The First Cut (26 page)

Shortly after the girls were out of the car, Vining pressed forward on her personal summer project. She hesitated then blurted it out.

“Julie, can I speak confidentially? I’m still working through issues from the incident—the attack.”

Julie shot her a glance and waited.

“It’s just…I’m still not sleeping well.”

“I’m amazed you can sleep at all. That murdered policewoman on top of everything else you’re dealing with.”

“Right. I was just wondering…Could you recommend a good therapist, psychologist, whatever?”

“Of course. There’s a woman who has an office in our building. Our doctors refer patients to her. Our biller saw her when she was going through her divorce. I don’t know if she’s taking new patients, but I’d be happy to call for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Again, I hope we can keep this between us.”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t want to scare Emily. She’s been scared enough.”

Julie leveled a gaze at Vining. “Nan, I understand. It’s fine.”

“Thanks.” Vining looked out the window. At least that was over.

“How about that film of the murderers dumping the police officer’s body?”

“Excuse me?” Vining couldn’t believe it. Had the Thorne security film been leaked? She hadn’t had the television or radio on.

“It’s all over the news.” Julie described the film. “It’s awful. Do you think it’s a hoax?”

Vining’s stomach sank. “It’s no hoax.”

“Good Lord. I sure hope you catch them.”

“Yeah.”

Vining got out on Walnut Street alongside the station. She walked to the corner and was about to turn down Garfield when she saw a throng of reporters and TV news vans. She considered dashing back down Walnut, but knew it looked unseemly to be caught running from news cameras. She relaxed. The reporters likely didn’t know who she was or that she was working the Lynde case. Lieutenant Beltran had been the face of the PPD during the Lynde murder investigation.

She squared her shoulders and strode into the mob. She learned their memories were longer than she gave them credit for.

“Detective Vining! Nan Vining!”

Once one sounded the clarion call, the rest swarmed in.

“Detective, what can you tell us about the security tape? Is it a hoax? Was that the woman at the strip club? Are you looking for two people? Do you have any leads? What about the car? Who leaked the film?”

The microphones, cameras, reporters, and their frenetic energy made Vining flash back to the months following the Lonny Velcro shooting. Then, she had only spoken to the media through her attorney. She glanced toward the station and wondered if her team was watching her from the second floor, hiding out until the coast was clear.

Vining muttered “No comment” and “A spokesman will be making a statement.” She kept moving, pushing them aside, until a reporter asked a question that stopped her.

“There’s speculation that whoever killed Officer Lynde might be the same person who attacked you. Is a killer targeting female police officers?”

Vining should have kept going, but took the bait. “I have something to say about that.” She gazed into the camera’s shiny eye. “First, we have no evidence indicating the incidents are related.” She paused and stared into the lens.

You’re out there and you’re going to hear me.

“Second, I have a message for any- and everyone involved. My message is: Keep looking over your shoulder because we’re coming up on you.”

She put up her hand to prevent the woman from again blocking her path and jogged up the station’s front steps. A uniformed officer there kept the media from entering.

Vining was glad to enter the elevator. Someone in street clothes darted inside with her. It was Frank Lynde.

It took her a second to reorient herself. “Frank. Hello. I—”

“Nan how are you?” The words tumbled out without punctuation.

The last time Vining had seen him was the day they’d found Frankie’s body and he’d shown up at the scene. He looked even worse now.

“I’m okay, Frank. How are you doing?”

He moved in a way that conveyed that things were dicey. The buzz cut he’d worn all the years Vining had known him looked freshly trimmed. He had bathed and shaved, but his face bore several razor cuts. His hand wasn’t steady. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy and his skin tone looked as if he’d had too many nights alone with a bottle. He had put on weight over the past couple of years. His posture suggested he had stopped caring.

“You’re not back on duty already?”

“No, no…They gave me time off until after the funeral.” He closed his eyes and smirked. “Found out LAPD’s not giving Frankie a fallen hero’s send-off. They tell me it’s because she wasn’t killed in the line of duty, but I know different. It’s cuz they think she went over to the other side. But they’re sending a wreath and maybe her lieutenant and a commander will stop by.” He smiled, but it wasn’t because he thought it was funny.

