Chapter 68: Showtime

Rebecca

"Hampton." I answered the phone on the third ring. I would have gotten to it sooner but I was distracted reading a case file. It was just background on one of the cases currently ongoing in the office. I tried to keep up just in case I got called in to assist.

"Special Agent Rebecca Hampton?"

"That's me, who's this."

"Ms. Hampton, this is Sheriff Dobbs with the Fresno County Sheriff's Department. I just got a missing person's call that fits the profile you asked us to watch for."

My heart lurched at the sudden surge of adrenaline. I slapped the folder closed and grabbed for a notepad. "Thank you for calling, Sheriff. What do you have?"

"A young lady by the name of Elizabeth Street didn't come home last night. Actually her car came home but when she didn't show up at breakfast her parents checked her room and she wasn't in it. They called us, and I've got a deputy out on site right now. I'm sure it's probably just routine but I thought I'd better call you just in case. Miss Hampton, is there anything going on we need to know about?"

Fresno. Shit! That was a five hour drive. If I could fly I could be there in three but then I'd have to use a rental.

"Sheriff Dobbs, it is imperative that what I am about to tell you stay under wraps until we are sure. Is your line secure?" I grabbed my cell phone out of the desk and sent a text to Paul. "Grab your bag. It's show time."

"Yes ma'am. I'm calling on my private line in my office with the door closed and I am alone. Is it really that bad?"

"Elizabeth Street is in the top ten on a list of potential targets for a serial case I'm working on. She fits the profile of all three previous targets. Do you have a CS unit in your department?"

"We're not completely in the dark ages here, Agent Hampton, although I usually wouldn't send them out on a missing persons. They're a little busy right at the moment. We had an officer shot last night and they're going over the area."

"That's okay, Sheriff. If it's my boy they wouldn't find anything anyway."

"Excuse me? Agent Hampton, I resent..."

"I'm not trying to belittle your personnel or their abilities, Sheriff, but this guy has killed three times and not left a single piece of physical evidence behind."

"Then how do you know they were even related? I think I'd have heard about something like this going on in my back yard."

"Not likely, the girls were in locations much too far apart to be connected. But the crimes are too identical for it to be coincidence. As to how we know they're connected, I'm not at liberty to discuss that. Hold on a second..." Paul was just coming into the office; he had a small duffle bag over his shoulder. I waved him to a seat. "This may all be nothing, Sheriff, but I need everything you can find out about where this girl was last night. My partner and I are leaving now, call me back with whatever you find out and they'll forward you to my cell phone. If you can spare the time, have your man dust the girl's car. I don't expect him to find anything but you never know when you might get lucky."

"Shit. I'll get you what I can. I'm serious about my CS team being tied up; any chance you can bring someone with you?"

"I'll see if I can get someone over there from Sacramento or San Francisco. Thanks for calling, Sheriff. I know it's a lot to ask, but try to keep a lid on this if you can. If it turns out to not be my guy I don't want to tip him off that we're on to him."

"Anything else?" he asked in voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Not unless you've got car I can use. Then I can fly up. Save a couple hours driving time. Otherwise, just call me right away if anything else comes up."

"I'll have a car for you at the airport. Keys will be in the security office."

I was more than a little shocked at the offer. Most locals don't like us poking our noses into their back yards. "Thank you, Sheriff. That's very generous of you. I'll see you in a couple hours."

Rod was standing in my door by the time I hung up. I gave him the run down as I gathered up my necessities and then Paul and I were in the elevator. Eleanor, Rod's secretary and right hand was already on the phone to get us a flight out of Burbank. LAX was geographically closer but you never know what traffic is going to be like around the airport. The 405 is an iffy freeway at the best of times. Burbank is a nice place to fly out of if you can find a flight that meets your needs and don't have a problem boarding the old fashioned way, meaning outdoors rain or shine. Even on a busy day, they got you through security in reasonable time. Parking could be a problem. The airport itself demanded premium rates but there were several places that took advantage of that to offer extra services for comparatively reasonable prices. Just give them your flight information and they would make sure your car was washed and ready when you got back, and shuttle you back and forth, all for a fee that only seemed excessive rather than exorbitant.

We had barely cleared the parking lot when she called with the bad news. No one flies direct from Burbank to Fresno. The best you could get had a stop in San Francisco and estimated flight time of over three hours combined, plus a layover. Out of LAX, United could have us on the ground in just over an hour flight time plus taxi at both ends. She gave us the terminal and gate information and said she would have someone meet us at the curb to take us through.

We made the plane with ten minutes to spare. Two uniforms met us at the curb. I left my keys in the ignition, grabbed my travel bag from the trunk and followed the other uniform through the terminal. I called Rod and told him we were airborne and my phone would be off.

