Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“Then use their legs. And their cars. And their manpower.”

Dixon opened his bottle of Tums, shook out a few. “Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to inform me of?” “Can’t think of anything,” Sydney said. Carillo gave a shrug, as though to agree.

Dixon eyed the two of them. “You,” he said to Sydney,

“have forty-eight hours to decide on where it is you want to go. I’d suggest you use the time wisely. And Carillo. Keep in mind we have our second task force sting tonight.” “Finished all the paperwork on it this morning.” Dixon weighed the Tums in his hand. “Have the op plan on my desk before you step out again. And make sure Fitzpatrick’s name does not appear anywhere on it.” They started toward the door, then stopped as he stressed, “ And, whatever it is you’re not working on, try to remember that the

ASAC and the SAC do not have the same sense of humor and compassion that I used to have before I came to work here and somehow made the mistake of pairing you two up.

Capice? ”

“ Capice,” they both said.

“Tonight, we concentrate on only our current case.” To which Carillo said, “Scout’s honor.”

Dixon looked down at his nachos, then dropped them into the trash where they landed with a thud. “Next time, no jalapenos, okay?”

“Told you he didn’t like jalapenos,” Carillo said, as they walked out the door.

Outside his office, she said, “Do you ever know when to shut up?”

He grinned. “Occasionally. More important question you should be asking is why do you think it was not the same caller?”

“Because the first guy was very specific about adding details of the crime. This second caller said he read about it in the paper. And he called Dixon’s phone. Why not my voice mail, since that’s the number the first caller used?” “Good point. So, what’s up with Scotty? You think he’s dirty?”

“I used to think he was so clean he squeaked. Now I’m not so sure. At least about the transfer.”

“So, what’re you going to do about it?”

“Only one thing to do. Find Scotty and talk to him about it.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

She pulled out her phone, punched in Scotty’s number. “I haven’t quite decided, but I’m fairly certain that if I have my way, being transferred will be the least of my concerns.”

Scotty’s cell phone went straight to voice mail. She saw Schermer walk past. “You haven’t seen Scotty around, have you?”

“Matter of fact, he was standing just outside the front doors of the building as I was walking in. Looked like he was waiting for a ride or something.”

“Thanks.” Sydney raced to the elevator, took it down, then ran out front. Her phone rang, and figuring it was Scotty returning her call, she answered it.

It was not Scotty. It was her mother, making sure Sydney remembered her upcoming trip to Bodega Bay with Jake. Sydney walked around the building, hoping to see Scotty, while her mother talked about the trip. She just happened to look up at that moment, and there he was across the street, standing beside a black sedan about half a block up, speaking to someone through an open window. She kept an eye on him, started hurrying in that direction. “Are you listening to me, Sydney?”

“Yes, Mom. Just a bad cell phone connection.” Whatever Scotty was discussing, he didn’t look happy, she thought. In fact, it looked like he was yelling, and just as suddenly, he glanced her way. Though she couldn’t be certain he saw her, he started walking off in the opposite direction.

“… Jake and I want to leave a couple hours earlier,” her mother continued, “and were wondering if we could drop off Angela early.”

Sydney stopped in her tracks. “Drop off Angie? At my place?”

“You said you could watch her.”

“Yes, but that was days ago.” Her heart skipped a beat at the very thought. “I-I don’t know how to tell you this, but I absolutely cannot watch her. You can’t bring her over.”

“Fine,” her mother said, sounding peeved, and she wondered how long her mother would hold this latest travesty over her head. “I’ll find someone else. But a call letting me know would have been nice.”

“Look Mom, I’m sorry. There’s just a lot going on right now. I wish I could explain, but you know this job.” Scotty quickened his pace, and Sydney covered up the receiver portion, calling out his name. She was losing him. Wherever he was off to, he was in one hell of a hurry. “I need to go. Love you.” She flipped the phone closed, then raced after him. “Scotty!”

He turned, stopped when he saw it was she, crossed the street, and met her on the sidewalk.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“About what?”

“My transfer, among other things.”

He waited.

“Then you knew about it?”

“I heard.”

“You don’t think that’s a problem?”

“What I think is a problem is that someone is trying to kill you, and the Bureau is doing the best it can under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances you’re manipulating, perhaps?”

“I might be adding my views, but no, I’m not the one making the decisions.” He shifted, gave a quick look around. “What else did you want to discuss?”

“My father’s case. I have some questions about it.” “Sydney-”

“If you can’t help me, I’ll find someone who can.”

“We’ll talk over dinner,” he said, taking her arm as though they were still lovers, then guiding her toward the building’s entrance. “I’ll meet you at your desk in about an hour.”

“An hour? I’m not even supposed to be at work.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I want answers, Scotty.”

“If I can,” he said, walking her up the ramp toward the doors. “Do me a favor? Go up, wait in your office, and give the surveillance team a little break until I get back?”

Certain something else was going on, she smiled. “See you in a bit,” she said, then entered, walked past the guards at the metal detectors, and on to the elevator banks. She pressed the button for her elevator, looked up, saw he had turned away, and she decided to follow. She waited inside the glass doors for several moments, but he didn’t turn around, apparently satisfied she was heading up to the office. When he seemed to be walking toward the same area she saw him earlier, she figured she could run out the back of the building, come up that direction, perhaps see who it was he was talking to.

She raced through the building, pushed out the door, then ran down the street to the corner. Sure enough, she saw Scotty standing by the same vehicle, parked across the street, the only place allowed. She waited, figured that since it was a one-way street, the car would eventually have to drive past, and she could get a plate, run it, see who it belonged to. Assuming they didn’t talk too long. It was damned cold out; the offshore wind ripped down the side of the building. She wasn’t wearing a coat, and tucked her hands beneath her arms trying to keep warm.

Fortunately she didn’t have to wait long. Scotty stepped away from the car, slapped the door with a bit of familiarity, then crossed the street toward the federal building. Sydney remained where she was as the car pulled out, drove in her direction, then changed lanes to turn the corner right beside her. She focused on the plate, but as the car neared, she realized she didn’t need to see the plate at all to see who the car belonged to. She recognized the driver, his crooked nose. He’d driven Gnoble and Prescott to her house that afternoon. So what the hell was Scotty doing talking to Gnoble’s driver? Any logical explanation eluded her, and as the car passed, she peered into the back windows, tried to see if there was someone there, but couldn’t tell because of the tinting.