She slipped quietly out of his room, limping.
FORTY-THREE
It took the FBI twenty minutes to run a quick background check on Langstrom and find property he owned in rural eastern Sacramento County.
“Call the sheriff’s department,” Mitch said. “They may have a unit closer than we are.”
Richardson said, “Belay that. Mitch, this guy is a cop. He’s going to be listening for activity.”
“They all have cell phones nowadays,” Mitch said. “Can’t we do this off the radio?”
“You head over there right now, I’ll call the sheriff at home and get units sent over there without any chatter.”
Hans interjected. “He’s a cop and he’s a sociopath. He’ll be listening for chatter, as well as silence. When you talk to the sheriff, make sure he contacts only off-duty deputies, which will prevent
“Point well taken,” Richardson agreed.
Hans and Meg jumped in Mitch’s car. Two more cars followed. Mitch flew down the road as fast as he dared while Meg typed the address into the GPS system. “I’ll double-check the map,” Hans said. GPS was, unfortunately, often wrong. If they were off by a street, it might delay them from reaching Claire in time.
Mitch merged onto the freeway. It was dark, and traffic was light on Saturday night. He turned on the hidden police lights built into the grill of the small sedan. Cars moved out of his way.
“Take Business 80 to 50 east, exit Power Inn Road, to Jackson Highway. Langstrom’s property is off Dillard Road.”
“I know where Dillard is,” Mitch said, jaw tight. “It’s faster to get off at Watt.”
Hans was reading Langstrom’s file in the backseat. “He dropped out of Stanford shortly after Jessica White went missing,” he said. “Moved to L.A. His father is a renowned surgeon, Ander Langstrom. He died five years ago.”
“Mother?” Meg asked.
“Died when Langstrom was eight.”
“How did he steal an identity and go through the police academy?” Mitch asked. “Don’t they do background checks anymore?”
“It’s amazingly easy,” Hans said. “My guess is Palmer died and Langstrom assumed his identity. Or he killed Palmer and destroyed the body sufficiently to prevent recognition, then went about living the guy’s life. That’s going to take a little more research. But Langstrom all but disappeared fifteen years ago. He has a residence in Los Angeles, files taxes-on a sizable inheritance-and is considered a recluse. Palmer has also paid taxes, on a much smaller income.”
“None of this makes sense,” Mitch said. “Why would Langstrom kill two people he doesn’t know? Do you think Collier is credible, that Drake and his cohorts blackmailed Langstrom into murder?”
“As far-fetched as it sounds, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe it wasn’t simple blackmail. It looks like Palmer has a sizable bank account. His income is higher than what I’d imagine a fifteen-year veteran of the police force would make. But I don’t have his tax records. It’ll take our finance people to make sense of it.”
“An assassin,” Meg said. “They brought him up here for a job.”
“Why did he stay?” Mitch asked. “If he went back to L.A., he’d never have been connected to Taverton’s murder. A hired gun. He could disappear.”
“This is why.” Hans handed Meg a photograph over the seat.
“Jessica White?”
“Doesn’t she look familiar? I mean, I haven’t seen Claire O’Brien in person, but I’ve seen her photograph and they certainly look a lot alike.”
Mitch stole a glance at White’s picture. The resemblance was there. Black hair and blue eyes and pale skin. “That might mean nothing.” But Mitch didn’t believe his own statement.
“Hold on. I found something.”
Mitch glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Hans open his laptop and start pounding away on the keyboard. He asked, “What?”
“Let me pull up a photo if I can find it.”
“Photo of who?”
“There’s an odd thing in Langstrom’s file. Sealed juvenile records.”
“Not a criminal file,” Hans added. “He was a witness. Damn, I can’t access the file, but I have a name. State of California v. Bridget Lincoln.”
“Did he testify for the state or the defense?” Meg asked.
“Don’t know,” Hans mumbled, typing frantically. “Bingo!”
He handed his laptop over to Meg.
“Shit, Hans, she looks just like Claire.”
Mitch tried to look, but Meg said, “Keep your eyes on the road. You’re going over ninety. There’s Watt.”
“I see it.” He cut across lanes to exit.
“Trust me, she looks like Claire,” Meg said.
“What happened to her?”
Hans said, “She went to prison for five years for statutory rape. She was the principal of a private K-8 school in Glendale. I’ll bet a million bucks that Langstrom went to that school and was one of her victims.”
“That’s sick,” Meg said.
“Men aren’t the only pedophiles,” Hans said. “Women pedophiles and rapists are rare, but they exist. It’s usually a maternal situation instead of a violent attack. They provide a needed mother figure to the male victims- usually prepubescent without a mother in the home and often with a domineering or distant father-and in exchange for affection, they molest or manipulate the boys into engaging in sex with them. Bridget Lincoln wasn’t a Mrs. Robinson seducing a college boy, she was a sexual predator.
“Langstrom fits the profile. Only child, mother died young, father successful and largely absent. Lincoln comes in, gives the young boy attention-it appears she preferred twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys-and when the one got too old, she traded for another. If Langstrom was already pre-wired a sociopath, the rejection could have set him off.”
“But,” Mitch asked, “as a boy, wouldn’t he have a harder time coming forward?”
“Absolutely. Any victim of sexual abuse has a hard time telling authorities, but boys especially feel that they aren’t men if they cry rape. And Langstrom doesn’t seem to be the type to go to his father. I suspect that Ms. Lincoln preyed on the wrong boy-maybe one who had someone in the home who saw the signs and cared enough to do something about it. The police would have done an investigation, probably interviewed Langstrom. And he testified in court. He’d have felt humiliated and worthless and it would spur his anger, especially if he didn’t receive decent counseling. And even if he had-” Hans shook his head.
“Don’t sympathize with him,” Mitch said.
“I’m not,” Hans said. “But understanding his background gives us an advantage.”
Meg said, “What you’re saying, I think, is that Langstrom came to Sacramento to assassinate Taverton-either because of blackmail or money or both-and he saw Claire and fixated on her.”
“Exactly. He returned later with a new identity as a cop. Got a job with Sacramento PD. Befriended Dave Kamanski, who was close to his age, and whose father had become the guardian of the minor Claire. He insinuated himself in all of their lives. And when everything started spiraling out of control, he took her.”
“Why?” Mitch asked, slamming his fist on the dashboard.
“Because he couldn’t leave her behind.”
“What about the judge and Mancini?” Meg asked.
“Payback. I don’t think Langstrom had anything to do with drugging Claire at the Rabbit Hole. From what
