Syd’s a closer, she loves dealing with the clients. Besides, we still haven’t taken a real vacation together.”
“What about Vermont?”
“You mean that first weekend we went away together, two years ago?”
“It counts.”
“It took almost the entire weekend just to get you in my room.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”
“That was only because—” Jake’s call-waiting beeped. He glanced at the number: Syd. “Kelly, my love, I’ve gotta go. Syd’s on the other line, it might be important.”
“Okay.”
She sounded despondent, and Jake’s heart lurched. He hated that after all this time they still hadn’t found a way to be together for more than a few days. “Costa Rica. Think about it.”
“I will. Love you.”
Jake clicked over to Syd’s call. “Please tell me you’ve got something.”
“Who’s your favorite person?”
“Depends. Give me a reason.”
“I got a match on the face.”
“Really?” Jake straightened. “The driver?”
“Yep. The facial recognition software worked. We were lucky the shot was more or less head-on. And let me tell you, getting access to that database was a bitch.”
“I’m sure.” Jake considered asking how she’d done it, then figured he probably didn’t want to know. Infiltrating government databases was definitely frowned upon. “Let me guess. Ukrainian.”
“Not even close. You’re going to love this. Winner of the creepy kidnapper prize of the month is Marcus Krex. ‘Mack’ to his friends.”
“Krex doesn’t sound Eastern European.”
“Give the man a prize!” Syd sounded gleeful, and Jake was glad to hear it. This case had been beating them both up. “Born and bred in Stockton, California. Krex doesn’t even have a passport, he’s never left the country, at least not legally.”
“So the e-mail router was meant to throw us off track.”
“Apparently. But based on his sheet Mack isn’t tech-savvy.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Petty crimes starting as a juvie, graduated to grand theft auto and burglary, closed out his career nicely with a stretch in Corcoran for armed robbery. Paroled less than a year ago.”
“Jesus.” It was nice to finally have a name to go on, but the fact that Madison was snatched by a hardened criminal wasn’t the best news he’d heard all day. At least Krex hadn’t been convicted of a sex crime—thank God for small favors. “How did this guy not qualify for the three strikes law?”
“Grandfathered out. But he will, if he’s caught one more time.”
“Where is he now?”
“Kept his nose clean, as far as I can tell. His parole officer said Krex was coming in every week, passed all the drug tests, seemed to be a model citizen. But he missed last week’s appointment. He’s been so good, the PO didn’t worry. He was going to report him if he missed this week.”
“When’s his appointment?”
“Tomorrow morning, 8:00 a.m. His PO said he’d be happy to sit down and review the case file.”
“I’ll get on the road first thing tomorrow. Who knows, maybe Krex will even show.”
“That would make our lives easier,” Syd said drily. There was a long pause.
“Syd?”
“Yeah, I know you’ve gotta go. I was just wondering. How’s Randall holding up?”
“You talked to him.”
“Right, I did.” She sighed. “I’m shit at this sort of thing.”
“Shocking.” Jake grinned. “Fortunately you’ve got a relationship master like me to ask for advice.”
Syd barked a sharp laugh before asking, “You think we’ll get her back?”
Jake gazed across the landscape. The moon hovered above the buildings, casting them in stark relief. “Maybe. But we’re probably going to need more firepower. If we find out where they’re keeping her, we should call in the cavalry.”
She thought it over. “It might jeopardize the operation.”
“I don’t think we’ll have a choice.”
Jake clicked the phone shut and went back inside. Randall sat at the desk tucked in a corner of the living room, staring in horror at his computer monitor. The tinny speakers played a garbled soundtrack that sounded like pigs squealing.
“Jesus, Doc, what the hell are you watching?” Jake crossed the room in long strides. A video filled the screen. It was a close-up of Madison, eyes wide with terror, head whipping back and forth in torment as she screamed.
Kelly ran a hand through her hair as she hung up the phone. Jake had sounded unusually sketchy ever since he abruptly flew to California. There was no reason for him to stress over business meetings with executives, he thrived on that sort of thing. Then there was his Costa Rica suggestion, a prototypical Jake Riley reaction—when you’re on a bad case, plan a trip. He clearly had no idea how predictable he was.
It bothered her that he felt the need to lie, she’d rather hear that he couldn’t discuss the case. She could respect that, there were certainly details of her work she didn’t share. Lying just fed her doubts. Kelly spent a good chunk of her day getting misled by people, the thought of facing the same at home was unbearable.
After the interview with Emilio, she and Rodriguez had spent a couple of hours going over the files to see if they’d missed anything. At 6:00 p.m. they met with the rest of the task force, who reported that the tip line and canvassing had produced the usual band of loonies and conspiracy theorists. Barring any new developments, they’d charge Psycho and his friends with the Morris murder in the next couple of days. Kelly sent everyone home, figuring they’d earned a good night’s sleep.
At least they were in a decent hotel. She propped the pillows against the headboard and flipped through TV channels. All the local news stations were running elegiac montages of Duke Morris’s career. A former exterminator-turned-public official, there were shots of him holding a rifle at an NRA meeting, glad-handing at a rally, practically spitting into a microphone as he gripped a podium. Kelly had the TV on Mute, but based on his demeanor she guessed he was ranting about his pet issue, immigration reform. Within a day or two something else would shove the Morris story off the national media’s front pages. Arizona would hold out longer, but once arrests were made and the governor appointed a new senator,
