Redzone (8 page)

But that wasn't all. Rather than hide, and skulk about the way Roscoe McGinty had, Lee redoubled her efforts to find him. And in doing so stumbled across some fool who had been murdering transients and selling their organs. A miss . . . Definitely a miss. But indicative of what the she-devil could accomplish. So what to do? Hide in the ossuary? Or strike back? Put like that, the question was no question at all.

*   *   *

The shooting review board's finding, and Assistant Chief Ayeman's decision to accept an HR job in Big Bend, Oregon, went largely unnoticed by the press. And the reason for that was clear. The investigation turned up
another
serial killer, and Kaplan was generally considered to be an even greater threat than the Bonebreaker.

How many people had the Kaplan gang killed anyway? It was impossible to know for sure since the organ jackers didn't keep records, but based on preliminary estimates, the number was likely to be well over a hundred.

So with no one to hand the follow-up investigation to, the detectives assigned to Operation Thunderstorm had no choice but to work on the newly revived case. A total of forty-six arrests had been made subsequent to Kaplan's death. Among those awaiting trial were the organ jacker's so-called spotters, pickers, and harvesters. All of whom were questioned to whatever extent their attorneys would allow. Then deals were struck as suspects agreed to rat each other out. That drove
more
interviews, all of which had to be cross-checked. It was a time-consuming business.

Meanwhile, the LAPD Adult Missing Persons Unit was working overtime in an attempt to match their list to the partial descriptions and muddled recollections obtained from various gang members. The situation was made all the more difficult by the fact that once a donor's organs were harvested, the rest of the body had been cremated within
hours. As a result there was nothing for the forensics people to run DNA tests on.

One week after the hearing, Lee and the rest of the team were putting in long days in an attempt to clear all of the Kaplan-related issues. And because of that, Lee had been forced to put her mother's letter, and the question of what to do about it, on a back burner.

In an effort to catch up with all of the administrative crap she had to do, Lee had decided to work into the night. An hour had passed, and Lee was nearing the bottom of her in-box when she came to a cardboard mailer. She glanced at the return address, saw that the package was from Cheyenne Darling, and tore it open. There was a thumb drive within but nothing else. Information that pertained to McGinty perhaps?

Lee pushed the USB drive into one of the ports on her computer. A single file appeared. It was labeled
FRANK LEE
. Lee felt a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach as she clicked
PLAY
. At first it was very difficult to know what she was looking at. The lighting was murky and the camera work was erratic. Then she saw the specially designed metal framework and the man strapped inside of it. It was her father! He was naked, filthy, and held in place by a complicated system of metal bars, pulleys, and cables. All working together to render him helpless. She'd seen such a machine once before and recognized it right away.

Lee felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the camera moved in over a tripod, where it wobbled for a moment before being secured in place. Then her father's eyes tracked movements she couldn't see.
“Please,”
he begged. “Don't do it!”

There was no reply as a man in a white scream mask entered the shot and began to wrap rubber tubing around her father's extremities. In each case the tourniquet was applied as close to Frank Lee's torso as possible. The police officer was shaking the cage by then in a desperate attempt to escape. But the effort was to no avail.

Once the tourniquets were tightened the Bonebreaker stepped out of the picture. Lee knew what would happen next—and ordered herself to stop the tape. But for some reason she couldn't. Then came the unmistakable sound of a chain saw starting up. Her father began to scream at that point. And he continued to scream as the Bonebreaker reentered the picture carrying the saw. Gray exhaust shot out into the air as the Bonebreaker pulled the trigger all the way back. Then the chain began to chew its way through her father's leg.

Lee was sobbing by then, and screaming,
“No! No! No!”
as the blood flew. Then the world began to spin, the floor seemed to disappear, and the endless fall began.

*   *   *

Lee was deep below the surface of the ocean. She could see light, and was kicking her legs in an effort to reach it, but couldn't breathe. “You can't sleep forever,” a male voice said.

