TWELVE
Colin stood on the side of a frontage road that ran parallel to Highway 80. This morning’s briefing concerning the Heartless Killer case had been short. A career criminal apprehension team (CCAT) would continue to work surveillance and talk to witnesses from past crime scenes connected to the killer in hopes of coming across a new lead.
Unlike mass murderers, whose rage often erupted in one catastrophic act of vengeance, serial killers did whatever they could to escape detection. Even with the advancement of investigative techniques, there was only so much forensics could accomplish. Unless the killer was betrayed by an accomplice, identified by a relative, or grew overly confident and, in turn, increasingly careless, he could go on killing for years to come. It had been documented that about 20 percent of all serial killers were never brought to justice for their crimes.
It was times like this that Colin felt for every detective who’d worked the case and would never get back time missed with loved ones.
Six years. Thirteen victims—that they knew of—and one frustrating dead end after another. He’d known what he was getting into when he’d become a police officer and then an investigator. He knew about the potential dangers, the long and irregular hours, and the stress that came with such a position. But chasing after a killer who’d been plucking victims from the street for years on end made him feel powerless.
Shortly after the briefing, Colin had gotten word of a missing girl from Elk Grove, a city in Sacramento County south of the state capital. As he stood there now, he watched the tow truck drive off with Erin Hayes’s Subaru attached to the flatbed. The girl had been missing for forty-eight hours. Her car would be taken to the lab, where they would check for fingerprints, traces of blood, and hair and fibers.
There wasn’t much traffic in the area. No witnesses so far. Footprints outside the driver’s door appeared to belong to Erin. They would know more later.
Levi Hooper with the forensics unit finished talking to the photographer, then headed Colin’s way. “No trace evidence as far as I can see with the naked eye.”
“If those are Erin’s footprints,” Colin said, following the path with a pointed finger, “which is likely, she never walked to the back of the car to check out the flat tire, and she didn’t walk along the side of the road, either.” He pointed at the distinct prints in the dirt. “The shoe prints disappear onto pavement, which tells me someone showed up and gave her a ride immediately after she got the flat.”
“Agreed. Nothing here has been disturbed. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings left behind.”
“The question we need answered,” Colin said, “was someone following her, or was it happenstance?”
For a moment the two men stood there quietly.
Colin’s stomach turned at the thought of a young girl being out there somewhere needing their help.
“I better get to the lab,” Levi said after a while.
“I’m going to head over to Elk Grove to talk to the girl’s family,” Colin said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
First thing the next morning, Jessie headed for the offices of Roche and Koontz. It was easier for her to walk than drive. As she passed by the rose garden in Capitol Park, every muscle tensed. Feeling weirdly out of breath, she stopped and looked around. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her breath caught in her throat as she was brought back to the moment she’d shot Parker Koontz.
What was wrong with her?
It wasn’t just the Koontz incident that was bothering her. It was everything, and it all hit her at once. She walked to a nearby bench and took a seat.
What was she doing with her life? Thirty-four years old, and yet she still didn’t have her shit together. After Mom left, she’d done everything she could to try to keep her family together. But Dad had been unable to bear living without the woman whose only excuse for leaving was that she couldn’t handle the pressure of raising two daughters. After Dad started drinking, Jessie found out her sixteen-year-old sister was pregnant. It had been up to Jessie to pull everyone together, but she’d failed at every turn. First her father. Then Sophie.
Jessie used a sleeve to wipe her eyes. Olivia didn’t stand a chance.
For most of her life, she’d felt as if she were riding a nonstop Ferris wheel that she couldn’t get off. A few years after her sister had disappeared, she’d decided to become a PI in hopes of helping other people find their loved ones as she continued her search for Sophie. But looking around now, at the city, the place she’d lived her entire life, she realized she couldn’t save the world.
Hell, she might not even be able to save herself.
Her foot bounced as she watched passersby and listened to the sound of birds between the honk of a horn and the roar of a car’s engine. She could sit there all day, she realized, doing nothing but simply being. But she didn’t have the luxury of time.
Forcing herself to her feet, she drew in a breath and continued on down Twenty-First Street. If she could hold it together long enough, she might be able to keep her ass out of jail.
By the time she walked through the front door of the office of Koontz and Roche, she was feeling better, stronger. The front lobby was made up of rich mahogany furniture and crystal wall sconces. The woman behind the desk looked up and asked if she had an appointment.
Jessie knew that getting to talk to David Roche was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. “I don’t have an appointment, but my name is Jessie Cole. It’s important that I talk to David Roche.”
The woman appeared to recognize the name. She reached for the phone, hit a button, and told the person on the end of the line that Jessie Cole was here. After she hung up, she stood and gestured toward the double doors directly behind her. “Mr. Roche has a full schedule, but he said he has a few minutes before his next meeting. Come this way.”
