Resuscitation (26 page)

Feeling somewhat deflated after her first full day back with Homicide, Sami grabbed a cold Corona, pinched in a wedge of lime, and sat on the sofa. Neither Katie Mitchell—the first victim’s best friend—nor anyone working at Tony’s Bar & Grill could offer a single shred of new evidence to help with the investigation. Sami knew going in that tracking down the serial killer would be a formidable challenge, but she hoped she’d have more to go on than the few bits and pieces of information.

Josephine walked into the living room and sat next to Sami.

“How you feeling, Mom?”

“So-so.”

“What’s bothering you?”

Josephine shook her head. “No matter how much I sleep, I’m still exhausted.”

“Doctor Templeton told us that you’d feel this way for a few months.” Sami took a long swig of her beer. “Where are Emily and Angelina?”

“They walked down to the Tot Lot.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Too tired.”

“No matter how tired you feel, you have to walk at least to the corner and back every day. That’s the only way you’re going to get your strength back.”

“I lose my breath after walking only half a block.”

“Do you feel any chest pain?”

“No. Just out of breath.”

“If you want to feel better, you have to force yourself to walk.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Josephine squeezed Sami’s leg. “Have you thought about going to church with me on Sunday like I asked?”

With all that had been going on, Sami had forgotten about her mother’s request. But she felt forced to lie. “Been thinking about it.”

“And?”

Born and raised Catholic, Sami had wandered away from the church and religion shortly after she divorced. Hoping to avoid any serious discussions, when asked about her religious beliefs, she would kiddingly say that she was a recovering Catholic.

“Still thinking about it, Mom.”

“Well, don’t think too long. God is not all that patient.”

Sami believed in God, or more accurately, a Supreme Being or Higher Power, but she had never been able to clearly define Him, or feel a strong connection. No matter how hard she tried, Sami just couldn’t accept the fact that a righteous, all-powerful God could allow so much pain and suffering in the world. As a homicide investigator, exposed to evil deeds beyond imagination, her feelings were skewed. Unlike the average citizen, she’d seen more than her share of death—innocent children strangled and burned and tortured unmercifully, shootings, stabbings, victims beaten beyond recognition. How could a just God let so much evil exist?

“If you don’t want to go to church, that’s fine,” Josephine said. “But at least drop me off and pick me up.”

“Of course.” Sami realized that her mother’s sudden urge to reunite with God was driven by her recent surgery and the very real possibility that her life could be over in an instant. “I’m not so sure I’ll join you though.”

“You’ve been angry with God for a long time,” Josephine said. “Ever since He took your father. It’s time to make peace before it’s too late.”

Julian and Nicole had just finished the Chinese takeout and a bottle of Jordan Cabernet, and were settled into the cushy leather sofa. The critics of
Wine Spectator
magazine would turn up their noses at such an incompatible food and wine combo, but Jordan was Julian’s favorite red, so he could easily drink it with popcorn.

“Tell me about this cabin in Big Bear,” Nicole said.

Julian had feared she wouldn’t let it rest. “Considering that we’re never going to buy it, I’d rather not.”

“Would you just stop being so difficult and
please
tell me about the fucking cabin?”

There were few things about Nicole that Julian hated more than her sharp tongue.

“It’s about two hundred feet from the lake, has three bedrooms, two baths, and a fireplace. And it’s a hundred thousand dollars more than we can afford.”

“Why did you even look at it in the first place? Did you really think you’d have that much wiggle room in the price?”

Knowing Nicole, he had anticipated that his little white lie would turn into a grand inquisition. “Look, Nicole, I wanted to surprise you and it just didn’t work out. It seems that the only thank you I get is you breaking my balls. Can we just drop it?”

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” She stood up, but Julian grabbed her arm. “Let go of me.”

“I’m not finished yet,” he almost shouted.

“Well, I am.” She twisted her forearm and broke free of his grip. “I’m going to bed. Why don’t you sleep in the spare bedroom tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

“Fucking totally.”

At that particular moment in time, as he watched his wife disappear up the stairway, it became glaringly apparent to him that sometimes he actually hated Nicole. Both high-strung, they had many shouting matches during their marriage, some standing toe to toe. But never had he felt as much animosity toward her as he did right now. She was his wife and the mother of his children. But something in this marriage had to change. Someone had to give in. And he’d be damned if it was him.

He had his choice of two upstairs bedrooms, but he didn’t even want to hear her breathing tonight. He grabbed a set of sheets and a cotton blanket from the linen closet, haphazardly made up the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and eased into bed. He closed his eyes and couldn’t wait for morning. Tomorrow wouldn’t come soon enough.

Wearing Oakley sunglasses and a Chargers baseball cap, the visor resting low on his forehead, Julian sat at a small table in the quiet, out-of-the-way coffee shop. He watched customers zoom in and out until a man fitting the PI’s description walked in the front door and cranked his head from side to side. The squatty man, at least fifty pounds overweight, full head of silver hair, fixed his stare on Julian’s cap and walked over to the table.

“Mr. Spencer?” Julian asked.

The man nodded.

Julian gestured. “Please have a seat.”

Spencer offered his clammy hand. When Julian grasped it, he regretted doing so. They barely shook and Julian quickly withdrew his hand.

“Before we get started,” Julian said. “You’re okay with me remaining completely anonymous, is that correct?”

“As long as your cash is legal tender, I don’t give a hoot who you are.” The man leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m the King of Discretion.”

Julian slid an envelope across the table. “Three thousand, right?”

Without checking the contents, Spencer slid the envelope in the inside pocket of his sport jacket. “If it takes more than a week, three hundred a day.”

“And it’s okay to call your cell phone?” Julian asked.

“That’s the only way to reach me.”

