Authors: M.Z. Kelly
Mo looked at Natalie like I’d just committed murder, but then went back to the topic at hand. “What about the eviction? If we don’t do somethin’, Mean Gene’s gonna kick us so far down the curb, we’ll end up in Pacoima.”
I sighed. “See if Krump can come by tomorrow night at nine. I’ll try to make it.”
I got a late start the next morning thanks to hair that didn’t cooperate, a dog that wanted to have sex with an old lady’s poodle, and a long line at the local Starbucks where I waited to have my brain infused with caffeine. To make matters worse, when I got to the station, Leo was waiting for me and said we were wanted at MRS, the department’s Media Relations Section, in downtown Los Angeles.
“From what I know, Commander Miles wants an update on our case because the national media has picked up on everything,” Leo said as he drove us. “We drew the short straw, so Ozzie chose us to do the briefing.”
Sherry Miles had recently been named the head of MRS. She was a no-nonsense administrator, but also a survivor in a sometimes thankless job where power and politics prevailed.
“We can thank Carmine Feckle for this,” I said.
“Who?”
I sipped my coffee, then said, “He’s that little worm who does crime stories on one of the cable networks. He’s got everyone stirred up.”
As he waited for a green light to merge onto the freeway, Leo glanced over at me. “Long night?”
“It’s that obvious?”
My partner always had a smile. “You seem a little…preoccupied.”
“Mean Gene and his little weenie served us with eviction papers last night. Unless our lawyer pulls a miracle out of his hat, we’ll be living on the streets.”
“You can always stay with Lil and me, if it comes to that. We’ve got a spare room.”
“Thanks, but I couldn’t impose. If it comes down to having nowhere else to go, I guess I can stay with my mother.”
Just the thought of living with my new-age, adoptive mom sent a wave of depression through me. We’d had issues ever since I learned that she’d kept the truth about not being my biological mother from me. In the intervening months, I’d also learned that she and my love-dad had issues when they were married and she’d even been involved in a relationship with Ryan Cooper, the man who had murdered him. I knew that Cooper had used her to get back at my love-dad, but it was an act of betrayal that I didn’t know if I could ever get past.
Leo and I chatted about our case as he drove, the conversation eventually turning to my personal investigation into the death of my love-dad as we got to downtown Los Angeles. “Anything new on Kellen Malone and his ties to the Revelation?” Leo asked.
“I’ve been so busy with work and moving that I really haven’t had a chance to look into things further.” I finished the last of my coffee and cracked the rear window so Bernie could get some air. “I have a feeling that one of these days I’m going to need to have a conversation with Mr. Malone.”
Not to mention, Oz.
“Just be careful. We’ve heard a lot of bad things about him.”
Almost everyone who knew Malone, including his own father, had said he was dangerous and would stop at nothing to control and manipulate those around him. It was rumored that he’d been involved in the Revelation at the highest levels. The secret organization was said to control much of the power in Hollywood and what went on in the studios.
As we pulled into a parking space at the Police Administration Building, I said, “For now, everything’s on the back burner.” I opened my door. “Let’s go do the bureaucratic waltz.”
We met with Commander Miles and her new assistant, Melvina Peters, in a sixth floor conference room down the hall from Chief Bradley East’s office. Mel, as she preferred to be called, had worked at Section One for a brief period of time before she’d been promoted. At that time, the department was looking into possibly opening an investigation into the death of Jean Winslow and reopening the murder case on my love-dad. While that decision was being reviewed, Peters had befriended me and asked a lot of personal questions about my dad’s life and death. I was convinced that she’d used our friendship and what I’d told her to help kill the investigation before it started. It was a betrayal I would never forget.
After a little small talk, Miles told us why we were there. “I’m going to brief the press on your case this afternoon and want an overview of our crime and the investigation.”
Leo and I took a few minutes going through what we knew, touching on the way our victim was posed and painted, the injuries she’d suffered, the horrific nature of her cause of death, and the possible ties to Day of the Dead rituals.
I finished up by saying, “We have a probable photo of the victim that was left at the crime scene, so a decision needs to be made on whether or not to release it to the press in the hope of identifying her.”
“We already know who she is,” Peters said.
Miles’ new assistant was tall, with dark hair and sultry eyes. If I was being generous, I’d have to say Peters was an attractive woman. If I wasn’t feeling generous, I’d have to say she was a skanky bitch. I wasn’t feeling generous today.
I looked at Miles, ignoring the bitch. “What can you tell us about her?”
Miles was short in stature, with a solid build that gave her an air of power and confidence. “A reporter has been in contact with a woman whose daughter went missing in Long Beach. She could be our victim.”
“What makes you think that?” Leo asked.
“She saw the video clip on the Internet and says it’s her daughter.”
“Because of the eyes,” Peters added. “Even though the victim was painted, she’s sure it’s her daughter because of her eyes.”
It seemed like a stretch to me, but I’d worked cases where the parents of murder victims had identified their children’s remains with very little physical evidence, so I couldn’t discount it.
