Angel Killer (29 page)

“Gerald and Jennifer are doing a search of IP traffic in that area. We’re going to search for satellite signals too. Do us a favor and set up a laptop with a wi-fi card near the gate as well. We’ll give you some software to install.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER
Ailes calls back. His team has got a map of all the Internet connections in the area. The FBI field office has a cellular sniffer to use as well, so we can monitor any signals sent over EDGE, 3G, 4G and LTE.

Using a periscope, a tactical unit spots three video cameras on the building. Two of them are aimed at the front gate. We can’t find one on the street, so that’s some relief. He’d probably get too many false positives out here every time a car drove by.

“I think we got it, Blackwood,” Ailes says. “We found three computers on the network. One is controlling the cameras and motion sensors. The second seems to just be sitting there as a backup.”

“What about the third?” I ask.

“We’re working on it. We’re doing a port scan. It seems to be plugged into several control circuits. Not cameras or other sensors. The kind of thing that would turn on your sprinklers at home.”

“A fire suppression system?”

“We don’t know. We can temporarily block outbound signals to all of them and interrupt the feed. But I can’t shut it down for good.”

“We’ll have to just make do.”

“I can guarantee you ten minutes of blackout. After that, he’ll know something is up if he’s half as smart as we think he is,” says Ailes.

I turn to Shannon. “It should just be you, me and Danielle. We need a small team. If something goes wrong, I don’t want anybody else in harm’s way.”

“I agree.” Shannon turns to explain the situation to the rest of the team.

Danielle pats me on the back, feeling for my body armor. “Just checking.”

I think about her family. “You know, you don’t have to go in there.”

She gives me a smile. “Three pairs of eyes are better than two. And besides, don’t you think it’s time the girls run the show?”

Having her with me makes me feel better. She’s smart and very observant. Knoll insisted she come along because there are no better field forensic technicians in the bureau.

Once we’re all set, Shannon gives me the thumbs-up.

“Are we a go, Dr. Ailes?” I ask.

“Blackout in three . . . two . . . one . . . Go!” he replies.

Y
OU NEVER KNOW
who or what is on the other side of a door. A routine stop for me as a rookie cop ended up getting me kicked down a flight of stairs and my nose broken. Some might say that’s getting off easy. The Warlock is capable of anything.

It’s a junkyard. But we already knew that from the air. On the ground the piles of crushed vehicles and machinery take on a different meaning. I see three broken-down yellow taxi vans in a heap. Danielle taps me on the shoulder and points to a pile of wings and small airplane fuselages. In another section is a carved-open city bus.

Shannon steps over a huge steel wheel that belongs to a locomotive. Everywhere we look we see things that could have been used in trial runs for what the Warlock has done before. Or they could just be junk. A thousand other salvage yards in this country could have the same broken-down vehicles and parts. Their presence here means nothing.

We walk around a metal building with open sides. A heavy winch sits in the middle with an engine block dangling from the chains. It swings slowly in the wind. The creaking of metal is unsettling in the quiet yard.

Just beyond the shed lies the fuselage for a 757 passenger jet. The tail section has been cut cleanly off. The wings are nowhere to be found. It resembles the aftermath of a plane crash.

We steal glances at each other, acknowledging how fucked up this all is.

Danielle has a video camera in her hands to record everything. She scans the piles of broken machinery and debris. The large main building stands before us. Rust-colored steel walls support a slightly pitched roof. There are two massive rollup doors and three smaller ones on the front. Off to the side is a doorway. Shannon heads toward it.

“Wait,” I whisper. “I don’t think we want to go through there.”

“I was just going to have a look through the window. Legally, I don’t think we can go inside,” he replies.

Danielle and I exchange glances. “Do you see a water meter on the outside?”

“I’m sure we will if we walk around the back,” he replies.

“I didn’t hear that.”

Shannon shakes his head. “We can’t play that game, Blackwood. There are rules.”

“I agree. The county DA said we could search the premises for the meter.”

