Serial Date: A Leine Basso Thriller (10 page)

There was nothing.

Her cell phone went off as she came out of the guest bedroom. She sprinted to her purse and glanced at the caller ID before she answered. Private Caller. When April called the last time, the display was the same. Relieved, she answered.

“April?”

“'I've got pieces of April…'“ The melody was off-key but unmistakable.

And it wasn't April singing.

Leine's heart skipped a beat, then resumed. The man's voice was unfamiliar with a slight accent she couldn't place.

“Who is this?”

The voice chuckled. “Demanding, aren't you? How about saying hello first?”

“Who the hell is this?” Leine's hands started to sweat. Fear gripped her heart and spread to her stomach.

“That's not important. What's important is I've got your daughter.”

Chapter 15

Leine's body recoiled
at the sound of the caller's voice. “Where's April?”
How did he know my number?

“Now, now. Calm down.” The caller paused before continuing. “Being upset is no way to begin what could be the start of a beautiful relationship. Besides, you don't strike me as someone who is easily surprised. From what your daughter tells me, you have nerves of steel, right?”

“What do you mean? You don't have my daughter.”

“Well, then I must have another April. My mistake. Shall I describe her to you? That way we can be absolutely certain who I've got. If she's not your daughter, I'll hang up and our budding relationship will end. Is that all right with you?”

The caller's breathing changed, sounding more labored and the background noises became muffled.
He can't have April. She took a detour on her way over to Frank's. She's probably there now.

The next sounds were footsteps followed by a door opening and closing, the jingle of keys. Then silence.

“Here she is…”

Leine exhaled, unaware she'd been holding her breath.

“Let's see, I'd say she's about five-seven, dark hair- cute little cowlick, by the way – and quite the tattoo of a snake winding its way up her body, all the way to her neck. Sound familiar?”

Leine's knees buckled. She caught the arm of the chair and lowered herself into it.

April
.

“Now that we've established I actually have your daughter, I'd like to get down to business.” More footsteps, then a door closing.

Leine sat straight in the chair, every nerve alive. Years of training flooded back, sharpening her senses. The bastard has my daughter, she thought.

He has no idea who he's dealing with.

“What kind of business?”
Keep him talking, Leine. Find out everything you can
.

“I'm sure you're aware of my first culling?”

“Culling? What are you talking about?”

“My culling of the herd. Amanda?” He said her name impatiently, as though speaking to a five year-old.

Jesus. I'm talking to the guy who killed Amanda?
Leine's heart thudded in her chest and her palms began to sweat. The dryness in her mouth made it hard to swallow. Leine used a breathing technique she'd learned in India to calm herself. She'd be no good to April if she panicked.

“And Stacy?”

“Ah. You know about Stacy. I assume there hasn't been any coverage in the press because whoever found her doesn't want the publicity, right? I mean, they caught the killer who did Amanda. L.A. is safe once again. Who told you? That moron, Dorfenberger?”

He's familiar with people who work on the show, not just the contestants
.

“Why would you feel the need to 'cull the herd'?”

“Would you like the definition from the dictionary?  'Cull: to remove an animal, especially a sick or weak one, from a herd or flock'. The actors currently employed on the show are dreadful and spineless and can't or won't stand up to the horrendous script.” He sighed. “It's time someone showed those idiot writers how a real killer would act.”

“Why take April? She's not part of the show.” She needed to keep him talking but didn't want to give him any more information than was necessary.

“Because she was available. And because you're her mother. You fascinate me, Madeleine. We're two of a kind, you know.”

Leine's attention riveted on the caller's voice.
He knows my full name.

“Why do you say that?” Her voice exited her like the crack of a whip.
Tone it down, Leine. Don't let him get to you.

The caller chuckled. “Now, now, Madeleine, don't get testy. As our relationship progresses, you'll soon see that I'm right.”

“I need to speak to April, now. How do I know she's still alive?”

“You don't. Talking to your daughter has to be earned. We're still getting to know one another. Tell you what—let's set up a point system. You do what I ask and I award you points. If you don't do as I say, then you lose points. If you reach zero, I kill April.”

“I don't see how that's fair. I'm already at zero.”

“Patience, lovey. I'll spot you five.”

“How many points until I can talk to her?”

“Hmm. Let's say twenty-five. Would you like your first assignment? It's worth five points if you complete it in a timely manner. That will put you at ten. Only fifteen to go.”

“Tell you what. How about we make a trade? Me for April.”

He chuckled again. “Now where's the fun in that? It's much more fun to play the game, don't you think?”

“I feel at a disadvantage. I don't know your name. What should I call you?”

There was a momentary pause at the other end. Then, “Azazel. Like the angel.”