LA to Fresno in June is bit of a traumatic climate change. LAX is right on the coast. The temperature difference alone was over thirty degrees. And there is a big difference between a breeze coming in off the ocean and a city landlocked by agriculture. I felt like I was melting before we got to the car but there was no place for the sweat to go with the extra humidity.

Eleanor had called Sheriff Dobbs with the flight information. I was surprised to find him waiting at the gate for us when we landed. I was also surprised to find that Dobbs was a fifty-ish man in excellent shape. The name and voice had conjured up the image of an overweight country stooge waiting for his retirement. A lot of top brass wore suits. Dobbs wore the uniform and it was obvious he wore it proudly. He looked like he just stepped off a beat somewhere to meet us. I shook his hand and introduced Paul.

"I'm surprised to see you here in person, Sheriff."

"You asked me to keep this quiet. If I have to explain to a uniform why he had to pick up the FBI at the airport, how long do you think it would take to get out?"

"I see your point. Have I missed anything important while I was in the air?"

"Parents say she went out with friends last night, said she'd be home by midnight or call. She's always been good about being home when she said so they didn't think anything of it. Her car was in the driveway when they got up. She runs in the mornings so she gets up early. She was supposed to be to work at eight o'clock this morning and when she hadn't shown up by six thirty they started to worry. She runs parts for one of the local shops and she dresses up to thrill the mechanics. Only parts girl I ever heard of that makes tips. Anyway, her mom knocked on her door and when she didn't answer she looked inside. The bed hadn't been slept in so she called us. I left instructions with the department that I was to be personally notified of any and all missing persons calls until further notice."

"Didn't they want to know why?"

He smiled. "Of course they did. Fortunately around here, 'because I said so' still means something." He laughed. "Assholes called me on a missing dog and emailed on a cat that missed his bedtime."

"Sounds like you run a pretty tight ship here, Dobbs. You're a credit to the uniform."

"Thank you. CS says they'll have someone free by the time we get there. I've taped off the whole house and yard until you get there. We cleared a path in and out through the neighbor's yard to their back door. No one in or out any other way, until you say so."

"Do the other Sheriffs know you play nice with feebies?" Paul asked.

"Fuck 'em. We're all on the same team. I don't care who makes the big plays as long as we win. Be a shame if this girl died because I was worried about you hurting my feelings. You're in the Black Marquis. There's a light in the glove box, but I imagine you don't want to draw a crowd if we can avoid it. I'll lead you in. Key's on the visor."

We arrived at the house shortly after 1:00. Not bad considering I'd only known about the case for four hours. The girl had been missing less than 24 and I was already at the crime scene. I had to wonder how much different the world would be if every missing persons case got this kind of attention. It was a nice quiet neighborhood. The lawns all nicely mowed and struggling not to turn brown in the summer heat. The houses ran in three or four different floor plans and almost every yard had at least one good sized tree in it; a planned community that had grown up. Even money said there was a park not more than a couple blocks away. The house across the street had a real estate sign in the front yard proclaiming its availability. A cable van was parked down the street and the driver was on a ladder checking connections.

A dark skinned woman with arms bigger than Dobbs's, hair cut short, wearing 'cop glasses' and carrying what looked like a tackle box walked towards us as we came up the sidewalk.

"Sheriff," she said.

"Good afternoon, Helen. Sorry to pile on the work today. This is kind of a special case. This is Special Agent Hampton of the FBI and her partner, Agent Freeman. You will be working directly with them on this case. You are at their disposal until further notice. Any and all conversations are strictly confidential. You are not to repeat or discuss anything you may hear. Also, Agent Hampton has sole discretion on what is done with anything you collect."

She whistled and said, "That's not going to make Armstrong happy."

"I'll deal with him when the time comes. Agent Hampton, Helen Ford, she's all yours."

"Nice to meet you, Ford. How'd you come out on the shooter?"

She shot a startled glance at Dobbs.

"It's okay, Helen. I don't care about what you tell her, just about what she tells you. I already told her why you were tied up this morning."

"We know where he was, what he was firing, and that he is fucking good with a rifle, other than that we got pretty much nothing. No footprints, no fingerprints, no shell casings, nothing. He might as well have flown in, shot Joey and flown out again."

"Any idea as to why?" I asked. Hey, a cop got shot, a friend of theirs. I wasn't going to blow it off just because it wasn't part of my case. What do you think I am, CIA?

"None," Dobbs answered. "Henderson is new to the force. He hasn't had time to make those kinds of enemies. He was shot while finishing up after a routine traffic stop. Another few seconds they wouldn't have gotten him. He was waiting for a semi to go by before walking out street side to get in his car. Trucker said he suddenly jerked and went down. Driver was a vet. He'd seen men get shot before so he knew what he'd just seen. Slammed on the brakes, stopped the truck between Henderson and his best guess where the shot had come from, then climbed out the passenger side to check on Henderson. Joey was down and not moving. Driver called it in on the car radio. Took the shotgun out of the rack and dragged him behind the car so he could do basic first aid. It was a clean shot, in and out. Soft spot on the shoulder, just missed the collarbone. He was only out because he hit his head when he went down. Driver did what he could then settled in to guard him until help arrived."

