Hush Little Baby (3 page)

Yoko pulled into the first motel she saw. The sign outside said the Lucky Star, but the place didn’t look particularly lucky. The letters on the sign were picked out in red, white and blue, the colours muted by road grime, and the squat two-storey building had faded from white to grey. Too much concrete and not a hint of greenery. She parked in an empty slot outside reception and killed the engine.

Winter looked at the motel building, then looked at Yoko. ‘No offence, but if you’ve got some weird Mrs Robinson fantasy thing going on, I’m going to have to take a rain check.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

Yoko got out of the car and headed for the sidewalk. She heard Winter’s door open then close, heard the patter of his hurried feet on concrete. He caught up with her and they walked into the reception area. The inside of the building looked better than the outside, which gave Yoko hope. If this area was okay, then maybe the rooms would be okay, too. The fake-marble tiles on the floor were arranged in diamond patterns and the desk was laminated with beech. A chunky old-fashioned computer monitor sat on top of the desk next to a rack of leaflets advertising the local tourist attractions.

‘I thought we were going to the police department’s HQ,’ said Winter.

‘There’s something we need to do first.’

‘What?’

Yoko answered with an enigmatic smile.

‘Why have I got a bad feeling about this?’

The girl behind the desk couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. Her lank, greasy brown hair fell to her shoulders and there were braces on her teeth. She gave off a vibe like she’d already given up on life. Given her age and the size of the motel, Yoko was betting she was the daughter of whoever owned this place. The girl closed the gossip magazine she was reading and put it down. She got up from her chair and came over.

‘Help you?’

‘Two rooms, please. And I’d like them next door to one another. First floor, if possible.’

The girl pecked at the computer keyboard with her index fingers, eyes fixed on the screen. Yoko wanted Winter on as short a leash as possible. Another thing she remembered from their last meeting was how unpredictable he was.

‘Six and seven are empty. They’re on the first floor.’

‘Great. We’ll take them.’

Five minutes later they were back in the car, driving the short distance to the rooms. Yoko parked in a slot that had a faded white 6 marked on it, got out and went around to the trunk. She popped the lid and waited. Winter glanced in the trunk, then looked at her.

‘What did your last slave die of?’

‘Just take the suitcase inside for me, please.’

He snapped off a lazy salute and heaved the case out. The way he grunted he clearly wasn’t expecting it to be so heavy. ‘What the hell have you got in here? Rocks?’

Yoko reached in for the suit bag then closed the trunk and walked over to the rooms. She opened the door to room six, stuck her head inside, had a quick look and a sniff, then moved to room seven and went through the same routine.

‘I’ll have this one,’ she said. ‘You can take next door. At least this one doesn’t smell like someone died in here.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

Winter rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Do you actually get the concept of sarcasm?’

‘And that is so the wrong question. You shouldn’t be asking whether I get it or not, what you should be asking is whether I can be bothered with it.’

Yoko walked into the room. It was everything she’d imagined, and nothing like she’d hoped for. She had stayed in a thousand rooms like this one, and had never ceased to be depressed by them. Thin walls, cheap furniture, dreadful art on the walls, and a mattress that should have been junked a decade ago. Before opening the door to a new motel room, she always took a deep breath and hoped for the best. Occasionally she got a pleasant surprise, but not very often. Winter was hovering in the doorway, eyes tracing a slow clockwise circuit around the room.

‘Put the case on the bed, please.’

He gave her another lazy salute and punctuated it with a sarcastic ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Yoko laid the suit bag on the bed, waited for him to place the suitcase next to it, then spun the tumblers on the combination lock. 6384. Like any good code, the numbers were completely random and held no meaning for her whatsoever. She flicked the catches and pulled the lid open. She was aware of Winter standing beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head move from the suitcase to her, then back again.

‘What’s with all the shoes?’

‘You’ll see.’

He took out a pair, studied them for a second, then dropped them back in. They landed with a clatter. ‘Well, I guess this explains why your case was so heavy. I’m not going to like this, am I?’

Yoko picked up the suit bag, unzipped it and removed the suit and a shirt. A plain red tie was draped over the shirt hangar. She held out the clothes and waited for him to take them. He didn’t move. His face betrayed every emotion he was experiencing. Disgust, disbelief, and a small amount of amusement.

‘I’ve never worn a suit. Not ever. I didn’t even wear one to my college interview. Read my lips, Special Agent Tanaka: there’s no way I’m wearing that.’

Yoko produced a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of her jacket. She held them up and gave him a pleading look that was devoid of any sincerity.