***

“Where the fuck are you, Santa?” Putnam waved his hand in front of Jensen's face.

Startled, Jensen's attention snapped back to his fish taco and Putnam's raunchy story of a run in he'd had with a tranny down on Santa Monica Boulevard.

“Then, if you can believe it, she put her friggin' hand on my thigh and said, 'Cops get a twenty-percent discount…'“

Jensen laughed, but his mind remained on Leine Basso. The woman had some kind of effect on him—he couldn't think about anyone or anything but her, naked in bed, naked in the shower, naked in his arms. He even caught himself fantasizing about her naked in the interrogation room. That blew his mind. Not like the place was conducive to banging, although the table looked like it could be about the right height…

He tried to concentrate on something other than Leine as he polished off the taco. Putnam cocked his head to one side.

“I haven't seen you this preoccupied since you and Gina split.” Putnam tossed his empty plate in the garbage can next to them. He leaned forward, planted his elbows on the picnic table and grinned. “Get laid last night?”

“And that'd be your business because…?”

“Because you'd be a grumpy fuck if you talked to Gina recently. This time's different, like somebody got to you, good. Gotta be a broad.” He lowered his voice and looked to both sides. “So, she give head?”

Jensen stood and wadded his wrapper, lobbing it into Putnam's face. “Fuck you.”

He turned and strode toward the parking lot, shaking his head as Putnam burst into laughter.

“Bull's-eye.” He rose from the table, wiping his eyes and followed Jensen back to their car. “You gonna tell me who? Or do I have to bug your sorry ass until you do?” He opened the passenger door but didn't get in, watching Jensen across the roof of the car.

“I'll bet I know. Is it that new chick in the Chief's office? The redhead? Man, she's hot, hot, hot.”

Jensen got in and turned the key. The engine purred to life.

“Y'know, Putz, just because you're married and not getting any doesn't mean you can live vicariously through us single guys. Besides, you told me Dana only went down if you got a boner. Oh, yeah.” Jensen snapped his fingers. “You haven't gotten one of those in a looong time, have you? Dude, sorry.”

Putnam snorted and got in. “Yeah, I'm a deprived man. You gotta tell me about your sex life so I know shit like that still exists.”

As they drove out of the lot, Jensen's cell phone buzzed, indicating a text message.

“Can you check that?” Jensen said. He slid the phone from its holder and handed it to Putnam.

“Cargill out of Hollywood Unit wants a call.” Putnam checked the number and dialed.

“Putnam here. You called?” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, be there in a few minutes.” He disconnected and handed the phone back. “They've got an attempted kidnap victim. Says two women grabbed her and dumped her in the trunk of their car, talking like she was gonna be some guy's dinner. The vic escaped and called us. The patrol unit put out a description of the suspects and vehicle.”

“And this concerns us, how?”

“The vic's a former contestant on Serial Date. Patrol guy thought she might have some helpful info for our case.”

“Worth talking to her.”

“She's with their guy who does the bureau's composites. By the time we get there, he should be done with her.”

Chapter 16

Leine sat on
the chair, still as stone, the phone resting in her hand. She took a deep breath and glanced around her living room. How was it that things could seem so normal when her entire world had shifted?

He's got April. I need to find her before he kills her.
Leine was certain he would. She'd more than likely seen his face. Calling Jensen was out of the question. The killer had calmly told her he would skin April alive if she attempted to bring in outside help. He also warned her he knew the places she went and to whom she spoke. Leine assumed he'd either attached something to her car and was tracking her, or he'd somehow installed listening and tracking software on her phone without her knowledge. The possibility seemed remote. She was hyper-vigilant about password protection and encryption on everything she owned and rarely let her phone out of her sight. Still, it was something to keep in mind. She could easily pick up a disposable.

A more probable explanation could be he'd somehow gotten a hold of something she kept with her every day: her purse, maybe? What else did she have with her all the time? Her watch?

Leine studied the multi-function time piece on her wrist. A gift from Carlos, the waterproof chronometer incorporated an altimeter, compass, thermometer, barometer and clinometer. She only removed it when she took a shower. He would need to have been in my house to gain access. The idea chilled her. She made a mental note to pick up a bug detector and do a sweep of her house and car.

He was familiar with people on the set of Serial Date other than the contestants, which meant he'd either been on set at some point, knew someone who worked there, or was a previous or current employee of the show. Leine couldn't place the voice. She detected a slight accent, but it wasn't pronounced enough to reveal its origin.