Her father? Calling to her from the hallway outside her room? No, he was . . . Then Lee “saw” blood spraying away from the chain saw and screamed. Or tried to . . . But nothing came out. A hand touched her shoulder and suddenly she was there, at the surface, sucking air. “It's all right, Cassandra . . . Everything is all right.”

As Lee looked toward the sound a face came into focus. The man's hair was cut short. That served to emphasize a high forehead. He had a straight nose, even features, and was wearing a suit. “There you are,” the man said. “That's better . . . I'm Dr. Kane. How are you feeling?”

Lee was scared. But she couldn't say that. Not and maintain her rep. Images stuttered through her mind. Pictures of her father being murdered. She clutched the sheets. “Fine, I feel fine.”

Kane smiled. “Denial isn't going to work, Cassandra . . . What you saw was real, and so were all of the emotions you felt. The first step is to acknowledge that.”

Lee frowned. “What are you? A shrink?”

Kane smiled. “Yes.”

“And I'm in an insane asylum?”

“No. You're in the Buena Vista Treatment Center. It's located on the ocean. Once you feel better you can go out and walk on the beach.”

“Screw that . . . I have work to do.”

“Eventually, yes. Once your recovery is complete you can return to duty. But not until I say so.”

“Who says?”

“Chief Jenkins put you on medical leave with full pay.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

“And I was unconscious?”

“Part of the time, yes. But you were sedated as well.”

Lee's eyes narrowed. “On whose authority?”

“It seems that you don't have a next of kin on file. So Chief Jenkins agreed to make decisions on your behalf until such time as you can make them for yourself.”

Lee felt sorry for herself. Everyone was against her . . . Even Jenkins. “Go away.”

Kane nodded. “Get some rest. Press the red button if you need anything. I'll drop by this evening.”

Lee continued to lie there for a while, too exhausted to get up. Now some memories were coming back. Snapshots really . . . An ambulance. Concerned faces. A dimly lit room. And a haggard face in a mirror.
Her
face? Yes.

Lee thought about that. A mirror. A bathroom. She needed to pee. Slowly, like a woman twice her age, Lee sat up and put her feet on the floor. Her feet were bare and the tiles felt cold. The room was large, well decorated, and the sunlight was attempting to find a way past the heavy drapes.

Lee stood, felt dizzy, and paused. Then, by placing one foot squarely in front of the other, she tottered into the bathroom. She winced when she saw the woman who looked back at her from the mirror. The creature's hair was matted
down, there were dark circles under her eyes, and a small bandage was visible on her forehead. Had she fallen when things went black? Probably.

Lee did what she needed to do and left the bathroom with plans to open the curtains. According to Kane she was near the ocean. Could she see it? But before Lee could complete the journey to the window, a wave of anxiety swept over her. The bed beckoned and the sheets took her in. Lee awoke to the sound of a knock and a female voice. “Miss Lee?”

She opened her eyes to see a young woman standing just inside the door. She was dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue polo shirt. “Yes?”

“Deputy Chief Jenkins is on the phone. He would like to visit you at four o'clock. Is that okay?”

Lee wondered why the people who ran the place would send someone to tell her that. Then she glanced at the bedside table and realized that there was no telephone. And her cell phone was nowhere to be seen. She sat up. “What time is it now?”

The girl glanced at her watch. “Five after three.”

“Tell him yes, thank you.”

The woman nodded, indicated that she would return at 3:55, and withdrew. Lee got out of bed and made her way into the bathroom. She had to look good for Jenkins. Good enough so he would allow her to leave and go home. With that goal in mind she entered the shower, washed her hair, and emerged feeling better.

The next twenty minutes were spent drying her hair, and combing it, but without any of the stuff she normally used. The results were far from perfect but would have to do. Fortunately, there was a tube of lipstick in her purse, and it was sitting on the dresser. There was no sign of her phone or weapons however.

By then it was time to get dressed, and Lee was pleased to discover that the outfit she'd been wearing two days earlier had been washed, pressed, and was hanging in the closet.
So she got dressed and was ready to go by the time the woman returned. “Hi! My name is Cindy,” she said. “Chief Jenkins is downstairs. Would you like me to show you the way to the lobby?”

