Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“What the hell’s he doing in there?” Mel said, when after a couple of minutes the guy didn’t come out.

“Kissing his dog good-bye. Not like he has any women over.”

“Think he’s gay?”

“He’s wearing all black.”

“So he’s a masculine gay guy.”

The door opened a few minutes later, and they saw him standing in the doorway, adjusting his helmet strap around his neck, then pulling on his backpack as he exited. He turned and gave the dog a rough pat, then walked down the steps and into the garage, where he got on his motorcycle, started it, revving the engine.

Mel perked up at the sound. “Damn, that is one cool bike. You ever ridden a Ducati?”

“No.” Jared focused on the apartment, just as the neighbor took off on the charcoal-black Ducati, zipping down the street, the red taillight disappearing around the corner.

“Wouldn’t mind taking that bike out on the road,” Mel said. “See what it could do.”

Jared shook his head. “It’s just a bike.”

“You are so wrong. It’s a Ducati.” He leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes. “Wake me when she takes off for the office. If she ever decides to go.”

“Maybe she’ll stay home, now she knows what’s up.”

“One can only hope.”

Ten minutes later, her front door opened, the dog pranced out on the porch. Jared reached over, whacked Mel in the arm. “Okay. She’s moving… Shit! Shit, shit! ”

“What?”

“It’s him. The neighbor.”

“ What?”

Mel looked over. Saw the neighbor closing Sydney’s door, carefully locking it, then taking his dog and entering his own apartment. “Goddamn it!”

Jared picked up the radio, keyed it. “Any of you guys get the plate on the neighbor’s motorcycle? The one that took off?”

Curtis, parked at the opposite end of the street, radioed back, “Didn’t think we needed to watch him. Why?”

“Our target just left on it. About ten minutes ago.”

“Okay. Don’t panic. We can track her on her cell phone…”

Jared started his car, ready to take off as soon as the location was given.

“Okay,” Curtis radioed. “You can panic now. It’s still showing at her apartment.”

“Goddamn it!” Jared hit the gas, took off in the last direction he saw her, keying the radio. “Two of you stay on the house. Somebody get me that plate number, and get a BOLO on it. Now.”

Sydney was grateful for two things in that moment, dry pavement and light traffic, because Arturo would kill her if anything happened to his bike. Of course, he’d have to wait his turn. There seemed to be no shortage of people willing to do her in for one reason or another.

She checked her rearview mirrors, saw no signs she was being followed, and relaxed slightly. If she were ever in the market for a motorcycle, this one would be on the top of her list, she thought, stopping at the signal, one foot to the ground, waiting to make a left turn onto the 101. A police car pulled up next to her, the cop glancing over, checking out the bike, looking at her. Several heartbeats passed, and she wondered if Scotty’s team would’ve called in the bike’s plate by now, have her stopped. Turn green. Turn green. ..

The signal changed; she accelerated at a steady pace. Tried not to bring any more attention to her. If she was lucky, they didn’t have Arturo’s plate, and if they did have it, maybe they hadn’t called it in yet. The moment she was on the freeway, she looked behind her. No cop car. Though tempted to open it up, see what this baby could do, she drove the speed limit, kept a close eye on the cars around her.

She’d done it. Now all she needed to do was get to the airport. Park. Get on that plane. She drove to one of the offsite lots that required the keys be left behind, one with indoor parking. She handed the keys and the helmet over, explained to the attendant that the bike’s owner would be by to pick it up in the morning, and registered it under Arturo’s name, but paid for it under hers. The shuttle pulled up in short order, and a few minutes later, she was walking into the airport a good half hour before boarding.

Not bad for a night’s work, she thought, heading into the ladies’ room to see what the helmet had done to her hair. A little flat, and she fluffed it up with her fingers and some water, eyed her leather coat and black jeans in the mirror. Not quite the outfit she would’ve chosen for visiting another agency on a case, but one had to make do, and she slung Arturo’s reflective backpack over her shoulder. It contained her Bureau ID, shield, and gun, along with her ticket, paperwork, and a few other essentials, including a toothbrush and Arturo’s cell phone.

She checked in at the desk, then with security, so they could examine the reams of paperwork and ID necessary to get the gun on board. That done, she walked to her gate, sat, waited, nearly jumped when Arturo’s cell phone rang.

“Restricted” showed on the caller ID, and she was tempted to ignore it, knew it had to be Scotty. But then she wondered if she’d somehow gotten Arturo in trouble. She answered it with, “Arturo knows absolutely nothing about this, so leave him out of it.”

“I’m not interested in your neighbor. It’s your safety.

Where are you?”

“A little late to be worrying about my safety, don’t you think?”

“I’m ordering you in.”

“You’re not my boss. And since you saw fit to keep me in the dark about all this, I’m not even sure I should be listening to you right now.”

“Then I’ll have your boss order you in.”

“You haven’t informed him yet?”

“No.”

Of course she knew why he hadn’t called Dixon yet. Be- cause Dixon would have to call the Special Agent in Charge, and Scotty would have to face them and explain why he’d lost an agent he was supposed to be protecting. An agent they didn’t even know was in danger. An agent he’d failed to warn. “Mind if I ask you a question, Scotty? Does your boss even know?”

“Of course he does.”

“Let me rephrase that. Does he know that you didn’t tell me?”

A long stretch of silence told her that answer.

She smiled, got up, walked away from the other passengers seated near the boarding gate, and prayed no one would make any airline security announcements over the loudspeakers. “The shit is going to hit the fan come morning.

Isn’t it?”

“This isn’t funny. Where are you?”

She rather liked having one over on him. That aside, she had some quick thinking to do, or she’d find herself on some sort of administrative lockdown the moment Scotty made the necessary calls to save his career. “I have a deal for you.” “What sort of deal?”

“Don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. Just like you didn’t tell me. At the very least, wait. Your bosses know what this is all about, right?

What you’re investigating?”

“Of course they do.”

“They just don’t know that I wasn’t told.”

“Correct.”

“Well, now I do know. And I choose to be an active part of this. Which should cover your ass quite nicely.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning now that I am aware of what the inherent danger is, I choose to go about my business, my investigations as normal, so as not to tip off anyone. And that, Scotty, will allow you and… whoever it is you’re working with to con duct your own investigation.”

“You need to be off the streets.”

“If I’m removed from my investigations and tucked away, they’re going to know we know. I work in the same damned building as his office for God’s sake. But if I go about investigating my serial killer case as normal, everything’s fine.” “I don’t like it.”