Shannon is intent on being even more rigid than just by-the-book. “I don’t think he meant inside.”

“Wait,” says Danielle. She pulls out her phone and types something. A few seconds later her phone buzzes with an instant message. She looks back up at us. “We’re good to go.”

“How’s that?” asks Shannon.

Danielle points to the airplane missing its tail section. “No aircraft numbers and improper storage. That’s a violation of FAA regulations and a federal offense.”

“You can’t be serious,” says Shannon.

“I just texted my husband. He’s a lawyer for the FAA. We’re acting with their blessing now too. Any more questions?”

She gives me a wink. Professionalism keeps me from hugging her.

“Fine. How did the ladies become the macho kick-in-the-door alphas and the man the shrinking violet?” replies Shannon. I can tell he wants to play it safe. He’s not invested in this like Danielle and I.

“It’s a changing world, darlin’,” says Danielle.

“I just hope there’s room for me.” Shannon shoots me a sideways glance. It’s the first time I realize he’s actually threatened by me.

I walk over to the middle of the three smaller rolling doors. “We should go through this one.” I scan the door and frame for any sign that it has been tampered with. There’s a small piece of tape at the lower corner. I point this out to Danielle. “Can you replace that after we come back out?”

“No problem. All the doors have them, by the way.”

The tape is a low-tech way of detecting entry into a building by whoever owns the building. It could belong to a legitimate business for all we know. The taxis and planes are just circumstantial in theory. But my gut tells me this is his place.

Danielle kneels and carefully pulls away the tape in the lower corner using a pair of tweezers. I pick the lock and set it aside. Shannon suppresses a smile at how quickly I manage to get it off. I point to the bottom handle so he can lift the door.

“Glad I can be useful in some capacity,” he groans as he lifts the edge of the door a foot.

I place a cinder block from a heap underneath to keep it open, then lie flat to peer inside the building.

My eyes take a few moments to adjust. Light streaks in through vents in the ceiling. The entire structure appears empty. Shannon and Danielle squat down next to me.

Danielle gets out her flashlight and scans the interior. There are a few benches and tables. Tool chests and machinery lie around, but there’s nothing else inside the cavernous space.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, a giant mechanical tyrannosaur? I wriggle myself into the warehouse. Shannon is about to protest but stops himself short.

I use my flashlight to illuminate the inside. I splash the light around looking for any kind of clue. There’s a small box of a building in the corner, probably an office. I walk over and shine my light inside through a window. There’s a desk, a chair, an outdated calendar on the wall and an unplugged mini fridge in the corner.

Danielle has made her way over to me. “Not the smoking gun we were hoping for?”

I shake my head. “Not enough. No. Not really.”

We walk across the interior of the warehouse while Shannon keeps watch at the door. Danielle looks down at a workbench. Pliers, hammers and drills sit on top of it among piles of metal shavings.

“This could be his workshop,” says Danielle. She spins her beam around, hoping it hits something. “What were we expecting?” she asks rhetorically.

I aim my light at the floor and walk toward the back, searching. For what? Blood? Photographs of Times Square? A wall covered with clues and pieces of string linking all the crimes together?

“Five minutes,” comes Ailes’s voice over my earpiece. We have five minutes until the blackout ends and the Warlock knows we’re here—assuming this is really his place. But is it?

We’re only here because of the clue Damian sent me. Everything outside is suspicious, but not conclusive. Did he send us down a blind alley? On the surface it was a pretty good guess, but that’s the extent of it.

“Has your mystery friend ever been wrong?” asks Danielle.

“No. Never.” My voice is defensive.

“I don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s right in front of us and we’re too dumb to see . . .”

I turn around. Danielle is staring at the concrete floor.

“Well, aren’t we two silly geese. Walking all over it,” she replies.

It’s the markings. Stripes of white paint for crosswalks and streets. Gray outlines. Even the manhole cover has been painted in.

We’re standing in the middle of Times Square.

