Redzone Page 4

  Of course, that was only the beginning. Then came the moment of dismemberment, a rather messy process, and the flensing. Or what the Bonebreaker thought of as the holy trinity.

  At the moment, he was still in the process of preparing one of Deputy Chief McGinty’s bones prior to inscribing it with the police officer’s name, date of birth, and a short message. The blade made a scritching sound as he scraped the last bits of tissue off a femur.

  Then he took a moment to examine the shaft, using a jeweler’s lit headband magnifier. Hopefully, McGinty appreciated the care and respect shown his earthly remains even as his soul burned in hell. Now it was time to put his tools aside, clean the surface of the table, and watch the news. Something he did every day at 5:30 P.M. Channel 7 was already on, so all he had to do was aim the remote and touch MUTE. The lead story had to do with the increasingly serious conflict between the Republic of Texas to the east and the Aztec Empire to the south. The tecs believed that all of the lands that had once been part of Mexico should be returned to them, regardless of the treaties and purchases signed in the past. The Bonebreaker didn’t give a shit.

  The next story had to do with a terrible house fire in which two adults and three children had perished. He didn’t care about that either.

  Then, in the number three slot, was a story he did care about because it was all about him. The Bonebreaker turned up the volume in order to hear Chief of Police Corso clearly. He was followed by a man named Jenkins and the person God wanted him to kill next: Detective Cassandra Lee. They’d met once, and he could have killed her then, except for one thing. It would have been too quick and painless. That’s why a stay of execution had been granted. Now, according to Lee, she was going to hunt him down. Never mind the fact that God was on his side. Still, the bitch could get lucky.

  The Bonebreaker felt a mishmash of conflicting emotions, including a flush of pleasure at being so important, a sense of superiority that went with having been able to operate with impunity, and just a tinge of fear. And that made him uncomfortable.

  * * *

  It was the first day after the press conference, and as Lee got out of bed, she was very conscious of the fact that eyes were watching her every move. The hidden camera was there to protect her—but it also meant a tremendous loss of privacy.

  Rather than the tee shirt and panties that Lee normally wore to bed, she was dressed in plain pajamas. Her plan was to give the males on the shadow team very little to talk about. It was a short trip to the bathroom, which was the only place in the apartment that wasn’t bugged. It felt good to close the door and be by herself.

  After completing her morning routine, Lee emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. Then, with a wave to the nearest camera, she left the apartment. Lee felt the first drops of rain on her skin as she made her way down to the street. LA had been suffering through a minidrought, and the moisture was welcome.

  So Lee was in a relatively good mood as she performed a 360 on the sedan and slipped behind the wheel. That car was equipped with two trackers. A primary and a backup that was extremely difficult to access. The hope being that even if the Bonebreaker located the first one, he’d miss the second. Lee pulled away from the curb and was on her way to Maria’s, when her phone rang. Lee eyed the number, saw that the call was from Jenkins, and thumbed it on. “Hey, boss . . . What’s up?”

  “Nice jammies,” Jenkins replied. “I have some that are nearly identical to yours.”

  Lee groaned. “Pervert.”

  Jenkins chuckled. “Where are you headed?”

  “To reinterview Cheyenne Darling.”

  “Okay . . . But take it easy on her. Cheyenne is a nice lady, and she’s been through hell.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Can you make it into the office by one?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. They filled my previous slot, so the new guy will be running the operation, and the sooner you meet him, the better. Lieutenant Wolfe will attend the meeting as well.”

  Lee wanted to say, “Oh, goody,” but managed to restrain herself. “So, who is he?”

  “His name is Purdy Ayeman.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “That isn’t surprising. We hired him away from San Diego. He was head of HR there.”

  “He was head of what?”

  “Don’t go there,” Jenkins said sternly. “Ayeman was a detective prior to that. Corso wants to bring well-rounded people onto the force.”

  “I’ll bet he’s well rounded. People who ride a chair all day usually are.”

