Freezing Page 17

Jayne shook her head in consternation. ‘He’s completely worked up. Kate’s been found dead but even though he’s been told she died quickly and wasn’t assaulted, he can’t understand why he got a phone call from a medical investigator at the ME’s Office in Phoenix. The police told the Alstons in ’ninety-nine that there were no signs of a struggle in or around her car when it was found on the Hollywood Freeway, so they’re trying to figure out why she would have willingly gotten out of her car and gone with someone to Arizona.’

  Steelie raked her hair back from her forehead. ‘I think I know why.’ She thought for a second then let her bangs flip back. ‘OK, I just had a call from Eric, asking me about my tail light stop last Thursday. He said they’ve picked up a suspect in Arizona who’s a civilian with a fake LAPD uniform. And he also said that they’ve come across one of our cases out there. There’s a chance it could be Kate Alston and the uniform is related.’

  Jayne sat back on the edge of her desk. ‘Well, the Alstons are hell-bent on finding out what happened. They’re flying to Phoenix in the morning and I agreed for us to liaise when they go to the ME’s Office. They’re picking up our flights too.’

  Steelie said, ‘Well, if Scott and Eric’s case does involve Kate, then someone may be able to tell her parents what happened.’

  Jayne looked at Carol. ‘You’re the expert on this.’

  Carol spoke without hesitation. ‘The family needs to know. Give them the hard stuff and they will handle it.’

  ‘But the detail about the uniform will be sub judice, so . . . we can’t tell them but we can urge Scott and Eric to divulge it, to help the Alstons deal with this.’ She looked at Steelie. ‘Call Scott. Tell him we don’t need confirmation on whose body they’ve found but if it’s Kate and if the suspect has actually stated that he used a uniform to get her out of her car, then they should give the parents as much consideration as they can. This has to come from them.’

  ‘You got it,’ Steelie replied, going back to her office.

  As soon as Scott and Eric issued the All Points Bulletin for Wayne Spicer’s car, they went down to the holding cells of the Phoenix Police Department.

  When they identified themselves to the duty sergeant, he buzzed them into the small room beyond his station. The room had four cells coming off it like satellites and they could see Wayne through the bars of his cell to their left. He was stroking the yellow-painted wall in the direction he believed the morgue lay, with Katie’s body within.

  The agents had already agreed to take a tender approach with Wayne, going down his Memory Lane while trying to get him to separate fantasy from reality. Scott set a tape to record and re-cautioned Wayne, then Eric began with an admiring comment on the verisimilitude of the police uniform found in Wayne’s closet. Wayne took the bait and was off, his words like a current of water rushing along a country brook.

  He said he had come up with the idea of getting a false police uniform after several people mistook his car, a black Crown Victoria, for a police cruiser and had pulled over to let him overtake when traffic was badly backed up on the busy Los Angeles freeways. After his parents moved to Arizona, Wayne had stayed in LA and bought the patrolman’s uniform from a costume shop. When he wore it, some people waved at him; people who would normally never give him the time of day.

  Then he purchased a swirling red light that he rigged up into his car’s electrical system with wire and a control switch, using rudimentary electronics skills he’d gained while working at Radio Shack. But he had never used the red light, or even tried to stop and talk to anyone, until he saw the brown Datsun ahead of him on the 101 Freeway early in December 1999, its hazard lights flashing a distress signal.

  He was wearing the police uniform that evening. He had the false badge on the seat next to him. At the last minute, he had decided to pull over and see if someone would actually talk to him. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman, as long as it wasn’t more than one person. He had thought that more than one person could be dangerous because ‘you never know what sort of people there are out there.’ He had pulled on to the shoulder, cutting off other cars whose drivers he saw glare at him through his rearview mirror, their faces softening when he turned on the swirling red light.

  The young woman in the Datsun was beautiful. She smiled and rolled down her window. She barely glanced at his badge and so he had put it in his pocket. He’d asked her, ‘What’s the problem, ma’am?’ just like he’d seen police do on television. She had explained that the car had broken down and she had been hoping a tow truck or a police officer would come along because she didn’t have a car phone or a cell phone. She didn’t give him the pitying expression he was used to seeing at his job or when he tried to talk to people waiting in line at the supermarket.