Jessie followed her into a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows behind a massive desk covered with neatly stacked papers. The woman disappeared, and the man behind the desk came to his feet and walked around the desk to offer his hand.
His handshake was firm.
A tall man, his arrogance appeared to be woven into the fine fabric of his fitted suit. His dark hair was slicked back, his nails well manicured, and his smile phony.
Before coming, Jessie had done enough research to know he was married with two children. A former prosecutor with more than twenty years of experience in criminal and business law, his website touted a “Superb 10/10 rating.” Andriana’s opinion of David Roche was less than stellar. She’d run into him in court more than a few times, and she’d told Jessie he was a snake in the grass who was more worried about his pocketbook than fighting for a client’s rights.
Roche pulled out a chair and gestured for her to have a seat, which she did. While he made his way back to the chair behind his desk, she noticed all the awards and diplomas hanging on the wall.
As soon as he was situated, he propped his elbows on the rich mahogany in front of him and made a steeple with his fingers. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here. You do realize the man you shot and put in the hospital is my partner?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, you should know you’ve made things difficult around here. My workload was already heavy, but without Parker here to evaluate cases, file motions, and help our clients with their legal needs, our law firm, thanks to you, is quite frankly fucked.”
His crassness didn’t bother her. She thought it telling that he worried more about his workload than the fact that his partner was in a coma, struggling for his life. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry you’ve been put out, but I had no choice but to defend myself after your partner decided to pull out a gun and fire at me. For that reason alone, I think it was rash of you to press criminal charges.”
“If you know anything about the law, you’d know it’s up to the prosecutor to press charges, not me.”
“I believe it was your name on the document filed with the police department.”
“True, but—”
“And the prosecutor in charge, your good friend Nicholas Levine, attended law school with you, is that right?”
The lines in his forehead deepened. “A mere coincidence, I can assure you.”
The tone of his voice was heavy with annoyance as he continued on with a rambling lecture. “Individuals do not press charges, nor do police,” he told her. “Only a municipal, state, or federal attorney can decide to charge someone with a crime. Prosecutors are the ones who make the decisions based on evidence provided by people and police.”
Jessie enjoyed watching him lose his cool. “What can you tell me about your partner’s extracurricular activities?” she asked, figuring she had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he answered her questions and gave her some insight.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers entwined, his smile strained. “I am married with two small children. I don’t have time to keep track of what Parker does or does not do in his free time.”
“So, you know nothing about the young woman he was allegedly stalking?”
“That’s a serious accusation. I hope you have proof.”
“Yes, thank you. I believe there is video footage.”
His face paled.
“I was wearing a video device while doing surveillance. It should come in handy when I see your prosecutor friend in court.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’ve already given you more time than you deserve, but I’ll tell you this, Ms. Cole. Parker Koontz is an outstanding citizen and has spent every year I’ve known him volunteering his time for numerous charities and events, including the Special Olympics. Parker started a program to befriend the elderly at local homes for people without relatives or friends. I could go on, but as I said earlier, I am busy. If you do your homework, Detective, you’ll discover that Parker Koontz is well respected in the community, and you’d be hard-pressed to find too many people who would have anything bad to say about him.”
His gaze was piercing, but Jessie refused to look away. “I have done my homework,” she said, “and Parker Koontz may be an outstanding citizen, but he’s also a Peeping Tom and a stalker, and I aim to prove it.”
He surprised her by asking, “Do you have any idea why Parker was carrying a weapon?”
“I heard he thought he was being followed. But why carry a gun loaded with blanks if he truly felt he was in danger?”
“Carrying a gun loaded with blanks sounds like something Parker would do. You might not be aware that Parker had been attacked before.”
“No. I didn’t know,” she said, wondering if Roche was now resorting to lies.
“He was attacked in Capitol Park, I might add.”
She tried not to show her surprise.
The muscles in his face relaxed as he straightened. “I’m sure he carried a gun to scare off an attacker if he ever needed to, but he would never have carried a loaded gun because he would never want to harm anyone.”
Not only was Roche full of himself; he seemed intent on trying to intimidate her while also making Parker Koontz into some pillar of perfection, which was one more reason why he’d probably agreed to speak to her. He wanted to take her down a notch.
“I am curious,” he said. “Why exactly did you come to see me?”
“I’m an investigator. I talk to people and ask them questions. It’s what I do. If I have to go against Nicholas Levine in court, I need to be prepared, which means I need to find out more about Parker Koontz. And who better to talk to than his good friend and business partner?”
“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be any help to you, Ms. Cole. If anything, I’ll probably do you more harm than good since I will be making sure the judge is aware of your reputation for being trigger-happy. In my opinion, you’re a danger to society.” He stood, letting her know their talk was over.