“I, uh... She came over with me.” Jake surveyed the ground around the body.
“My man.” Billy punched his shoulder. “What’s up with that? I thought she was enemy number one.”
“This guy is enemy number one.” Jake jabbed his finger toward the young woman on the ground. “Kyra Chase is just an...annoyance.”
“A good-looking annoyance. Not your usual type—cool, stuck-up, blonde—but worth the exception.”
“C’mon, man. I ran into her at Detective Roger Quinn’s house. I was there when I got the call about the body, so it made sense to have her tag along. Probably couldn’t have stopped her, anyway.”
“She knows Detective Quinn? How?”
“Worked a case with him or something.”
“She looks great for her age.”
Jake whistled. “Hang on, what’s this?”
He took two steps toward a bush trembling in the dry furnace and crouched down. He pinched a card between his fingers and rescued it from some of the spiny branches of the bush.
“Not that there was any doubt, but look what I found?” He held up the playing card to Billy, the queen of spades facing outward.
“Sorry we missed that, Detective.”
Jake waved the card at one of the officers. “No worries. You were here to protect the body, not conduct a search.”
A firefighter crashed through the bushes and flipped up his mask, his eyes ringed with black soot. “I know it’s not the best of circumstances, but you guys are gonna have to get out of here and let the coroner load the body. The winds haven’t died down yet, and that fire’s going to leap into this area in the next thirty minutes, if not sooner.”
Jake tucked the playing card into a plastic baggie. “The coroner’s van is here?”
“Yeah, being kept at bay by a bulldog of a woman out there. Is she really with you?”
“She’s part of our task force, and I asked her to buy me some time.” Jake patted the cell phone in his pocket. “I took pictures and did a search of the area. It has to be good enough.”
Jake followed Billy back to the road, which now included a TV van, several more sheriff’s deputies and the medical examiner’s truck.
His eyes met Kyra’s through the glare of the lights and activity, and he dropped his chin to his chest. She nodded back.
He peeled off his glove and shook the coroner’s hand. “Same killer. I want to go back in there with you while you move the body so I can take a look underneath.”
The reporter shouted over the noise of the helicopters that were now circling in to dump water. “Is this the same killer of Marissa and Kelsey, Detective? Who found the body? Did the firefighters find the body? Did he leave a playing card this time?”
“No comment.” Jake tugged on the coroner’s sleeve. “We’d better get going. We have less than thirty minutes to get her.”
Jake and Billy searched the area some more as the coroner lifted the woman’s dead body and zipped her into a bag. Like the other dump sites, this one was clean—no cigarette butts, no gum wrappers, no footprints, no tire tracks. Time and the coroner would tell if the killer had left any fingerprints or DNA on the body.
They needed to identify this woman as soon as possible to start their investigation. If this was the copycat’s first victim, he may have made other mistakes—and Jake planned to pounce on every one of them.
He gave the scene one last look before retreating to the road. Flames had started creeping over the ridge, and they’d be racing down the hillside in a matter of minutes.
When he got clear of the trees and bushes, he returned to a calmer scene. The cops and reporters had heeded the advice of the firefighters and fled the area.
Billy waved at him from the front seat of his car. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning. Hoping for some good news on that phone.”
“Me, too.” Jake swiveled his head from side to side, his pulse ratcheting up a few notches.
“Oh, yeah.” Billy stuck his head out the window as he made a U-turn. “Kyra told me to tell you she got a ride home.”
“A ride? With who?”
“That reporter.” Billy’s fingers formed a gun. “Watch yourself with that one, brother.”
Jake swore as he watched Billy’s taillights fade into the rolling smoke. Kyra was friendly with reporters, too? That was a bad sign.
He slid into his own car, his tongue sweeping across his lips. Felt like he’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes without a filter.
At least the drive back to his house in the Hollywood Hills was closer than making the trek back and forth to Santa Monica. He cruised downhill and escaped from the canyon that had turned into a hellhole.
When he reached his house and climbed from the car, he sniffed the air. Despite the smell of Hades and the ominous glow to the west, you’d never know there was a fire raging out of control.
Jake undressed, tossed his soot-flecked pants in the corner and stepped into the shower. He let the lukewarm water stream down his back as he scrubbed the grime of the day from his body. He didn’t even have to land in the middle of a wildfire to feel dirty. His job left a coat of filth on his skin almost daily.
After his shower, he pulled on a pair of gym shorts and a white T-shirt. He scooped some rocky road ice cream into a bowl and carried it, along with his laptop, to his couch in the living room. He clicked on the TV and watched footage of the fire in Malibu Canyon—no mention of a body yet.
He spooned a hunk of ice cream into his mouth and let the cold sweetness melt down his scorched throat. When he’d finished half the bowl, he muted the TV and logged in to an LAPD database. It didn’t take him long to bring up Detective Roger Quinn’s