He knew her name, knew she had a daughter. But how did he know April was here? Nobody on the set was aware she had a daughter, other than Gene. Leine flashed to the day before when she felt someone watching her as she walked back to the house after retrieving her phone from her car. Today she sensed it again. She'd ignored it the first time, convinced it was stress. Leine wanted to kick herself. When had those feelings ever been wrong? She was out of practice. She'd never have disregarded that kind of indicator when she was active. It was one of the things that made her so effective in her job. Intuition, gut feeling, whatever it was, Leine had it in spades.

Azazel had given her until eight o'clock that evening to finish her first task, bringing her five points closer to her goal of speaking to April. The bizarre request left Leine puzzled. Why would he waste time using her as an errand girl? It made no sense.

Then again, he wasn't exactly normal. The man dismembered women and ate them.

A chill spiraled down her back as she imagined the worst case scenario involving April. Her mind slammed the door shut on the thought and she took another deep breath. Better stick to the task.

Where the hell was she going to find a high-speed blender this time of night?

***

Leine parked near the post office box on Main in Venice and got out of her car. She glanced at her watch. Seven fifty-six. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, attempting to calm herself. In order to find the exact model of Blendo-matic high performance blender Azazel specified she'd called three box stores and visited one who mistakenly told her they had the model she was looking for. Finally, the clerk took pity on her and called a sister store in another location to see if they had the SZX5000. They did, and the clerk asked the other store to put it on hold for her.

“These little puppies are really popular with the juicing crowd. They've been flying off the shelves. You're lucky to find one in stock within fifty miles,” the clerk said.

Anxiety ratcheted to threat level, Leine drove like a madwoman to Culver City to pick the thing up, arriving back at the specified drop site with only minutes to spare. While in the store's parking lot, she'd unfastened the bottom of the blender base and placed a tiny tracking device inside, just under the motor. Then she secured the base and placed everything back in the box.

Frank had called twice, but she hadn't bothered to answer. Undecided on what to tell him, she didn't have the time or patience to deal with his questions. Yes, he cared for April, but he wasn't her father. Leine needed complete control as to how things went down. Frank would immediately call the police and that was the last thing Leine wanted.

At precisely eight o'clock, her phone rang. Caller ID showed Private Caller.

“Hello?”

“Did you find the SZX5000?”

“Yes.” Leine bit back a sarcastic comment. “How do I get it to you?” She'd fantasized about putting a bullet through him when he came to pick it up.

Azazel chuckled. “Wouldn't that be convenient? If you succeeded in killing me, how would you find your daughter? She'd die of thirst before you tracked her down, if you could even find her.”

How would he know I was thinking that? Lucky guess?

“Set the package under the post office box and leave. And Madeleine?”

“What?”

“I'll know when you leave. Don't try anything stupid. It'll get your daughter killed.”

Azazel ended the call. Her desire to find Jensen and explain everything hit her full force, but she shook it off. She had to play this one carefully. Calling in law enforcement too early was risky. Not when the killer was testing her, getting to know how well she complied with his 'requests'. No, first she'd lull him into a false sense of trust. Then she'd contact Jensen.

***

“It was your fault, you know. Shit—” Sissy swore as one of the cans of cream of mushroom soup fell onto the sidewalk and rolled.

Gwen whirled around, an angry grimace on her face. “It wasn't even close to my fault, bitch. She escaped, plain and simple.”

Sissy placed the soup back in the grocery bag and proceeded up the walkway toward the house. “Yeah, well, plain and simple ain't gonna cut it. What're we going to tell him? He's so going to be pissed.”

They reached the back door and knocked. Not hearing anything, Gwen inserted a key in the lock and opened the door.

Inside, the old built-in gloss-white cupboards and newer stainless appliances gleamed, as did the tile floor. Must be cleaning day, Sissy mused. She set the groceries on the tan Formica counter and opened the refrigerator. Gwen began to put away the canned goods while Sissy replenished the veggie drawer.

“This is new, isn't it?” Gwen pointed at the shiny red blender on the counter.

“Yeah. It's the one he's been talking about for ages. Looks like he finally found one.”

The two women glanced at each other, both silently wondering if they'd be the one he would ask to use it first.

Sissy opened a can of soup and poured the contents into a bowl she picked out from the cupboard, which then went into the microwave. She set it at two minutes and returned to the fridge, selecting a stalk of celery, one carrot and a clean head of iceberg lettuce.

“Wait a minute.” Gwen shoved Sissy out of the way and began to slice the vegetables, putting them into another bowl. “It's my turn to take him lunch.”

“I don't think so.” Sissy held the chef's knife aloft, angling the blade toward the top of Gwen's head. Gwen gave her a dark look, but moved out of the way. Sissy wasn't about to let her talk to him first. Not after their latest debacle with that homeless ho from the first season.

“Good idea, switching plates on the car. Think she memorized the old ones?”

