Blood Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 8) Page 3

  “And at that time, I said no.” He spread his hands open wide. “But now… I don’t know.”

  “I wonder,” Lacey said, piecing it out, “if he’s dead? Maybe killed himself after the last murder? Maybe that’s why you’re picking up on him.”

  Sam considered that. Staring down at the carpet, he got that faraway look that Lacey knew so well.

  “It’s possible,” he said, “but I’m not sure. It’s just… faint. I feel like I can’t get a strong sense of it.”

  Lacey nodded. She knew physical proximity played a large role in Sam’s sensitivity. The closer he was to a death scene or a body, the stronger his impressions.

  For now, sitting in their apartment, there wasn’t much more they could do. Lacey said as much. “Saturday we can get closer and maybe it’ll be clear. I don’t think it does much good to speculate.”

  “No,” he agreed, picking up his chow mein again.

  Lacey was glad to see him let go of it for the time being. Glad to shake off the uneasy feelings. She was eager to switch to another topic.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about the wedding.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  “Well, aside from agreeing that we’ll have one, we haven’t talked about any of the details. Where, when, how. Stuff like that.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want a church wedding?”

  “You know, that’s kind of the first thing I thought about, but neither of us care for organized religion. Could we find a non-denominational one? Or get married downtown at the courthouse? Elope?”

  Sam watched her closely as she considered the alternatives. “What would have the most meaning for you?”

  She smiled. “Standing next to you.”

  He put the carton down and sat back, taking her hand. “What would you think,” he said, “of getting married out on the reservation?”

  “Ooh,” she said immediately. “I think I like that. Outside? There are so many amazing, magical places out there.”

  “There are,” he said. “Big medicine.”

  She laughed at the tone of his voice, the terse, Hollywood Indian words. All that was missing was the “ugh.”

  “Do you know a place?” she asked.

  “There’s a couple places I can think of that might work. And, one of my cousins is a minister. He could perform the ceremony.”

  “You have a cousin for everything,” she laughed. Sam’s big family dwarfed Lacey’s small one.

  “Well, I have an ulterior motive,” he confessed. “I’d, uh, like to have Ben marry us, too. He has no license, so it wouldn’t be legal, but I’d really like to do that.”

  Lacey smiled warmly. “I think that would be wonderful.” Lacey loved Sam’s grandfather. He was an amazing, gentle old soul. “Okay, so that’s settled. Now, when’s the best time?”

  “Hmm. Winter’s pretty cold, but summer’s too hot. Spring? Fall?”

  “Spring is coming up in a hurry. What month? April? May?”

  “April would work. Is that too soon?”

  Lacey calculated. “That gives us two months.” She tipped her head at him. “I’m assuming we’re not talking about a sit-down dinner for five hundred of our closest friends, or a huge reception with a band and a dance floor.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” he groaned.

  She laughed. “I think we can safely say smaller is better. How about this? We get married in April with just a few people—my parents, the kids, your family—and then have a reception later here. I’ll see about reserving the community center here at the apartment complex.”

  “That sounds okay to me,” he said, “but is that enough for you? You don’t want the whole nine yards? I’ve been married before; you haven’t.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, remembering. “You had the chapel in Vegas. So I’ll miss out on that.” She smiled ruefully. “No, I’m okay with this. I’m not interested in the production; I’m only interested in you.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, staring at her with soft, dark eyes.

  She sighed. It still amazed her that she had this man in her life. This strong, sculpted, sensitive, intelligent man. So different from any other she’d ever known. He mystified her, led her to places and ideas she’d never imagined, and just the thought of his long, lean, copper-colored body covering hers made her heart turn over.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Want to go to bed early tonight?”

