police do on television. She had explained that the car had broken down and she had been hoping a tow truck or a police officer would come along because she didn’t have a car phone or a cell phone. She didn’t give him the pitying expression he was used to seeing at his job or when he tried to talk to people waiting in line at the supermarket.
He had wanted to talk with her more. He asked her to ‘step into’ his vehicle, on the passenger side, so that she’d be safe from the traffic hurtling past. But once she was inside, she looked uncertain. He forgot the ‘cop routine’ and she began to look panicked. She had tried to get out of his car but the door handle on the passenger side had been broken since he bought it. She didn’t know that so she had started screaming and kicking her legs and trying to get the attention of passing cars. He wanted to let her out. When he leaned across her, it was only to roll down the window so he could open the door from the outside handle. But she didn’t know that either. She tried to climb past him, into the backseat.
She had managed to put her thumbs into his eyes and, well, he couldn’t see then, could he? He had fallen against her and the weight of his body had pulled them both down on to the front bench seat, his feet slipping on the loose floor mats and her small body half under him. He couldn’t get any purchase with his hands so had wrenched his elbow up and it connected with some part of her. She was instantly still and quiet.
He didn’t even know what had happened to her. He had tapped her cheek; her head lolled loosely. He tried to make her speak; she wouldn’t talk anymore. The police badge was digging into his thigh and he pushed himself up off the girl. He turned off the red swirling light. Looking at her, he knew he couldn’t leave her there on the freeway by herself. He opened her handbag and found her driver’s license. Next to the photo it said her name was Katherine. He looked over at her, the dark hair, her smooth skin. He knew she was a Katie. A car honked as it passed, its headlights catching his peripheral vision. She would be his Katie, but they would have to leave California. ‘She’s been the only one. She’ll always be the only one.’
At that point, Wayne had looked in the direction of the morgue and refused to say more. The agents left Wayne Spicer in his cell, his big body pressed against the wall in a flat embrace.
As they emerged from the police station, Scott checked his cell phone and saw he had two voicemail messages. He listened to them as he followed Eric over to the Suburban. The first one was from Steelie and didn’t require a return call. The second was from Cliff Lockwood, the Maricopa County medical investigator. He had asked Scott to return his call as a matter of urgency, even if it was after-hours, and had left a cell phone number.
Lockwood sounded somewhat less gravelly now that it was evening. Scott suspected a liqueur had lubricated his throat.
‘I’ve got the parents of your girl flying out here from California ASAP tomorrow. They got a lot of questions I can’t answer yet. But I figured maybe you could. Can you make it over here at eleven hundred hours?’
Scott thought for a moment and looked over at Eric, who was driving them to the Mission Hotel where they would stay the night, due to get on the road for Los Angeles at 7 o’clock the next morning. If he stayed to meet the Alstons, his partner would need to go ahead of him to coordinate the search for Tripper, an endeavor that would be headquartered in their office in LA.
Scott stalled for time by asking a question he already knew the answer to, thanks to Steelie’s message. ‘What kind of questions are we talking about?’
Lockwood sighed. ‘Seems they want to know how their daughter ended up out here in AZ in the hands of some perp. I’ll be telling them about the freezer before they view the body but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.’
Scott briefly considered just instructing Lockwood to tell the Alstons about the LAPD uniform costume. He could hear a television sitcom and canned laughter in the background on Lockwood’s end of the phone. Scott realized he wasn’t even sure about the MI’s bedside manner. It was his duty, not Lockwood’s.
‘I’ll be there.’ He hung up and relayed the details to Eric, then told him about Steelie’s message, which recommended someone inform the Alstons about the circumstances of their daughter’s abduction.
Eric nodded as he pulled the car into the parking space at the hotel. ‘By the way, have you called Jayne since we were at her place and you basically shouted at her?’
Scott opened his door, paused, and then got out. ‘No.’
Eric exhaled as he cut the engine. ‘Don’t let the other guy get her, Scott.’
Scott frowned at him. ‘What other guy?’
‘I don’t know, but there will be another guy eventually. You shouldn’t give up unless you’re ready to see that . . .
‘Who said I was giving up?’ Scott said as he closed the door.
DAY NINE
Wednesday
NINETEEN
Southwest Airlines Flight 597 from Phoenix to Los Angeles had arrived on time and Eric was walking into his office on Wilshire Boulevard by mid-morning. The first call he made was to the Information Technology investigators on the third floor to get an update on the request they’d phoned in from Phoenix to have the ITI monitor www.offthegrid.net for activity by the screen name ‘Tripper’. They reported no activity yet, but they were pulling caches of old posts by that screen name. So, no leads yet on Tripper’s identity.
Eric glanced behind him at the computer that was dedicated to NCIC traffic. He was waiting for a beep on it that would indicate a hit. There was no guarantee it would be a hit on their All Points Bulletin for Wayne’s car because the system would beep for any report filed by the Los Angeles office on any case since the database had been in use. But he was still waiting for that beep.
The phone rang and he picked up. It was the Phoenix Crime Laboratory. They had a preliminary report on the examination of Wayne Spicer’s/Tripper’s van: numerous particles of biological trace evidence had been located inside the vehicle. Although the van’s interior appeared to have been cleaned thoroughly, the criminalists had collected traces of blood, saliva, and epithelial from its faults, joins, and other surfaces. It was too early for the lab to tell if all the biological material came from a single source or from multiple sources, or whether any of it could ultimately link Tripper to the vehicle. They told Eric they would need reference material from people known to be in the van; for example, the man behind the screen name.
Eric looked back at the computer. Nothing.
Scott’s first thought when Cliff Lockwood opened his office door was that he could have been Kris Kristofferson’s stunt double. His barrel-like chest blocked the doorway for a moment before he invited Scott in, indicating a seat to the left that was turned to face two people who were rising from their chairs.
The room wasn’t large and with everyone standing up, Scott felt like he had walked into a closet that was already too full. But it opened up the moment Lockwood sat down behind his desk. He introduced Ben and Linda Alston, describing Scott as the law enforcement officer who had found their daughter.
Linda Alston had brown hair caught in a loose bun. Her eyes were a clear blue and she was looking at Scott with undisguised relief. Ben Alston had a close-cropped brown beard. He extended his hand to Scott, then folded his other hand over the handshake. Neither man spoke. Linda smiled at Scott but didn’t shake his hand. She was holding a sizeable piece of cardboard to her chest.
‘Please take a seat, Mr and Mrs Alston,’ Lockwood began. ‘Agent Houston is here to answer any questions for you that he can. As I mentioned before, he may be limited by the needs of the ongoing investigation into your daughter’s case but those limits will be lifted as soon as possible.’
Ben and Linda nodded.
Linda turned to Scott, still holding the cardboard tight. ‘We wanted, first of all, to thank you for finding Kate.’
Scott nodded gravely.
She continued with more difficulty. ‘We’ve seen her now and—’ She broke off, her mouth twisting, and her husband put his long arms about her shoulders. She drew herself up. ‘And we wanted you to know what a beautiful girl she really was.’
She turned the piece of cardboard around and Scott was looking at a large portrait of a smiling version of the woman he’d found in Wayne Spicer’s freezer. He felt as though the color ink had flowed through her like blood,
