The One That Got Away (14 page)

She zeroed in on the satellite image of the map. Somewhere along those roads, he’d held her. She didn’t know if she’d find him, but she would find his workshop. Anger and excitement quickened her heart rate.

Her radio crackled into life. It was Jared. He was breathy. She could hear he was running.

“Zoë, need help, thief, upper deck, coming your way, Niners hoodie.”

Jared’s shorthand was all she needed. She grabbed the radio. “On my way.”

She bolted for the escalators. Taking the steps two at a time, she propelled herself to the upper concourse in seconds. She staggered coming off at the top but recovered her footing in a couple strides and raced along the mall.

She didn’t have to yell for people to get out of the way. They cleared a path for her so they could take in the show.

It took her only a moment to pick out the perp in the 49ers hoodie, sprinting toward her through the crowd, with Jared in pursuit. They were two hundred yards away. The thief had thirty yards on Jared, but the security guard was closing in.

If Jared didn’t catch up to him, she’d stop him. The guy had boxed himself in. She stood between him and the exits on the upper concourse. If he doubled back, he’d run straight into Jared. She upped her pace, a hard thing to do in the bulky uniform.

The issue looked to be academic. Jared had caught up to the thief. He drove a hand into the guy’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. As Jared lunged to grab him, the thief reached into his pocket and whipped out a knife. He slashed the air in a sweeping arc, catching Jared across the chest, leaving a long red streak. Jared slapped a hand over it and dropped to his knees.

“Son of a bitch,” Zoë snarled and ran on.

The perp leapt to his feet. It took him a second to realize he was sprinting toward her, then he ground to a halt. Zoë did the same. There was thirty feet between them. Shoppers ducked back into stores or pressed themselves against the railing.

She had an up-close look at him. He was no more than twenty and was taller than her, five-ten but skinny. She doubted he weighed 150 pounds. It made them evenly matched.

He flashed a look from her to the exits behind her, then back. She read his expression and knew what he was thinking:
The exit is right there and she’s only a woman. I can take her
.

He thrust the knife out. She’d expected a switchblade, but it was a cheap-looking steak knife with a four-inch blade. It didn’t make it any less lethal, however.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he barked, but a stammer shook every word.

Theft was the least of this guy’s problems now. He’d cut Jared. There was no way she was letting him escape. No one who inflicted harm on others got to escape. Not this guy. Not Laurie Hernandez’s and Holli’s killer. She stood her ground. “Drop the knife.”

“You’re crazy. You don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“Honey, it ain’t worth it,” a shopper said.

She took a deliberate step forward, and the guy rushed her. The onlookers around them scattered, causing others to gasp in surprise.

He was fast. He covered the short distance in a flash, with the knife raised, but she didn’t panic. This was what all her self-defense classes had taught her. The move Karen had demonstrated a few nights earlier sprang to mind. She sidestepped him and lashed him with a side kick. She failed to connect 100 percent, but it was enough to drop him to one knee. She aimed a double palm heel at his face and caught him hard across the bridge of his nose. He yelled out, but to his credit, the blow didn’t fell him.

He swung his arm, knife in hand. The wooden butt connected with her cheekbone. Pain exploded from the point of impact, sending shockwaves across her face. She staggered back and bounced against the safety railing, which kept her from falling down to the first story of the mall.

The thief jumped to his feet and broke into a loping stagger for the exit. Zoë had no doubt given him a dead leg with her kick. She chased after him and surprised him by chopping him across the forearm, sending the steak knife skittering across the polished floor. Before he could chase after it, she stamped down on the back of his leg, driving him to his knees again. She’d gained the upper hand and pounced on it by wrapping her arms around his neck in a sleeper hold.

He toppled forward, either in surprise or in an attempt to dislodge her, but she maintained her grasp. The both of them went down. He thrashed, but she maintained her hold. He flipped them over, throwing himself on top of her, but his scant weight did little to deter her. She knew she had him and wrapped her legs around his waist. He drove an elbow into her ribs. She bit back the pain. His blows were losing their power, and she could feel his strength going out of him. It was just a matter of time now. An uncomfortable gurgle slipped from his lips before he went slack in her hold.

Jared appeared with a hand to his chest where he’d been cut. He grinned and pulled the thief off her. “You got the prick, Zoë.”

She clambered to her feet to cheers and applause.

She looked down at the thief in his Niners hoodie.
Yeah, I got the prick
, she thought.
Now I just have to get the one who counts
.

The mall turned into a circus filled with police, paramedics, supervisors, shoppers, and a small media presence. Marshall Beck had taken up a satellite position on the periphery to observe. The police had the suspect in cuffs now that he’d come to. They’d also rounded up a bunch of eyewitnesses and cordoned off the area where Zoë had choked the kid in the 49ers hoodie. Paramedics worked on both Zoë and her fellow security guard while a couple of cops tried to get statements from the two. Mall management stayed close to Zoë and her coworker. The aftermath took place under the hungry gazes of dozens of onlookers. A couple of news crews were interviewing shoppers and a spokesperson from the mall. From Beck’s point of view, it was all very satisfactory, considering he’d masterminded the whole thing.

After finding out that Zoë was taking self-defense classes, he’d needed to establish whether she’d learned any actual fighting abilities. It looked as if she had. She certainly hadn’t fought like that when he’d taken her. She’d been shown the error of her ways, and she’d changed because of it. He liked that. He’d affected change in someone for the good. He wondered what other changes Zoë had made to her life. If she had made enough, maybe he’d leave her alone in favor of someone else who needed reeducation.