Lee knew that the high level of personal service was a good way to keep track of her. But it wouldn't do to pitch a fit about it. Not if she wanted to get out of there. She smiled sweetly. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Lee followed Cindy down a hall to an elevator that took them down to the main floor. From there it was a short walk to a substantial reception desk and the spacious lobby beyond. There were carefully placed plants, clusters of comfortable-looking chairs, and the Pacific Ocean's sparkling presence beyond the enormous windows.

Jenkins got up from a chair and came forward to meet her. “Cassandra! How are you feeling, girl? You look good.”

Lee accepted the hug and took the chair next to his. “Thanks, boss . . . And I
feel
good. So how 'bout bailing me out of here?”

Jenkins laughed before turning serious. “I know you want out . . . And you have the legal right to leave whenever you want. But here's the deal . . . I can't clear you for a return to work until Dr. Kane tells me that you're ready.”

Lee started to reply but Jenkins raised a hand. “Hear me out . . . The Bonebreaker is feeling the pressure. The shrinks think he's just normal enough to be frightened. And he's scared of
you
. Put that together with the run-in you had with the bastard in the red zone, and it's likely that you're on his mind twenty-four/seven.

“But he couldn't attack you directly,” Jenkins continued. “Not without exposing himself. So he launched a psychological attack instead. Think of it as a bullet. The slug hit you, and it caused damage, but you survived. Now you're in rehab, and it will take time to heal.”

“Okay,” Lee said. “So how 'bout this? I agree to see Dr. Kane as an outpatient and you let me go home.”

Jenkins nodded. “I'll talk to him. If he's okay with the idea, then so am I.”

After that the conversation turned to Operation Thunderstorm, the effort to resolve all of the issues related to the Kaplan murders, and the manner in which Wolfe had stepped up to the plate. Jenkins was clearly pleased with her performance—and Lee wondered if the lieutenant was a candidate to replace Ayeman.

Jenkins left after that, and Lee discovered that she was hungry. After checking with the front desk she learned that the facility had a dining room, which was open for dinner.

Lee went in, took a table by the window, and was looking at the ocean when Kane arrived. “I heard you were up and around . . . May I join you?”

Lee smiled. “Of course.”

Kane sat down, and a waitress arrived seconds later. Lee ordered the pan-fried sole, and Kane chose a shrimp salad. “So,” he said, as the waitress left. “You spoke with Chief Jenkins.”

Lee's eyebrows rose. “You're very good at tracking my movements.”

Kane laughed. “I can see how it might seem that way—but I ran into the chief as he was leaving. So we talked.”

“And?”

“And I think it's fine for you to go home. But I'd like to see you every other day for a while.”

“Okay. I won't pretend that I like it, but I can hack it, if that's what I have to do. Since you're my doctor, I have a request.”

“Which is?”

Lee told Kane about the security measures that had been installed in her apartment, and concluded by saying, “I want them taken out. Yes, I need some protection, but having people stare at me all day is too much.”

The food arrived at that point, and Kane waited until it had been served before making his reply. “I agree . . . I'll talk to the chief.”

The conversation that followed was a good deal more
relaxed than what Lee had expected. Rather than interrogate her the way a cop would, the psychologist took the long way around to some very perceptive questions. That led to answers Lee hadn't been planning to give.

A good example of that was when he asked if she thought of her father as a friend. And the answer was no. Lee went on to say that while she felt a sense of gratitude toward her father, she didn't like him all that much, which made her feel guilty.

“And,” Kane said, “watching him die made you feel even
more
guilty. Even though he was a man you weren't all that fond of.”

Lee felt a piece of the emotional puzzle fall into place. “I guess that's true.”

Lee took that concept with her as she checked out of the treatment center and went home the following morning. The technicians came that afternoon. And once the cameras and microphones had been removed, she felt better. So much so that she decided to clean house. Except for the second bedroom, that is. It had been converted into her own mini–operations center back before she'd been allowed to work on the Bonebreaker case openly. And now, after viewing the footage of her father's death, Lee didn't want to go in there. So she didn't.