L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (58 page)

“Hansen?” Jordan said to the first officer he met.

“That’s me.”

“Detective St. James.”

Hansen glanced at Jordan’s shield and nodded.

The officer looked as if he’d barely graduated high school. “Give me a rundown,” Jordan said.

“We got a call. The guy wouldn’t give his name. Said he came to see her and found her dead. Probably one of her customers who doesn’t want to be identified.”

“Or her murderer.”

“She’s in the bedroom.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No signs of a break-in, so she probably knew her killer.”

Nothing new there. “Maybe. Maybe not. She opened the door for me last week and she didn’t know me. And I doubt she knows all the johns sent her way.”

Hansen cleared his throat. “Uh…right.”

It was obvious the kid was green. Jordan smiled, sympathizing.

“My first,” Hansen said. “I didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jordan lied, then crossed the room.

The coppery scent of blood met him at the bedroom door, a precursor to the ugliness inside. The fact that he was there to see justice done was the only thing that kept him going. Like Hansen, he’d done a lot of reassessing after his first homicide.

“Anything jump out?” he asked a tech who was dusting for prints. Another was bagging the woman’s hands.

“Nope. No gun. No bullets or casings. Yet.”

Blood pooled under Rita’s black hair. The woman’s partially naked body and the way all the drawers were half-open, the contents spilling out, fit the usual MO for a robbery-rape-murder.

But it was too perfect. Too obvious.

Hansen came up beside him. “Rape and robbery.”

“Or cold-blooded murder.” Jordan studied the body. “Look at the ligature marks around her wrists. The red marks on her knees. And where the bullet entered.”

Hansen shifted from one foot to another, his eyes bugging out, as if it’d just dawned on him that his quick leap to judgment wasn’t necessarily correct. “You think the crime scene was staged?”

“Always a possibility,” Jordan answered. Murderers had good cause to throw suspicion in another direction. What bothered him the most was that the crime scene was eerily familiar.

“So what do you think?” the younger man asked.

“I think someone wanted her dead. And we need to find out why. Anyone contact her family yet?”

“I don’t think she has anyone.”

“She has a daughter,” Jordan said. And someone had to tell the kid. His stomach rumbled. “I’ll take care of it.”

“St. James,” someone called from another part of the apartment. That grating voice was all too familiar.

Howie Ralston. Ralston was talking to the ME when Jordan reached him. “Gentlemen.”

“I’m your backup while Santini’s gone,” Ralston said. “What’ve you got?”

Jordan gritted his teeth. He didn’t know Ralston very well, and what he did know, he didn’t like. The guy was an arrogant bully on a power trip. Always looking for a way to promote himself. But if the captain had assigned Ralston to take Santini’s place, there had to be a reason. Maybe so Jordan could keep an eye on him?

“Take a look,” Jordan said. He’d see just how close they were in their assessments.

CHAPTER NINE

LAURA GLANCED OUT
the front window to see if Cait was walking home. No kids. She checked her watch. It was too early. She shouldn’t be watching and waiting. She needed to get a grip.

But she couldn’t get last night out of her head and hadn’t slept a wink. She’d gotten up and checked on Caitlin probably a dozen times, checked the doors just as many.

She’d debated all night whether to call the police—or Jordan—but decided to give it one more day. Everyone at the shelter was on red alert. Except for Cait. She was too young to know what was going on, and God knew Laura didn’t want the child watching over her shoulder every minute.

Laura had long ago cautioned her daughter about talking to strangers and she’d participated in the Stranger Danger program the police gave at the school. But knowing what to do and doing it were two different things.

Rose had already arrived for her shift and was in the kitchen with Brandy and Claire. Alysa wasn’t home yet but would be soon.

“Need some help?” Rose said, coming up behind Laura.

“Oh!” Laura jumped. “I didn’t hear you.”

The other counselor put a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “She’ll get here. Give the kid some slack.”

Laura sighed. “You can say that after last night?”

“Well, worrying isn’t going to change anything. Besides, if someone wanted to hurt any of us, they could’ve done it already.”

This was true. But it didn’t stop her from worrying.

“Someone wanted to scare us, and it looks as if they’ve succeeded.” Rose twisted her long hair into a knot and fastened it with a clip. “We’ve had things like this happen before and you haven’t wigged out. What’s different now?”

Laura closed her eyes, felt the burn behind her lids. Lack of sleep was making her punchy, even paranoid. She drew a long breath, then turned to Rose. “It’s different because…I feel violated. Someone was in my room. In Cait’s. And destroying Cait’s quilt, a keepsake from her grandmother, and the music box from her father…those things seem personal.”

