Shadow Man

  Her mouth drops open. Her eyes go wide. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “No, ma’am. I wish it were. But it’s not. Can we come in?”

  It takes her a moment, but she gathers herself. She steps aside.

  As we enter her apartment, I’m struck by its tastefulness. Subtle beauty, and very feminine. Very much a woman’s home.

  She indicates for us to take a seat on the couch. She sits across from us in a matching cushioned chair.

  “So—is this for real? You say there’s some freak out there who wants to kill me?” she asks.

  “A very dangerous man. He’s killed two other women already. He targets operators of amateur adult Web sites. He tortures them, rapes them, and murders them. Afterward, he disfigures their bodies. He thinks he’s a descendant of Jack the Ripper.”

  I continue to deliver it fast and furious, so as to knock down any misgivings or hesitation on her part. This seems to have worked; she’s gone from pink to pale.

  “What makes you think he’s picked me?”

  “He has a pattern. He signs up as a Web site member. He’s done this with each woman he’s killed so far. He chooses a user name and password combination that ties into his Jack the Ripper theme. We found one of those combinations on your members’ list.” I point at myself. “He hates me, Ms. Waters. He’s obsessed with me. Don’t you see our similarity?”

  She hesitates, looking me up and down. “Yes. Of course I can see it.” She pauses. “Did he…did he do that to you?” She points at my face.

  “Not him. Someone else.”

  “I don’t mean to be unkind, but that’s not very confidence-inspiring.”

  I give her a slight smile. Want her to see that I’m not insulted. “That’s understandable. But the man who did this caught me unprepared. That’s what we’re trying to avoid here. He won’t know that we’re on to him.”

  I see understanding break out on her face. “I get it. You want to set a trap for him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “With me as bait?”

  “Not exactly. You are the bait—in that he thinks you’ll be here. But I want to put an agent in place of you. I can’t take any chances of endangering you as a civilian. It would require that you let us use your apartment. And you’d have to leave it for a little while.”

  Something passes through her eyes that I can’t read. She gets up, walks away. She stands for a moment with her back to us. When she turns back around, her face is set in a resolute look.

  “Do you know how old I am?” she asks.

  “Um—no,” I respond.

  “I’m twenty-nine.” She indicates herself with her hands. “Not too bad for twenty-nine, huh?”

  “No. Not too bad.”

  “I got married when I was eighteen to the first man I had sex with. I thought he was the love of my life, just the greatest guy in the world. I would have done anything for him. Did, for a while. But then Prince Charming changed. And for the next seven years, he beat me. Oh, he never broke bones. Never left marks on my face. He was too smart for that. But he knew how to make it hurt. And he mixed in plenty of degradation.” Her eyes are locked on mine. “Do you know what sex is with a man like that? It’s rape. It doesn’t matter whether you are married to him or not. He makes it rape.” She shakes her head, looking off. “It took me a long time to grow up. Seven years. For the first six, it just never occurred to me to leave him. The thought didn’t enter my mind. He convinced me that what he was doing was my fault. Or his right.”

  “What happened to change that?” Callie asks.

  We know better than to ask her where this is going or what it has to do with the here and now. Whatever she is saying needs to be said; in order to get what we want, we are just going to have to listen.

  She shrugs, a hard flintiness entering her eyes. “Like I said: I grew up. I knew that he was smart about abusing me. I talked with a few cops. They told me it was going to be an uphill battle to prove it.” She smiles. “So I hid a camera and got it on tape. One last time, I let him beat me, hurt me, degrade me. I turned it over to the cops and pressed charges. His attorney tried for entrapment on the video, but…” She shrugs. “The judge let the video stay. My husband went to jail, and I sold everything we owned and came to LA.” She indicates the apartment. “This is mine. I know you probably don’t approve of what I do for a living. I don’t care. This is mine, and I’m out from under his thumb.” She sits down, facing us. “The point is this: I promised myself that no man was ever going to control me in that way again. Not ever. So—if you want to use my apartment to catch this psycho, I’ll cooperate. To the limit. But I won’t leave my home.” She sits back, arms folded. The picture of firm resolve.

