all. One of the safest cities in the nation.
The man has a gun and a smile. He levels the gun at her face and walks forward, causing her to backpedal.
'Scream and I'll shoot you dead,' he observes, calm, cool, collected. He closes the door to the apartment.
'Who the fuck are you?' she asks, voice trembling. He puts a finger to his lips.
'Shhhhhh . . . I have something for you, Rosemary.'
He reaches into a jacket pocket and lifts out a bag. She recognizes it right away, of course.
Cocaine, sweet, beautiful, delicious cocaine.
'It's okay, Rosemary. God will forgive you for this, so long as you give yourself up to Him before I kill you. Remember: God is love.'
She feels the old familiar demon rise inside her, even now, even after all these years, even with a gun in her face. She feels the truth that she so often reflects upon: she was a Jezebel born, not made. Dear God, I'm scared, I'm so fucking scared, but even so, I want that coke so fucking bad, and (she can't be dishonest talking to God, not now not ever) it won't really be my fault because he's making me do it so that's kind of a relief because it sort of lets me off the hook, you know? Forgive me for that.
On the heels of this, puzzlement:
How does he know I'm a coke addict?
She struggles to remember if she'd seen his face at her Narcotics Anonymous meeting, or at her church.
No, she thinks. I would have remembered those eyes. Those awful eyes.
'Come now, Rosemary,' the man says, his voice almost gentle.
'We have work to do.'
Does it matter, Lord? Does it matter that I never would have done this coke by myself ? Even though I really want what he's giving me, doesn't it make a difference that I didn't go looking for it?
Rosemary had always felt the presence of God while praying, but never His voice. This time was no different. God didn't speak to her, but, as always, God was there.
He was there when she snorted the coke at gunpoint, He was even there when the end came, with all its darkness.
God never spoke, but He was there, and it was enough. She knew He heard her last thought, her final revelation.
Yeah, it does. It does make a difference. In fact, it makes THE difference. Our Father, who art in heaven, God oh my God, I love you so. She would have died smiling if she hadn't been in so much pain.
11
IT'S A LITTLE PAST NOON AND I AM ON THE PHONE WITH AD Jones.
'Similar crime?' he asks. 'Here?'
He doesn't groan, but I know he wants to because I feel the same way.
A killer who hops municipalities is a whole new monster. A man dedicated to his craft, a traveler, spreading the wreckage of his acts across multiple jurisdictions. It creates problems. Locals who don't want us playing in their sandbox. The potential for incompetence on the part of forensics or pathology increases by virtue of increasing the per capita of law-enforcement involvement. Not to mention the simple truth that some victims will fall through the cracks. VICAP, the Violent Crime Apprehension Program, which provides a national database of cross-referenced violent acts, is a voluntary program. Unless a local homicide cop decides to enter the crime into VICAP, it's not there to search for and find in the database.
'It's a headache,' I agree.
'What do you want to do?'
I think about it. The truth is, I'm tired, my team is tired, and there's no way we'll be able to keep up our current pace for very long. But . . .
The time he's most likely to err is in the commission of the crime itself. The longer he has to cool down, the more opportunity he has to cover his tracks, and worse, to refine his technique. The first murder, in most cases, is the sloppiest. But this isn't his first now, is it? Maybe not even his tenth or his hundredth.
I sigh. 'We'll continue blitzing it for now, sir. I'll fly back and check out the Sonnenfeld murder. The rest of my team will stay here.'
'What's the division of labor?'
'Callie and James are processing Lisa's apartment personally. Alan is coordinating with the locals on the Ambrose scene.'
'Is he really needed there?'
I consider this. 'Probably not. I was going to have him do the passenger interviews, but the locals could do that. I'm sure Virginia forensics will pass muster and, besides, I think Ambrose was a throwaway.'
'Big assumption.'
'If Lisa wasn't random--and I feel strongly that she wasn't--then Ambrose was a means to an end, not the reason why.' I sigh. 'He was incidental. He's not going to give me any real insight.'
'Then take Alan with you. Have him turn over the Ambrose scene and the passenger interviews to the locals.' A pause. 'I want you to have a partner with you when possible, Smoky. This guy seems to be pretty intent on getting law enforcement involved. That means he's going to be watching.'
I'd already thought of this, but having AD Jones say it out loud sends a small icy shiver down my spine. On at least three occasions now the men I hunt have taken a personal interest in me and my team, and while we're all still alive, we've never walked away from those encounters unscathed.
'Roger that, sir.'
'Keep me briefed.'
He hangs up without saying good-bye. I dial Alan.
'Let me guess,' he says without preamble. 'We're going back to LA.'
'How telepathic of you.'
'Nah. If you hadn't asked me to come I would have insisted.'
'I'll come pick you up,' I say. ' 'Bye.'
I've been standing outside of Lisa's apartment to make these calls. I poke my head in.
'Callie!'
She walks out of Lisa's bedroom, digital camera held in gloved hands.
'What is it, honey-love?'
I explain about Rosemary Sonnenfeld. She raises an eyebrow.
'Busy boy.'
'Yes. Alan and I are going to fly home and check that out. I need you and James to continue here. Collect everything you can find. When you're done, call for the plane and bring it all back with you.'
'Do we get to sleep after?'
'If not, I'll buy the donuts.'
Callie is addicted to miniature chocolate donuts. Loves them, really. It's a passionate affair.
'A fair trade,' she says. 'I accept.'
'See you soon.'
'Oh, and, Smoky? Say hi to my man if you see him. Tell him I expect sex when I return. Lots of it.'
'I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear it.'
She tosses her hair and smiles. 'I just want to give him adequate time to prepare for the coming storm.'
ALAN AND I ARE SITTING in the car waiting for the jet to arrive. He glances at his watch.
'We should get there by about six o'clock. I already talked to the Simi Valley cops and let them know we're coming. Some guy by the name of Atkins is the primary on the case.'
'Where are they at with it?'
'All the forensic work is done, including the autopsy. They don't have any leads.'
'Have they released the apartment yet?'