M
Y GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE
in the Hollywood Hills had a theater in the basement. He would put on private shows there occasionally, but its real purpose was for rehearsing. The entire back wall was covered with curtains; when you lowered them, they revealed a wall of mirrors in which you could watch yourself performing.

When my father and I would drive there from our Venice Beach apartment to visit Grandfather several times a week, I would leave them in the library and sneak down into the theater to play. The whole place smelled of dust and cigar smoke.

Without the lights on, the only illumination came from an ancient exit sign powered by a dim bulb. I’d push the musty crimson velvet curtains back and stand in the middle of the stage. If I gazed out across the upholstered seats I could see a faraway girl who looked just like me.

We’d dance together in the red light and take turns racing back and forth on our stages, trying to see who could make it to the other side first. I’m not sure it was always a tie.

Sometimes I’d sit on the edge of the stage and just stare across the theater talking to the other girl. I’d ask her questions about her life. Surprisingly like my own, but with some differences.

She lived in the mountains north of there. She went to a friendlier school and had brothers and sisters. The biggest difference of all was that she knew her mother. Hers never ran off, too young and too unprepared for handling a child.

The girl on the other side of the mirror talked to her mother every day. And they looked exactly alike. When she grew up she wanted to be just like her mother. “A magician?” I would ask.

She shook her head and said magic was the furthest thing from her mother’s mind. “She helps people. She helps little girls in trouble. She’s the bravest person in the world.”

As I grew older I tried to understand what my visits there meant. Embarrassed as I was of my overactive imagination, I understood the need for a space where your mind could see the impossible and could tell you what’s really deep down inside.

Standing in the Warlock’s play space, it’s an unsettling memory. Alone in the dark, he didn’t imagine a better version of himself. He imagined how he could use his intellect in the most twisted way possible.

Shannon is using swabs on the section of the fake Times Square where the angel appeared, in the hope that we find some traces of blood. Danielle is taking photos of the tire tracks crisscrossing the Times Square layout. He’d must have driven a taxi van back and forth thousands of times to get the timing right. From one end of the building to the other is almost half a city block.

I walk to the far left corner of the warehouse when my nose picks up a musty odor. The concrete comes to an abrupt end where it’s been chipped away. There’s a rough ten-foot square of dirt.

“Three minutes,” says Ailes in our ears, reminding us that time is running out.

I try to make sense of the dirt. What purpose did it serve? In the corner I see where the ground has been disturbed and there are several deep furrows, each as wide as a hand. Exactly as wide as a hand.

My blood runs cold.

This is where Denise died.

He buried her here.

She really did die crawling out of a grave.

“Shannon, get a sample here quick!” We need to see if there’s blood in the dirt. That could be the proof we need to connect the Warlock to her murder.

Shannon comes running with a sample kit and starts scooping up dirt. He knows time is running out, so he doesn’t question me.

Something penetrates the back of my mind. It’s an uneasy feeling. I close my eyes and listen. It’s a humming sound. Danielle notices me concentrating.

“Do you hear that?” I ask. I walk toward the source of the sound and end up standing next to the side wall of the building.

“Something outside?” she asks.

I shake my head. There is nothing on the other side of this wall except piles of junk. I look up at the air vent. Faint light streams from outside. It’s supposed to just be a wall, but what if it’s not?

I touch the metal surface. There’s the faint echo of a chamber. There’s something inside. I think he’s built an entire passage here. I walk along the wall trying to find a gap.

“Two minutes,” says Ailes.

“GO!” I shout to Danielle and Shannon. We still have to make it out of the yard.

Shannon grabs his kit and they take off running for the exit. I can’t let this go! I keep trying to find the secret passage. The wall doesn’t want to give up its secret.

Danielle and Shannon reach the door and slide underneath. They look back at me from the gap. I’m not going to make it.

“Ailes, how long before you can pull this trick again? I’m not going to make it out before the cameras turn on!”

“What? Hold on. Twelve hours at the earliest. That’s how often his backups sync. But if you’re in there he’ll see you.”