Fifteen Times a Killer Page 14

  Do I need to go into detail of what I did to her? Probably not. The autopsy will tell you how I removed her fingers and toes, and how I removed her teeth and made her swallow them. Did Jennifer enjoy that? Not really. She screamed all night, and I let her. One idea did come to mind, but I didn’t have the necessary equipment. No matter, I’ll do that next time. There’ll be plenty more to play with over the coming years.

  At one point I told her I’d made a mistake, got the wrong girl, and that I was going to let her go. She was so relieved, thinking her ordeal was over. I left her alone for about half an hour, then went back downstairs and told her I was just fucking with her.

  She was going nowhere.

  She was going to die, here, in my basement.

  Alone.

  And after seventeen hours of torture—say what you like about kids these days, they’ve got stamina—she did.

  So, four down, eleven to go.

  p.s. If Eddie’s reading this and thinking about going to the police with a description of me, I should mention that I still have the rest of my surveillance photos. Pictures of you and your clients during your exchanges. Some well-connected people there. And Eddie with a top job at a law firm now. How long are you going to keep that once the pictures get out? And they will, Eddie. If I’m caught, they’ll all come out and you’ll be finished. No amount of daddy’s money will save you. You better pray they never catch me. But I don’t think you’ll turn me in. You didn’t go to the police when you heard about Jennifer going missing, did you? No, you didn’t run to them and say “Hey, she was one of my clients. I used to sell her weed and Grey Goose,” did you? No, you looked after number one. And to the parents of all my victims, know that there is someone out there who could have stopped me early in my killing career and maybe saved your loved one, but he didn’t. He only cared about himself.

  That’s gotta hurt.

  I hope it does.

  Chapter 17

  Corrina stopped off at West 1st Street on her way, hoping to catch McCrae before he left for the Angeles Forest.

  It turned out to be a bad idea.

  The moment she left her car, she was swarmed by reporters from what appeared to be every network on the planet. She pushed her way through them, ignoring their shouted questions.

  “Corrina, have you got any suspects yet?”

  “Ms. Stone, how many people has he killed so far?”

  They’d obviously seen her name in the newspaper and done some research into who she was. Her height and distinctive hair made her impossible to miss.

  Two cops stood at the door, stationed there to prevent the press entering the building. She flashed her badge and one opened the door for her while the other kept the howling pack at bay.

  Inside the lobby the atmosphere was calmer, but Corrina knew that wouldn’t be the case on the homicide floor. She’d worked some major cases in this building. Multiple murders, celebrity deaths, gang violence, she’d seen it all. The entire floor would be buzzing with activity, more so now that the entire world knew there was a serial killer on the loose.

  McCrae was just coming down the stairs as she headed up.

  He smiled when he saw her. “How did you manage to get through the piranhas unscathed?”

  “I just used my notorious charm,” she said.

  “Ah, you told them to fuck off. Nice. I should try that one.”

  Corrina laughed. “Come on. I thought we could ride together,” she said. “Save the planet and all that,”

  “Cool. I spoke to Alistair. He’s getting his team ready to go. I’m also bringing a few uniforms along this time. Two cars are already en route to cordon the area off. The phone’s been ringing off the hook since the story broke, as you can imagine. Here, let’s go out the back way.”

  “My car’s out front.”

  “We’ll take mine,” McCrae said.

  They went through the doorway that led to the underground parking lot. McCrae climbed into an unmarked Ford and Corrina got in beside him.

  “The Madden file,” McCrae said as he handed Corrina a folder. She opened it and saw the fresh young face of the fourth victim pinned to the first sheet.

  Reading the killer’s account of the murder had been hard enough, but putting a face to the name was heart-breaking. She was a beautiful young woman, despite her vices. She didn’t deserve to have her life snuffed out so brutally.

  “Anything we can use in here?”

  “Nothing,” McCrae told her. “Like the others, no witnesses, no suspects.”

