Resuscitation (35 page)

Now that he’d made a connection with McKenzie, a woman he believed would be ideal as a subject, the next step was to get her to his loft. She seemed apprehensive when he made his proposition, which was perfectly understandable. What woman in her right mind would go to a strange man’s apartment without learning more about him? Then again, Genevieve had defied this basic principle. But she was a careless, intoxicated woman. McKenzie seemed more responsible. And more cautious. He guessed that she would be more comfortable meeting him in a public place, so somehow he had to gain her confidence before he could ever expect her to consider going to his loft.

She was attracted to him. Catching her looking at him at yoga class made that obvious. This in itself was likely his most powerful weapon. Based on his prior experiences, women often thought too much with their hearts and not enough with their brains when it came to men. Many would go against the grain of common sense and risk everything for the possibility of love. To break through a woman’s self-preservation fortress, nothing was more effective than the prospect of love. He did not have the luxury of time and had a significant amount of research to complete. But if he moved things along too quickly, he risked spooking McKenzie. He had to find a way for them to go from casual acquaintances to intimate lovers as quickly as possible.

Sami and her colleagues—fourteen of them from homicide, narcotics, vice, and arson—met in the conference room to organize an efficient plan to round up the seventeen possible suspects. Although the department’s priority focused primarily on these leads, Sami’s group was still tasked with the responsibility to follow every lead that came in through the hotline. Sami hadn’t yet interviewed the relatives of Robert Winters or Rachael Manning, victims three and four, but it was high on her priority list and she had instructed Osbourn to set up appointments.

From her prior experiences, nearly all of the hotline tips proved to be a dead end. But, as a detective, she couldn’t take anything for granted. Sometimes the most obscure phone call led to an arrest. Today would likely be another eighteen-hour marathon. And life for her would be a lot easier if lightning struck Detective D’Angelo. From her perspective, his retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

Sami’s cell phone, set to vibrate only, went off several times during the meeting, but she didn’t dare answer it for fear the cranky group of detectives would hiss and moan. She did however take a quick call from Emily but cut her short. “Everything okay?” Sami had asked. When Emily put her mind at ease, she said, “In a meeting. Call you back ASAP.”

“Let’s split up into groups of two,” Sami said. She pointed to the whiteboard. “To keep it simple, I’ve broken down the seventeen suspects by geography, so you’re not driving from one end of the county to another.” She passed out a stack of papers. “Here are names, phone numbers, addresses, and in some cases, employers. Most of you have only two suspects to track down.” She looked directly at D’Angelo. “The homicide detectives will handle the remainder. Any questions?”

“I hope we’re getting a little overtime pay in our next check,” D’Angelo said. “President Lincoln freed the slaves a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Your concern has been noted. Next time I meet with Mayor Sullivan, I’ll be sure to pass along your grievance. Unless, of course, you’d like to speak with her directly.” Sami fished through her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve got her personal cell phone number here if you need it, Chuck.”

After the meeting, Sami walked over to Detective Osbourn. She could see a familiar concern in her partner’s eyes. “Are you okay working all these hours?”

“Not crazy about it, but it goes with the territory.”

“It’s not a problem being away from your wife?”

“I’d rather be home, but—”

“If you feel you need to be with her, Richard, I can handle things myself. I’ve got plenty of help.”

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. Physically she’s okay. But it’s going to take some time for her to get over the emotional stuff.”

“If you need to cut your day short, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I appreciate it.”

She studied the list of the seventeen suspects whose likenesses resembled the composite drawing. There were three potential eye witnesses: Katie Mitchell, Genevieve Foster’s best friend; Tiny, the bouncer; and Robin, the salesperson at Saks. Although anyone of them could possibly finger the perp, Sami felt strongly that she should run it by Robin first, and then contact Tiny and Katie afterwards. From what she’d learned thus far, Katie had seen the perp in a crowded, poorly lit bar, and Tiny only got a glimpse of him. So it made sense to interview a witness who spent time with the suspect under bright fluorescent lights and got a good look at his face.

“Before we try to track down these possibles, I think it would be a good idea if we touched base with the gal at Saks Fifth Avenue who sold our guy the outfit Genevieve Foster was wearing when we found her body.”

“I thought Al already interviewed her.”

“He did. And he’s always thorough. But the game has changed now that we have a composite sketch and seventeen possible suspects. If she can finger one of these guys, we could both be home for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll drive,” Osbourn said.

When Julian’s cell phone rang, he knew it was McKenzie because she was the only one who had the number for his throwaway phone. “Jul…John speaking.” He almost made a fatal mistake.

“Hi, John, this is McKenzie O’Neill. Remember me?”

“How could I possibly forget the yoga goddess?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, but thank you. And by the way, if you’re trying to get a discount on the yoga classes by complimenting me, sorry, no deal.”

“Not looking for a discount, but am hoping you’ve got good news.”

“Well, I’ve tweaked my schedule a bit and if you’re available, I can meet you tonight at around six thirty.”

It was better news than he had expected. “Terrific. Where would you like to meet?”

“How about Balboa Park?”

The park was huge and generally crowded. He had hoped for a more secluded place. “That
could
work, but let me run this by you. What part of San Diego do you live in?”

