Covert Reich (24 page)

He smiled sadly. “Infanticide is not as uncommon as you might think. The Chinese kill baby girls all the time. Same in India and parts of Central Asia. And consider the Middle East where baby girls die of exposure and “misbehaving” women are routinely executed. Ask yourself why. Now, ask yourself why the American government would want to kill off babies and mothers. How old were these women?”

“Between thirteen and twenty.”

Julio nodded. “Street kids?”

“I believe so.”

“Minorities?” he asked.

“Yes. One Hispanic. The other two were African-American. I don’t know about the woman from today.”

“Is this happening in other hospitals?”

“I don’t know,” she replied.

Julio stood and started pacing. “Tax payers are paying a lot of money into the system. They’re not happy about it. Many average Americans view girls like these girls as charity cases at best, dead weight at worst. Our government is in a lot of debt. Maybe eliminating some of the “lesser thans,” the uneducated, welfare folks, and some tax payers—probably the wealthy who support campaigns and such—are happier.” He sighed heavily and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned to her. “I’ve got another idea.”

“What?” she asked.

“I need to take you somewhere.” He grabbed a coat from the front closet and handed it to her. “It’s cold. I know it’s going to be big on you, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Okay.” The intensity in Julio’s voice made her curious and a bit fearful, but she followed him to the door and outside.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Pazzini
was at a loss. He could not believe what had happened. When Simmons called him and told him Kelly had gone missing and that he’d last seen her when she was being chased by some thugs, he’d pretty much lost it.

One of the suspects wound up dead after a car hit him—some loser named Thomas Martin. Not much info about the guy yet. All Simmons turned up was that he lived in Studio City, drove a silver Mercedes sedan—which the police had confiscated—and he kept to himself according to the neighbors. No prior record. No job they could track him to. It was all very strange and spoke of a man who worked for someone with a lot of money and knew how to keep a low profile. Common criminals didn’t drive around hundred thousand dollar cars, live in a decent house, and not have any connections, any job known to anyone. No way. Whoever this Thomas Martin was, he had been after Kelly along with a couple of other men. Hired guns. But why?

Simmons handed him a fresh cup of coffee. He shook his head. After Tony chewed his ass out royally, Simmons was obviously walking on egg shells. “Hey man, I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what happened. One minute I’m in the waiting room with a group of parents, you know, knowing I gotta grab some lunch soon with the doc. The next minute I’m getting a call from someone saying he’s a doctor in Long Beach and my sister’s been in an accident with her new husband. I couldn’t hear the guy real well, so I stepped out for a minute.”

“Apparently that’s all they needed.” He took the coffee from Simmons. He was trying to ease off the guy. His anger had tempered some over the past few hours since Kelly had gone missing. “I know you didn’t do any of this on purpose, but it’s obvious the doc is in some real danger. The fact that she hasn’t called me makes me wonder…”

Simmons nodded. “We will find her.”

“Yeah.
I don’t know who or why anyone is after her.” Pazzini thought about Kelly’s theories. Maybe she had really been on to something. After speaking with Rosa Gonzales, Pazzini was pretty much convinced somehow Lupe’s death and possibly the deaths of the other girls were linked to Jake Hamilton’s murder.

Damn. Where was Kelly? The last place she’d been seen was dashing into a parking garage next to the hospital. But the police had combed through the area with no luck.

Simmons phone rang. A minute later he hung up and said, “We got the video surveillance from the garage. Want to take a look?”

“Absolutely.”

They went into the viewing room and sat through about thirty minutes of tape, narrowing it down to the approximate time Kelly had been in the area. Pazzini stood and leaned in close to the screen when he spotted her jumping inside a white Mercedes. “Bingo!” He rolled back the tape and enhanced it so he could read the license plate number.

“I’ll run the plates,” Simmons said.

Moments later, he came back with the information on the car—a Mrs. Carla Hopkins of Bel Air. Forty-five minutes later, they were seated inside Mrs. Hopkins garishly decorated mansion showing her a photo of Kelly. Carla Hopkins wore what appeared to be a kimono-style silk robe and a pair of red, heeled slippers. She held a martini glass in one hand.