  He drove out into the sunshine and they immediately picked up a tail.

  “Shit. CNN on our six.”

  Corrina looked back and saw the network van two cars behind them. “Want me to shoot their tires out?” she asked. “I don’t mind, really.”

  “Nah, save your ammo for a worthwhile target.”

  “Fox News?”

  McCrae chuckled. “Fifteen-X.”

  They took the freeway pointing toward Pasadena, the news van still on their tail.

  “So, how was your weekend?” McCrae asked. “Quiet?”

  “Ha! I wish. Mike came around…”

  Corrina suddenly realized she’d said too much. She hadn’t intended to burden McCrae with her own troubles, but it was too late to change that now.

  “What did he want this time?” McCrae asked, showing genuine concern.

  “I’ve got no idea. He was so drunk he wasn’t making any sense. Said he knew about you and me, but that was nothing new. He convinced himself we were having an affair two years ago. That’s what led to the break-up.”

  “You did tell him I’m happily married, didn’t you?”

  The words stung Corrina like a knife to the heart. It was the last thing she wanted to be reminded of. “More times than I could count,” she said. “He just wouldn’t listen. Sometimes you can’t argue with stupid.”

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. No point admitting that she’d goaded her husband with the image of the pair of them screwing in Mike’s old bed. “I just put him in an Uber and sent him home.”

  “Sensible move. If it helps, I know what you’re going through.”

  “When did you have a relationship go sour?” Corrina asked. “You talking about elementary school? Because you and Jean have been together for…well, forever.”

  McCrae looked at her but said nothing. It took Corrina a few seconds to understand what he was telling her.

  “You’re shitting me. You and Jean?”

  McCrae nodded and looked back at the road. “It’s been on the rocks for a while now. Different life goals. Mine is to make the mortgage payments, hers is to feature on Real Housewives of LA.”

  Corrina was shocked. She’d seen them as the perfect couple, the only thing missing being a kid or two. But then, she’d thought she and Mike would last forever, and to the outside world everything about her own marriage appeared rosy.

  She also felt guilty. It was as if her own desires had created the rift in McCrae’s relationship, like she’d willed it to happen. Corrina knew that to be nonsense, but it didn’t stop her feeling like a prize shit.

  “Sorry,” she said, trying to console him while apologizing for her perceived indiscretion.

  “Don’t be,” he said. “We tried, it didn’t work out. There’s been nothing there for at least a year.”

  “Are you still living together?”

  “On and off. Mostly she stays with her mother these days. The divorce papers are in, just waiting for the lawyer to screw me over. Jean wants to walk away from our debts, but she also wants to keep everything we spent the money on. The car, the clothes, everything.”

  “Are you going to let her?” Corrina asked.

  “Hell, no,” McCrae laughed. “If she wants the car, she can put the loan in her own name. Same goes for the house. She wants half the value, not half the equity. The crazy part is, her lawyer thinks she’s being reasonable.”

  “Then you need
to get yourself your own lawyer. I’m sure my father can recommend a good one. He could probably get you a decent discount, too.”

  “Thanks. I might just do that. I looked around, and most of them want more than Jean does.”

  “I know what you mean,” Corrina said. “Mike and I agreed to do it ourselves. We came to an agreement, but he’s changed his mind in recent weeks. He wants custody of Connor, and I’ve got a feeling that’s just the beginning.”

  “We should introduce him to Jean. Sounds like they’d get along great.”

  “Don’t like assholes repel, or am I thinking of something else?”

  McCrae laughed again, a sound that sent a river of joy through Corrina. She’d missed laughter in her life, especially his.

  She put her hand on McCrae’s thigh. “If you ever wanna talk about it, I’m here for you.”

  He swallowed, and Corrina recognized it as a nervous reaction. She took her hand away and looked out of the side window.

  “Thanks,” McCrae said. “I know I can count on you.”