  He smiled. “What time is it now?” And he pulled her to her feet and tugged her toward the bedroom.

  ~~~

  SIX

  Saturday morning they got up early—early for Sam, on a weekend. But they wanted to cover as much ground as possible before they picked up the kids at lunchtime.

  And they didn’t want to expose the kids to anything about this case.

  “How do you want to do this?” she asked, staring at the big map on the wall.

  Sam stepped up and pointed. “There’s one more dumpster location, right?” He tapped the blue pin. “Let’s go there, first, then check out some of the clubs and bars.”

  “Most of those probably won’t be open yet,” she said.

  “I know. But I want to walk them anyway. I may not need to get inside.”

  “Okay. So we’ll head down south of Wilshire, then come back up to midtown.” She grabbed her pack and threw in a couple bottles of water. “Let’s go.”

  On a Saturday morning, there was just slightly less traffic than on a weekday. Lacey followed Sam’s directions and took them to a commercial district, pulling into a service area behind a U-Haul center and a discount tool store.

  “That one in the back corner,” Sam said, pointing at a dumpster.

  Lacey pulled up and parked, noting it was the furthest from the businesses, and there were no cameras aimed that way.

  She grabbed her phone while Sam got out and approached the dumpster.

  He walked around it once, then came back to concentrate on the end that faced away from the stores.

  “He parked back here,” he said, waving a hand toward the back of the dumpster. “He brings the body parts in plastic bags, then empties them here.” Sam stared at the metal bin as if he might see through the walls. “He felt bad about this one. She was young, and pretty. But still, she…”

  Lacey remembered that this was the UCLA student, Stephanie something. Only nineteen years old.

  “She what?” Lacey asked softly.

  He rubbed his forehead with a restless hand. “She still… took the bait. Still… took the lead. They’re so willing to… show him, teach him. As if he knew nothing. But he knows more than they can guess. More than he should. More than… than anyone should.”

  A chill patterned up Lacey’s spine. Both for what she imagined this man knew that he shouldn’t, and for the fact that Sam was getting his impulses only from the murderer and not the victim.

  “So it’s the same?” she asked. “She didn’t know him, had no suspicions?”

  “The very same,” Sam said. He turned back toward the car.

  They were quiet as they drove to midtown. The clubs and bars where the women were last seen were all in a few square block area. Lacey found a parking lot within walking distance of a couple of them. “Which one?” Lacey asked Sam.

  He consulted her notebook, then handed it to her. “The Blue Rhinoceros, right up there.”

  The neon marquee that arrowed out over the sidewalk was dark now, no lights, no movement, but they could still read the name. This was the techno-bar, Lacey remembered. She’d been in a few. The loud music, crush of bodies and flashing strobes usually gave her a headache. She supposed, at thirty-two, she was too old for that stuff.

  Sam approached the front door, which was closed and locked. Lacey noted the posted hours: they didn’t open until four p.m. She got out her phone and began to video.

  Sam stood before the door but frowned down at the sidewalk. Lacey noticed the nicks in the paint at the bottom of the doo
r, the loose dirt that accumulated there. The entrance was set back in a shallow alcove from the sidewalk and could use a good sweeping.

  “Was this the last?” Sam asked abruptly.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s… surprised that the killings haven’t… exorcised his pain, his anger. He thought they would. Every time, he thinks this will do it, this will be the last, but then the pressure starts to build up inside him again until he can’t stand it. He has to kill again. He will kill again.”

  Sam held himself very still, barely breathing. Lacey had the impression that he was vibrating, but only minutely, perhaps on a cellular level. She couldn’t remember ever being aware of that before.

  “He’s smart, though. He only loses control for seconds at a time, maybe a minute, and then he’s thinking, planning. Oh, yes. He’s smart.”

  He turned toward Lacey. “We have to get this guy. He’ll kill again, and soon.”

  “We will,” she said, putting away her phone. But the urgency in Sam’s voice rattled her.

  “Where’s the next closest place?” he asked. “Can we walk there?”

  “Yes. It’s called the Garden Wall, and it’s about a block and a half away. This way.” She pointed down the street. Sam started walking immediately, and Lacey had to hurry to catch up.

  “One thing I noticed,” Lacey said, “was that the intervals between killings were getting shorter. I’d forgotten about that until now, but it fits with what you said. He thinks each one will be the last, but then the pressure starts to build again. It’s like a drug addiction, and the addict can’t wait as long for the next hit. It keeps accelerating.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Sam said. He glanced over. “What happens when the interval gets down to minutes instead of days? What happens when the drug no longer brings any release at all?”

  “I-I’m not sure. I would guess some sort of psychotic break.”

  “Like suicide?” Sam asked. “Or a rampage?”

  Lacey swallowed. “Yes. It could be something like that.”

  Sam walked faster.

  The Garden Wall was a combination restaurant/bar, but the name was apt. There were no windows facing the street, and when Sam and lacey pushed through the door to the inside, the darkness was daunting. They stood on the rubber entry mat and let their eyes adjust.

  On the right, the dining room was wide open but damped by dark wood paneling and stained, wine-red tile. The chairs and tables were a light oak color, but even that seemed lusterless. A single slow-walking waitress served the few early lunch customers.

  On the left, the dark wooden bar curved around to the back of the smaller serious drinking area. There were likewise a few customers ensconced on bar stools. Some of them eyed Sam and Lacey with bored disinterest while smoke spiraled up from the cigarettes they held.

  “Seat yourself,” a man called out from behind the bar.

  “Thanks,” Lacey said. She glanced at Sam. “What do you need?”

  He scanned the two open rooms, his nostrils flaring. “Just let me walk a bit,” he said.

  “Okay.” Lacey plucked a menu from a plastic pocket screwed onto the wall and pretended to check it out.

  Sam moved into the dining area. Lacey tried not to breathe too deeply; the smells of smoke and stale cooking grease wiped out any thoughts she had about lunch.

  Sam walked a short circle around one table in the middle of the room, set between the bar and the booths along the wall, then came back to Lacey. She thought he was done already, but he nodded toward the bar. “Do you have your PI license with you?”

  “Sure,” she said. She dug it out of her pack and put the menu away. Sam walked to an unoccupied section of the bar. Lacey followed closely.

  “Hi,” she said to the man behind the bar. She flashed her license. “We’re private investigators, researching a murder that happened in this area recently. Like to ask you a few questions.”

  The man eyed the license but stood his ground, offering neither permission nor objection. He was medium-height, balding, with a slight paunch.

  “Do you recall a customer, a small man, very young-looking? He might even have looked young enough to card.” Sam locked eyes with the bartender.

  “Not right off,” the man said. “Haven’t carded anyone lately.”

  Sam waved toward the dining room. “He would have sat over there, at a table. Nursed a drink for quite a while. Might have left with a woman he met here.”

  The man’s eyes glittered, but his expression never changed. “Sorry.” His voice didn’t sound it. “Don’t keep track of who meets who here. I got better things to do.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving. Lacey couldn’t tell what kind of standoff this was, but she trusted that Sam was onto something.

  Abruptly he said, “Thanks,” and turned to go. Lacey had to step aside to keep from getting run over. She followed him outside.

  “What was that?” she asked. She shoved her wallet into her pack and hurried to keep up with Sam, walking back the way they’d come.

  “He was in there,” Sam said. “Maybe not a lot, not like every day or even every week, but he was in there. Enough that, if we had a picture of him, I think that bartender would recognize him.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  Sam shook his head tersely. “Not the physical so much as the emotional. He is small, slight, and that just adds to the young look. I think…” He paused, reaching with his senses, Lacey knew. “…Dark hair. Round face.”

  “Sam.” Lacey put her hand on his arm and stopped him. When he’d turned to her, his eyes registering her, she continued. “Could you describe him to a sketch artist? If someone drew him, could you say yes or no to it?”

  Sam’s gaze unfocused and drifted upward. “Maybe,” he said. He returned to Lacey. “Can we do that?”

  “I’ll call Tommy and find out. It might be a stretch, since you’re not a physical witness, but I think it’s worth a shot.”

  Sam nodded grimly. “I do, too.”

  “Okay.” She gestured to the area around them. “So that’s it for here?”

  “Yeah. For now.”

  “Okay. How about we go get the kids?”

