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TRANSCRIPT
Books by Andy King
Illusion
The Greatest Game
Control
McKuen’s Revenge
Coil’s Cold Justice
Annie’s War
Carla’s Mission
Annihilation
Twin Break
Friday Night
Glide
This book is the second in a series of five books, all thrillers with
dynamic suspenseful conclusions.
New Releases Mailing List at
MissionDevelopment.com
The Control Series at Amazon.com
The Control Saga at Amazon.com
The Glide Series at Amazon.com
2
The first book in the Control series:
McKuen’s Revenge
A Thief is in for a Surprise
When Steve McKuen's wife is threatened, his best
friend's wife is kidnapped and a rare keepsake his
soul mate left him is stolen, he has no choice but to
track down his hidden enemy.
Using his gift for strategy, McKuen risks all to force
his adversary to pay.
Please join mailing list at MissionDevelopment.com
3
The next book in the Control series:
A Shadow Enemy
Dominating and Deadly
When young agent, Annie McCarthy, loses the rock of
her world, she stops at nothing to track down her
adversary.
Is she hunting a terrorist? The government isn't
saying. Her foe seems too cunning, but she avenges
the wrong to make it right.
Annie’s War at Amazon.com
4
The 4th book in the Control Series:
Ally…or Enemy?
When genius computer hacker, Carla Starr,
encounters forces beyond her virtual power,
she's baffled by her inability to defeat them.
Is the government her enemy? Her friend?
Can she keep her identity, her sanity?
Can she even stay alive?
Carla’s Mission at Amazon.com
5
The 5th and final book in the Control series:
A Deadly Enemy
Hidden in Plain Sight
When a series of murders in Santa Monica
rockets into an act of terrorism, Steve McKuen,
detective Charlotte Coil, agent Annie McCarthy
and hacker Carla Starr are nearly annihilated.
Can they outflank their foes, cunning and cruel?
Annihilation at Amazon.com
6
Control, Book 2
Coil’s Cold Justice Andy King
Detective or Serial Killer?
When a legendary detective tracks a serial killer, it
should just be a question of time, right?
Not if the murderer is a detective, too.
When Captain Charlotte Coil tries to nail the killer,
she brings down the boldest smuggling ring in the
west and uncovers a haunting memory from her past.
7
1
Thursday the 5th A Santa Monica landmark, the grand hotel on the beach had a
beautifully refurbished lobby with eighteen foot ceilings.
Everything five star—food, service, accommodations, and of course
the view—the brick and limestone building had the air of a
fashionable Manhattan club. In the ballroom a gala chamber of
commerce celebration honored local visionaries who raised money
by the truckload for city council candidates. With elections eight
months away, the field was crowded.
One of the guests stumbled through a double door, hiccupped
and waved off the parking valet. His Mercedes was in the back lot,
no need for assistance. Obviously drunk, he seemed to know where
he was going. He disappeared around the corner, hopefully to make
it home.
The man stumbled toward her, two steps and a pause. He
fumbled in his jacket like he’d lost his keys.
Jen Delaney was waiting, crouched between cars. He continued
walking again, hunched over and squinting.
He stopped. A blank look. He turned.
Now! Glink-glink, he was down. She checked his pulse, blood
just beginning to mat his hair. Slow, slower, gone.
8
She collected the shells, unscrewed the suppressor and peeked
around the corner, fingertips brushing the brick. A woman in the
distance, but everything else was perfect.
Jen took off, ponytail swinging in the breeze, away from the
hotel toward the police station.
_____
Orange beams from a laser scanner played across the body. The
forensic technician handed a wallet to Detective Don Ishido.
“ID says Ron Grimshaw, Santa Monica address.”
“Got what you need?” Ishido said.
“Bagged and tagged, Detective.”
Ishido swung to Detective Chad McAllister. “Get a couple more
bags from SID.” He waved at the technician. “Take two uniforms to
the far corner of the lot. Start a thorough walkback—paper, cigarette
butts, gum, everything.”
McAllister nodded and turned to two uniformed officers.
Ishido looked at Detective Delaney. “You took the call?”
“The sergeant asked a few questions and rolled it over to me.”
“OK, Captain Coil’s inside with the manager. Why don’t you go
in and see if the interview matches what you heard.”
Ishido watched her walk away. She’s gonna make it, he thought.