  Neither spoke for the next few miles. There was so much Corrina wanted to say, but now didn’t seem the right time.

  When they arrived at the start of Josephine Peak Road, they found their way blocked by a metal gate. They backtracked to a nearby visitor’s center and found a ranger able to give them access. She warned Corrina that they wouldn’t be able to get all the way to Josephine Saddle in the car.

  “We had a partial road collapse a few weeks ago,” the elderly woman said as she removed the padlock. “Still waiting for it to be fixed.”

  “How close can we get?” McCrae asked.

  “Couple o’ hundred yards, maybe. No closer than that.”

  That was fine with Corrina and McCrae. Better than having to walk the entire way.

  “You want me to leave this open?” the old woman asked. “I already let some of your people in, and I can’t be coming out here every ten minutes. I got a gift shop to run.”

  “We should be the last,” Corrina said, though it was possible Alistair Birch and his team were still on their way. “Once we’re through, lock it again and don’t let anyone else in unless they’re LAPD.” She nodded toward the CNN van that had just parked close by. “Especially those guys.”

  “You got it,” she said, clearly not happy with the arrangement.

  McCrae drove up the dirt track and stopped behind two police cruisers a few minutes later. A cop approached as they got out, and McCrae showed him his badge. Half of the road had washed down the side of the hill, probably caused by a landslide. Corrina immediately started looking for tire marks, but found many sets leading up to the peak. She gave them a wide berth as she continued up the hill, McCrae close behind.

  When they reached a bend in the road, they saw Jess sitting near a funny-looking bicycle. She was sweating heavily and drinking from a large bottle of water. Standing next to her was another cop, his shirt also beginning to show sweat stains.

  “What the hell’s that?” Corrina asked, pointing at the machine lying next to the reporter.

  “Folding bike,” Jess said. “Beats walking, and I figure I’m gonna be out here at least another ten times.”

  Corrina made a mental note to look up folding bikes online. Jess had the right idea.

  “I want you to wait here,” Corrina said to her. “We’ll call you in if we find anything.” She asked the cop whether the area had been cordoned off.

  “Yes, ma’am. Got two men down there right now.” He pointed down into the valley, and Corrina could just make out yellow tape.

  McCrae took the lead, keeping his eyes out for anything the forensics team would be interested in. It made for a slow journey, but they eventually reached the perimeter of the cordon. Corrina ducked underneath the tape and walked slowly, following the marker on her phone.

  She saw the crossed sticks from ten yards away.

  “Have you seen anything that shouldn’t be here?” she asked the nearest uniform.

  He shook his head. “Nothing but dirt and sunshine.”

  “Okay. Stay back and wait for the FIU. They’ll be here soon.”

  Corrina headed back up the hill with McCrae next to her.

  “That’s definitely number four,” she said to him. “Eleven more to go, and we don’t know if he’s still active or if we’re just gonna be digging up his victims until we catch him.”

  “He’s active,” McCrae said. “I can feel it. He wouldn’t contact us unless there was an end play.”

  “Then what is it? What’s his objective?”

  “If we knew that, we’d be halfway there.”

  When they returned to the dirt path once more, Corrina went to Jess. “Looks like you had a wasted trip,” Corrina said. “There’s nothing to see.”

  “No crossed sticks?”

  “Oh, they’re there, but you can’t photograph them. I want that staying out of the story, remember?”

  “That’s fine,” Jess said. “I really came here to talk to you. I’ve got a theory.”

  Corrina doubted it would be any use, but she indicated that Jess should share what she had.

  “He didn’t like it when I showed Anthony Swanson in a sympathetic light. He said I’d gone soft, right?”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “Well, I got to thinking. How would the family of the victims be feeling right now?”

  “They’ll be hurting,” Corrina said.

  “That’s right! He keeps saying in his story that they have to feel the pain. They have to know. They have to feel what he felt. What if it’s the families he wants to hurt, not the victims? What if the husbands, wives and parents are the one who have to feel it?”

