Bleeding Out (37 page)

Frank finished pouring, then admitted, “I’ve got something for you. Something I think you’re going to like a lot more than my pitiful little bio.”

“Don’t be so modest, Lieutenant. It doesn’t play well on you.”

“I’m serious. It’s about the Culver City Slayer.”

Sally momentarily lost her meticulous composure, and Frank saw a hungry little girl who’d never gotten enough of something. A waiter glided to their table and bowed slightly at Sally. She didn’t show it, but Frank knew Sally was charmed by the obsequious service. The waiter spoke only after Frank had acknowledged him, patiently detailing the evening’s specials. At Frank’s suggestion, Sally opted for the porcini ravioli, while Frank ordered the osso bucco. The waiter departed, their order in his memory, and Sally turned on the detective with undisguised glee.

“So what do you have for me?”

Frank lingered over a sip of the dark wine. On the surface she was aware of teasing Sally, but underneath the artful police work, Frank was reluctant to begin. Sighing deeply but inconspicuously, Frank highlighted the Agoura and Peterson cases.

When the waiter presented their plates, Sally impatiently asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”

Frank assured the waiter they were satisfied, then carefully explained how the cases were connected. Without offering Clancey’s name or specific details, she laid out the evidence against him.

“You know these cases are being handled by Robbery-Homicide now. They have all this evidence and they’re just sitting on it. These girls are not a high priority for them, what with Woodall still not closed and then Marker getting bumped yesterday.”

A sitcom personality had been found in an alley, whacked in the head and robbed. All the people in their gated communities and alarmed cars were in high panic about it because it had happened to one of them. Frank ignored her meal, leaning in close to Sally as if to confide in her.

“Honestly, I don’t expect you to give a damn about these kids either. But what is news, and what’ll get you ratings, is exposing the fact that a two-bit comedian’s accidental death is more important to the police that your viewers pay taxes to than the planned and deliberate deaths of at least four young girls. RHD could move on this right now, but the death of a celebrity cokehead is a greater priority than multiple deaths of the average citizen’s child.”

Frank watched the story playing in Sally’s eyes, knew she had her. Even though she wasn’t hungry, Frank forced the tender veal down, letting Sally think. Finally the reporter’s eyes narrowed and she said, “So you want me to cover this to force Robbery-Homicide into action?”

Bluntly Frank answered, “That’s my angle, yeah.”

“Why? It’s not your problem anymore. Are you using me to settle a score? I want to know.”

Frank shook her head and dabbed at her mouth with the heavy napkin.

“You know, Sally, I’ve been a cop for almost seventeen years. I’ve seen the worst that you can imagine and then some. But there’s a man out there, with no remorse and no compunction, who is stealing girls off the streets. He hurts them. He rapes them. And then painfully…knowingly…savagely,” Frank paused a beat, “he kills them. And he loves this. More than anything. And because he loves it, he’ll never stop. He’ll go on raping and hurting and killing, and he’ll only get better at it. I talked to some of the girls that lived through his assaults. They’re never going to be the same. Their worlds are shattered.”

Frank searched the reporter’s face. When she continued, she spoke so softly that Sally had to lean closer.

“When I questioned them, when I had to ask them about the man who’d done this to them, they trusted me. They looked at me like somehow
I
could help them be whole again. Which of course I can’t. But I told them, I
promised
them, that we’d catch him, that they’d never have to be afraid of him again. I intend to keep that promise. It’s the least I can do for them.”

Frank sat back, spent from the veracity of what had started as a line for Sally.

“So yeah, it’s not my problem anymore. But I can’t walk away from those girls, and whoever he’s got his sights on next. Because I can guarantee you, he
will
kill again. As sure as you’re taking your next breath.”

Sally coolly tapped a lacquered nail against her wine glass.

“Very touching. But if I break this, then every mike jockey in town will be hounding them.”

Frank needed Sally, she had to play this last hand as well as she could. Smiling patiently, and she hoped winningly, Frank coaxed the reporter.

“Come on, Sally. You’re light years ahead of most the crew out there. Do your homework. You can get an exclusive, and however you do that is fine with me. As long as we’ve never had this dinner, and as long as RHD moves.”