  I regard Leona Waters for a long time. She bears my scrutiny without a flinch. I don’t like it. At all. But I can tell that she’s not going to bend. I spread my hands in surrender.

  “Fine, Ms. Waters. If I can get my boss to sign off on it, we’ll do it your way.”

  “Call me Leona, Agent Barrett. So”—she leans forward, looking both fierce and excited—“how is this going to work?”

  I am cautiously excited. Leona hasn’t received any exterminator visits, meaning they haven’t done their recon yet. It could happen at any time. Today, tomorrow. I’m convinced it will be soon.

  The dragon thrashes inside me, smelling blood.

  I had spoken to AD Jones, told him what I needed. After a lot of cursing, he agreed. Callie and I are still in Leona’s living room, this time with cups of coffee she has offered us. We’re waiting for the arrival of two agents and two LAPD SWAT officers. All would be arriving at staggered times. We didn’t want to alert the killers if either happened to be watching.

  Leona was in her home office, telling us she needed to answer some e-mail.

  “You know,” Callie says, “I don’t like what she does, but I like Ms. Leona Waters. She’s strong.”

  I give her a crooked smile. “Me too. I wish she didn’t insist on staying. But I have to give it to her. She’s brave and she’s tough.”

  Callie sips from her coffee, thinking. “What do you think our odds are on this?”

  “I don’t know, Callie. I’m certain, after seeing her, that we’re on track. She is on his list. I mean, look at her.” I grimace in disgust. “He probably picked her so he could feel like he was raping and killing me.”

  “It is spooky, honey-love. It could almost make you a believer in the whole doppelgänger thing.”

  My cell phone rings. “Yeah,” I answer.

  Alan’s baritone rumbles in my ear. “Just wanted to give you an update. Gene says DNA is going slower than expected. He’ll have something by ten or so tonight.”

  “We have a hopeful lead here.” I tell him about Leona Waters and the current plan.

  “That could be good news,” he says. “Maybe we’ll catch the fuckers.”

  “Keep your fingers crossed. I’ll keep everyone apprised.” I hang up and check my watch. “Damn. Time went by fast.” I look at Callie. “It’s almost six o’clock.”

  “Time for the evening news,” she responds.

  “Time to piss this psycho off.”

  42

  BRAD LOOKS HANDSOME and serious as he delivers his special report.

  “Many will remember Special Agent Smoky Barrett from an incident last year. A serial killer she was chasing, one Joseph Sands, took her family from her in one brutal evening. She managed to escape but was left with her face disfigured and her family dead. Despite these personal tragedies, she has returned to her job.

  “She is currently tracking a man known only as Jack Jr. He claims to be a direct descendant of Jack the Ripper…”

  He lays out the basics without embellishment. He doesn’t need to embellish. The truth is horrific enough. My face appears near the end of the report as I deliver the shocker about the jar. I look at myself without passion. I am becoming used to my scars. I doubt the viewers feel the same.

  “The FBI i
s warning other women in this profession to take serious precautions.” He rattles off a list we’d given him of precautions we thought they should take. He looks into the camera, dramatic. “Be vigilant and be careful. Your life could be at risk.”

  The segment ends. “He did a good job,” Callie says. “You too, honey-love.”

  “You’re trying to piss him off, aren’t you?”

  The voice comes from behind us. We’d been so engrossed in the report that we hadn’t noticed that Leona had come out from her office.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

  She gives me an admiring smile. “You’re something else, Agent Barrett. If I’d been through what you have…” She shakes her head.

  “I don’t know about that, Leona. You’ve been through a different version of it. You’ve kept going.”

  A knock comes at the door, ending any small talk. Leona tenses up.

  “Stay there,” I murmur to her, pulling my gun.

  I go to the door. “Yes?” I say.