  He had wanted to talk with her more. He asked her to ‘step into’ his vehicle, on the passenger side, so that she’d be safe from the traffic hurtling past. But once she was inside, she looked uncertain. He forgot the ‘cop routine’ and she began to look panicked. She had tried to get out of his car but the door handle on the passenger side had been broken since he bought it. She didn’t know that so she had started screaming and kicking her legs and trying to get the attention of passing cars. He wanted to let her out. When he leaned across her, it was only to roll down the window so he could open the door from the outside handle. But she didn’t know that either. She tried to climb past him, into the backseat.

  She had managed to put her thumbs into his eyes and, well, he couldn’t see then, could he? He had fallen against her and the weight of his body had pulled them both down on to the front bench seat, his feet slipping on the loose floor mats and her small body half under him. He couldn’t get any purchase with his hands so had wrenched his elbow up and it connected with some part of her. She was instantly still and quiet.

  He didn’t even know what had happened to her. He had tapped her cheek; her head lolled loosely. He tried to make her speak; she wouldn’t talk anymore. The police badge was digging into his thigh and he pushed himself up off the girl. He turned off the red swirling light. Looking at her, he knew he couldn’t leave her there on the freeway by herself. He opened her handbag and found her driver’s license. Next to the photo it said her name was Katherine. He looked over at her, the dark hair, her smooth skin. He knew she was a Katie. A car honked as it passed, its headlights catching his peripheral vision. She would be his Katie, but they would have to leave California. ‘She’s been the only one. She’ll always be the only one.’

  At that point, Wayne had looked in the direction of the morgue and refused to say more. The agents left Wayne Spicer in his cell, his big body pressed against the wall in a flat embrace.

  As they emerged from the police station, Scott checked his cell phone and saw he had two voicemail messages. He listened to them as he followed Eric over to the Suburban. The first one was from Steelie and didn’t require a return call. The second was from Cliff Lockwood, the Maricopa County medical investigator. He had asked Scott to return his call as a matter of urgency, even if it was after-hours, and had left a cell phone number.

  Lockwood sounded somewhat less gravelly now that it was evening. Scott suspected a liqueur had lubricated his throat.

  ‘I’ve got the parents of your girl flying out here from California ASAP tomorrow. They got a lot of questions I can’t answer yet. But I figured maybe you could. Can you make it over here at eleven hundred hours?’

  Scott thought for a moment and looked over at Eric, who was driving them to the Mission Hotel where they would stay the night, due to get on the road for Los Angeles at 7 o’clock the next morning. If he stayed to meet the Alstons, his partner would need to go ahead of him to coordinate the search for Tripper, an endeavor that would be headquartered in their office in LA.

  Scott stalled for time by asking a question he already knew the answer to, thanks to Steelie’s message. ‘What kind of questions are we talking about?’

  Lockwood sighed. ‘Seems they want to know how thei
r daughter ended up out here in AZ in the hands of some perp. I’ll be telling them about the freezer before they view the body but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.’

  Scott briefly considered just instructing Lockwood to tell the Alstons about the LAPD uniform costume. He could hear a television sitcom and canned laughter in the background on Lockwood’s end of the phone. Scott realized he wasn’t even sure about the MI’s bedside manner. It was his duty, not Lockwood’s.

  ‘I’ll be there.’ He hung up and relayed the details to Eric, then told him about Steelie’s message, which recommended someone inform the Alstons about the circumstances of their daughter’s abduction.

  Eric nodded as he pulled the car into the parking space at the hotel. ‘By the way, have you called Jayne since we were at her place and you basically shouted at her?’

  Scott opened his door, paused, and then got out. ‘No.’

  Eric exhaled as he cut the engine. ‘Don’t let the other guy get her, Scott.’

  Scott frowned at him. ‘What other guy?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there will be another guy eventually. You shouldn’t give up unless you’re ready to see that . . . and go to their wedding.’