“If I call them on it I’ll need more ammunition.”

“Trust me. All you have to do is tell them you know they have a suspect in Culver City, and that they have solid evidence connecting him at least to Agoura. That’ll get them sweating. The commission won’t be pleased that they’re just squatting on a quadruple homicide. And besides,” Frank hinted, pulling out the last drop of charm in her arsenal, “this could be just the beginning of a useful relationship between us. Don’t you think?”

The hungry young reporter stabbed her ravioli and bared her teeth in answer.

“Kennedy hoisted a six-pack and said, “Congratulations.” Frank opened the door wider, letting her inside. “What am I being congratulated for?”

“You got your man.” Frank shrugged. “RHD’s man.”

“Oh-h-h,” Kennedy feigned, “and they didn’t have any help from you?”

The older cop returned the feint with a brief, enigmatic smile. “What’s up?” she asked, examining the three Cokes and three beers in the six-pack carton.

“Did you see the news tonight?”

“Nope.”

“It’s the lead story. Sally Eisley, KTLA? She had a total exclusive. She was marching in there behind these RHD dicks, filmed the whole thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I suppose you don’t know anything about that, either.”

When Frank didn’t answer, Kennedy checked her watch and grabbed Frank’s arm, pulling her into the living room.

“Come on. Let’s catch the late news.”

Frank followed, accepting the beer Kennedy handed her. The younger detective bounded over to the TV, threw herself excitedly onto the couch, and pried a Coke open. Frank admired Kennedy’s energy, wondering if she’d ever had as much. Yeah, she thought, but that was light years ago.

Kennedy brandished the remote, picking through the channels until she found KTLA.

“Here we go,” she said, sucking noisily from her can. “This is rich, you’re gonna love it.”

As the last few minutes of a police drama unfolded, Kennedy jokingly wished everyone she worked with was as good-looking.

“So, did you drop a dime to Eisley?” she asked casually.

“What’s Eisley got to do with anything?”

“Kinda interesting how she scooped the story, that’s all. Like RHD personally invited her.”

“Guess she caught a lucky break.”

Frank’s profile was creased and sallow, but it gave away nothing.

“I’m not keeping you up am I?”

Staring at the TV, Frank shook her head. Kennedy was in fact a useful diversion from the long night. Frank had heard about Delamore’s arrest on the radio, driving home through the Christmas-colored traffic lights. She’d switched off the radio, not wanting to know any more. It was out of her hands now. Still, the sense of something unfinished had nagged at her. She’d rolled down her window, even though the air rushing in was sharp. She’d hoped without enthusiasm that RHD wouldn’t blow this. The wind had cut through her as if she were hollow, the night seemed to roll out in front of her endlessly. All she could see ahead were glasses of Scotch and sheets damp and twisted from nightmares.

“There it is,” Kennedy shouted, pressing the volume higher. The KTLA anchor started his spiel, and Frank watched, without interest.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” the anchor smoothly greeted. “We begin tonight’s newscast with the discovery and arrest of the Culver City Slayer, the man believed to be responsible for the deaths of four young women in the Culver City area. As detectives from the Los Angeles Police Department apprehended the suspect, KTLA’s Sally Eisley”—he paused dramatically—“was there.”

“Pretty coincidental, huh?”

Frank just pulled on her beer, focusing on Sally’s glossy visage. The cameraman segued into the highlight footage of Clancey in jeans and sweatshirt, appearing sleepy and confused as he was led to the police car. Sally did a brief voice-over bio on Delamore, adding that police were responding to a lead made by an anonymous caller.

Kennedy’s eyes were all over Frank, who watched the police gingerly help Clancey into a squad car. The footage changed to Clancey’s bedroom and an RHD captain holding a videotape. He was saying that Delamore had actually taped himself with at least two of the victims.

Kennedy whistled at that. “Betcha there’s one happy DA out there tonight.”

Indicating the line of videos on Clancey’s shelf, he added that they didn’t know what was in the rest of the footage, but what they had seen already was pretty gruesome. The next shot showed the captain in a room they didn’t recognize. Kennedy muttered, “Look at that carpet. That must be the room in the garage.”