“Seven years, Frankie was with LAPD. She busted a lot of heads for them. This is how they repay her—a couple of fucking brass at her funeral and a wreath. And I’m supposed to be grateful. Now they’re showing that thing on TV, with those two dumping Frankie’s body like a sack of garbage.”

“There’s nothing I can say, Frank. It’s horrible.”

The elevator opened and he held out his hand, inviting her to exit first. “Hey, you have a second?”

She didn’t want to be cornered by him but there was no graceful way to turn him down. “Sure.”

He ducked into an empty meeting room. She followed.

“I talked to Frankie’s friend Sharon and she told me all about this Lieutenant Kendall Moore Frankie was seeing. Course Frankie’s aunt Barb had already found out that Frankie was serious with somebody. Frankie never told me anything. We didn’t have that kind of a relationship. But this Moore had something to do with what happened to her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Come on, Nan…That’s the way these things go.”

“You know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation. What did Frankie’s aunt tell you?”

“Frankie came to a family wedding a couple of months ago and my sister Barb asked why she didn’t bring a date. Barb was always on Frankie about getting married and such. Frankie told her she was seeing somebody but wouldn’t say who. She said she’d bring him around soon. My sister asked if it was serious. Frankie said she thought so. Barb said, ‘You think so?’ Frankie said, ‘It’s complicated.’ Barb said, ‘Why? Is he married?’ Then Frankie turned bright red to her toes. Got all indignant. Said, ‘This is why I don’t talk to my family about my life. Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.’ Barb hit the nail on the head. She figured she was hiding him for some reason. He was either married or in jail.

“At the luncheon, I asked Frankie about her boyfriend. Said that Aunt Barbara had told me she was seeing someone. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Frankie was never one to cry, but she looked like she might, so I dropped it. I’m thinking maybe Frankie did something stupid, like threatened to tell the guy’s wife. I don’t know.”

Vining listened sympathetically but did not comment.

“Nan, I want to find out what happened to my daughter.”

“We’ll find out, Frank.”

“That was the last time I saw her, that luncheon. I got my award for twenty-five years of service. Twenty-five years of living by my wits and I couldn’t even ask my daughter what was buggin’ her that day. She couldn’t sit still. Wouldn’t tell me what was going on. Why would she? We hadn’t had a meaningful conversation in years. Maybe never, to tell you the truth.”

“There’s always the coulda woulda shouldas, Frank. Everyone has regrets. Frankie cared about you enough to come out that day to celebrate your achievement. Says a lot.”

He gave himself a second’s respite before resuming his penance. “The autopsy was yesterday.”

She knew what he wanted to know. He would find out soon anyway. “She died when her throat was slit.”

“Sexual abuse?”

“Yes.”

He sucked his teeth and looked away.

“Frank, what are you doing?”

He wiped his eyes.

“Frankie knew you loved her,” she said. “And she loved you. Nothing is…Lots of us have family relationships that aren’t perfect.”

“Lots of us could have tried harder, too. Then they’re gone and there’s no more trying.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Go home and get some rest. And I shouldn’t have to say this, but I will. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He raised his hand, telling her to leave. She left him standing there.

In the Detectives Section, Ruiz buttonholed her. “Walked right into it, didn’t ya, Ivy?”

She at first thought he was talking about her conversation with Frank Lynde. He was talking about her run-in with the media.

“A simple ‘No comment’ wasn’t sufficient?”

“I scraped my shoes before I came up.”

“Where you been, anyway? Having a Starbucks?”

She firmly patted his shoulder, the action calling attention to the several inches in height she had over him. She again restrained herself from patting his head.

“Just talked to your buddy Frank Lynde.”

“He’s here?” That sobered him. “Why didn’t he come in?”

“Left him in a meeting room down the hall.” She pressed her lips together, showing the encounter was not good. “No hero’s funeral for Frankie.”

“He told me yesterday. Poor bastard. He’s never getting over this.”