“Do you know anyone who might be carrying a personal grudge?”

“You mean other than the usual suspects?” Laura gave a wry laugh. “No. I don’t know anyone who has it in for me, or Cait. Especially not Cait.”

The phone rang and Laura hesitated before answering. She’d had too many breathers and hang-up calls. “Hello.”

“Hi. It’s me, Alysa. I just wanted to tell you I’m going to be late coming home tonight.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Alysa answered practically before Laura got out the question.

“What’s going on?”

“I—I’m going to check on the job at the ice-cream place.”

“Did you get a call from them?”

“No, but I want to make sure they remember me. I won’t be too late.”

“Okay,” Laura said reluctantly. Alysa sounded nervous, edgy. But she wasn’t going to push the issue. Most of the girls at Victory House had trust issues going both ways. “We’ll see you when you get here, then. Good luck with the job.”

“Thanks.” Alysa disconnected immediately.

Laura looked at Rose. “It was Alysa. She’s going to be late.” She paused, thinking. Something in Alysa’s tone said she was in trouble.

“Is there a problem?”

Going back to the window to check on Cait, Laura said, “No. Not with her being late. But she sounded…preoccupied.”

“Well, it’s only been two weeks since the confrontation with her parents. She’s probably still upset.”

Laura felt Alysa’s pain as if it were her own. Alysa had been devastated when her parents had told Laura they weren’t interested in reconciling with their daughter. Only they hadn’t said it so nicely. As far as they were concerned, when Alysa started working the streets, she gave up her birthright. They no longer had a daughter.

Even though Laura had advised and counseled Alysa afterward, she knew Rose was right. It would take time for the wound to heal. Alysa had to work through the rejection, the abandonment. If that was possible.

The cold indifference made her angry. She’d buried the heartbreak of her own experience deep inside, but she knew exactly how Alysa must feel.

Laura swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.. She’d been so wrapped up in her own worries, she hadn’t been paying attention to the obvious. When she thought back, she realized Alysa had been too quiet. Many nights she’d gone directly to her room after dinner. Though she still got good grades, her interest in school had waned these past few weeks.

“Rose, I need to go out for a bit,” she said when she finally saw Cait coming up the walk. “If I get Cait set up with her homework, can you keep an eye on her for an hour or so?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Ten minutes later, Laura was in Rose’s car and headed toward the ice-cream store. Alysa had said it was near the school in the small strip mall. As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw a group of girls standing in a huddle and was reminded of her night duty, combing the streets for runaway teens prostituting themselves.

An odd comparison. These were high school girls, dressed nicely, hanging out in the middle of the afternoon and having a good time.

She’d obviously been in the field too long.

Alysa wasn’t with the other girls, so Laura decided to wait. If Alysa was inside talking to the manager, she’d be out soon enough.

Just then a small BMW pulled up and one of the girls leaned down to talk to the driver, an older man. Seconds later, she climbed into the passenger side and the car took off. Probably the girl’s father.

But watching the girls shift around, standing in seductive poses, preening and watching the street, as if waiting for someone to come, Laura’s uneasiness grew. And where the hell was Alysa?

She pulled out her phone and called the shelter. “How’s Cait doing?” Laura asked when Rose answered.

“She’s fine. And she’ll be fine until you get back. So, don’t be calling every five minutes.”

Laura laughed, reprimand taken. “Okay, okay.”

“Did you find Alysa?”

“Not yet. I’m waiting outside in the parking lot. I don’t want to embarrass her by going in.”

“You’ll probably embarrass her just by being there. What are you going to say?”

“I’ll let her know I was concerned about our conversation. I felt she needed some support.”

“Right.”

Laura watched another girl get in another car. “This is really weird, Rose. I’m sitting here watching some high school girls standing on the sidewalk…then a car pulls up and after a brief conversation, one of them gets in a car. It’s happened three times.”

“Boyfriends?”

“Not the ones I’ve seen so far. These guys are old enough to be their fathers.”

“Maybe they are?”

Just then a BMW, same color as the one before, pulled up, stopped and the same girl who’d gone off before climbed from the car. “What the...” Laura’s mouth nearly fell open. “Geezus, Rose, I don’t want to think the worst, but damn, it looks like they’re hustling.”

“Nothing we’re not familiar with.”

“Yes, but these aren’t street kids.”

“Not the kind you can tempt with some food and a warm place to sleep, huh?”

“Not a chance. Judging from the clothes they’re wearing, these girls sleep in better places than the mayor.”

“So, how long are you going to wait?”