Detective Micki Kelman drifted over. “I got preliminary
statements from the valets.” She lifted a tablet and scanned her
notes.
9
Ishido cracked a smile. “Don’t see how you can type on that
thing, standing up and everything.” He glanced over her shoulder.
“Looks good, though.”
She grinned and flipped a hand. “Saves time. Copy the notes to
my desktop, edit ‘n’ punch ‘em up. Five minutes—done.” He smiled
back and looked at the scene.
A technician from Scientific Investigation Division approached.
“Gonna be a couple more hours, nothing for you to do.”
“I’m going to stay out here,” Ishido said. “Micki, why don’t you
see if Char and Jen could use a hand?”
“I’m sure Captain Coil has it under control.” Her expression
didn’t change, but her opinion was on record.
“Look, I know you don’t like Detective Delaney—”
“No no, I don’t have any feeling about her one way or the other.
That’s one of the problems. She’s locked down, I can’t read her.”
Ishido threw out a hand, frustrated. “But—”
“Jen’s fine technically, does everything by the book. But she’s
one cold fish. When you’re not talking to her, well, her eyes are
like, dead or something. She’s a good actor but there’s something
wrong.”
Ishido crossed an arm and propped an elbow. He surveyed the
crime scene. Coil had hired Micki, said she could read people. He
could see Micki was good, but they couldn’t assess new detectives
based on another new detective’s opinion. Coil wanted him to step
up and help with management duties. He decided.
“Detective Kelman, please document everything at the scene.”
He nodded at the tablet and smiled to say he wasn’t doubting her.
10
“Get all preliminary data from SID, just verbal, nothing official,” he
said. “This murder’s a lot like the one Monday at Sears. Cross-
references will be helpful. You have all data from that one on
there?”
She nodded.
“I hear you and I’ll talk to the Captain,” he said. “But unless she
wants you to add something, you might not be brought into the loop,
got it?”
She nodded again.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing, Micki,” he said. She
walked away.
Ishido thought it was easier when it was just Coil and him. He
sighed. Things change. He turned to the forensic team’s mobile unit.
Eleven thirty, it would be a long night.
Inside, Captain Charlotte Coil loomed over the managers and
Detective Jen Delaney.
The night manager waved a hand. “We always ask the
bartenders to keep an eye on guests at events, always. Even if the
bartender isn’t a hotel employee.”
“That’s fine,” Jen said. “But our reports—”
“You’re talking about the other guests, hardly experts,” the day
manager said.
“Yes sir, but the ones we’ve been able to find all say that the
victim was obviously drunk.”
“We’re getting off track here,” Coil said. She looked at Jen. “Do
you have what you need?” Evidently she was ready to leave.
11
Jen looked up, not intimidated. “Yes.” They drifted to the lobby.
Jen glanced at her notes.
Preliminary questions answered, the hotel staff was on notice
that the police would be returning. Time to wrap it up, let SID and
the medical examiner do their jobs.
Jen sensed Coil’s appraisal. Acutely aware that Charlotte Coil
was one of the best detectives in Southern California, Jen held
herself just so. Being the killer and also one of the cops made her
vibrate, electrons zinging up and down her spine. Perfect.
“Grimshaw owned two bars and a restaurant,” Coil said. “I
knew him, he’s been around awhile.”
“I’ll work that angle when we get back. I’ll compile
everything.”
“You’re overnight, right?”
“Yep, got plenty of time unless something else comes up.”
“Good, it’ll help if we have something to look at in the
morning.”
They stopped to confer with Don Ishido and Micki Kelman. Jen
saw Micki giving her a look. She turned away and rolled her eyes.
The media had been contained on Pico. A face peered around a
corner. Jen saw Coil scowl at a journalist, Jessie Kovac.
“How the hell did she get in?” Coil said. She dispatched a
uniform to chase away Kovac.
Detective Chad McAllister arrived with three trash bags of
debris. Ishido asked him to give it to SID and they departed.
12
2
Assistant District Attorney Larry Shaffer looked up. “Come in,
BeBe.”
BeBe Dias walked in, trying to look serious. She failed and
cracked a smile. “Mr. Shaffer. Darn! Larry, I’m sorry, can’t get used
to calling my boss by his first name.”
“You’ll get over it, what’s up?”