  It sounded plausible, but a score of questions immediately demanded answers. “What did Anthony Swanson do to him, though? Vincent Perry? Miriam Crane? And now, if he’s to be believed, the family of Jennifer Madden? What do they have in common with our killer? We’ve checked, and there’s no relationship between them. They’ve never met, never been in each other’s company.”

  “Maybe it’s something we missed,” Jess suggested, but Corrina could tell that the initial excitement in her voice had waned. She didn’t want to dissuade Jess from coming up with new ideas, as Hank had done with Josh.

  “It’s an interesting thought,” Corrina admitted, “but at the moment the dots just don’t connect. Maybe you can look into it, see if there’s something we overlooked.”

  Jess seemed to perk up a little. “Can I have access to your systems?”

  Corrina couldn’t help smiling. “No.”

  “But how can I find a link if I can’t track credit card use, or…or…”

  “The same way you found out about Vincent Perry’s gentrification plans. Good old-fashioned investigative journalism. Trust me, we checked their financial histories going back fifteen years. There’s nothing there.”

  Jess sighed. “Okay, I’ll do what I can. I’ll start with Jennifer’s parents.”

  “No. I’m going to see them myself this afternoon. If I get anything from them, I’ll let you know.”

  Corrina collected McCrae and they walked back to the car. He had to reverse to a place where he could turn, and on the way down to the highway he had to pull over to let Alistair Birch’s van go by.

  Once they were back on asphalt, Corrina told McCrae about Jess’s theory.

  “It makes sense,” he said. “I can’t remember his story word for word, but it does sound plausible. If only there was a connection between them all.”

  “If there is,” Corrina said, “we’ll find it.”

  As they drove, she called Josh and asked him for an address for the parents of Jennifer Madden.

  “They live in Hollywood,” he told her. “I’ll send the address to your phone.”

  “Thanks. What do we know about them?”

  “Father is Craig Madden, CEO of FMT Group, the private equity firm. Wife is Doreen, runs a charity for homeless women. No other children.”

  “A
ny obvious links to any of the other victims?

  “None that we can see,” Josh said. “Hank has been going through it with me and nothing jumps out.”

  “Okay. Keep looking.”

  Moments later her phone pinged as Josh’s message arrived. She entered it into the satnav.

  “Nice area,” McCrae observed. “Another family with money?”

  “That looks to be the only link so far, but no sign that he’s ever tried to extort them.”

  They exchanged looks. “Do you think that could be it?” McCrae asked. “He asks for money, they refuse to pay, and he kills one of their loved ones?”

  “I’m sure one of the families would have mentioned it when they were interviewed after the disappearances.”

  “Unless he had something on them,” McCrae said.

  “I guess we’ll soon find out.”

  They followed the directions up into the Hollywood hills and pulled into the driveway of a two-story house with white walls and a garden adorned with flowers of every color.

  “I always hated this part of the job,” Corrina said as she stared at the front door, behind which lived an unsuspecting family who were about to have their hopes shattered. She could have let Victim Assistance handle it, but for a case of this magnitude, she wanted to be the one to break the terrible news. She also didn’t trust anyone else to ask the right questions.

  “I can take it if you want. You can wait in the car.”

  Thanks,” Corrina said, “but I gotta do this. Let’s go.”

  They got out and walked to the front door, a huge thing that looked like it had been carved from one giant slab of wood. Corrina rang the bell, and she heard a melody chime from inside.

  The woman who answered the door looked to have been caught in the middle of gardening. She was in her late fifties or early sixties, with a platinum bouffant. She held dirty gloves in one hand.

  “Can I help you?”

  Corrina and McCrae showed their badges. “Mrs. Madden? Doreen Madden?”

  “That’s right. Is there a problem?”

  “I think it would be better if we talked inside,” Corrina said.

  Doreen looked concerned. “Of course.” She let them in and closed the door behind them.