This performance had taken some wrangling, but it had come off without a hitch. He’d wanted to put Zoë to the test but hadn’t been sure how to do that until he’d discovered she worked at the Golden Gate Mall. It had a reputation for pickpockets and shoplifters, thus providing the perfect environment for assessing her. He couldn’t afford to hang around waiting for criminal inspiration to strike of its own accord so he’d walked around the mall, being sloppy with his wallet and iPhone. He’d made himself an obvious target and it had paid off. While he was in Macy’s, he’d put his phone down to pick up a shirt, and the kid in the 49ers sweatshirt had grabbed it. It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d wanted it to.

Zoë had gone through her trial by fire. Now it was his turn. He had to know how much she remembered. He was risking everything, but it was a calculated risk, so sure was he that she had no solid memories of that night. He squeezed his way through the crowd and announced himself to the first police officer he encountered.

“Hi, it was my cell phone that guy stole. Who do I talk to?”

“Come with me,” the officer said and waved him through.

The policeman walked him over to a sergeant to make a statement. Beck performed his account for the official record. He made sure he injected shock and dismay to add a human element to the story. He couldn’t be a nothing-but-the-facts guy. He’d just been robbed. It was a life-altering moment, and he needed to act accordingly.

There was a bored and dissatisfied aspect to the sergeant’s demeanor. He showed no excitement at taking a criminal off the streets. It was what it was. Just another one for the crime stats. Beck didn’t blame him. He guessed the cop had seen this a thousand times. To him, it was probably just another sad indictment of human society.

Between the sergeant’s questions, Beck snatched quick glances at Zoë. There she was—the one that got away. He never caught her looking in his direction. She was too busy with the cops and paramedics.

“We’ll have to hold on to the phone as evidence.”

“Really? I suppose you would.”

“We should be able to release it back to you in a couple of days.”

“Sure. Whatever you need. What happens now? Do you need me to stick around?”

“No, I’ve got your details. You’re free to go, and we’ll be in touch about your phone in the next day or two.”

“Thanks. Is it OK if I say a quick thank-you to the security guards? Those guys went the extra mile, and it’s the least I can do.”

“Sure.”

Beck couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement coursing through him as he crossed the short distance to his would-be heroes. Here was his moment of truth.

The paramedics had finished up with Zoë but were still working on her colleague. He gingerly inserted himself in between the paramedics and cops.

“Hello. Sorry to disturb you guys, but I wanted to say thanks. It was my cell phone that got stolen and you two recovered.”

He purposely made eye contact with Zoë and didn’t get a reaction from her. He couldn’t decide if she was hiding it or not.

“I really don’t know what to say other than thanks. You two are great.”

“It’s our job,” Zoë said. “He broke the law and he shouldn’t get away with it.”

Her tone was hard and unforgiving.

Bravo
, Beck thought. He’d made a woman of her, although part of him wondered if her remark was a coded message to him.

“It may be your job, but I’m just sorry you two got hurt. Are you guys going to be OK?”

Zoë touched her cheek where she’d been hit. She looked like a before-and-after photo for implants. One side of her face was twice the size of the other. Her cheek was red and inflamed right now, and he guessed there’d be some pretty impressive bruising by the end of the day.

“We’re going to be fine,” Zoë’s colleague said in fine, superhero style.

Beck guessed he was still flush with adrenaline. Zoë seemed dazed by her encounter. Her stare was glassy and unfocused. While her colleague was ebullient, she was withdrawn. Was that why she didn’t recognize him?

“What about that gash?” Beck said, pointing at the security guard’s chest.

“It looks worse than it is,” the paramedic attending to Zoë’s colleague said. “There’s no muscle damage, which is good. Luckily, the knife wasn’t sharp enough to do any real harm. We’ll be taking them to the ER for a proper checkup.”

“We need to get these two to the hospital now,” the other paramedic said.

“Again, I can’t thank you enough for what you did today. My name is Brad Ellis,” he said and put out a hand to Zoë’s coworker.

“Jared Mills,” he said, taking Beck’s hand and giving it a powerful shake.

“Good to meet you, Jared.”

He held his hand out to Zoë. She took it. Her hand was warm but dry to the touch. Not a hint of nervous sweat. “Zoë Sutton.”

“Nice to meet you too, Zoë.” He made eye contact and looked for a flicker of recognition, but saw none. Zoë didn’t recognize him. He smiled, and it turned into a grin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Greening stood at the whiteboard that served as the Laurie Hernandez murder board, adding information about the victim herself. At the beginning of any investigation, especially a murder, all he had to work with was a snapshot. There was no narrative, no story, just the circumstances. In Laurie Hernandez’s case, he had a body, a location, and the manner of death. Before he or Ogawa could move forward, they had to go back and build a series of pictures of the past.

He didn’t like to judge a victim. To him, no one ever “asked for it” or “had it coming,” or “got what they deserved.” Victims deserved justice regardless of their characters, and he gave every case 100 percent. That wasn’t to say his personal feelings didn’t seep into his thinking. After a long and depressing day talking to coworkers, family, and friends about Laurie Hernandez, he’d come to the conclusion that she wasn’t a very nice person.

Coworkers—present and past, of which there were many as she didn’t seem to hold on to a job for long—struggled to find a good word to say about her. “Difficult” had been the most complimentary thing anyone could offer. She ducked her duties, leaving others to pick up the slack, and was rude to customers. Rumors circulated that she stole money from purses and wallets in the staff locker room, although no one had anything concrete. She looked to be cut from the same family cloth as her siblings and parents. All but one had a rap sheet consisting of minor crimes, running from passing bum checks to DUIs. Her father had asked him if there’d be a payout from the city and the property developer since she’d been killed at Pier 25. Her friends squeezed out crocodile tears for their Mother Teresa-esque friend, while ignoring her laundry list of petty offenses, which included shoplifting, disturbing the peace, and public intoxication.