“Can I have a minute?”
“Sure.” She sat down. “Thank you.” She hesitated, then winced.
“When the District Attorney assigned me here, I was thrilled.
You’re great, I mean, really great.”
“There’s a problem?”
“Well…”
He waited, time bearing down. It was important to get rookie
attorneys off on the right foot.
Her words rushed out. “I’ve had a few conversations, short
ones, mainly to find you, and you know, I mean, it’s your girlfriend,
I think she doesn’t like me, sir.”
He started to laugh, then checked it. “BeBe c’mon, really. You
need to grow a thicker skin here. Char’s a little hard, but she’s
just…Char. She’s a detective.”
BeBe’s mouth flew open. “Captain Coil’s a legend. Everybody
says so. I don’t want to make a bad impression—”
13
“Char might be a legend, but she puts her pants on one leg at a
time, too. She’s like that with everybody, all business. Don’t take it
personal, OK?”
“Well, OK. I’ll try not to. Should I be friendly? I mean, I’ve
been friendly, but it’s not working.”
He stifled a laugh again. “Just take it as it comes.”
“OK.”
His eyes followed her as she stood up. It was impossible not to
look. Six feet one, prodigiously statuesque, BeBe filled the room.
Wavy, blond streaked tresses set off her Latin features.
Conservative clothes and subtle makeup couldn’t hide her abundant
curves and long, slender legs. Her body shouted, “I’m a goddess!
Look at me!” She flashed a smile and sashayed out.
The first time he saw her, he hoped she wouldn’t be assigned to
his team but the DA made the call. Char saw her a month later and
the grumbling started.
“That girl’s magnetic. Goddamn it, Larry.”
“Nothing I can do, Char. You’re not threatened, not Charlotte
Coil.”
“No, but you better mind yourself.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Which caused another round of grumbling.
Eyes back to his desk, Larry grinned and grabbed a file.
_____
Detective Don Ishido walked into Captain Coil’s office.
“LA County Sheriffs signed off,” he said. “It’s our case.
They’re even worse off than we are, so they say.”
14
Coil looked up. “Less manpower than SMPD?” She snorted.
“Hard to imagine.”
“The Sheriffs agree with LAPD, it’s all ours.”
“Lovely.” Pencil to her lips, she thought about it.
Panga boats are usually used for smuggling marijuana.
Disposable 25 to 40 foot junkers bought at salvage, they have an
old, slow motor and are abandoned after unloading their treasure.
Not this one. With dual high-powered engines, it could haul ass. It
had outrun Marine Patrol, but mainly relied on stealth.
Its pricey cargo, high-grade heroin, China White from East
Asia, was flooding the LA market. Overdoses had skyrocketed and
politicians were squawking.
“Four sightings,” Coil said. “Those drops are pretty damn
professional.” She twirled the pencil and looked at Ishido. “Way
better than your typical smugglers. Better’n OC.”
Her team had put together a few facts. The boat approached a
beach at low speed. A minute before it arrived, a big truck pulled up
within a fifty yards of touchdown. The signature for each drop:
several men in wetsuits appeared from the ocean. They ditched
surfboards on the sand and moved in a choreographed pattern,
unloading the boat in under ten minutes. The truck pulled away,
they guided the boat out and paddled away on their boards.
Coil nibbled the pencil, then looked up. “What’s our toehold,
Don?”
He shrugged. “Descriptions of the truck are pretty vague. The
boat’s a ghost. Just the surfer guys, I guess.”
15
“Exactly. Who knows the community?” They rolled their eyes
in tandem.
“Chad.”
“Bring him in.” Ishido hustled out.
Detective Chadwick Venable McAllister VI stepped into her
office and snapped to attention, posture regal, smile endearing.
Ishido leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Coil stood, six feet tall and slender—six two in boots. The
crown of her wild brown hair topped out at six four. She intimidated
most people. Not Chad.
He looked up and beamed. “Captain Coil.”
“Detective McAllister, sit if you want.” She stretched. “Has
Don filled you in?”
Chad sat. “Yes, I’m up to speed. The panga boat drops, I’ve
read the file and Detective Ishido briefed me.”
“Rumor has it you’ve spent a lot of time with the surf crowd.”
“Yes sir, uh ma’am, Captain.”
“Where?”