  “Special Agent Barrett? It’s Agents Decker and McCullough, along with two SWAT-team members.”

  I look through the keyhole. I recognize Decker.

  “Hang on,” I say. I open the door, wave them inside.

  As per my instructions, they are dressed in civilian clothes. I note with some amusement that they’re all wearing the same basic outfits: jeans and pullover shirts. Even dressed casually, they manage a vague uniformity. But none of them would be made for law enforcement at a glance.

  “You’ve all been briefed?” I ask when everyone is in the living room.

  A chorus of “Yes, ma’ams.”

  “Good. We’re laying a trap here, gentlemen. Our unsubs have killed twice. They’re sharp—real sharp. They operate with precision: little hesitation, lots of willingness to act. We know their current MO from the prior victims: One of them scouts things out in the guise of being a pest exterminator, and that’s what we’re hoping is going to happen here. Don’t underestimate our unsubs, gentlemen. If one or both pull a knife, it’s not to scare or intimidate—they’ll use it. We need whichever one shows up taken alive so that he can lead us to the other perpetrator.” I indicate Leona Waters. “This is Ms. Waters. We’re certain that he’s selected her as a victim.”

  I see them glance at her. Assessing. One of the SWAT guys is giving her an unprofessional, sexual once-over. I am both mortified and enraged. I step in front of him and jab a finger in his chest, hard enough to leave a bruise. “I expect every one of you to operate at a high level of professionalism. You should know, I asked Ms. Waters to stay somewhere else while we run this op. She refused and has volunteered to be here.” I lean into the officer and let him see just how pissed off I am. I whisper, “If this woman gets hurt because you were thinking with your dick, I’ll fucking eat you alive, understand?”

  To his credit, the officer’s look of apology appears genuine and ungrudging. He nods.

  “What’s the plan, ma’am?” This from Agent Decker, bringing us back to the business at hand.

  I push away my anger. “We’re going to keep it simple. One on the roof. One outside the elevator. Two in here with myself and Agent Thorne. The guy on the roof will alert us to anyone coming in from the street. Elevator guy will be able to confirm whether or not that same person exits onto this floor. Those inside are here for the takedown. You have the equipment we’ll need?” I ask Decker.

  “Yes, ma’am. Earpieces and throat mikes. Weapons.”

  “Including a sniper rifle for the roof work,” says one of the SWAT officers.

  I nod. “Good. I want to stress: It’s important that you don’t draw attention to yourself. We have evidence that one or both of our unsubs has been tailing me. If either of them suspects anything, they’ll bolt.” I look at each of them. “Any questions?”

  They all say no. “Get in position then. Stay alert, but settle in for a long wait.”

  43

  THIS, I THINK, is indicative of this job I do. It causes my life to be governed by outside influences, to race toward sudden leads. The irony isn’t lost on me. I hate to be forced to do anything, yet I have chosen a profession that does just that on a regular basis. When you are hunting a killer, there is no schedule. The timetable is simple: The longer he is out there, the higher the death count climbs. You go until he’s caught.

  So I find myself here, sitting in the apartment of a woman who displays her sexual adventures for a living, willing to wait as long as needed in the hopes that either Jack Jr. or his partner will show.

  I look over at Callie. She is sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, watching a talk show on TV with Leona while both of them eat popcorn. This is one of the traits Callie has that I love and admire. She can live in the moment, relaxed, and yet spring into action like a whip crack. It’s a talent I have never had.

  I look at my watch. It’s now nine-thirty. I check in with the SWAT officer on the roof, who I now know as Bob. “Anything anomalous, Bob?”

  His voice crackles in my ear. “Not yet, ma’am.”

  I cock an ear, eavesdropping on the conversation between Callie and Leona.

  “Let me ask you this, honey-love. What happens when you decide you want a man in your life again?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you change the lifestyle you’re living?”