"Only one shot?" Paul asked.

"Just the one. I talked to him this morning in the hospital. He said he never heard the shot."

Paul gave me a look and asked where this all took place.

Dobbs looked hard at Paul for a second. "You're not thinking this was a diversion to get to the girl, are you?"

"Just speculation, Sheriff. It may be coincidence. How far away was it?"

"Shit. Four, maybe five miles tops."

"And I'll bet every cop on this side of town burned rubber to get there. What time was it?"

"Eleven thirty," He answered in a voice suddenly hot with anger. "God dammit! Easy's always home by midnight. Fucker shot my boy to get his hands on her. Ford, you didn't hear any of this. You hear me? I hear one word; I'll know where it came from. Let's get to work."

I filed Dobbs's use of Elizabeth's nickname away for future consideration and got to work. We started with the car. It had prints all over it, except on the driver's door. The area where you would normally put your hand to close the door was blank. No prints at all. Ford was good at her work, I'll give her that. She collected several hair samples and a used condom from the back seat. I doubt it would do us any good. Looking at it, it had been there for a very long time. The trunk had the usual tools for changing a tire and a duffle bag with a complete set of toiletries, a complete change of clothes consisting of jeans, t-shirt, socks and two changes of underwear.

We had just closed the trunk when a woman screamed. We all spun in search of the sound when it came again. There was beige Ford Explorer with real estate placards on the doors, and a compact sedan parked across the street. I remembered seeing the two cars pull up but my brain had written them off as normal.

Suddenly the front door burst open and round woman of about fifty came running out. "Help, somebody call the... Sheriff! Sheriff, come quick she's not moving." Ford dropped her collection box and the four of us, guns out, ran across the street. A young woman was ushering a small boy out the front door. If he was her son then he was close to having a baby brother or sister to play with. She bustled the boy out to the car and the two of them got in. He in the back seat; she in the passenger side front. That meant there was at least one more civilian in that building.

The real estate agent intercepted us before we got to the door. "She's in the master bedroom, Sheriff. End of the hall on the right. My client is a paramedic and he says she's alive.

"Anyone else inside?" I asked.

"No one."

I put my gun away. "Better call an ambulance, Dobbs. Ford, go get your toy box and let's see what we can find. How long has the house been empty?"

"About a month. He was killed in Europe while he was on business. They only had the one little boy and she took him with her to her mother's house up in Lodi. We just got the listing a few weeks ago.

We made it through the front door; the entryway was tile. We stopped there and waited for our eyes to adjust to the reduced light before proceeding down the hall. I figured we might as well let the guy know we were coming. "Federal officers. Sir, please do not move. We'll be right there."

We were waiting for Ford to show up with her box and clear us a path to the girl. She handed out rubber gloves and those little paper slip covers for our shoes. "I doubt this is going to do any good, we've already had three adults and a kid roaming through the house. I'd like to talk to the agent before we move and see if we can determine the route they took before we go further."

"Can I come out?"

"Not yet, sir. How's the girl?"

"Seems to be sedated. I've only touched her enough to verify she's okay but it'd have woken her up if she was just a sleep. Besides, I don't see how she could sleep like this."

"What do you mean?"

"She's bound up pretty loosely, but it's still an unnatural position, wouldn't be comfortable. Most people don't sleep well if they're not comfortable. Besides, there's a difference between unconscious and asleep."

He had point there. Unconscious and asleep look very different. It's a subtle difference to be sure, but if you've been around enough, you learn to tell the difference. Experience makes all the difference. You cross a hurdles like that in this business. Like when you can tell a dead body from an unconscious one without checking the pulse.

Dobbs brought in the agent and she pointed out how they had moved around the house. They had started with the kitchen because if the woman doesn't like the kitchen you're not going to sell the house. It's a quick way to qualify your buyer and see if you're wasting your time. The kid had been into everything, opening cabinets, playing with the back door. The kitchen passed inspection and since they were that close she took them out back to see the yard next. Then they came back in and she started down the hall. The master bedroom door had been closed so they did that room last. When she opened the door she found the girl, screamed, and rushed out. That pretty much settled it. They'd tracked over the whole house, including bringing in dirt from the back yard. I could see Ford losing hope as the woman went on. She'd still do her job but there was not much chance she was going to find anything.

"Go ahead and go in, the hallways going to be a total loss by now; the carpeting has had plenty of time to relax and then they all traipsed through. No chance of picking up a residual footprint pattern."

