Faces of Fear (13 page)

Echoes of her mother's voice recurred to her, but she didn't need the silent warning. She might have one more beer just to quench her thirst, but that was it. No drugs.

Making her way out the restroom door into the vast warehouse, Kimberly began searching for Jennifer. The band was back onstage and picking up their instruments, and the crowd roared as a surge of people moved once again toward the dance floor. She caught sight of Jennifer then, still with the lanky guy who had first asked her to dance. They were on the dance floor, their arms wrapped around each other, gyrating slowly even though the music hadn't yet begun again.

With only a faint twinge of jealousy that Jennifer had found a boy right away while she'd utterly given up on Dean, Kimberly moved toward one of the two bars when someone—who'd had a lot more to drink than she had—slammed into her and then careened off in a different direction.

She automatically checked to make sure the tiny purse containing her money and house key was still securely in the pocket of her jeans, and rubbed at the spot on her thigh where it felt almost like she'd been burned with a cigarette.

Her money and key were still in her pocket, and the burning sensation in her leg was already fading away.

She pushed on toward the bar, but just before she got there, her stomach suddenly knotted, she tasted bile in the back of her mouth, and for a horrible moment she was certain she was about to throw up right here in the middle of the jammed warehouse. But the nausea passed as quickly as it had come on.

Kimberly took another step toward the bar, and her knees began to wobble.

"You okay?" a voice asked.

The voice sounded impossibly close and yet at the same time very far away. The words reverberated inside her head, jumbling with the music, which was so loud she could actually see it, surrounding her with brilliantly colored waves, while the drums pounded at her until her whole body felt as if it were being attacked.

Though she felt weird—almost as if she'd been snorting coke with the other girls in the restroom—she tried to nod. Apparently, even that one beer she'd drunk had been too much for her, and now she couldn't even nod her head right. She tried to speak but couldn't make her lips form words. All that came out was a garbled moan.

"Come on," the voice said. "You need some air."

Yes. Air. All I need is a little air.

She felt a strong arm come around her and guide her toward the nearest door, but by the time they got there, her legs were starting to give out. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to keep her feet underneath her and stand on her own. But it would be all right, she thought; in a few more seconds they'd be outside, and whoever was helping her would take her to Jennifer's car, where she'd lie down in the backseat and wait until the dance was over.

But when the door closed behind them, the stranger didn't stop, let alone ask her if she had a car. Instead she was half steered and half carried toward the back of the parking lot. She wanted to protest, but even as she tried to speak, the last of her strength deserted her and every muscle in her body went completely slack.

This isn't happening. How could this be happening? I was so careful.

I'm going to be raped.

Oh God, her mother had been right all along. She never should have come here—she should have listened to her mother, and to Jennifer. She should—

Don't hurt me,
she begged silently, forming the words in her mind, but unable to say them aloud.
Please don't hurt me.

Oh, Mommy, I'm sorry.

I should have listened.

I'm…so…sorry.

* * *

JENNIFER'S HEAD WAS THROBBING, but she wasn't sure if it was from the relentless pounding of the music or from the second drink she'd let Dirk, or Derek, or whatever his name was, buy her. Either way, it was time to go home. The rave hadn't turned out to be as much fun as she'd thought it would be, and for the last half hour she'd been keeping an eye out for Kimberly, but between the flashing lights and the haze of smoke hanging in the room, she wasn't sure she'd have recognized Kim if she were ten feet away. Now, as Dirk—or Derek, or whatever—tried to guide her hand through his open fly, she decided it was time to find Kim and go home. Giving the guy a couple of kisses in return for the drink was one thing, but that was as far as it would go.

Pulling her hand away from his grip, she looked at her watch and feigned shock at the time. "Jeez—my mom's going to kill me!" she yelled, her words instantly lost in the din of the music. "Gotta go!" Pulling her hand free, she spun away from the boy before he even realized what was happening and started working her way through the crowd, realizing for the first time just how big the room was and how hard it was going to be to find Kimberly.

