Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“Our car is pointed south as we speak.” The left side, at least. “I’m calling because it occurred to us that there’s a witness you might not know of.” Sydney told him about Becky Lynn, her importance to the case, and their worry that Gnoble might try to take her out.

“Gnoble hasn’t left his house yet,” Dixon said. “His car is still parked there. If it moves, we’ll know. Scotty’s team is sitting on it, until we can get SWAT out there.”

Santa Arleta wasn’t that big of a town, but she wasn’t sure she could find Gnoble’s place on her own, since the last time her mother and Jake had taken her there, she was probably fifteen. “You wouldn’t happen to know Gnoble’s address…?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Just curious,” Sydney said, watching as their mark finally emerged, locked her door, then threw one last and apparently very heavy suitcase in her trunk before slamming it shut. “But seeing as how Becky Lynn might be the only witness who can tie all these players together, including Gnoble, and she’s loaded enough suitcases into her car that it looks like she’s not coming back anytime soon-”

“And you would know this because…?”

“We… stopped for lunch, and just happened to see her?”

Carillo said, “Ask him if he wants us to pick him up something.”

“Let me guess,” Dixon said, clearly not amused. “Taco Bell and you can see her from the drive-through line?”

“Supervisors… It’s like you’re here,” Sydney said, just as Becky Lynn backed out of her driveway, then took off. “Uh, food’s ready. Gotta go.” Sydney shifted to drive, pulled out after her.

“I’m ordering you,” Dixon said, and Sydney was fairly certain she heard him shaking Tums from his bottle, “to stay away. If she stops somewhere, even looks like she’s getting on a plane, taxi, or goddamned magic carpet, you will not pull her over, you will not make contact. What you will do is get on the radio and notify Scotty. Clear?”

“As a plastic lid over a plate of steaming nachos.”

She flipped the phone shut, tossed it in the center console, then turned her attention to Becky Lynn’s Lexus, about to make a right turn at the end of the street.

“So,” Carillo asked, checking the radio to make sure they were on the proper frequency-just in case-“he have any special lunch requests?”

“If I had to guess, a new bottle of antacid, hold the jalapenos. He did mention that Scotty’s team is sitting on Gnoble’s house, and that Gnoble hasn’t moved yet.” Even so, Sydney kept an eye on the mirrors. This wasn’t the time to take chances. They weren’t dealing with some namby-pamby politician from Capitol Hill. Gnoble’s training made him extremely dangerous.

“It’d be nice to know where he lives. You think she’s heading his way?”

“He lives in the same town as my mom, so I hope not,” Sydney said, but she had a sinking feeling as Becky Lynn pulled onto the freeway, then got off the exit to Santa Arleta. Becky Lynn turned a corner, swerved, narrowly missing the curb, and then overcorrecting, only just missing a burgundy minivan in the oncoming lane.

“The way she’s driving,” Carillo said, “we might not have to worry.”

“Unless she kills us all…” But Becky Lynn did not turn onto the main road in the direction Sydney thought was toward Gnoble’s house. Instead, she turned left on Acacia, then right when it dead-ended on Conifer. Her stomach clenched. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

“Looks of what?”

“The direction she’s heading.” And Sydney sent up a prayer. Please don’t let her turn left at the next street. Please, please.

She did.

“Son of a bitch.” Sydney gunned it, not caring whether Becky Lynn saw them, not caring that she was defying orders by turning on the red light to pull her over.

But Becky Lynn did not stop.

And the street she’d turned on led right to her mother’s house.

Becky Lynn drove up the winding road at a speed only a drunk or someone with an agenda would dare.

“What the hell would she be coming here for?” Carillo asked, leaning as Sydney braked at a curve, then accelerated out of it.

“When she gets drunk, she calls my mom, crying. Has for years, and I have no idea why. What I do know is that she’s never come here. Drunk, sober, or otherwise.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a team on this place?”

Sydney looked up the road, just where it curved, and she could see the front end of a Crown Vic up at the top of the hill. “They might be too far back. We should call and tell them to move up a few feet.”

Becky Lynn pulled into the drive, sideswiping the hedge, her car blocking Jake’s extended-cab pickup. Sydney pulled in after her, only then noticing Jake was just getting into the pickup. He stopped, looked at them. Her mother was holding the passenger door open for Angie, who was climbing in, her puppy held tightly in her arms. Sydney picked up her phone from the center console, tucked it on her belt, told Carillo, “Grab the radio. Call Dixon.”

She got out, shouted, “Becky Lynn!” as she raced after her. Carillo followed, radio in hand.

Becky Lynn stumbled, turned back, saw them.

Jake stepped away from the truck. “What the hell is going on?”

Sydney grabbed at Becky Lynn. “She drove over here. We tried to stop her.”

Becky Lynn brushed at her hand. “Look. I’m shorry I got your father killed. I dint know he’d get so mad when I told him… I dint know that creep was gonna shoot him.”

And suddenly her focus was completely on Becky Lynn. “What creep?”

“He got mad, ’cause your father wanted payback. My fault. I told him…”

“Told who?”

Sydney heard a sharp yap from the puppy. She scrambled out of the car, and Angie screamed. “Sarge! Come back here!”

Before her mother could stop Angie, she was out of the car, racing after the puppy.

“Angela!”

“I have to get Sarge.”

Becky Lynn struggled with Sydney. They needed to get her out of there. “Carillo!”

“Mary… my fault… Have to shpeak to Mary.”

Sydney put her in a wrist lock, pulled up. She wanted her out of there. Away from her family. Carillo ran over, took her other arm. “Let’s go,” he said.

They spun her around, started marching her down the long drive. The dog darted from the lawn to the driveway, cutting in front of them. Angie raced past, trying to cut Sarge off before she made it to the street.

“Angie!” Jake shouted. She swooped down, just behind Becky Lynn’s car, came up with the dog in her hand, then stopped short, her mouth fixed in a little oh.

Gnoble stepped from behind the hedge, his gun pointed right at her before they could move. Or draw their weapons. Before they could shout out for Angie to run, he grabbed her. Wrapped one arm around her neck, held the gun to her head.

Carillo and Sydney froze. She judged the distance, the time it would take her to draw. Gnoble’s gun was already out. Pressed against her sister’s temple… Her heart thudded in her chest. And that puppy started squirming, but Angie wouldn’t let go.

Becky Lynn tried to free herself. Sydney worried she’d say something stupid and get Angie killed. Sydney yanked up on her wrist.

The woman cried out, but Gnoble ignored her. “Convenient,” he said. “Everyone I need, and then some.”

Becky Lynn quit struggling. “I dint tell them.”

“Shut up, Becky Lynn,” he said. Tears streamed down Angie’s tiny face, but she didn’t cry out. “All you had to do was drive one block from your house, meet me at the gas station, and give me the goddamned envelope, and I wouldn’t have to leave a bunch of corpses behind.”