  “Just do your job,” Jenkins growled. “And keep your lips zipped. I’ll see you at one.” The call ended.

  It was raining harder by then, and the wipers slapped back and forth as Lee took the exit to Laurel Canyon Boulevard and turned north. Upscale homes lined both sides of the road. The car’s nav system told her when to turn off.

  Once Lee spotted the correct address, she turned onto the two-car-wide concrete platform that jutted out from the side of a steep hill and parked next to an expensive-looking sports car. That was when she remembered the lunch with McGinty months earlier and the vehicle he’d been driving then. The same vehicle, judging from appearances.

  Lee locked the sedan and followed a flight of concrete stairs down to a modernistic house that was partially cantilevered out over the hillside and surrounded by well-kept vegetation. Water gurgled as it passed through the downspout located a couple of feet away from a red door. Raindrops pattered all around as she pushed the button and heard a distant chime. That was followed by the sound of footsteps and a metallic click.

  As the door opened, Lee saw that Darling’s bangs were just so, there was a slightly sleepy look in her eyes, and she was holding a blue mug. The smile came quickly. “Detective Lee! I know we haven’t met, but it feels as though we have. Ross spoke about you frequently—plus I’ve seen you on TV. Please . . . come in.”

  Lee wondered what McGinty had said. Odds were that it was negative since the two of them hadn’t been on friendly terms until two months before his death. “Thank you . . . My! What a beautiful home!”

  “It’s an endless project,” Darling said, as she led the way into the living room. “I’m an inveterate tweaker. The unending changes drove Ross crazy. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee perhaps?”

  “No, thank you . . . I drank some on the way over.” Lee could see that every picture, every lamp, and every piece of furniture was part of a carefully orchestrated whole. A marked contrast to the way she lived and a sure sign that Darling wasn’t the sort of person to speak off the cuff.

  Wall-to-wall sliding glass doors fronted the living room and could be opened during good weather. Not at the moment, though, since the only thing Lee could see was mist and rain. “Please have a seat,” Darling said. “That was Ross’s favorite chair over there . . . the one with the unobstructed view of the TV set!”

  Darling smiled, which caused Lee to wonder if the chair and its location had been part of a private joke. She chose to perch on the couch instead. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’m going to record our conversation if that’s okay.” Lee leaned forward to place a small recorder on the coffee table. She pushed RECORD and a red light came on.

  “That’s fine,” Darling said, as she kicked her shoes off in order to curl up in a well-upholstered chair. “I’ll do anything I can to help.” She was wearing a white blouse over blue jeans. A simple outfit but one that looked like a classic on her.

  “Some of my questions are personal, perhaps painfully so,” Lee began.

  Darling shrugged. “A little more pain won’t make much difference.”

  “How long had the two of you been together?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “And you were married?”

  “Not in the legal sense, no.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Darling turned to look outside for a moment before turning back. “Ross said that getting married would be a mist
ake. He said he might not come home one day.” A tear trickled down Darling’s cheek, and she wiped it away.

  “So he thought he might be killed in the line of duty.”

  “I guess so,” Darling said uncertainly. “But he had nightmares. Terrible dreams that caused him to cry out in his sleep. He wouldn’t tell me what they were about.”

  This was new information. The sort of stuff not included in the previous interview. By choice? Or because the investigator failed to ask? Of course, just because it was new didn’t mean that it was important. “So you think that the dreams were connected with his decision not to marry?”

  Darling plucked a tissue out of the box on the table next to her and dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “But he refused to live here. He would visit nearly every day, and sleep for a few hours on occasion, but always went home afterwards.”

  Lee tried to remember if she’d read anything about McGinty’s home but couldn’t come up with anything and made a note to follow up. “So, was that a quirk in your estimation? Or something else?”

  “Ross said I’d be safer that way . . . That if someone came after him, they wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I see,” Lee said. “Was that a general concern that he had? Or was he trying to protect you from the Bonebreaker?”