  ‘Who said I was giving up?’ Scott said as he closed the door.

  DAY NINE

  Wednesday

  NINETEEN

  Southwest Airlines Flight 597 from Phoenix to Los Angeles had arrived on time and Eric was walking into his office on Wilshire Boulevard by mid-morning. The first call he made was to the Information Technology investigators on the third floor to get an update on the request they’d phoned in from Phoenix to have the ITI monitor www.offthegrid.net for activity by the screen name ‘Tripper’. They reported no activity yet, but they were pulling caches of old posts by that screen name. So, no leads yet on Tripper’s identity.

  Eric glanced behind him at the computer that was dedicated to NCIC traffic. He was waiting for a beep on it that would indicate a hit. There was no guarantee it would be a hit on their All Points Bulletin for Wayne’s car because the system would beep for any report filed by the Los Angeles office on any case since the database had been in use. But he was still waiting for that beep.

  The phone rang and he picked up. It was the Phoenix Crime Laboratory. They had a preliminary report on the examination of Wayne Spicer’s/Tripper’s van: numerous particles of biological trace evidence had been located inside the vehicle. Although the van’s interior appeared to have been cleaned thoroughly, the criminalists had collected traces of blood, saliva, and epithelial from its faults, joins, and other surfaces. It was too early for the lab to tell if all the biological material came from a single source or from multiple sources, or whether any of it could ultimately link Tripper to the vehicle. They told Eric they would need reference material from people known to be in the van; for example, the man behind the screen name.

  Eric looked back at the computer. Nothing.

  Scott’s first thought when Cliff Lockwood opened his office door was that he could have been Kris Kristofferson’s stunt double. His barrel-like chest blocked the doorway for a moment before he invited Scott in, indicating a seat to the left that was turned to face two people who were rising from their chairs.

  The room wasn’t large and with everyone standing up, Scott felt like he had walked into a closet that was already too full. But it opened up the moment Lockwood sat down behind his desk. He introduced Ben and Linda Alston, describing Scott as the law enforcement officer who had found their daughter.

  Linda Alston had brown hair caught in a loose bun. Her eyes were a clear blue and she was looking at Scott with undisguised relief. Ben Alston had a close-cropped brown beard. He extended his hand to Scott, then folded his other hand over the handshake. Neither man spoke. Linda smiled at Scott but didn’t shake his hand. She was holding a sizeable piece of cardboard to her chest.

  ‘Please take a seat, Mr and Mrs Alston,’ Lockwood began. ‘Agent Houston is here to answer any questions for you that he can. As I mentioned before, he may be limited by the needs of the ongoing investigation into your daughter’s case but those limits will be lifted as soon as possible.’

  Ben and Linda nodded.

  Linda turned to Scott, still holding the cardboard tight. ‘We wanted, first of all, to thank you for finding Kate.’

  Scott nodded gravely.

  She continued with more difficulty. ‘We’ve seen her now and—’ She broke off, her mouth twisting, and her husband put his long arms about her shoulders. She drew herself up. ‘And we wanted you to know what a beautiful girl she really was.’

  She turned the piece of cardboard around and Scott was looking at a large portrait of a smiling version of the woman he’d found in Wayne Spicer’s freezer. He felt as though the color ink had flowed through her like blood, bringing her to life. And then he took in her smile. He would recognize those teeth anywhere.

  Ben was saying, ‘Kate was very bright. A bright, beautiful . . . good girl.’

  Lockwood said, ‘All of that is very clear to us, Mr Alston. I hope you understand that.’

  Linda had more to say. ‘Mr Houston, how did she end up out here?’

  Scott knew from Steelie’s phone message that if he said nothing else to the Alstons, he had to answer this question. He had been going over it with Eric the night before at the hotel, each trying to put the known facts into more palatable terms, and failing. Eric had finally said, ‘It won’t be the words you use, it’ll be the way you say them.’

  Scott glanced at Lockwood, who was looking back at him while reclined in his chair, his mouth obscured by his fingers, which were interlocked in a steeple. As Scott turned to the Alstons he played in his mind the visit to Spicer in the holding cell the evening before.

