Playing the Game (15 page)

            I looked up and surveyed the several tall buildings that overlooked the station. Although invisible to the naked eye, even with twenty-twenty vision, I knew the SWAT team was in place watching the station, covering our backs. It should have been reassuring but it gave me little comfort. In truth, I thought the chances of Caldwell being here were slim to none.

            We had a couple of minutes before the train was due, which gave us a chance to contemplate what lay in store. ‘How long do you think we’re supposed to be on this train?’ Charlie mused. ‘We must get another instruction from somewhere?’ The question hung in the air whilst I mulled over the possibilities. He was right, I mean, there had to be something on the train to give us our next move. How else were we supposed to progress?

            The train arrived, on time, pulling slowly into the station. As agreed, we stood back until the last minute, watching passengers board and disembark at the platform, watching for anything out of the ordinary. The two undercover officers followed our lead; the business man pausing to look at his cell, the shopper seemingly struggling with her bags. Seeing nothing that caught our eye, we boarded with a few seconds to spare at the rear entrance, our plan being to methodically scout the train over the course of a few minutes. The two undercover officers would strategically station themselves near the front and middle doors, watching as passengers boarded during subsequent stops.

            For the next half an hour or so, we remained vigilant as the train travelled from 14
^th
down to through Lincoln and 4
^th
, then took us along the coastline past Santa Monica Fairway and Victoria. We had walked the length of the train and doubled back to our original position, seeing nothing that warranted further attention; no-one suspicious and nothing that might have communicated our next move.

            ‘We’re just getting jerked around here man’, was Charlie’s summary and I was beginning to think he was right. Either that or we had completely fucked up on The Chemist’s previous message, which I was also beginning to contemplate. We had less than fifteen hours to find Stella and we were standing here on this train doing seemingly nothing constructive to try and find her in time.

            Just as the train left the Maxella stop, just past Venice, the train driver reactivated his intercom.

            ‘Urgent message for Detectives Patton and Holland’, came the voice. ‘Urgent message for Detectives Patton and Holland: Please rendezvous by the lockers at Fisherman’s Village, Marina Del Rey. I repeat, please rendezvous by the lockers at Fisherman’s Village, Marina Del Rey’.

            That stop was about five minutes away. We hurried up the train, needing to ask the driver a couple of quick questions before the stop. As we made our way, we passed the undercover officers; brief eye contact conveying that they should also get off at our stop. We found the driver who identified himself as Mike Livings. He told us that his head office had just radioed the message to him; that was all he could tell us. It would be easy enough for someone to contact the head office posing as someone from the LAPD, needing to get a message to detectives in the field I suppose, and I thought this the most likely scenario. Nevertheless, Charlie contacted Captain Williams again. We would need verification that this had been the case.

            Stopping at Marina Del Rey, it was only a few minutes jog to Fisherman’s Village which is a large man-made harbour; one of the largest in the world in fact. Where to begin with the lockers though? We’d agreed jogging up, that the most likely location was the boat rental and trip departure area, which seemed to be the main focal point for a lot of visitors and tourists.

            As we ran down the gravel paths of the harbour entrance towards our destination, we could see several yachts and boats sailing around the harbour. A couple of school parties were also close to the harbour edge, kayaking and canoeing. The sound of laughter, splashing and the occasional roar as someone capsized or fell off was almost surreal as we arrived at the entrance. The lighthouse, the top of which had only been visible due to our approach level, now became visible in its entirety and it was a breathtaking sight to behold, however momentarily.

            Flashing both our badges, we were granted immediate access, with no questions asked and a girl on one of the ticket windows told us where the lockers were. The two undercover officers followed, albeit at a discreet pace; the shopper had now ditched her bags.

            As we got to the public locker area, we stood for a minute to get our breath back. ‘I gotta get to the gym more often man’, Charlie joked. ‘This running thing’s over-fucking-rated’. I nodded in agreement as we looked around. Nothing suspect caught my eye as we stood and watched; a few people came and went, putting personal items in lockers as they went on their way down to the harbour; a few people returning from a day’s activities, laughing and joking, recounting the day’s highs.