‘Not. Going. To. Happen.’

She laid the suit neatly on the bed and smoothed out the creases, placed the sunglasses on top of the clothes. Then she headed for the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to see Lieutenant Emilio Perez. He heads up Tampa’s homicide division. While I’m gone, I’d like you to sit here and think about why I might want you to wear a suit rather than those tatty old jeans and that T-shirt. An intellect like yours, it shouldn’t take too long to work out.’

‘I thought you didn’t do sarcasm.’

‘No, I don’t react to your sarcasm. Big difference.’

Yoko opened the door and headed outside. She found her cigarettes, lit one with her battered old Zippo, then leant against the fender of the Chevy, smoking and waiting. A short while later the room door opened and Winter came out wearing the suit and a scowl. She looked him up and down. Considering she’d guessed, the suit fitted pretty well.

‘I feel like I’m going to a funeral.’

‘If that was the case you wouldn’t be wearing sneakers. Back inside. You’ve got one minute then I’m leaving.’

‘The shoes, they came from a thrift store, right?’

Yoko nodded. ‘I wasn’t sure of your size. There was no way I was going to buy a half-dozen pairs of brand new shoes. Not on my salary.’

‘I’m not wearing a dead man’s shoes.’

‘Why not? You don’t seem to have a problem wearing a dead man’s suit.’

 Winter made a face and looked down at the suit like he was seeing it for the first time. ‘Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Fifty seconds. If you want to come with me then hurry up.’

Winter swore under his breath and disappeared back into the room. She heard him thumping around like a teenager. Thirty seconds passed, forty. When he eventually reappeared he was scowling harder than ever. She looked him up and down again, nodded her approval.

‘The hair needs a bit of work, but you definitely look more like an FBI agent.’

Winter shook his head and got in the car.

The police department’s headquarters was based in an office block on North Franklin Street. It was utilitarian and drab, a typical government building.
TAMPA POLICE
was written on the front in large sickly yellow letters that clashed with the blues and greys of the rest of the building.

They went inside and walked over to the cop manning the main desk. Yoko showed her badge and told him they were there to see Lieutenant Perez. He glanced at the badge, then waved them towards a corridor that was blocked by a metal detector. Winter went first and passed straight through. Yoko laid her gun in a tray, then followed.

She kept stealing glances at him as they walked towards the elevators. He looked good in a suit. Older, more grown up. More mature. Most importantly, he looked the part. It was amazing the difference a uniform made. Wear the right uniform and people were more than happy to accept the image you were projecting. Wear a suit, a red tie and a white shirt, and people would accept that you were a federal agent. Winter hit the call button then took a step back and looked up at the red numbers. He hadn’t said a word all the way over here, just sat in the passenger seat, squirming inside the confines of the suit.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

He stopped watching the numbers and looked at her instead. ‘The first pair of victims were found a little over six months ago, victims three and four turned up two months ago, and Heidi and Suzy were found this morning. The murders are happening closer together, which means this unsub is devolving.’

‘That’s the way I read it. I think we have a month before he strikes again, perhaps less.’

‘In that case we must go swiftly, Special Agent Tanaka,’ he said breezily. ‘Time is of the essence.’

Yoko gave him a look that was part disbelief, part disappointment. ‘This is no time for jokes, Jefferson. Six people are dead. If we do our job properly, then we’ll hopefully catch this guy before he kills again. If we don’t, more people will die. Those are the stakes.’

He fell silent again and didn’t say a word for the entire journey up to the fourth floor. The doors dinged open, but he didn’t move.

‘You’re right,’ he said eventually. ‘It wasn’t funny.’

‘These are real lives we’re dealing with here, don’t ever forget that. When someone is murdered it’s like they’ve been ripped away from their loved ones. It’s brutal and catastrophic and, for those left behind, life will never be the same again.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

‘See you do.’

Homicide had an open-plan office on the north side of the building. It was getting on for nine at night but the room was still busy. Detectives on phones, detectives scratching heads, all of them searching for that elusive lead that was going to crack the case wide open. Yoko wasn’t surprised to see so many people. The first forty-eight hours after a murder were crucial because that was when most got solved. Go past the forty-eight-hour mark and the chances of closing the case became increasingly remote.

Although everyone looked tired, she could sense the energy in the room. She understood only too well what was going on here. The killer had struck again and that didn’t reflect well on them. You worked these cases knowing that if you didn’t do your job, if you didn’t stop these monsters, then they were going to strike again and again and again, because that’s what they did. Whenever a new victim turned up it was like a slap in the face.