  The words that Scott would use to tell the Alstons this story were censored by his law enforcement training, which protected the future prosecution of Wayne Spicer and were informed by his sense of what the Alstons’ image should be of their daughter’s last moments. He tried to soften the edge of every word.

  ‘Mrs Alston, the person who abducted your daughter was wearing a replica of a police officer’s uniform when he approached her sitting in her broken-down car on the shoulder of the Hollywood Freeway. It was by showing her what looked like a real police badge that he was able to get her to leave her own vehicle. He’s kept her body with him since that time.’

  Scott suddenly realized that although Ben Alston had remained motionless, tears were streaming down his face. He did not wipe them away but kept one hand gripped around his wife’s shoulder and the other on her arm.

  Linda Alston smiled, her eyes bright and fixed somewhere behind Scott. ‘Kate always minded people in authority.’ She patted Ben’s knee as she wiped her eyes quickly with a tissue she pulled from under her watchstrap. ‘She did what I would have done.’ Her voice caught on the last word and her hand flew to her mouth, the tissue only half covering the pain hidden behind it. A muffled, ‘Oh, God’ escaped and she collapsed against her husband, who tilted his face down into her hair. The photo of Kate smiled back at them from where it lay in Linda’s lap.

  Scott felt as though the Alstons were radiating a sorrow so raw that it was palpable. He found himself swallowing several times and looked back at Lockwood, who nodded at him slowly. Scott realized he’d just passed some kind of test and knew he’d underestimated Cliff Lockwood. He needed to leave. He returned Lockwood’s nod and walked out, not stopping until he was beyond the front doors of the Medical Examiner’s Office. Immediately, he was assaulted by midday heat and a blare of nearby ambulance sirens. The morgue was next to the hospital, not the police station and its yellow holding cells. He had lied to Wayne Spicer on that point.

  Dr Bodell interrupted the story she was telling Jayne and Steelie to introduce two colleagues who were emerging from the autopsy suite. One of the men said, ‘I understand you had a role in this freezer case?’ He nodded back to the suite, where a technician was rolling Kate Alston’s bagged bo
dy on a trolley back to the refrigerated storage room, now that her parents had finished their viewing.

  ‘It looks like the full dental profile we managed to get added to the misper file helped with the ID,’ Jayne said.

  Steelie gestured at Bodell. ‘If it wasn’t for the dental worksheet Liz made for us last year, we wouldn’t have even known how to code half the synthetic restorations for NCIC.’

  Dr Bodell turned to her colleague. ‘They’re too modest.’

  He smiled faintly, assessing Steelie. ‘Well, it’s good to meet you.’ He looked at Dr Bodell. ‘Lunch, Elizabeth?’

  She nodded and said, ‘I’ll catch up with you, Hal.’ She motioned for Steelie and Jayne to head for the rear exit doors.

  When the three of them reached the bay where two body recovery vans were parked, Steelie leaned into Dr Bodell and whispered, ‘Is there something we should know, Elizabeth?’

  Dr Bodell smiled but ushered her on. ‘Go on around front. Your clients will be needing you. Jayne, come back to visit again soon. You needn’t bring Steelie and her innuendos.’

  As Jayne and Steelie rounded the building, Steelie said, ‘That makes me sound like I’m part of a band. Steelie and The Innuendos. But what would we play?’

  ‘Something heavy-handed,’ Jayne said as they took up a position under the mesquite trees casting dappled shade at the front of the building. Only their reflection was visible in the tinted double doors that led into this side of the structure, where relatives of the dead came and went. The reflection showed someone emerging from a car behind them and then a voice called out their names. They turned around to see Scott next to a Suburban one row back in the parking lot.

  Going toward him, Jayne said, ‘Scott? What are you doing here?’

  His mouth was a grim line. ‘The Alston case.’ He looked at Steelie. ‘I got your message. They’re in there with the MI now.’

  ‘Thanks for arranging that,’ Steelie replied.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’ His tone was sharp. He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Sorry. Are you escorting them?’