The Darker Side (11 page)

She remembers all of these things now, as she often does, and adds some final words to her prayer.

“Thank you God, for helping me, and for listening to my bad fucking mouth and my dirty thoughts, and for letting me say what I need to say so I can stay on the path. Amen.”

Dirty words and evil thoughts were her secret things, and you can’t stay clean with secrets so God let her spew her bile and never blinked, however raunchy things got.

She stands up and goes to shower. No work today, but discipline was the key to her life now. Waking every day at the same time, not letting herself sleep in or be slothful. Sunday through Friday she ran a mile. Saturday she let herself off on the running, but she still got up, showered, had her coffee, and then went to the church to volunteer.

All of which, she reflects, helps keep the real secret, the true dirtiness inside her, at bay. That one terrible thing when she’d—

A knock at the door startles her from this thought. She frowns.

Who the hell is that?

She grabs a bathrobe and checks her face in the mirror, chastising herself immediately for this vanity, knowing that this is one habit she’ll never break.

She opens the door without peeking through the peephole. It’s Saturday morning, and this is Simi Valley, after 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 throw-away.”

“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?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

I won’t get the same opportunity I had with Lisa Reid.

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s meet with Atkins, find out everything we can about Rosemary Sonnenfeld, who she was and how she died. See if it takes us anywhere.”

“Think it will?”

I glance at my friend and shrug.

“It will take us somewhere. Hopefully that’s somewhere helpful.”

He stares off and nods. I wonder if he hears it like I do, the humming in the stillness. Three newly dead, and more in the oven. My stomach is sour with worry and dismay, and I feel like cicadas are buzzing through my veins.

“ARE YOU COMING HOME TONIGHT?”

We’re mid-flight and I’m on the plane’s phone with Bonnie.

“I hope so, sweetheart. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, but I’m okay. If you need to work, I won’t mind.”

“Thanks, babe. But I’m really going to try.”

A pause.

“Smoky?”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re busy, but I want you to make some time to talk with me about something soon.”

My antennae go up. I can’t remember Bonnie ever making a request like this. All kinds of things run through my head, good, bad, and banal. Mostly bad. I keep my voice calm.

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

Another long pause, also uncharacteristic.

“Well, I’ve been thinking. You know I love Elaina. And I really did need to be homeschooled while I got better, but…”

“But?” I coax her.

She sighs, and it makes my heart hitch a bit. It’s the sound of a little girl carrying a big weight. “Well, I think it’s time for me to go to a normal school. You know, with other kids and stuff.”

Now it’s my turn to pause.

“Hm,” I manage.

“I’m not asking you to decide right now, Momma-Smoky. I just wanted you to know. That I want to talk about it.”

I clear my throat and force myself to sound reassuring and understanding.

“Sure, honey. Of course.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She sounds relieved.

Too relieved. What’s she so worried about? Me? If so, not good.

I continue with the whole reassuring and understanding thing, in spite of my inner turmoil. Some things you never forget how to do as a parent. Calm and smiling while it storms inside, no problem, like riding a bike.

“I’ll talk to you later, babe. Too much.”

“Way too much,” she replies.

We spend a lot of time together, but we also spend a lot of time apart by virtue of what I do. We’ve developed an emotional shorthand that works wonders for us. “Too much” is one of our phrases, the answer to the unspoken question, “how much do I love you?” It was super sappy and absolutely appropriate.

God, I love this girl.

“’Bye, sweetheart,” I murmur.

“’Bye.”

I hang up and stare out the small window, watching the clouds go by. I search for a level place inside myself, but I’m having trouble. Fear is my oldest friend and he’s taken advantage of my unease to cuddle up close.

“Something wrong?” Alan asks, startling me from my reverie.

I shrug. “Bonnie. She wants to talk about going to public school.”

He raises both eyebrows in surprise.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.”

“Scares you, huh?”

His eyes are gentle, patient, kind. Alan knows me pretty well, and a lot of that is because I trust him so much.

I sigh. “It terrifies me. I mean, I understand. She’s twelve. I knew I couldn’t keep her inside a cocoon forever. But it scares me to think about her…
out there.
”

He nods. “Understandable. She’s been treated rough. So have you.”

“That’s the problem. Every parent worries about sending their child out into the world. But not every parent has seen what I have. The possibilities aren’t just theoretical for me.”

“Yeah.” He is silent for a moment. “I love Bonnie, Smoky, you know that. Truth is, the idea scares me too. Not just for her—though that’s the biggest part of it, of course—but also for Elaina, and for you. Bonnie is your second chance at being a mom, and probably Elaina’s only chance to experience a little of what that’s like. You and Elaina are the most important women in my life, and if something happened to Bonnie…I don’t know. I don’t think either of you would make it back from that.”

He smiles, rueful. “But on the other hand, I’m happy about it. Because it means that that little girl really is okay.” He looks at me, his gaze intense. “You understand? She’s not afraid to venture out into the world again. That’s
progress,
Smoky. It means we’ve done good by her. And that’s pretty cool.”

I smile at my friend. He hasn’t taken away my fear, but he has tempered it, a little. Because what he’s said is true. Bonnie was almost lost to the world after a visit from a monster. Her soul had been flickering out there on the edge of forever, a tiny candle in a rainstorm. The essence of her had nearly been snuffed out.

Now she was telling me that she was strong enough to want to start building a life with more than just me in it. It was terrifying, it might even make me a little bit jealous, but yes, it was also pretty cool.

“Thanks, Alan. That helps.”

“No problem. Just don’t expect me to be all wise and understanding when she starts dating.”

I grin at him. “Dating? There will be no dating going on.”

He grins back.

“Amen to that.”

12

SIMI VALLEY, LIKE MUCH OF VENTURA COUNTY, IS MUCH NICER
than LA proper. It’s younger, smaller, and safer. The 118 freeway connects Simi and the San Fernando Valley, but the drive between the two takes you through undeveloped country, rolling hills and mini-mountains.

The easternmost side of Simi Valley is older, with homes that date back to the sixties. As in all things USA, the more west you go, the newer things are.