Commander Miles ignored her new protégé and went on, “We’d like you to meet with…” She checked some paperwork in front of her, “…Gloria Lacroix and the reporter this morning, and show her the photograph before I talk to the press.”
I glanced at Leo, then back at the commander. I was about to agree to the request, when Peters said, “Just so you know, the victim’s mother is with Carmine Feckle.”
I groaned, something that caused Miles to chuckle. “I know Mr. Feckle can be difficult. That’s why I’m sending Detective Peters with you.”
“Why don’t you just bring a guillotine into the office and cut off my head.”
***
The truth is, I was fantasizing and hadn’t asked to be beheaded, but an hour later I wished I had. As it turned out, Leo had forgotten about having to appear in court on an old case. That left me at the mercy of Mel Peters as she drove Bernie and me to Long Beach to meet with Gloria Lacroix and Carmine Feckle.
“Maybe the victim’s mother knows who attacked her daughter,” Mel said as we turned off the freeway in Long Beach. “We might even be able to break the case open before the commander meets with the media.”
“Maybe,” I said, at the same time knowing the odds of that were about the same as me winning the lottery and taking a spaceship to Mars on the same day.
Peters went on. “The truth is, I kind of miss working the streets.”
I glanced at her. “Then why did you take the promotion?”
She looked at me, displaying a mouth full of white teeth that looked like Chiclets. “I plan to be running this department someday. It’s a step up the ladder.”
I should have kept my big mouth shut, but said, “Why would you give up real police work to become an administrator?”
The Chiclets went away and she glared at me. “Managing the department
is
real police work. It’s just that some people don’t realize that.”
I sighed. “If you say so.”
“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”
I played dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re angry because the department refused to give into your vendetta.”
“Vendetta?”
The glare and a stare came back. “It’s your personal mission to prove the department failed to properly investigate the death of Jean Winslow and your father. Everyone knows it.”
What she said was complete nonsense, but gave further credence to my belief that she was out to sabotage my attempt to get to the truth and further her own political aspirations at the same time.
It was my turn to glare at her. “Let’s get something straight. We might have to work together, but I have nothing to say to you about Jean Winslow, my father, or anything else in the known universe—ever!”
“Are we a little touchy?”
We turned into the neighborhood where Gloria Lacroix lived. “Do the world a favor. Keep your mouth shut and your idiotic opinions to yourself.”
“Just so you know, Commander Miles will get a full report on what you said.”
“Just so you know, I don’t give a shit.”
Twenty minutes later, we met with Gloria Lacroix and her reporter friend in a small apartment near a commercial district just outside the Long Beach city limits. After exchanging hellos, we took a seat in her living room, where Carmine Feckle wasted no time raising our expectations.
“Ms. Lacroix has no doubt that the girl shown in the Internet video is her daughter.” Feckle brought his hands together and wiggled his fingers like a nervous squirrel fingering some nuts. “She reported her daughter missing less than forty-eight hours ago.”
“She is my baby,” Lacroix whimpered. “Who would do this?”
“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Peters answered. “Is there anyone your daughter was having problems with lately, maybe someone who was angry with her?”
“Surely you’re not suggesting something this disturbed was the work of someone the girl knew,” Feckle said, his gaze sliding over Peters, then his companion.
Lacroix, who looked to be around forty and was heavyset, shook her head, then blew her nose. “My baby was a good girl. It makes no sense.”
“It’s my understanding that you have a photo to show us,” Feckle said.
Peters nodded and removed the photograph from her briefcase. I realized someone from the department must have tipped him off about the photo.
“Is this your daughter?” she asked, showing Lacroix the picture.
There was no verbal confirmation that it was Lacroix’s daughter, but we had no doubt that it was, based on the woman going into hysterics. It caused her reporter companion to scurry around like a rat trapped in a maze. Feckle got her a glass of water, more tissues, and even some cookies in an attempt to calm her down.
A half hour later, when there was a moment of composure, Feckle pulled out his phone and said, “I’m going to bring my camera crew in.”
I looked at Peters, back at him. “Any interviews need to be cleared with our Media Relations Section.”
Feckle smiled, displaying small, sharp rodent teeth, and looked at Peters. “I believe we’re already cleared.”
Peters nodded. “Let’s proceed.”
I realized, at that moment, I’d been cut out of everything that was going on. Peters, or her boss, had told Feckle about the photograph beforehand and had agreed to do an interview if we got a positive ID.
My face flushed with anger as I stood up and looked at Peters. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Peters also stood and called me over to a corner of the room. “This interview will be going out to all the media outlets and probably end up on national TV. I need your cooperation.”
I realized that Peters probably didn’t have her boss’s approval for the interview. She was going rogue, agreeing to an interview for whatever political points it might score her, and wanted my tacit approval.
“Sorry,” I said, tugging on Bernie’s leash. “I’ve already had my fifteen minutes of fame.”
Dr. Ellen Moore took a final glance through her new patient’s file before closing it. She sighed and tossed it aside. She remembered when she was a small child and had gone to a make-believe haunted house in her neighborhood with her older brother for Halloween. She’d been so traumatized by the events in that house that she remembered screaming and trying to run outside, only to make a wrong turn and end up in a darkened bedroom.
