work on Tuesday he had searched his Mercedes for tracking devices, examining his vehicle from bumper to bumper. To his dismay, he had found a small GPS tracker hidden in the left rear tire well.

  After careful consideration, Dr. Krüger left the tracking device in place.

  The police presence was gone, but he was still being watched. With the discovery of the tracker, Dr. Krüger decided that the time had come to end his current game. Although he had never believed the necessity would actually arise, he had emergency plans for almost every conceivable situation. Tonight he would initiate the most encompassing of those strategies. He was disappointed to be terminating his latest game before its completion, and for that he blamed Kane. Nevertheless, all good things must come to an end, and later he would initiate a new game. He already had a few ideas on that—several of which involved Detective Kane.

  In the meantime, on that very night, he would finish with his latest calendar girl, dispose of her body, and burn his parents’ residence to the ground—an endgame tactic that in one bold stroke would eliminate all evidence against him. Everything, with the exception of a few items he would need to destroy by hand, would vanish in a cleansing fire—his precious photographs and videos, his exquisite souvenirs and mementos, his cameras and computers and surveillance equipment, even the van—leaving nothing to tie him to any of his recent kills.

  But first Dr. Krüger had a few stops to make, and for that he needed the van.

  Later that evening, after removing the GPS device from his Mercedes and leaving the tracker in his garage, Dr. Krüger exit
ed the 15 Freeway on West Bernardo. From there he took Highland Valley east. Minutes later he pulled onto a dirt road, stopping in front of a metal storage shed. There, after opening a padlocked garage door, he exchanged his vehicle for the Chevy Astro van, leaving the Mercedes in its place. Before relocking the shed, he unpacked a number of gasoline containers he had stored inside, loading them into the van.

  Next, a short drive to Home Depot in Poway for a few supplies, stops at several service stations to avoid drawing attention by filling all the gas containers at the same location, and a final trip to Black Mountain Ranch.

  As he slid behind the wheel of the van, Dr. Krüger’s thoughts turned to his newest acquisition. Although he hadn’t visited her since the night of her abduction, the prospect of seeing her again was a bright spot in an otherwise unfortunate conclusion to his latest adventure.

  Nevertheless, conclude it he must.

  Dr. Krüger twisted the ignition and started the van.

  Time was growing short, and there was much to do.

  41

  Santaluz

  After badging my way past a Black Mountain Ranch security gate, I drove into the Santaluz subdivision. Minutes later I cruised past Dr. Krüger’s second residence. As were many homes in the area, Krüger’s house was dark.

  After making a second pass, I pulled to a stop several blocks down on Sendero Angelica, parking in a secluded spot with a view of Krüger’s property.

  “Bigger than it looked on Google,” said Deluca. “And it appears nobody’s home.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Where’s his Mercedes?”

  Deluca opened a phone app and checked the location of Krüger’s tracking device. “Still at his house in Rancho Bernardo,” he said.

  “Good.”

  “Now what?” asked Snead, who was sitting in the back seat with Deluca. “I assume you have a plan.”

  For the most part, Snead had remained silent on the ride to San Diego. I knew he was uncomfortable with what was about to go down. We all were. What I planned to do entailed serious risks, but they were risks that I felt were necessary. In addition to making absolutely certain of Krüger’s guilt and possibly even freeing his latest victim, I hoped to find evidence that could surface in some other way, thereby providing grounds for a new search warrant.