The camera panned the bare room, focusing on a small pile of clothing and a ragged easy chair with a stack of porn magazines next to it. Sally said detectives presumed the clothing found in “the chamber of deadly terror” belonged to one or more of the victims. Interviewing the captain directly, Sally asked why the delay in catching the Culver City Slayer.

“Well, the basic problem all along was a lack of witnesses, but if you’re diligent and keep working a case, investigating all the leads—and sometimes it can take a lot of time—hopefully, eventually, you’ll hit on the right combination of events and wind up with your perpetrator. That’s what happened here. We just kept working the case, following the leads we had. Of course, I wish none of this had happened, but I’m glad we apprehended our suspect as quickly as we did.”

“And, of course, the tip from the unknown caller helped,” Sally added without the slightest trace of sarcasm.

“Yes, that was advantageous, too,” the captain agreed. “We’d already had Mr. Delamore under surveillance. The tip confirmed what we already suspected.”

“What a crock of shit!” Kennedy exploded through Eisley’s wrap-up. “Did you hear that son of a bitch?”

As the newscaster went into a segment about insurance rebates, Kennedy muted the sound. Frank kept watching anyway.

“Damn! What a prick.”

“Who’s the wiser?” Frank said without heat.

“Well, you are. Doesn’t it piss you off that those greasy RHD fuckers are gonna get all the credit?”

“It’s their case. Why shouldn’t they get the credit?”

“But you did all the work! They didn’t know shit about Delamore until you told ‘em.”

Frank just shrugged.

“That doesn’t bug you at all?” Kennedy asked unbelievingly.

“It’s not my case. I’m just glad they’re on to him, and it sounds like they found good stuff against him. Case closed.”

Frank reached for another beer.

“Well, I think it sucks that you did all the work and then they get all the glory.”

Without conviction, Frank said, “It’s not about glory, Kennedy. The bottom line is that Delamore’s out of action.”

“That’s very noble, but it’s still not fair.”

“If you’re looking for fair, you’re in the wrong line of work, sport.”

“So you’re not at all disappointed?”

Kennedy had her arms folded across her chest and Frank was familiar with the interrogating tone.

“I wish I could have seen this through, but I’d rather see RHD slam him than have him loose.”

“I don’t believe you!” Kennedy moaned. “Two weeks ago you were so hot for this guy I thought I was gonna have to hose you down, and now it’s just no big deal?”

“Kennedy, what do you want me to do? Fall to the floor wailing and pulling my hair? It’s over!”

Kennedy had briefly pierced Frank’s apathy.

“No, I’m just saying you must be disappointed. You keep doing that goddamn stone-faced thing that you do. Why can’t you just be disappointed?”

“Maybe it’s not as big a deal as you think it is.”

“Then what are you so fucking glum about?”

Frank sighed. “Look. I’m tired, okay? It’s been a long day. I need some sleep.”

“Alright then,” Kennedy said, rising. “I’ll go. I just wanted to tell you I thought you did a great job.”

“We did a great job,” Frank corrected.

“There you go again. Just say thank you and accept the compliment.”

“Thank you and accept the compliment.”

At the door Kennedy turned. “Hey, you know, it’s almost Christmas.”

Frank nodded, asking, “You going to see your old man?”

“Nah. It’d be too weird for both of us. How ‘bout you?”

“Hadn’t even thought about it.”

“You wanna do something together? I could come over Christmas Eve and beat your ass at gin.”

“Sure,” Frank said without enthusiasm.

“Does that sound good?”

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

Kennedy scrutinized Frank. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look shitty.”

“Thanks. I’m fine,” Frank answered quietly.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Just tired.”

“Alright. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Frank nodded, opening the door. She mustered the strength to call after Kennedy, “Be careful.”

Kennedy flashed a grin, answering, “Yes, mother!”

In-line skates surrounded Frank, in every color known to man and then some. She looked for a salesclerk, frowning that they were all busy. She was tired and ready to go home, even if it was only to coax sleep and battle nightmares. But it was December 23rd and last-minute shoppers like herself were swirling around like piranhas. She finally clamped a firm hand on a kid who’d just left a customer and asked what was the best brand of skates.

“Well, that depends on a lot of things,” he said sulkily, trying to turn away.