Those same feelings returned when she thought about the nightmare Quinton Macy had visited upon this world, but there was nothing make-believe about the horrors the real-life monster had created. She’d dealt with a lot of deranged subjects over the years, but her patient’s crimes raised, no, make that lowered, the bar to a new level. While reading his file, she’d learned that he was a suspect in several unsolved cases: men and women, raped, mutilated, or murdered. She knew there were probably other victims, as well. Monsters like Macy were masters at hiding in plain sight while they victimized their prey.
“He’s all set for transport, Ellen.”
She glanced up, seeing Joshua Brown, the Berkshire Prison guard. She’d had several casual conversations with the guard in the few short weeks she’d worked at the hospital and they were now on a first name basis. “Okay. Let me get a few things together and I’ll be there in a minute.”
After retrieving her suitcase and then placing Macy’s file in her briefcase, along with information about the drug protocols for Neustasis, she stopped by Dr. Marlow’s office. She found the senior psychiatrist standing and looking through his window at the rolling grounds of Berkshire State Hospital. The Spanish style psychiatric facility, built in the 1930s, was in the foothills west of Pasadena. It was a beautiful area of rolling hills, yet it was close to the city.
Ellen cleared her throat. “We’re about ready to leave.”
Dr. Marlow came over and sat on the corner of his mahogany desk. “I’m assuming you’re taking two guards?”
She shook her head. “Just one. The other assigned guard didn’t report to work this morning. Jason…” She cleared her throat. “They called him at home, but he didn’t pick up. Maybe he’s sick.”
The lines on Marlow’s weathered face deepened, and he released a breath. “Just be sure your patient is restrained at all times, even while the drug is administered and afterward.”
Ellen remembered the drug protocols required that subjects be monitored for forty-eight hours after being given Neustasis due to possible adverse side-effects. “I’ll make sure the guard understands.” She studied her superior for a moment. “You’re genuinely concerned about him, aren’t you?”
Marlow rubbed a hand over his fleshy face. “I’ll say it again. Macy doesn’t fit any of the diagnostic criteria. He’s brilliant, manipulative, and deranged. My advice is to minimize any contact and not engage with him.”
“Maybe I have something to learn from him.”
“Dr. Javier thought the same thing, and…”
When he didn’t go on, Ellen said, “You don’t think Macy had something to do with what happened to him?”
Marlow shrugged. “We’ll never know. All we do know is that your patient can’t be trusted. Keep that in mind at all times.”
Twenty minutes later, Joshua Brown helped Ellen place her belongings into the rear of the transport van. After closing the doors, he said, “The trip should only take a couple of hours. The hotel we’re staying at is adjacent to Halgen Medical Center. Maybe we can get a bite to eat together tonight.”
Ellen smiled. Joshua was probably around her age, in his early thirties, and handsome. She was used to men being attracted to her when she was younger, but after five years of marriage and two children, she’d put on close to thirty pounds.
She dismissed the thought, deciding that she’d probably misread his signals, and said, “We’ll see how things go.” She glanced back at the van. While she knew their prisoner was in a security cage, she remembered Dr. Marlow’s concerns. “I want to be sure our patient is kept in restraints, even during the medical procedures. No exceptions.”
Joshua held up a key ring. “No worries. You’re in good hands.”
Ellen walked around the van to the passenger side and opened the door. She settled in and buckled up, waiting while Joshua signed some paperwork. The voice behind her startled her, causing her to flinch.
“Good morning, Dr. Moore.”
She turned around. Even though the interior of the windowless van was dark and they were in a shaded sally port, she could make out the shadowy figure of her patient, the amber glow of his eyes. It sent a ripple of anxiety down her spine.
“Morning,” she said, turning back around, and wishing Joshua would finish his paperwork.
“It’s good that we’re getting an early start.”
She didn’t respond, instead tapping on the window and pointing to her watch when Joshua saw her.
The baritone voice behind her returned. “I hope there’s no congestion, but you never know at this hour, with school being in session.”
Ellen brushed a sheen of perspiration off her forehead, now seeing that the guard was finally heading for the van. The same word that had come to mind yesterday when she had been around Macy entered her thoughts again.
Predator.
The man sitting directly behind her was exactly as Dr. Marlow had described him: cunning and dangerous, and lacking any normal social conventions.
Joshua was opening the door to the van when Macy went on. “Eric and Jennifer are probably on their way to school about now. Maybe you’ll even see them and can wave hello.”
Despite every effort not to react, she glanced back at her patient. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Quinton Macy might be smiling.
“All set,” Joshua said, taking a seat in the van. He turned to her, seeing that she was looking back at their patient. “Everything okay?”
Ellen looked at him and exhaled. “Fine. Let’s go.”
As they made their way out of the hospital grounds and headed toward Los Angeles, Ellen clutched her sides. A cold fear gripped her as the realization settled in. Quinton Macy knew the names of her children.