A separate office had been partitioned off in the far corner, the door wide open. A good-looking Hispanic guy was sat behind the desk talking on the telephone. Lieutenant Perez, presumably. The fact that his door was open was a good sign. An open-door policy implied an open mind. Not always, but often enough for her to make that generalisation with a degree of confidence.

Perez glanced over, saw her, and started to wind up his call. He put the telephone receiver back into its cradle and came over. He was in his early forties, around her age more or less, proof that when you played nice you could climb up the career ladder. He had the look of someone who would not be satisfied with heading up the homicide department for the rest of his career, not when there were some rungs left to climb.

The lieutenant had no doubt been here all day. By now he’d be into his twelfth hour, maybe even the thirteenth or fourteenth. The day of a major murder, she couldn’t see how that wouldn’t be the case. Even so, he looked as though he’d just arrived at the office. His suit was free of creases, his tie straight, and his white shirt looked so clean she wondered if he had a supply of them hidden away in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.

‘Special Agent Tanaka?’

Yoko nodded and they shook hands. He had a firm grip and soft skin. His aftershave was subtle rather than overpowering. He was looking straight at her, his brown eyes penetrating but kind.

‘Sorry you had a nightmare journey,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing worse than flight delays.’

She waved the apology away, happy to steer clear of the subject. And, anyway, he was wrong. Being caught lying to your boss and ending up on a disciplinary charge was much worse. She motioned towards Winter.

‘This is Jefferson Winter. He’s one of our trainees. I’ve asked him to tag along for the experience. If that’s okay with you, of course.’

‘Fine with me. The more people we’ve got working on this the better.’ He stood to one side and gestured towards his office. ‘How about I bring you up to speed?’

They followed Perez through the bullpen, the eyes of the other detectives tracking their progress. Yoko kept her focus on the back of the lieutenant’s jacket and ignored them. This sort of scrutiny came with the territory. The detectives were no doubt wondering how big a pain in the ass she was going to be. The answer to that was straightforward enough. So long as they did their job, and didn’t do anything to make her life any more difficult than it already was, then she would be a pussy cat.

Perez had a busy office. There was paperwork strewn across the desk, a half-full coffee mug. The phone and computer keyboard were positioned where they could be accessed easily, and one of the filing-cabinet drawers was partway open, like he’d been rummaging through it to find a vital piece of information.

There were a couple of framed family photographs on the top shelf of the bookcase. Both had been shot on vacation. One on the beach, one at a ski resort. Based on the available evidence, the lieutenant was married with two sons and a daughter. Whether he was happily married was open for debate. He looked happy enough in the pictures and he was wearing a ring, so perhaps he was. Then again, he was a cop, and cops were renowned for leaving a trail of broken relationships in their wake.

As far as Yoko was concerned, the state of the office was another big plus in Perez’s favour. She didn’t trust anyone with a tidy office. Whenever she came across one she couldn’t help wondering what the occupant was trying to hide. This led to her wondering what they did all day. If they had time to be tidy then they clearly had time on their hands.

Yoko had worked hard for as long as she could remember. Anyone who didn’t do the same needed to be viewed with suspicion. Her work ethic had been instilled into her by her parents. They’d arrived from Japan with nothing but their dreams, and they had done well for themselves. They owned two convenience stores out in California and, even though they were past retirement age, they still worked long hours. Yoko had nagged them to sell up, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

As a kid, she’d been expected to work in the stores, morning and night. After high school she’d gone on to college, and had worked her ass off to make sure she finished top of every class she took. Her parents had scrimped and saved to make sure she got a college education, and there was no way she was going to let them down. When she joined the FBI, she was joining a culture where long hours were the rule rather than the exception, so she’d fitted right in.

Perez waved them towards the two empty seats in front of his desk, then stuck his head out the office door. ‘Dixon, can you give us a minute?’ he called out.

By the time he’d got settled behind the desk, Dixon had appeared, a fold-out chair in one hand, a folder in the other. She was in her thirties, blonde and blue-eyed and anything but dumb. She had the serious expression of someone who battled every day to make her mark on a profession that was still very much male-dominated. It was an expression Yoko saw from time to time when she looked in her own bathroom mirror. The FBI had come a long way since the days of J. Edgar Hoover, but it still had a way to go. Dixon set up her chair next to Winter’s and sat down. She laid the file on her lap.

‘This is Sergeant Kathy Dixon,’ said Perez. ‘She’s heading up the investigation. Dixon, these are agents Yoko Tanaka and Jefferson Winter from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.’