  “I thought it was general before his death,” Darling replied. “But now I realize that I was wrong. His attitude changed immediately after the Bonebreaker killed the second policeman years ago.”

  “Larry Evans.”

  “Yes, Ross made his decision shortly after that. I’m sorry about your father by the way. This must be very difficult for you as well.”

  “It’s tough,” Lee admitted. “But maybe we can prevent the Bonebreaker from killing another cop. I have one more question. Was there anything different about the night the chief disappeared?”

  Darling shook her head. “No. We ate dinner here. Then he watched the second half of a baseball game and went home. Assistant Chief Jenkins called the next day and asked to speak with him. That was when the two of us realized that something was wrong.”

  Lee knew the rest of it. How two days passed before a patrol unit found the red sports car parked in a supermarket parking lot—and how another three days elapsed before McGinty’s head and torso were found next to the freeway.

  The interview came to an end shortly thereafter. Darling saw Lee to the door and gave her a hug. “Be careful, Cassandra,” she said. “And keep me informed to the extent that you can.”

  Lee promised to do so. And as she climbed the stairs to the parking pad, she noticed that the rain had stopped. If that was an omen, she had no idea what it meant.

  After performing a 360, Lee got into the car and began the trip downtown. There were plenty of things to think about but the most central issue had to do with McGinty’s motivation. Were his actions those of a cop who, knowing that other police officers had been murdered, had taken reasonable steps to protect the woman he loved?

  Or, did the chief have a particular reason to be afraid? Something he’d done that could make him a target? Of course, that would imply that all nine victims had something in common other than their status as police officers. That was a possibility that had been considered more than once over the years, and maybe it was time to do so again.

  Lee was still thinking about the case as she pulled into the LAPD garage, showed her ID to a patrol officer at the checkpoint, and went looking for a parking slot. She arrived on the sixth floor ten minutes later. It was only a few minutes past noon, which meant she could spend some time in her cubicle. There were lots of e-mails to answer plus the usual pile of paper in her in-box. Lee was only halfway through it when she ran out of time.

  In an effort to put her best foot forward, Lee stopped by the ladies’ room to check herself in the mirror before making her way to Jenkins’s office. Wolfe was already there. For how long? Lee wondered. And talking about what?

  Wolfe nodded as Lee entered, but her face was empty of expression, and Lee had no way to know what the bitch was thinking. Why think of her that way? Lee asked herself. She hasn’t done anything to you. No, the other Lee replied, not yet anyway.

  Jenkins smiled. “How did it go?”

  Lee discovered that she didn’t want to share the information, not with Wolfe, but knew that was stupid. She gave the other officers a brief rundown and finished by saying, “So, it looks like McGinty believed he was a target.”

  “That’s interesting,” Jenkins said. “I had no idea that the chief was so concerned. I wish he’d said something.”

  Jenkins might have said more, but Ayeman chose that moment to enter the office. He was well over six feet tall, and in spite of his time in HR, there was nothing round about him. Lee figured he was a runner—although he could have been anything. A tennis player, perhaps? In any case, the man had perfect hair, piercing blue eyes, and a gleaming smile. Ayeman spotted Wolfe right away and went over to shake hands with her. “Lieutenant Wolfe? This is a pleasure . . . I read about the way you solved that drug case. Nice work!”

  The two of them were still holding hands when Jenkins cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Wolfe is in charge of the shadow team, as you know. But it’s Detective Lee and her people who are working the Bonebreaker case.”

  “And serving as bait,” Ayeman said admiringly as he turned to greet Lee. “I’m familiar with your work as well . . . Although I hope you won’t have to shoot nine people while we’re working together! Yes, I know, the public ate that up. But there’s no ‘I’ in ‘team,’ is there? And that’s what Operation Thunderstorm calls for . . . teamwork.”