  ~~~

  The kids were as delighted with the new apartment as Lacey was. They’d helped with the move and had seen the place in its chaotic beginnings, but coming back to find it neat and organized, they explored happily. Daniel, particularly, was excited to have his own room.

  “Can I put posters on the wall?” he asked. “Like Drake and Nicki Minaj?”

  “Hmm,” Lacey said. “I think that might be subject to approval, but as long as they’re not violent, I don’t see why not.”

  “Cool.”

  She found Sam and stepped up close to him.

  “He wants posters of hip hop artists,” she said in a low voice.

  Sam smiled ruefully. “Are you ready for having a teenager around?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I’d better get ready, huh?”

  Both Daniel and Kenzie were interested in the big map on the wall, but once they understood the pins and string, their attention drifted elsewhere. Lacey was just as glad. She and Sam had given them a very brief and G-rated summary of the murders—nothing about the bodies being cut up into pieces—and downplayed their involvement. The less interest the kids showed, the better.

  That evening they went out to a movie and stopped at a music store. Daniel got one Drake poster and Kenzie got a Taylor Swift. The kids were on their way to claiming and accessorizing their new lairs.

  Lacey was grateful for the normality of the weekend before they plunged into the case again.

  ~~~

  SEVEN

  Monday morning, she called Tommy.

  “Whatcha got, Lacey?”

  She gave him a rundown of their investigations, and the impressions Sam was getting. “Now this is going to be a little unorthodox,” she said in conclusion, “but we think Sam could sit with a sketch
artist and come up with an idea of what the guy looks like.”

  Tommy was silent for a moment, taking that in. “Unorthodox?” he snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. I don’t know…”

  “But listen,” Lacey interrupted. “You can just say it’s a witness’ description. You don’t have to say how it was acquired, or what kind of witness it is. And if it triggers anything…”

  “Yeah, I get it,” he said, but not happily. “Let me talk with the captain about it. I’ll call you back.”

  While she waited, Lacey made small notes on Post-its and stuck them to the map. She noted the names and addresses of the places they’d visited, and Sam’s primary impression. After seeing all four dumpsters, they were starting to blur in her mind. She thought the clubs and bars were going to be different enough to keep straight, but decided the notes couldn’t hurt.

  Tommy called back shortly after lunch. “Okay, we’re gonna do this,” he said. “Can you guys come down to the station about four?”

  “We sure can,” she said. “I’ll call Sam and let him know.”

  “Okay.” He exhaled heavily. “This is about the weirdest thing I’ve ever done on a case, but if it works…”

  “It’ll be worth the weirdness,” Lacey finished. “We’ll see you at four.”

  Sam got off work a little early, took a quick shower and they left for the station. Lacey led the way to the front counter to check in, smiling broadly to another new face she didn’t recognize.

  “Hi. We’re here to see Tommy Belvedere. Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud.”

  The new guy’s eyes widened slightly. He made a quick phone call and directed them to chairs in the waiting area.

  Tommy appeared in minutes. He shook both their hands. “You guys have really stepped up to this,” he said. “I like the speedy way you’re chipping away at it.”

  “Well,” Lacey allowed, “it’s a little easier for us. It’s just the two of us, and we aren’t confined by your procedures—or the presence, or lack of, physical evidence.”

  “Right,” he said, motioning for them to follow him. He led them down a hall to a bullpen where eight or ten desks crowded the room. Only three of the desks were occupied, and Tommy led them to one of those.