Dixon leant over and shook hands, then settled back into her seat. Winter was sitting up a little straighter, Yoko noted, the itchiness of his suit forgotten about for now. He was giving the sergeant his complete and undivided attention, and she could see why. The sergeant was very attractive.

‘The latest two victims were found at ten thirty this morning at their home in Seminole Heights,’ Dixon told them. ‘Heidi Baker had the morning off work for a doctor’s appointment, after which she was supposed to meet her mother for coffee. When she failed to show, the mother got worried and tried to call her. When she couldn’t reach her she went to the house, let herself in with a spare key, and found the bodies. Heidi was in the kitchen. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Suzy was found in her bed. She’d been asphyxiated. There were no signs of a break-in and no prints.’

Dixon hadn’t said anything new, but Yoko listened intently all the same. Everything that she’d learned so far had come from reports, and a long telephone conversation with Perez this morning. The problem with reports was that the people who wrote them were overworked, which meant that vital information was often skipped over. And the problem with Perez was that he was one stage removed from the action. Wherever possible Yoko liked to hear what the lead investigator had to say. Face to face, their mouth to her ear.

‘Did any of Heidi’s neighbours notice anything unusual?’ she asked.

Dixon shook her head. ‘No, not a thing.’

‘And that was the same with the two previous crime scenes? Nobody noticed anything or anyone that raised suspicions?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And this crime scene was the same as the previous two?’

‘Identical.’

‘And neither Heidi nor Suzy were sexually assaulted?’

Another shake of the head. ‘No.’

‘When were they last seen?’

Dixon opened the file and flicked through the pages. ‘Heidi picked Suzy up from school at three thirty yesterday, the same as she did every day. She started work at ten and finished at three so she could do this. She was employed at a small privately owned beauty salon called Pretty Pollyanna, also in Seminole Heights. The last person who spoke to Heidi was her mother. She phoned just after six thirty last night to confirm that Heidi was still okay to meet for coffee today. The mother’s obviously in shock but we did manage to talk to her. As far as she could tell there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.’

‘Have you discovered any connection between the victims? Anything at all? I don’t care how tenuous it might be, I still want to hear it.’

Dixon shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

‘You said that Heidi had a doctor’s appointment. Were the victims with the same practice?’

Dixon answered with another shake of the head. There was no hesitation, nor did she check her file. This wasn’t surprising since it was an obvious first place to go looking. Yoko let the silence in the small office grow. Winter was shifting around impatiently in his seat, no doubt wondering when they were going to get out there and solve the crime. He was young and still had so much to learn. Chasing down a criminal on the city’s mean streets was something that happened on TV. Most detective work involved tiny steps that took you ever closer to your prey. Painstaking, boring little steps. Car chases and gun battles and adrenalin-inducing excitement were the exception rather than the rule.

She looked over at Dixon and waited until the sergeant met her eye. ‘You’ve been working this case from the start, right?’

A nod.

‘Which means that you know this unsub better than anyone. So, what do think we’re dealing with here?’

Dixon was looking at her as though she was trying to work out if this was a trick question. Yoko didn’t blame her. After all, wasn’t she here to answer that very question? Nonetheless it was a question that she liked to ask if the opportunity arose. Her colleagues in the BAU would think it a weird thing to ask, but those were the same colleagues who liked the sound of their own voices and opinions a little too much. Yoko didn’t really care what other people thought about her. For as long as she could remember she’d always been the odd one out.

‘Feel free to speak,’ she added. ‘I’m not looking for facts here, I’m just looking for your opinion.’

Dixon rubbed her mouth and looked out of the office door. Beyond the threshold, Yoko could hear the mutter of conversations, and she could see people getting busy. She was aware of the occasional curious glances being thrown in her general direction.

‘This is the sort of case that makes me wonder why the hell I became a cop. At the same time, it’s the sort of case that reminds me exactly why I became a cop. Do you know what I mean?’

Yoko nodded because she did.

‘Murdering a kid in their bed like that is so cold. How screwed up have you got to be to do something like that? I mean, murdering the mom is bad enough, but killing a kid is just wrong. When we catch this guy, I hope he goes to the electric chair. But before that happens, I hope someone cuts his balls off.’

‘Thank you, sergeant.’ Perez turned to Yoko. ‘So, what do
you
think we’re dealing with here?’