Kissick passed by, making a clicking noise with his teeth. He had a shoe box under his arm. “Quick meeting in the war room. You look nice. That’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Vining ran her fingers down the necklace.
Her death stones.
“Had it for years.” That was the truth.

He looked ragged. She suspected he’d had little sleep.

She walked into the conference room on the heels of Lieutenant Beltran and Sergeant Early.

Deputy Chief Dwight Lutz was there, as was Commander Vic Santoro, who was in charge of the Special Operations Division that included the Detectives Section. Caspers, Sproul, and Jones were there. A woman Vining didn’t know was also present.

The presence of brass from upstairs showed the pressure to break the case was running downhill. The strain leaped from Early onto her team like an arc of electricity.

Early thumped the table. “Okay, let’s get started. Like to introduce Deputy D.A. Mireya Dunn from the CAPOS, or Crimes Against Police Officers Section. Officers Ray Campos and Aaron Faraday have joined the team. We’ve logged about three thousand leads so far. Thank you Commander Santoro and Deputy Chief Lutz for getting us the extra help and taking care of the O.T. we’re racking up.”

She bowed in their direction.

They nodded in response.

“It seems like the attention of the world is focused on our city,” Early said. “After we finish here, Lieutenant Beltran will make a statement about the Thorne security DVD that’s all over the media. We were going to release it soon anyway, but not doing it on our terms makes us look like we’ve lost control of the investigation. Any theories about how it got out?”

“My guy uptown who enhanced it for us said it never left his sight,” Kissick said. “I believe him.”

Vining said, “Yesterday, when I picked it up from Iris Thorne, the homeowner, she told me someone from her security company had come out to help her copy the sequence onto DVD. My money’s on that guy.”

“We are where we are,” Early said. “Jim, was your guy able to clean up that DVD enough to make out faces or the make or model of that SUV?”

Kissick said, “He improved it but not enough to see the faces or sex of the two suspects. The view of the vehicle is obscured. It’s possibly an SUV but it could be a van. Judging from the builds of the two suspects, they appear to be male and female. The footprint Vining tracked down supports that. Using the model that Forensics made for me and with the help of the manager of the Lady Footlocker over in the mall, I found a match with an athletic shoe.”

The shoe he took from the box had thick soles with a band of bright pink in the middle that matched the synthetic leather trim on top.

Ruiz was droll. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“New Balance Wind Lass, woman’s size seven. It’s a new style, on the market this year. Manufacturer says about fifty thousand have been shipped since January. Retails for a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Sold in athletic shoe specialty shops, high-end department stores, catalogs, and on the Internet. Comes in three colors: orange crush, purple haze, or power pink.”

“Adorable,” Early said.

“This is potentially our Night Stalkers.”

Kissick was referring to the nickname law enforcement had given to the Avia brand athletic shoes that serial killer Richard Ramirez had worn while committing murders in the mid-1980s, leaving behind distinctive footprints.

“We’d be lucky if it is,” Santoro said. “Footprint could belong to someone drinking beer in the arroyo.”

“That’s a possibility.” Kissick returned the shoe to the box. He was struggling to claim a win. “Still, it doesn’t leave this room. We don’t want Lolita getting rid of her shoes like the Night Stalker did. After the media got word, Ramirez threw his shoes off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“We can state with a fair degree of confidence that we’re looking for a male and a female,” Beltran said. “What else does our suspect profile look like as of today?”

Kissick took it. “The female’s is based on the woman Frankie was seen with at the strip club. Caucasian. Approximately five feet five inches tall. One hundred ten pounds. Eye color unknown. Hair color unknown. Twenty-five to thirty years old. Our male suspect is easily six feet, judging from how he measures up to Lolita in the security DVD. Medium build. One hundred eighty pounds. Race unknown. Hair and eye color unknown. Making an educated guess, I’d say he’s anywhere from twenty-five to fifty. He has plenty of money. And he recently lost a crown off a molar.”

Early turned to Ruiz. “Tony, any progress on the dental crown?”

“It’s another needle in a haystack scenario, like the strip club limo. The crown may be as unique as a fingerprint but there’s no dental crown registry to run it through.”