We proceeded down the hall to find a man in his early thirties kneeling next to Elizabeth Street. The girl was lying on her side and it was instantly obvious what he meant. No one sleeps with their arms behind them taped from elbow to wrist. Her shoulders were going to hurt like hell when she woke up. Her legs were taped over her jeans at the knees and ankles. There was more tape over her mouth, but she was breathing easily.

Ford took a couple pictures, then had the man ID any spots he'd touched. More pictures once he was out of the way then she started dusting the tape for prints. Why was I not surprised when she didn't find any? She took a pair of scissors and very carefully cut the tape away, starting with her ankles. She took care to get it off in one piece, working slowly to make sure the surfaces and edges were as intact as possible. She bagged each piece separately for examination in the lab later. Street never moved, not even when she peeled it off of her arms. You ever pull a piece of duct tape off your arm? I'm a tear it off quick kind of girl. Most people are if given a choice. Yeah it stings but it's over quick and then it goes away. Ford peeled it off little by little and my arms hurt just watching it. When she got the piece around her mouth and head she cut it next to the jaw and laid it out so she could try and peel as much of the girls hair free as possible without cutting any of it. The ambulance showed up while she was working on the hair and waited for her to finish. I think one of them knew the girl. He was kind of jumpy and nervous the whole time and kept glancing from her to us.

When Ford had everything she could get, including scrapings from under the girl's nails, she let them take her. Dobbs told the paramedics to tell the hospital that he wanted a full rape kit done. We left Ford to her work and went to tell her parents the good news. They were huddled on the front porch with her younger sister, probably fearing the worst. I was pretty sure we weren't in danger of disturbing anything but I let Dobbs lead us around through the neighbor's yard to the back door anyway.

My head was starting to hurt from all that was going on. I had a gut feeling that this was our guy, but it made no sense. He had taken her in his usual style, no witnesses, no evidence. Yet he had gone out of his way to attract attention. If Paul was right about the shooting, then it really made no sense. Unless... Suddenly I had a bad feeling about this.

Mrs. Street burst into tears and hugged Dobbs when he announced that Elizabeth was alive. The little sister hugged her daddy and I made it a point to ignore the moisture in his eyes.

"She's okay as far as we can tell," Dobbs said. "I'm having her taken to the hospital so they can check her out and keep an eye on her until she wakes up." He glanced at me and I took the cue that it was my turn at bat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Street, is there some place we can talk privately?" I glanced at the little girl. She couldn't be much more than ten. I definitely didn't want her to know what had just happened. If I was right, it no longer mattered if anyone knew we were here, but there was no point in scaring her any more than necessary.

"Molly," Mr. Street said, prying his daughter off of his leg, "why don't you go clean up and then we'll head over to the hospital and pick up Lizzy, okay? Go on. We need to talk to the detectives before we go." When the girl was gone he came back to me. "You're not detectives are you?"

"No sir," I answered, reaching out my hand. "Special Agent Hampton, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Freeman."

"What's going on here, ma'am? Don't get me wrong. I appreciate your being here and everything you've done, but I watch the cop shows and they don't even take a missing persons report until they've been gone for twenty four hours."

"Maybe we should sit down," Mrs. Street offered. We all took chairs around their kitchen table.

"Thank you. The first thing I have to do is ask you not to repeat anything that we are about to discuss. Excuse me," I turned to Dobbs. "Can you put someone with Elizabeth at the hospital; I don't want anyone besides the doctor near her until I talk to her." He nodded and I turned back to the parents. "My partner and I are tracking a very bad person. He has killed three girls that we know of over the last three years. Your daughter fits the profile for his targets."

"How closely?" Mr. Street asked.

"She was in my top ten of potential targets."

He got angry. "Then why the hell wasn't someone protecting her? Why weren't we told?"

"The geographic area that we are watching covers all of California, Arizona, and Nevada, Mr. Street. There aren't enough officers to watch everyone. And in this case watching any of the girls could cost us the trail. The killer is very careful, Mr. Street. If he spotted any of his targets being watched he might pull up stakes and leave and it may be years before we get even this close again. How many more girls are you willing to let him kill to save yours?"

"That is not..." Mrs. Street started.

"I know," I interrupted. "It is not a fair question. But it's reality."

She started to say something else but her husband put his hand on hers and she stopped. "You could have told me. I could have watched out for her."

"And what would you have watched for?" I asked. "What would you have done if you thought someone was after her? How would you have protected her?"

"I was an army Ranger for seventeen years. I can protect my family."

Dobbs spoke up, "We think he shot an officer last night just to distract us."

Street sat up a little straighter at that. "How can you be sure it wasn't a coincidence?"

"We're not sure yet, but from what Ms. Hampton has told me about this guy I think it's pretty likely. Mr. Street, if he shot a cop to distract us, do you think he'd hesitate to do anything at all to you if you got in his way?"