Redzone (30 page)

“This is Detective Lee,” Yanty said. “You sound doubtful . . . What's the problem?”

Mike nodded to Lee. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words,” he said. “Watch this.”

So the police officers stood behind Mike as he started a black-and-white video clip. Lee could see a time and date stamp in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. It read: 05/12/69 04:12.

As the three of them watched, a white box truck drove into the lot behind the church, did a U-turn, and came to a stop. Lee expected to see someone get out, open the back, and remove Joel's body. They didn't. The truck drove away. And there, lying on the pavement, was the corpse. “Damn,” Yanty said admiringly. “That was slick!”

“The perp cut a six-foot-long hole in the bed of the truck,” Lee said. “It had to be on one side or the other to avoid the drive shaft.”

“And that means he or she has done this before,” Yanty said. “Or plans to do it again.”

“Precisely,” Lee said. “Mike, can you zoom in? If so, I'd like to take a look at the license plates coming and going.”

It turned out that Mike
could
zoom in, and he proceeded
to do so. The results were disappointing. There weren't any plates. That meant the driver had been careful to remove them prior to the drop with plans to replace them later. “So we have
nada
,” Yanty said. “Shit.” Lee was in full agreement.

Lee managed to clear the crime scene by three and made it home by four. Except that the condo didn't feel like home after what had taken place there a month earlier. But Lee was determined to ignore that . . . And Chef Kane helped her do so by serving cocktails, tossed green salads, and some perfectly browned sole.

Then it was time to sit on the deck and watch the sun go down. “We need a view like this one,” Lee said as she sipped her coffee. “What a great way to end the day.”

That led to a discussion of all the properties they'd seen over the last two weeks and how to rank them. Later, as Lee lay next to Kane, she thought about the way her life had changed. There were things to look forward to now—and a person to share them with. That was new, and for the first time in a long time, Lee was happy.

*   *   *

Lee had never been good at getting up in the morning and was often late for work—until she moved in with Kane. Every morning, he woke her with a kiss on the forehead or a pat on the bottom, depending on what part of her was available.

Then, as Kane went out for his morning run, Lee would shower and get ready for work. Then they usually had a cup of coffee together prior to going their separate ways. So Lee was standing in the kitchen and Kane's coffee was ready as he reentered the condo at precisely 6:32
A.M.
He was dressed in a tee shirt, blue shorts, and running shoes. “You're right on time,” Lee observed. “A shrink with OCD . . . Someone should write a paper about that.”

“A cop who breaks all the rules,” Kane countered. “Someone should write a paper about
that
. And maybe I will.” They laughed.

Kane took a sip of coffee and gestured to the small flat-screen TV that sat on the countertop. “So what's in the news this morning?”

“It sounds like peace could break out at any time,” Lee replied. “The Aztec ambassador is scheduled to meet with a representative from the Republic of Texas in El Paso. And our secretary of state will be there too.”

Both of them knew about the conflict between the Republic of Texas to the east and the Aztec Empire to the south. The tecs insisted that all of the lands that had once been part of Mexico should be returned to them regardless of the treaties signed in the past.

So their army had crossed the border at a point halfway between San Luis and Nogales and had been slugging it out with the Republicans for months. The fighting had been confined to Texas and Arizona thus far. But there was a very real possibility that Pacifica would be dragged into the conflict because the Aztecs believed that California belonged to them. “I'm glad to hear that everybody's at the table,” Kane said. “Maybe they can work something out. How about you? Will this be a normal day?”

“I hope so,” Lee replied. “I'll call or text you if things go off the rails.” Lee gave him a coffee-flavored kiss followed by a wave as she headed for the door.

Lee knew that there were a number of people who would like to kill her, including the Bonebreaker. So she was careful to scan her surroundings as she left the condo, entered the elevator, and rode it down to the parking garage. The car appeared to be undisturbed but appearances could be deceptive. So Lee removed a handheld GPS and cell-phone detector from her purse, turned it on, and circled the vehicle. If a tracker had been placed on the sedan during the night the device would warn her. None had.

So Lee got in, started the engine, and drove to a restaurant called Maria's, where she ate a breakfast burrito before completing the trip to work. The LAPD headquarters
building was known for its angular appearance—and cost $437 million old bucks to construct back in 2009. Unfortunately, the façade had been damaged by a rocket attack in 2065 and was still awaiting repairs.

Lee entered the ramp that led to the parking garage, paused to show her ID, and continued down until she located an empty slot. Then she rode an elevator up to the sixth floor, which was home to the Chief of Detectives, her staff, and about sixty detectives. All of whom occupied the maze of cubicles generally referred to as the bullpen.

Of the larger force, only twelve men and women were members of the elite Special Investigative Section (S.I.S.), charged with getting the city's most dangerous criminals off the street. That was the unit Lee belonged to—and she made it to roll call with a minute to spare. The conference room was about half-full, and that was typical, since five or six detectives were out of the office at any given time. But Yanty was there, as was Prospo, and both of them looked glum. The likelihood was that they knew something she didn't.

Lee plopped down next to Prospo and was going to interrogate him when Jenkins entered the room. He had black hair, startling green eyes, and brown skin. He was dressed in a nicely cut gray suit. “I wish I could say ‘good morning,'” Jenkins said soberly, “but I can't. All of you have met Cheyenne Darling—and are cognizant of the relationship she had with Deputy Chief McGinty.”

Like Lee's father two years earlier, Deputy Chief of Detectives Ross McGinty had been murdered by the Bonebreaker, and his body had been dumped next to a freeway. Most of him anyway . . . the Bonebreaker liked to keep his victims' extremities.

Furthermore Lee knew that although McGinty and Darling had been lovers they didn't live together because he feared for her safety. And McGinty, like her father, had been subject to bad dreams and bouts of depression.

“Darling was visiting friends yesterday,” Jenkins continued. “And when she came home, a package was waiting for her. It appeared to be from her sister, so she opened it. And there, nestled in shredded packing paper, was Chief McGinty's left
femur.”

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!