            ‘Any ideas, man?’ Charlie asked. ‘We’re here! We’re rendezvousing!’ I scratched my head; there must be something here, but what? We stood in silence for a good couple of minutes. I’m not sure if we were both thinking, or if we were waiting for something to happen. Suddenly, Charlie broke the silence. ‘Hey man’, he pointed. ‘What about locker 316?’

            ‘We’ve got a key’, we said simultaneously. We’d been through so much in the last few hours that I’d forgotten we had the key at all. So had Charlie, up until now. Just because 316 had held relevance in Stella’s email address, didn’t mean to say it was redundant. And that key had to be for something.

            ‘You know what? I think you could be right there’, I slapped Charlie on the back.

            It only took us a few seconds to locate locker 316. Remembering the bomb that had gone off at Sutherland Boulevard this morning, I felt another shudder go down my spine. I retrieved the key from my pocket and gently slid it into the lock. It fitted. One small turn anti-clockwise and a click of the lock authenticated the key as a match

            ‘Bingo’, Charlie whispered, as with some trepidation, we opened locker 316.

42

            Just as locker 316 was about to be opened, Sarah Caldwell pulled up again outside Belmont High School, barely six feet from where she had parked this morning. It was almost as if she had never been away. It had certainly been a hectic day! Her piercing blue eyes squinted slightly in the sunlight. Even now, after six months, she wasn’t accustomed to seeing so much daylight. A shiver ran down her spine and she smiled, revealing teeth whiter and more even than they had any right to be, given the amount of time she had spent in prison. She was tingling with excitement now; she was here to snatch the grand prize. She was here for Katie Patton. This had always been the time she was going to make her move on Patton’s daughter, that was partly why she had engineered the current game the way she had, to ensure that Patton and Holland were very much otherwise engaged at this specific time. She could always keep Katie stashed, securely and terrified, whilst the current game played out to its conclusion, that was not a problem. No problem at all; in fact she would rather enjoy that. Although she had a very detailed, time-specific plan for each game, her quick brain and natural instinct could adapt it at a seconds notice. She had shown that today when Patton and Holland had left that guy in the car on Sunset Junction. That had been too good an opportunity to pass up. Nevertheless, she couldn’t take any chances here, and had to make extra-sure that Patton would be far, far away from Belmont High School today. Marina Del Rey was far enough.

            Over the years she had come to understand that it is most people’s natural instinct to trust a woman much more implicitly than to trust a man, and she had exploited these beliefs for her own gain numerous times, just as she was about to once again.

            She knew Katie’s route home probably almost as well as Katie herself. She has spent weeks observing, building up Katie’s daily and weekly routine, and she knew that Katie would today leave her two friends at the corner of MacArthur Park at the edge of Westlake and head right on over to the library on the end of 6
^th
Street. This was a particularly quiet stretch of the neighbourhood. Perfect for the intentions The Chemist had in mind.

            Right on cue, she spotted Katie leaving for the day; chatting and laughing with her two best friends. Sarah Caldwell eased the car into first gear, crawling anonymously into the road, sixty yards or so behind her target. Patton had taken her brother away, it was only right she should take his daughter.

            Several minutes later, Katie’s friends departed, like she knew they would. The Chemist checked the time; she knew the library was a five minute walk from here.

            Taking an alternative route, so she wouldn’t be seen by Katie, she sped towards her destination. She would need to be there in less than two minutes, a couple of final touches to prepare.

            She made it of course, as she knew she would, with time to spare. The street was also deserted, which would make it all the easier.

            She spotted Katie in her rear view mirror and, reaching under the passenger seat, pulled out a map of Los Angeles, winding her window down simultaneously. Looking suitably confused, she studied the map; her peripheral vision confirming Katie was getting closer and closer. Then, just as Katie was a couple of yards behind the car, she shook her head vigorously and let out an audible sigh. It seemed as though her heart stopped beating; would Katie take the bait? No reason why she shouldn’t. She imagined she looked like she could pass for the mother of one of Katie’s friends, someone who Katie would trust without thinking.