  Leona ponders this. “It would depend. Lots of people meet in nonmonogamous settings. The odds are against it, but it does happen. I suppose if I didn’t find that, I’d have to wait until I decided to quit before I went looking. I made a promise that I’d never make a huge and sweeping change of my life for a man. Never again.”

  “Interesting subset of problems though, don’t you think?”

  “It’s unique to the lifestyle I follow, that’s for sure.”

  I tune them out. Callie has a voracious interest in what makes others tick. She always has.

  This is the schedule. The way it goes. And not just here. Everyone is still working back at the office. Everyone shares the burden and the responsibility. Everyone will share the guilt if he kills again before we catch him.

  Bob’s voice crackles in my ear, pulling me away from my boredom and musings. “Male, about six feet tall with dark hair, entering the building. Dressed in some kind of uniform. I can’t make it out.”

  “Copy that,” the guy at the elevator—Dylan—replies.

  I look around at Callie and Agents Decker and McCullough. They nod, letting me know they’ve heard. Moments pass.

  “Male matching that description just exited the elevator, heading toward the apartment,” Dylan reports. “I confirm uniform, say again, I confirm he is in the uniform of a pest-extermination company.”

  “Copy that,” I say. My heart pounds, and the dragon stirs, excited. “Stay where you are to block possible escape, Dylan.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Bob, I’ll let you know if he gets past us. I may call on you to take a shot.”

  “Copy that. I’m cocked and locked.”

  I look at Leona. “It’s him.”

  She nods. She looks excited, wired. She doesn’t, I notice, look afraid.

  A knock comes on the door. I motion to Leona. She walks up to the door and looks through the peephole, one last double-check. Turns to me and shakes her head. She doesn’t know him. I give her a nod.

  “Who is it?” she asks.

  “ABC Exterminators, ma’am. Sorry for the late hour, but the building owner called us out on an emergency basis. Something about rats. I need to come in and check out your place. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “Um…okay. Hold on a moment.”

  She looks back at me. I motion her into her bedroom. I pull my weapon, as do Callie, Decker, and McCullough. I hold up a hand, giving a three-count on my fingers. One…two…on three, I throw the door open wide.

  “FBI!” I yell. “FREEZE!”

  My gun is about two feet from his face. I get a good look at his eyes
and see the emptiness I’d been imagining. He drops the clipboard he was carrying and raises his hands above his head.

  “Don’t shoot!” he says. He sounds startled, the way you should with a gun in your face, but something in me feels uneasy, because his eyes aren’t startled at all. They are busy. Looking, weighing, thinking.

  “Do not move,” I say. “Put your hands behind your head, and get down on your knees!”

  He fixes his gaze on me, licks his lips. “Whatever you say…Smoky.”

  I have a millisecond to be alarmed at his use of my name. He moves like a savage wind, stepping first to one side and then straight into me. His hands move in separate directions, one pushing my gun aside, the other slamming into my face. I am flying backward, seeing stars, and the millisecond passes.

  I land on my back on the floor and struggle to get up. I’ve managed to hold on to my gun.

  He is still moving, some kind of ultrapractical form of martial arts, all power and uniformly devastating. As with me, he moves into his targets, and all his punches and kicks are short and brutal. It’s not flowery, but it’s effective. I watch as Agent Decker gets elbowed in the jaw, note with dizzy interest that two of his teeth don’t just fall out, they shoot out, like two bullets, and then I hear Callie, cold as ice, saying, “Move, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  Everything that had been in motion becomes still. Suspended. Because Callie now has her gun at his forehead. His eyes dart around in rage and then he is being body-tackled by Agent McCullough, and by Dylan as well, who’s arrived from the elevator lobby to join in on the fun.

  I register that I am bleeding, and that I am dizzy. Very dizzy.

  “Honey-love, are you all right?”

  I stand up, staggering. “I’m fine—”

  And then I fall back down. I don’t pass out, but I sit straight down on my ass.

  The perp is screaming at me. “You stupid whore! Useless cow! You think this means anything? This means nothing! Nothing! I’ll still—”