She finally came to the bar by the front door and paused to try to get a whiff of fresh air. Once again she scanned the crowd. The bright yellow tank top Kim had been wearing shouldn't have been hard to spot, but the lights made all the colors look different, and she couldn't see anything that looked even faintly yellow. As she plunged back into the mob, which was now throbbing to a pounding rhythm, she felt hands groping her, stroking her arms, caressing her butt and even her breasts. "C'mon, baby," someone whispered in her ear. "I got some black beauties." Jennifer rolled her eyes, twisted her arm loose from the guy's grip, and moved on.

Crap!
They should have had a code or something. Or a signal, or even just a set time to meet up and check in with each other.

The music and lights and smoke were starting to get to her now, and besides the throbbing in her head, she was feeling nauseous. What she'd told the boy was turning into the absolute truth—all she wanted to do now was go home.

But she couldn't just leave Kimberly here.

She slapped away another anonymous hand in the crowd and headed for the door. At least she could get a little fresh air, and if she threw up, she'd be in the parking lot, which was a lot better than hurling in the middle of the party.

And who knew? Maybe she'd even find Kim out there.

But before she got to the door, she heard the wailing of police sirens, and by the time she pushed her way outside, blue and red lights were flashing in the lot.

The band stopped playing, and suddenly there was an air of panic as people surged for the doors.

Swell!
Now she was going to get busted and her parents would have to bail her out of jail. Why had she ever let Kim talk her into this? And where was Kim, anyway?

Then a voice rose above the noise of the crowd of teenagers who were trying to disappear into the night as quickly as possible: "They found a body!"

Jennifer froze, her headache instantly forgotten. A terrible certainty began to descend over her. As the mob swirled and eddied around her, she turned her eyes toward the far end of the parking lot, where the police cars had gathered. Slowly, and as if of their own volition, her feet began to move, carrying her toward the flashing lights as if she were drawn by a magnet. As she drew closer, she saw one of the officers unwinding yellow crime scene tape. Several others were spreading out to block the crowd, and one of them was waving his arms, saying, "Everybody back inside. Nobody can leave just yet."

Ignoring the order to return to the warehouse, Jennifer kept moving closer until she saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

A solitary shoe lay on the gravel, its toe scuffed and bloody.

One of the shoes Kimberly had bought when they were at the mall that afternoon.

Only that afternoon? As her eyes remained fixed on the blue-and-yellow-striped espadrille that had looked adorable with Kim's new slim-line jeans and yellow tank top, the afternoon suddenly seemed a lifetime ago, a lifetime when the shoes had seemed impossibly cute.

Now the single shoe no longer looked cute. It looked horrible.

Forlorn.

Forgotten.

And ruined: the bow on the toe had been ripped off, the blue and yellow leather scuffed and torn.

Jennifer's gaze shifted to the area of the parking lot now cordoned off and filled with people. She stooped to pick up the shoe, but before she could touch it someone took her firmly by the wrist and drew her back to her feet. "Don't touch anything," the officer said, his voice not unkind.

Jennifer gazed at him, her wide eyes glistening with tears. "It—It belongs to my friend," she whispered.

"What's her name?" the policeman asked.

"Kimberly," she said as she stared at that sad shoe. "Kimberly Elmont. She was here to meet…" Jennifer's voice trailed off. "I was looking for her," she finally managed to say. "I wanted to go home, but I couldn't find her and…" Her voice trailed off once again, and now the policeman took her arm to steady her.

"Come with me," he said, and led her over to a police car. He opened the back door. "Why don't you sit down? I'm going to send someone over to talk to you."

"Is it Kimberly?" Jennifer asked, searching his eyes.

He didn't answer, but she knew, because even from the backseat she could see that the matching shoe to the one she'd found was on the body that lay on the asphalt.

She put her face in her hands and began crying as grief overwhelmed her.

Grief, and guilt that she had let Kimberly talk her into coming here at all.

* * *

TINA WONG DROVE slowly past the crime scene. Police cars had blocked every driveway leading to the warehouse, and a dozen uniformed officers were trying to control the crowd of kids, most of whom seemed to be either on their cell phones or complaining to the police, or both. It was clear that they could hardly wait to get away from there.