“I’ll give it another fifteen or twenty.”

After she hung up, she watched a big black sedan cruise up to the curb. The car was so much like the one that had plagued them at the park—and at Caitlin’s school—cold fear shot down her spine. Was it the same car? She should get out and go over…see who’s driving. But that was ridiculous. There had to be thousands of black cars in the city.

Still, she kept watching the car like an onlooker at the scene of an accident—she didn’t want to look, but couldn’t pull herself away. Then the passenger door opened.

And Alysa stepped out.

***

“
Hi, Phoebe, is Laura
around?” Jordan switched the phone to his other ear.

No, but she should be back soon. Can I have her call you?”

“Sure.” His disappointment because Laura wasn’t home was greater than it should be.

“Does she have the number?”

“Yes, but I’ll give you another one. If she calls within the next couple of hours, I’ll be here.” He gave Phoebe the number.

“It must be important. I can tell her what it is if you want.”

It was important. To him. Still shaken about Rita Valdez’s murder, he needed to talk to someone. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted to talk to Laura. “It’s not important, but thanks.”

“It was nice having you here for dinner last week,” Phoebe quickly injected before he could hang up. “We don’t have dinner guests very often.”

He shifted in the lounge chair. “Well, I’m flattered to be one of them. I don’t get to spend the evening with a household of beautiful women very often, either.”

“You’ll have to come again.”

He’d like that, too. But if Laura wanted him there, for dinner or anything else, she’d ask. “Thanks. Nice talking to you, Phoebe. And thanks for relaying my message,” he said as a way to break off the conversation. Phoebe seemed like a nice person, but last week, she’d looked at him as if he was the main course.

He heard a slight hesitation in Phoebe’s voice when she said goodbye. As comfortable as he was around most women, he wasn’t around Phoebe. He didn’t know why.

He sat there a few moments, watching the people on the TV screen mouth their words, as the set was on mute. Finally he took out Laura’s cell phone number and stared at it. He could call and ask some questions about Kolnikov or DeMatta, or even her ex—and he would have to—sometime. But not tonight.

The truth was, he simply wanted to talk to her, get to know her better. He hadn’t felt that way about a woman for a long time.

She made him smile. He liked being with her. He liked her honesty. She was a strong person to do what she did every day. And she was just as strong in her refusal to give him any information. He hadn’t been able to weasel more than a few tidbits out of her.

He couldn’t help wondering what pushed her buttons. She was great with the teens in her care, and with her daughter—a little spitfire. He rested his head against the back of the chair. The kid had a streak of independence a mile wide. Laura was going to have her hands full in a few years. Maybe sooner.

The phone rang and he was immediately on alert. He hoped it wasn’t dispatch. He didn’t need another call out so soon after the last. “St. James.”

He heard a click and then the dial tone. Odd. But at least it wasn’t another homicide. People who thought cops were hardened to the stuff they saw every day were crazy. It all took its toll.

When he was on the job, he had to act, take care of business. There was no time to think about the victims or their families. No time to think about himself. But at night when he was alone, everything coalesced into one ugly nightmare. There weren’t too many nights when he didn’t wake up in a sweat. In a way, he envied his married friends. They had another world to escape to.

And tonight was even worse. He couldn’t shake the thought that his visit to Rita Valdez may have somehow led to her murder. The method, the timing of the killing, only a few hours after he’d been there, seemed more than coincidental.

The phone rang again, this time his cell. He glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it.

“St. James.”

“Hi.”

He might not have recognized the number, but it didn’t take a millisecond to recognize her sexy voice.

“Laura. I guess Phoebe gave you my message.”

“Uh…no, she didn’t. I called because I need to talk to you…can you meet me?”

“Anytime, anywhere. What’s going on?”

“I saw the black car this afternoon. I’ve got a license number for you to check out, but I can’t talk here.”

“Okay. Where?”

She gave him the name of a café not too far from the shelter. “I’ve got a couple of things to do, so it’ll take me about an hour to get there.”

“Okay,” he said. “It’ll probably take me that long, too.” As he hung up, Jordan’s adrenaline was pumping. Where had she seen the car in order to get the license number? Quickly he changed into jeans and a black sweater, grabbed his leather jacket and headed for the garage.

Close to an hour later, he pulled up behind Laura’s van, parked in front of a place called Java the Hut. He got out, and walking around the vehicle, he saw she was still in the driver’s seat.

He knocked on the window and she jumped so high he thought she’d hit her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

She didn’t answer and once inside the café, he said, “I’ll get the coffee. What’s your preference?”

“A
grande
, vanilla, no-fat latte.”