Spencer removed a notepad and pencil from his side pocket. “Subject’s name?”

“Sami Rizzo.”

Spencer cocked his head. “
Detective
Sami Rizzo?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t give a shit who it is. If the money’s right, I’ll tail the Pope. I only asked cause I’m curious.”

“And you’re absolutely okay with it?”

“No problem.” He scribbled on his notepad. “What am I looking for?”

“I want to know where she goes. Who she’s working with. When she takes a piss. And I want to know who she lives with. Their names. Relationship to her. Their daily routines.”

Julian realized it was risky for him to expose himself to a private investigator. But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he feared Detective Rizzo, and if through the PI’s efforts Julian was tipped off that she was getting close, he might find a way to sidetrack her.

Spencer continued making notes. “That’s a tall order and it’s not going to be easy. Her being a cop and all. It might take longer than a week.”

“How much longer?”

Spencer lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know.”

They sat silently, fixed stares, as if trying to read each other’s minds.

“I have to ask the obligatory question,” Spencer said. “I push the envelope beyond legal limits more often than not, but I
do
have limits.” His voice softened to a whisper. “There’s nothing criminal going on here, right?”

“Look, Mr. Spencer. This is totally personal. Sami and I used to date. Need I say more?”

“How do I reach you?” Spencer asked.

“You don’t. I reach you.”

“But how do I get information to you?”

Julian handed Spencer a piece of paper. “Mail it to this PO box.”

He examined the note and laughed. “John Smith, huh?” He folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. “And if I need to reach you immediately?”

“I’ll call you twice a day.”

Spencer thought about that for a minute. “Fair enough.”

“There is one more thing,” Julian said. “This is the first and last time we’ll ever meet face to face.”

In spite of all the police-related tasks Sami faced, not to mention the tremendous pressure she felt to apprehend the serial killer, Friday at 11:00 a.m., she set everything aside, outlined a list of things to do for Detective Osbourn, and discretely checked out of the precinct.

She sat in her car for several minutes, thinking about where she could find a quiet, remote setting. After careful thought, she decided that Presidio Park, a fifty-acre haven of lush greenery overlooking Mission Bay and the Pacific Ocean, would work perfectly.

When she exited Freeway 8 and pulled into the unpaved parking lot, Sami let out a sigh of relief when she saw only three cars. “Terrific.” Considering the size of the park, she felt confident she’d find a secluded spot where she could be alone with her thoughts.

As she laced her Timberland hiking boots, she glanced at her watch: 11:30. In thirty minutes, Simon Kwosokowski had a long-overdue appointment with his God.

Sami found a trail leading up a steep hill, snaking through a dense patch of trees. Near the top of the hill, she discovered an open area covered with a bed of dried leaves, pinecones, and green moss. She picked a spot that looked most comfortable and sat on the dirt.

Again she glanced at her watch: 11:53.

She closed her eyes and wondered if Simon had read the letter she’d mailed him. She’d sent it FedEx overnight, and even called Warden Marshall and asked him to personally see to it that Simon got the letter. But even if he had gotten it, how could she be sure he read it? She didn’t feel any different, except that the rage in her belly had calmed down a bit. Perhaps, she thought, at twelve noon, when lethal poison coursed through Simon’s veins and life drained from his body, and he could never hurt Angelina or her again, maybe she’d feel the sense of relief she’d been longing for.

The sun, shaded by the thick of trees, could not warm the uncharacteristically chilly air. Usually, June brought with it warmer air from the deserts and cool ocean breezes. But today, Sami felt as if it were February. Her mind, a kaleidoscope of colorful thoughts, raced out of control. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her legs, trying to force herself to focus on Simon.

As she watched the minute hand on her Seiko moving closer to noon, she tried to piece together all the components of her harrowing experience with Simon, hoping to find some grain of comfort. His execution would of course end his physical existence. But how could she get his emotional presence lifted from her mind?

Just before noon, Simon Kwosokowski stands next to a padded table, facing an anxious group of onlookers ready to witness his execution. The warden stands to his side.

“Any last words?” the warden asks.

“I deeply regret not being able to fulfill my promise to the Almighty. I can only hope and pray that another true believer walks in my shoes and carries on with God’s work.”

A crowd of restless onlookers sits silently and observes. As death draws near, Simon smiles at them, hoping they understand that he doesn’t feel even the slightest bit of remorse. Two prison guards strap Simon to a padded table—arms, legs, and torso. The technician places an IV drip in Simon’s arm. He can see the three glass cylinders sitting adjacent to the table, each filled with a lethal drug that will end his life. He glances at the warden and sees the smug look of victory in his eyes. Simon can’t see the witnesses on the other side of the one-way glass, but wonders if Sami Rizzo sits among the crowd. He has read her letter three times, each time feeling more perplexed. That she could forgive him was beyond anything he could imagine. For the first time since meeting Sami, he admires her. For he could never be so forgiving. And in a sense, she has defeated him.

At exactly twelve noon, Warden Marshall gives the technician a nod and he pushes a red button marked number one. Slowly, a plunger in one of the three glass cylinders compresses the first drug, and forces the sodium thiopental, a powerful anesthetic, into Simon’s IV. Making his eyes heavy, and his body feeling like he just drank a bottle of bourbon, the strong sedative takes hold almost immediately. Moments before the drug renders him unconsciousness, he thinks of his mother.

After four minutes, the technician pushes button number two, and a heavy dose of pancuronium bromide is pushed into Simon’s vein. The drug causes complete muscle paralysis. He is not only unconscious, he can’t even breathe. Last, the technician administers a lethal dose of a barbiturate and potassium chloride solution that permanently stops his heart. The entire process is over in less than eight minutes.