“I certainly didn’t take her for a criminal,” Carla Hopkins remarked in a long, slow drawl. She offered them a drink, which they refused.

“She isn’t,” Pazzini replied. “But she is in trouble and we want to protect her.”

Mrs. Hopkins looked at them suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yes, really, ma’am,” Simmons chimed in.

Carla told them she’d dropped Kelly off at Burbank airport.

Once back at the police station, they had finally been able to get a hold of the various flight manifestos. They eventually found the one Kelly had been on…to SFO.

Pazzini
shook his head. “She could be anywhere up there. Have we gotten any hits off of her cell phone or her ATM and credit cards?”

“I’m still working on it,” Simmons said. “Let me give Patty a call and see if she’s come up with anything.”

Simmons called Patty O’ Brien, their records and surveillance specialist, to see if she had learned anything. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to Tony.

 “Looks like she made one phone call after landing in S.F.”

“To who?”

“Eric Sorensen. He’s an RN at County and he works in the NICU. O’Brien already checked and he lives off of La Cienega.”

“Let’s pay Mr. Sorensen a visit.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

Ryan was done with this sitting duck bullshit. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to take the chance and get to his family. Jeanine had now had enough time to contact Georgia Michaels and hopefully the savvy reporter had done her due diligence and by the end of today, he would hopefully wind up in the arms of his wife.

He left the motel and headed to the train station. Ryan berated himself again, realizing how selfish it had been to send Jeanine by herself with the kids. In reality, he should have told her he wanted a divorce, let her go live a life with their daughters without ever knowing the truth. It would have possibly been the only way to keep them safe.

He continued to keep his head low and glanced occasionally over his shoulder, making sure he hadn’t attracted any interest. So far, so good as he traveled the three blocks to the train station. He purchased a ticket to London. Heathrow was a major hub and a huge airport. The vast expanse might allow him extra time to get out of Europe.

Once aboard the train, he sat down and looked around. Again, no one seemed interested in him in the least. Maybe he would get away with this after all. Maybe he would get to the states and expose these bastards. Maybe the day would simply be one of safe travels.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Mark found Eric’s apartment without a problem. The jerk was listed! He shook his head. Who still listed themselves publically anymore? Whatever. Made his job easier.

The nurse lived off of La Cienega near the Beverly Center. Nice digs. Outside was all Euro-style or whatever the hell rich folks called it. Who knew nurses made such decent cash? Because of the location and the fact that the nurse lived in such a quaint place, Mark knew he would have to be smart, careful. He checked his watch. A little after eleven. Perfect. Everyone should be tucked in bed and those who weren’t were either watching late night TV or getting a piece of ass.

Now wouldn’t that be interesting if Nurse Eric had a bed buddy? That would so not be good. Especially considering he suspected Nurse Eric of having a thing for guys. The last thing Mark needed was a confrontation with two dudes…especially if they were in the buff. He grimaced distastefully.

The gate at the front entrance was locked, but that wasn’t a problem for him. Mark took a quick look around, keeping his head down. There were likely surveillance cameras, so he had to make sure he could get the locked picked quickly so it appeared as if he were a resident simply having a hard time opening the gate. It was easier than he’d imagined…open in under one minute. “That was easy,” he muttered.

Mark passed by the pool and hot tub. There were a couple of late nighters fooling around in the Jacuzzi. He wanted to yell, “Get a room!” but decided against it.

He quickly found the stairwell and climbed the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor. Not even remotely winded. His workouts had been paying off. He smiled.

Two minutes later he was at the nurse’s front door. To knock or not? NOT!

Two minutes more and he was inside the nurse’s darkened apartment. Ah good boy. He was in bed.

There was a night light on in the hall. The place was pretty good sized for an apartment in L.A. But not so big that it was hard to find the bedroom.

“Hello?”

The nurse had heard him. Mark stayed perfectly still next to a bookcase. Then he heard, “Must be the kitty. Here Stevie! Here kitty, kitty. Shit. Maybe I should have left you at Kelly’s.”