Sissy smiled to herself. Gwen was shifting tactics. She's such a suck up. Sissy didn't mind letting her have the leftovers. Not if it meant she could manipulate her into doing the jobs she didn't like.

“If she did, they'll come up with a sedan belonging to an old man who's been missing for six weeks. No way they'll be able to track it here.”

“What do you think he did with him?” Gwen whispered.

Sissy shrugged. It was none of her business what he did with the 'offerings' as they called them. She was pretty sure it wasn't catch-and-release. As long as he let her stay she didn’t care.

Sissy finished making the salad and removed the now-hot bowl of soup from the microwave, setting them both on a tray with spotless silverware, a single rose (thorns removed) and the current Men's Health magazine. She added a linen napkin and a bottle of pre-squeezed barley juice she'd picked up at Whole Foods before taking everything through the living room and up the stairs.

As she neared the top of the stairway her hands began to shake. The bowls on the tray rattled against each other. She stopped and took a deep breath, willing herself to be still. When she was sure her hands wouldn't betray her excitement she continued down the hall to the closed door. Transferring the tray to one hand, she rapped on the door with the other.

“Come in.”

Still holding the food in one hand, Sissy turned the door handle and entered the dark room. He used the extra bedroom as an office of sorts. At least, that's what he'd told Gwen. Sissy knew it was really his trophy-slash-gaming room. Only she was allowed to go inside.

He sat at his computer console, playing a video game. The screams emanating from the screen told her it was his favorite, Sluts and Guns. One wall was covered in black and white photographs of young women, most of them no older than twenty. Their poses fascinated her—each was nude and looked as though asleep. He'd taken the photos from differing angles in order to capture every limb, every back, every buttock in minute detail. Sissy had no idea if or how each woman died although he'd told her he had no interest in them sexually. That's what Sissy and Gwen were for, he assured her.

Sissy was still trying to figure a way to take Gwen out of the picture. She had to admit, the bitch did come in handy when one of their catches got a little too rambunctious, but most of the time she was more work than she was worth. It was a tough job trying to keep her in second position. Besides, Sissy had access to a hypodermic needle filled with anesthetic to quiet the active ones.

This latest problem with the woman who'd escaped was going to take some finessing on Sissy's part. She walked over to the filing cabinet next to him and set the tray on top, waiting for his acknowledgment. He was wearing one of her favorite shirts, a dark blue button down.  Her tongue darted between her lips. She could almost taste him.

“I'll eat later.”

The sound of his voice reverberated through her. The tingle from the adrenaline rush of standing so close to someone who wielded such power cascaded down her body in waves. Only she and Gwen could slake his desire. More often than not he called on Sissy. She couldn't begin to describe how much it turned her on he needed her that way.

If she'd have stopped to think about it, she'd probably have to admit the sex wasn't great. It was more the idea that was so exciting; the idea he chose her, Sissy Nelson, as his partner above all others. Gwen was an at-bat as far as she was concerned.

He hit the pause button on his console.

“You have something to tell me?”

Sissy averted her eyes, unsure how to spin it so she came out better than Gwen.

“We found the woman you told us about. The homeless one from last season?”

He remained silent, his attention on her. Sissy would've killed for this kind of focus from him and here he was, listening to her every word.

“There was a slight problem—” The words came out in a whisper. She cleared her throat.

He rose from the chair. Sissy backed up until her legs hit the filing cabinet, her palms wet. He placed his arm around her shoulder, dipping his head in order to hear her better.

“What do you mean, a slight problem?”

“I-I mean we don't have her.”

“You don't? Why?” He gripped her shoulder, hurting her.

“It was Gwen's fault. It was her idea to put her in the trunk. The little bitch figured out how to trip the release.”

He let go of Sissy and stepped back, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. Sissy stared at the floor, her shoulders tense, inching their way up toward her ears.

“She escaped?” His tone was measured, but Sissy recognized intensity behind the words. “Why did you feel the need to put her in the trunk? We've talked about this at length. You're not to arouse their suspicions. You can do anything else you deem necessary, but I reserve the right to witness their fear. It's my reward since I'm letting you two find them for me.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry. I have no idea what got into Gwen, but she started hinting at what was going to happen. The woman was no dummy. She figured it out and got scared. We had to restrain her, but Gwen didn't put the ties back in the car from the last time, so we stuffed her in the trunk.” It was actually Sissy's responsibility to make sure the car was stocked, but he didn't have to know that.

“Did it not occur to you that there are built-in safety features in cars? Especially the trunk?” His rigid posture and clenched fists belied his soft, calm tone. Sissy wasn't sure if she should stay and take the brunt of his anger in the hopes that he'd be aroused, or if she should go downstairs and find Gwen.