  Lee felt the anger boil up inside of her and saw the frown appear on Jenkins’s face but couldn’t stop herself. “I didn’t get up that day looking for an opportunity to get on TV. The perps were robbing a bank.”

  Ayeman smiled apologetically. “Sorry . . . It looks like I hit a nerve. No, of course you didn’t. But the point remains. Teamwork. That’s the ticket to success.”

  Lee saw the corners of Wolfe’s mouth turn up and wondered what she was thinking. Was Wolfe drinking the Kool-Aid? Or did she think Ayeman was a loon as well? It was impossible to tell.

  “By the way,” Ayeman said, as he dropped into the remaining chair. “This is an excellent time to talk about the importance of good documentation when managing a team. I’m going to ask each supervisor to complete a personnel assessment form for each person who reports to them. That’s what we’ll use to set goals, measure performance, and make decisions about whom to promote.”

  Lee looked at Jenkins. How did he feel about the suggestion that his work had been less than adequate? But if the deputy chief was offended, there was no sign of it on his face. So either he agreed with the initiative—or had decided to give his new guy some rope. To what extent had Jenkins been involved in hiring Ayeman anyway? Was the desk jockey his choice for the job? Or had Chief Corso done all of the choosing for him? “I’m kind of busy right now,” Lee said. “What’s the deadline on those forms?”

  Ayeman smiled lazily. “The day after tomorrow at roll call. I hear you have a tendency to show up late, Detective Lee. Here’s a piece of advice: Don’t.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t easy, but Lee managed to extricate herself from the meeting without running her mouth. She should have gone to work filling out personnel assessment forms for Yanty and Prospo, but there was no fucking way. Not until she managed to cool off.

  So Lee went down to the garage, got in the sedan, and left the building. It was a relatively short drive to the LAPD Academy and the shooting range there. Her days at the academy seemed like ancient history now. She parked in the lot, and as Lee made her way through the facility, various people said hello to her. It felt good to mingle with real cops after spending twenty minutes with Ayeman.

  Having neglected to check the schedule before coming over, Lee was relieved to discover that the range was currently open for monthly qualifications. A requirement that
every officer had to comply with.

  After checking in and picking up some standard safety gear, Lee followed a uniformed patrol officer out into the open area, where a dozen lanes led to the same number of head and torso targets. Lee and two other police officers took their positions as the range master put them on standby. That was followed by the command to advance and fire.

  In order to qualify, each person had to score a minimum number of hits at twenty-five yards, fifteen yards, and seven yards. At each distance, it was necessary to draw, fire, and reload. Firing weapons was something that Lee not only was good at but enjoyed. And by pretending to shoot at her new boss, Lee managed to release most of the tension that had built up during the meeting.

  The .9mm Glock was her primary weapon, but Lee took the opportunity to fire her backup as well and was pleased to see the tight grouping the Smith & Wesson produced from seven yards. Then it was time to pick up her brass and find out how she’d done. A passing grade was 147 out of a possible 210. Her score was 192. Not bad . . . Not bad at all.

  Lee was feeling pleased with herself as she walked out into the sunshine. She looked up, saw that rays of sunlight were slanting through broken clouds, and noticed something else as well. What looked like a toy airplane was circling above her. A small drone? Yes. The shadow team was watching over her.

  Lee took comfort from that as she crossed the parking lot to the spot where the sedan was parked. It beeped, and the parking lights flashed when Lee thumbed her key. The scanner was in her pocket. She removed the device and turned it on. And it was then, just as Lee prepared to circle the car, that she heard the mosquito-like whine. So she looked up and was startled to see that the drone was diving straight at her! She ducked as the miniature airplane struck the vehicle. There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder, and the world went dark.

  THREE

  AS LEE CAME to, she could hear the muffled sound of the siren and feel the ambulance sway as it rounded a corner. When she tried to sit up, her head hurt. The EMT put a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. She had a softly rounded face and was wearing a stethoscope. “Don’t move, hon . . . The doctors need to look you over.”