A-ha! So he had the doc’s stupid cat. He purposely took a coin from his jeans pocket and tossed it onto the tile flooring. He needed to rouse his victim.

“Dammit, Stevie.
Come on. Where are you!?”

The light went on in the nurse’s bedroom.

And then he got up.

Nurse Eric walked into the family room and Mark grabbed him around the neck from behind, shoving a knife underneath his throat. “Hey Nurse Eric.”

Eric grunted.

“Surprise!
It’s not Stevie T. But since you have the doc’s cat, I think you know where Dr. Morales is hiding. Tell me or I will slice your throat.”

“Fuck you,” the nurse said.

“Not nice. Play nice and tell me where she is, and I’ll let you live.”

Without further comment, the nurse brought his hands up to Mark’s arm and pulled down hard. Mark lost his grip on Nurse Eric. Who knew the fucker was so strong?!

Mark stumbled back into the bookcase. The only light was the dim one coming from the bedroom.

Mark lunged at the nurse with the knife and he knew he’d hit something good because the man yelled out and lurched to the side. He wobbled a bit and Mark went in for the kill, but the nurse stood straight and threw all of his weight against Mark who fell back hard and down onto a glass coffee table, shattering it on impact.

Mark felt a sharp, horrible pain slice through his chest. He grabbed a piece of glass and swung it at the nurse. His aim was off but he hit pay dirt when he felt the glass connect with skin somewhere on the man’s body. The nurse went down. Mark was sure with all the commotion someone had already called the cops. He didn’t think leaving through the front door was a good idea. And he was really hurt…he could feel the blood dripping from his side.

Mark spotted a sliding glass door across the room and headed for it, limping as quickly as he could. The nurse was on the ground, moaning. Mark unlocked the door and went out onto the balcony. He didn’t know if he could make the jump. Two stories? It was worth a try. He wasn’t going down without a fight.

He could hear someone pounding at Eric’s front door, and that’s when Mark took a chance and leapt off of the balcony.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Julio was silent as they walked down Castro and up to Market. Kelly, usually assertive and questioning, remained silent too. They their destination ten minutes after leaving Julio’s place. A group of people milled around holding up signs, many of them yelling. Kelly realized it was a protest against gay rights. “You think they’d pick a more receptive venue.” Julio smiled sadly. “But every day you can find these bigots here in front of this church.”

Kelly glanced at the church door with a large, rainbow flag hanging in front of it. She took note of the small cluster of people carrying signs with things like, “Burn in hell, Fag” and “Homosexuality is a lie. You have forsaken the Lord. Romans 1:18-31” or “Faggots are the Devil’s spawn” written on them. She was astounded by the hatred from so-called Christians. She’d never been a huge church-goer but even she knew Christ spent a lot of time preaching about loving others without judgement. So where did these people get off?

She looked over at Julio. Why had he brought her here? What did this have to do with Jake or dead girls?

Julio took her hand and squeezed. “Can you feel the negative energy? The hatred?”

“Yes.”

“It’s negative to us but to many, it’s intoxicating. Addictive. It has a malicious charm in and of itself.”

“They remind me of the Nazi collaborators in old newsreels, burning books and smashing the windows of Jewish shopkeepers.”

“Yes,” Julio said with cold contempt, “many Nazis considered themselves
good
Christians, too. At one time, Hitler was even a Catholic seminarian. He was always careful never to displease the Vatican, which signed a peace agreement with him, and even helped prominent Nazis like Klaus Barbie escape Europe after the war.”

She looked at the group of people again. “Their signs certainly quote the Bible a lot.”

“Of course.
Quoting scripture allows them to justify their hatred,” Julio answered. “But it’s no different than what white America did during the civil war. People just like these carried signs quoting chapter and verse to prove the Bible sanctioned slavery, and that Africans—being the descendants of Ham—were an inferior race. The bottom line, millions of people are prepared to kill one another to defend their own prejudices—their God given right to hate. Frankly, it doesn’t matter what country you live in, what religion you follow, what socio-economic background you belong to. Hatred within the human race runs rampant and is an evil I don’t think will ever be contained.”