“Clairemont.”

“Have you ever been to Kate Sessions Park in Pacific Beach?”

“As a matter of fact, I was there last weekend for a concert in the park. The band Trigger was playing. They’re awesome. Have you ever heard them?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“If you’d rather meet at Kate Sessions Park, that’s fine,” McKenzie said. “It’s pretty quiet there in the evening and the view of Mission Bay and the ocean is breathtaking.”

That was exactly what he wanted her to say. “That works for me. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about we meet at the parking lot on top of the hill?”

“Perfect.” Julian said.

“Let’s meet on the east end of the lot.”

“Looking forward to it, McKenzie.”

“See you at six thirty sharp.”

Sami and Osbourn searched for a parking spot in the filled-to-capacity ramp garage at Fashion Valley Mall. It seemed as though it were Christmas Eve and half the city scrambled to finish their last-minute shopping. Sami had always believed that San Diego was immune to the ebb and flow of the economy. No matter how grim the economic forecast, San Diego seemed to thrive. Crowds of people mobbed every restaurant in the county, especially on Friday and Saturday evenings. A crowded parking lot at a shopping mall in the middle of the week seemed like proof positive that her theory was valid. San Diegans had deep pockets and they loved their upscale cars, posh homes, designer clothes, and gourmet restaurants.

After circling for ten minutes up and down the ramp garage, hoping to find someone piling shopping bags in their trunks, Osbourn spotted someone leaving, and eased the Taurus into a tight spot designated Compacts Only. Sami could barely squeeze out her door, which reminded her that it was time to tighten the belt and get back to her daily runs around Balboa Park.

Osbourn, watching Sami struggle to wiggle her hips out the door, stood there with a big grin painted across his face.

“One smart-alecky remark,” she warned, “and you’ll be walking a beat in South San Diego with the pit bulls and drug dealers.” She slammed the door and brushed off her slacks. “I know low people in high places.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They weaved through the crowd and found the entrance to Saks Fifth Avenue. Osbourn had already contacted the store manager to set up a meeting with the salesperson.

“Who are we looking for?” Sami asked.

Osbourn referred to his notes. “The manager’s name is Katherine Levy and the salesperson is Robin Westcott.”

“Where are we meeting them?”

“Ms. Levy asked me to have her paged as soon as we arrived.”

Once inside, the detectives headed for the first available salesperson. Sami had never been in this store. It was way out of her league. From the impeccably polished black marble floors to the outrageous chandeliers, the place was unmistakably a playground for the affluent.

While Sami craned her neck, perusing the decadence of the store, wondering if she’d ever have enough money to buy even a pair of pantyhose here, Osbourn approached a salesperson and explained the situation. The salesperson pointed to a door on the other side of the store, and they found their way, through racks of leather and linen, to Levy’s office. Before they had a chance to knock, Katherine Levy opened the door and invited them inside the cramped and cluttered space. Already seated in the office was Robin Westcott, the salesperson who’d sold the perp the expensive cocktail dress.

“Thanks for meeting us on such short notice,” Sami said. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

“I hope we can help,” Levy said.

Sami opened a brown folder and handed Robin Westcott a copy of the composite sketch along with seventeen photographs. “I understand that Detective Diaz already spoke to you,” Sami said. “But at that time we didn’t have this drawing, or possible matches. Does the sketch or any of the seventeen photos look like the guy who bought the dress?”

Robin Westcott studied the sketch for at least a minute, cocking her head from left to right. Then she pointed to the sketch. “The features of his face are close, but not totally accurate. But what’s completely wrong is the hair. He wore a Chargers baseball cap but took it off a few times. And believe me, this guy was as clean-cut as they come. Hair parted on the side like a kid making his communion. He certainly didn’t have spiked hair.”

Sami remembered that Tiny, the bouncer from Henry’s Hideaway, had said that the perp was “trying to look gay,” whatever that meant. She could only assume at this juncture that in an effort to blend in with the eclectic crowd, one of the things the perp had done was to change his hairstyle to something more contemporary.

“You said that the features of his face are close,” Osbourn said. “How do they differ from the guy you saw?”

Robin looked at the sketch again. “First off, the guy’s chin was chiseled. In this sketch it’s not nearly as pronounced. Now I’m not talking about a chin like Jay Leno. More like an Armani model.”

Before Sami could ask for clarification, Katherine Levy handed Robin the Saks Fifth Avenue summer catalog and pointed to a particular model. “Is this what his chin was like, Robin?”

Robin vigorously nodded and handed the catalog to Sami. Now she could see exactly what Robin meant.

“Another thing that doesn’t seem quite right is the shape of his face,” Robin said. “It was more triangular than oval.” Robin nervously scratched her head. “I can’t say for sure, but I think his nose was a little more prominent, too. Not big, but…” She paused for a moment and stared at the wall. “Do you remember the actor, John Barrymore, the guy who played Sherlock Holmes?”

“Of course,” Sami said.

“That kind of nose.”

“Do any of the photographs look familiar?” Osbourn asked.

One by one, Robin flipped through the photos, all the while shaking her head.

“I can’t absolutely swear to it, but I don’t think that any of these guys is the one who bought the designer dress.”