She, on the other hand, wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world right now.

Tina drove another block, then parked her SUV, grabbed her digital camera and cell phone, and headed for the area that had been cordoned off. With any luck, she'd get a clear view and at least a few seconds of video before anybody saw her.

But climbing over a low cinder-block wall wouldn't be easy in the little black cocktail dress and heels she'd worn on her date with Richard Sexton, who was probably still sitting alone in the restaurant where she'd gotten the call from the newsroom about the murder report picked up on the police scanner. Poor Richard—this was at least the fourth time it had happened to him—but this was her life, and if he couldn't deal with it, the hell with him. She just hoped this wasn't another of the gang knifings that had become so common lately they weren't even bothering to report them anymore.

Dumping her high heels in favor of the sneakers she always kept in the car for just such moments as this, Tina stepped over the wall and started across the asphalt.

Then she saw what lay in the center of the area the police had cordoned off, and knew this was no gang slaying.

A teenage girl, clad in what was left of a skimpy yellow tank top, lay sprawled on her back, flayed open like she'd been field-dressed by a drunken hunter. A tangle of intestines gleamed in the garish floodlights the police had already set up, and scraps of other tissue—some identifiable, some not—were strewn in what looked like a rough circle.

What was left of the girl lay in the center of that circle of gore.

She'd seen this before—in a Starbucks bathroom—and recognized the handiwork in an instant. It was the same sort of havoc wreaked on Caroline Fisher a year ago.

This was the body she'd been waiting for, ever since Michael Shaw had told her she'd need another body for the special she wanted to do.

Well, here it was. The killer was back in action, and if the amount of blood was any indication, he was in top form. If there'd been anyone around to take the bet, she would have put any amount of money on her certainty that when the coroner put all the carnage back together, he'd discover that part of this girl had disappeared.

Tima looked more closely, saw that the girl was facing away, covered with blood. But there was something odd about her head. She took a step closer.

Her ear was gone! All that was left on the side of her head was a mass of bloody hair and a gaping wound on the side of her head where her ear had been.

Tina fumbled opened her phone and speed-dialed the station. "Send a camera crew to the murder site in Van Nuys. And use the chopper! Now!"

"Hey!" a cop yelled as she snapped the phone closed and dropped it back in her purse. "Get out of here."

Tina nodded, smiled affably, and held up her hand. "It's okay," she said, and turned on her digital camera. "I'm supposed to be here."

By the time the cop recognized her as a television reporter, she had already snapped off a half-dozen zoom shots of the dead girl and wide angle shots of the whole area.

"No press!" the cop yelled, heading toward her with a look on his face that might have intimidated anyone else.

"Lighten up," she said, still snapping pictures. Then she turned the camera directly on the cop. "Don't you want to be on TV?" She was about to snap the shutter, and blind the cop with the flash, when she saw something else in the camera's bright screen. A few yards behind the cop a young girl was sitting in the back of a police cruiser, a blanket around her shoulders, her head in her hands.

A witness?

Turning away from the angry policeman, Tina headed back the way she'd come, feeling the cop's eyes on her until she was back at the cinder-block wall at the edge of the cordoned-off area. The officer had turned back to the crime scene by then, and she'd worked out a plan to get close to the girl in the back of the black-and-white. She knew she would never blend in with the crowd of stoned kids, so she'd just have to act like she was part of the investigative team.

She strode down the street a few yards, then reentered the parking lot, ducking under the yellow tape as if she'd done it thousands of times before—which, in truth, she had. "It's okay," she said to a cop who seemed about to question her, and turned directly toward the girl sitting in the back of the cruiser, whose teary eyes kept glancing toward the crime scene.

"Hi," Tina said, coming up to the car. "I'm Tina, and I'm so sorry." She crouched down and put a comforting hand on the girl's knee. "You knew her?" The girl bit her lip but said nothing. "It's all right," Tina soothed. "Take your time."