 Yoko took a second to collect her thoughts. ‘Serial criminals fall into two broad groups, organised and disorganised offenders. Organised offenders are your planners, your sly, careful ones. Gary Ridgway is a perfect example. You might know him better as The Green River Killer. Ridgway operated in Washington State and California during the eighties and nineties. He was convicted of forty-nine murders, but the actual number could be closer to a hundred. Disorganised offenders sit at the opposite end of the spectrum. They usually have lower than average intelligence, and there is little or no premeditation evident. Both are driven by their urges and fantasies, the difference is in how they respond to those urges.’

‘So we’re dealing with an organised offender here.’ Perez was leaning forward, interested and alert.

‘Without a doubt. These murders were too well planned and executed for that not to be the case. For that same reason, we’re looking for someone who is above average intelligence. Furthermore, since serial offenders tend to stick to their own racial group and all the victims were white, this unsub is going to be white.’

Dixon had a pen out and was jotting all this down. ‘What sort of age group are we talking about?’

‘You’re looking for someone in their thirties. I’m basing that on the choice of victims. I believe that the victims are the key to solving this one.’

‘How so?’

‘This guy has struck three times so far. In all three cases, he’s targeted a mother and daughter. They were all physically similar. Same hair and eye colour, same height, same build. The moms were in their early thirties and the kids were aged from six to eight. These victims were not chosen at random. When you’re dealing with organised offenders nothing is ever random.’

Yoko looked around to make sure everyone was keeping up before continuing. ‘I believe that the guy you’re looking for was involved in a marriage break-up that got ugly. Arguments, fights, a nasty custody battle. More than likely there was physical abuse. Things were so bad that he got stopped from seeing the kid. Ultimately, he holds his ex-wife responsible for this and that’s why the moms’ murders were so brutal. Basically that’s where he’s channelling his rage. Compare these murders to the girls’ murders. They were posed to look like they were sleeping. He’d even gone to the trouble of using lipstick to hide the cyanosis. Why?’

Perez and Dixon both shrugged. Winter was looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Yoko was glad that he was keeping his mouth shut, glad he was on his best behaviour. At the same time, she wanted to know what he was thinking.

‘He views himself as a loving father,’ she went on. ‘And because of that he can’t accept that the girls are dead. He really wants to believe they’re just sleeping. The victims are a substitute for his own wife and kids. They’re the real targets here. Unless we stop him, he will keep going until he does find the courage to go after them.’

Perez rocked back in his chair and steepled his hands beneath his chin. He tapped his top lip twice, thinking. ‘Thank you for that, Agent Tanaka. A couple of things, though. A city the size of Tampa, there are going to be plenty of messy marriage break-ups. How do we work out which one’s The Sandman? And how far back do we go? A year? Ten years? And what makes you so sure he was married, anyway? Maybe he was just cohabitating with the mother of his kid.’

They were good questions, the sort of questions that raised Yoko’s opinion of Perez even higher because they were the questions of a cop rather than a politician. ‘Remember, there’s a reason behind an organised offender’s actions. Our job is to understand those reasons. All the victims had been married and that establishes a pattern. For that reason I’m certain that The Sandman was married. As for the question of time, since the first murders took place in April I’d start by looking at custody battles that happened between six months and a year ago. The custody battle was probably the trigger. However, without knowing more it’s difficult to say how much time passed before he started killing.’

Perez was nodding as though this made sense.

‘Something else that might help to narrow things down: the first crime in a series is unique in that the offender has been planning and fantasising about it for some time, maybe even years. They need fuel for those fantasises and that tends to come from their immediate surroundings, from the things they see on regular basis. Geographically speaking, you could be looking for someone who lived or worked close to the first crime scene.’

Perez was still nodding. Dixon had stopped writing and was nodding, too.

‘Anything else you can add?’ the lieutenant asked.

‘Yes, you need to consider how he stalks his victims.’

Dixon was quick with a response. ‘Since he’s specifically targeting mothers and daughters, the theory we’re working on is that he watches the schools the kids go to. So far that one hasn’t panned out, though.’

‘Malls are another possibility. Did any of the pairs of victims frequent one particular mall?’

‘If they all did then that would be something they had in common. We could be looking for a security guard,’ Dixon suggested.

‘Or a shop assistant. It’s definitely worth checking out.’

Dixon scribbled a quick note on her pad.

‘Anything else?’ asked Perez.

Yoko shook her head. ‘Sorry, that’s it for now. I should be able to add more after I’ve taken a look at the latest crime scene and had a chance to talk to some of the people who knew Heidi.’

The short silence that followed this was broken by Winter. ‘Does this mean we can go and take a look at the crime scene now?’