            ‘Excuse me?’

            Oh she had! How perfect! That would make things so much simpler. Still, The Chemist pretended not to hear.

            ‘Excuse me?’ Katie repeated. ‘Are you lost? Can I help you?’

            ‘Oh’, Sarah turned her head, looking startled. ‘Hey there, honey’, she lifted the map up looking exasperated. ‘Yeah, I’m lost! Husband wanted to give me directions, but I wouldn’t have it!’

            Katie smiled. ‘Where are you going? Maybe I know it?’

            ‘Well I’m looking for El Pollo Loco, it’s a Mexican restaurant. Should have been meeting my husband there twenty minutes ago. My cell’s died too, can’t even call him to give me the directions now’, Caldwell smiled back. ‘Much as I’d hate to admit I was lost’, she added.

            ‘Oh I do know it’, Katie replied, ‘It’s on North Street!’ The look on Sarah’s face was convincingly blank.

            ‘I’m afraid I don’t really know this part of LA very well dear’, she said. ‘Could you show me on the map here?’

            ‘Of course I can’, Katie nodded, ‘No problem’.

            As Katie leant in to the car to point out North Street on the map, Caldwell reached for an innocent looking cloth on the passenger seat. Katie hadn’t been close enough to smell the pungent chloroform that The Chemist had doused the cloth with not two minutes before.

            Perusing the map, Katie could see exactly where North Street was. ‘It’s right there, just past ….’

            Sarah Caldwell dropped the map, and brought her right hand up to keep Katie’s head firmly in place, reaching for the cloth with her left. Bringing it up to Katie’s mouth and nose, Katie tried to struggle but her assailant was too strong, and the chloroform too overpowering. Her body went limp, and Sarah Caldwell was like lightening. She dragged Katie through the window and manoeuvred her into the passenger seat. Reaching into the glove box, she quickly bound Katie’s legs, and tied her hands behind her back, before finally fastening the seatbelt. Now she just looked like a passenger who had fallen asleep. Just perfect!

            Glancing around, the street had remained deserted. Katie’s entire interaction with The Chemist, from conversation to capture, had lasted less then ninety seconds.

            She had done it! She had got Katie Patton. A feeling of immense excitement washed over her like a tidal wave. She couldn’t wait for Patton to find out she had his daughter. Despite all the time she had invested in preparing the current game, she wondered for a minute whether or not she should abandon that game, and start this one straight away. She hadn’t thought of that before, but the excitement of snatching Katie was all consuming. Maybe she should let Detective Patton decide?

            Shifting the car into reverse, The Chemist picked up her cell, complete with voice digitiser, and dialled a number she had memorised long ago.

            ‘Hello, LAPD?’ a voice greeted. How may I direct your call?’

            ‘Detective Patton, please’.

            ‘I’m sorry he’s unavailable at the moment’.

            ‘Patch me through bitch’, The Chemist snapped. ‘He’ll want to take this call, wherever he is. Tell him that The Chemist wants to speak to him again’.

43

Last week

            Telling his editor that he was chasing a big story, actually partially true this time, Britland-Jones descended to the lowest level of the agreed meeting place; the car park in La Cienega. It was extremely dark; the car par lighting offering only a cursory illumination. It was also early enough in the day for the bottom level to be virtually empty which was probably why the Senator had picked it as a meeting place to begin with. Glancing in the mirror as he parked, he noticed how bloodshot his eyes were and he resolved to get a good nights sleep that evening. Conway had told him just to remain parked in the corner furthest from the entrance and that he would find him.

            For twenty minutes, The Bully waited impatiently, swearing that if the Senator failed to turn up, he would forget the arrangement and throw together a quick story about the Senator and his night time activities that would be front page news as quickly as next morning’s early edition. Just as he was about to restart the ignition, having grown tired of waiting, a black Bentley pulled out of the shadows and parked in front of him, blocking his exit. As the electric window glided down silently, Britland-Jones saw the Senator’s stony face. He noted that at least Conway looked like he’d had a similar amount of sleep to himself which was a small consolation.