“Malibu, Mavericks and Hazards up the coast. Hawaii, Australia
and South Africa.”
“So you have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah broskies, many beaches.” Another easy smile.
“You’re smart, McAllister. What do you think you should do?”
“I can’t pull a Keanu Reeves, Captain. Lotta my brahs know I’m
po-lice.” Coil looked at Ishido.
“The movie Point Break,” he said. “Keanu Reeves played an
undercover cop who infiltrated a surfer gang of bank robbers.”
16
A look of understanding, and she turned back to McAllister.
“OK, what’s the second best thing?”
“Ask around,” he said. “Wouldn’t be any kind of secret, so I get
what I get. Maybe better than nothing.” A shrug and a grin.
“All right, Detective. While you’re at it, read the file again. Let
me know your thoughts about the boat, and the truck, too.”
“Captain?”
She stifled a sigh. “Yes, McAllister.”
“Can I have Jen work with me? Her looks kinda blend in.”
“Can’t spare Detective Delaney.” She nodded toward the door.
He stood, nodded back and ambled out.
“He’s trying, Char,” Ishido said.
She looked out a small window at a patch of blue. “I know.
He’s got everything going against him, but he really wants it.” She
looked back at Ishido, her crystal eyes piercing.
“I want that boat.”
_____
Mist over the water. Waves were getting smaller. The rumble of
the engines made their feet vibrate. The big craft eased toward the
sand, skipper confident. The other two men tensed. There might be
movement, but it was hard to see through the fog.
“Steady,” the skipper whispered.
Vague lights against a grey backdrop. He eased back on the
throttle and cut speed to a drift. The lights had a halo effect from the
mist. He could just make out a three story building.
17
A shape on the left got closer. A man in a wetsuit. Light-colored
hair, wet from the surf. A couple more steps and he reached the side.
“Ready?” the skipper said.
“Yeah, truck’s pulling up,” Brendan Page said. “Just to the right
of the building, end of Quarterdeck.” Two more men in wetsuits
appeared to the right of the boat.
The skipper nodded. “OK, let’s go.”
The boat floated in shallow water, engines purring. The men in
the boat handed large, plastic-wrapped bundles to the men standing
to the side. Each man in the water hustled two packages to a sled
waiting at the edge of the dry sand.
A fourth man waited. Tall and burly, he wore a ski mask and a
plain black cutoff T-shirt. When the sled was full, he hauled it up
the beach, forty yards to the end of the street.
At the truck, another man helped him lift the packages, handing
them to men stacking them in the cargo area. The big man returned
the sled to the waterline. The process was repeated.
Five trips up the sand and the boat was empty. One hundred
eighteen packages, triple sealed. Each package weighed about
twenty-two pounds—ten kilos. Two thousand six hundred pounds of
high-grade heroin. It still bore the name China White, the best load
on the planet.
The big man lifted the sled up to the cargo space, hopped in and
pulled down the door. The truck drove away.
Page and his team pushed the boat back and turned it around,
pointing away from the beach. It disappeared into the fog. They
18
moved down the beach to three paddleboards, picked them up and
floated off in the surf.
Less than thirty words had been spoken. The residents of multi-
million dollar condos overlooking the Marina Del Rey beach might
have seen something, but at 2:30 a.m., it wasn’t likely.
Page and crew paddled six hundred yards south, inside the
Marina breakwater. They continued another hundred yards up
Ballona Creek, under the bridge to Lagoon Park.
Carrying their boards, they hustled across the park with military
precision. They might be surfers, but Page brooked no slacking. A
plain white van was parked on the street. He reached underneath,
grabbed a Hide-A-Key box and unlocked the side door. The boards
were lifted in. The men followed.
Page started the van and drove away. He turned left, pulled
behind a restaurant and took a minute to swap license plates. They
would meet the truck indoors, away from prying eyes.
The skipper and crew cruised straight out to sea, edgy and alert.
Using starlight binoculars they once outran the Coast Guard. It
would be pressing their luck to try it again. Well-paid, they were the
most exposed. Their patróna iron-fisted, they would die in prison if
caught.
With twin 900 horsepower engines, the panga could fly, a first-
class captain a necessity. At sea the small craft arced like a skipping
stone from wave to wave—beyond dangerous at night. Modeled
after the stealth bomber, its low, flat shape and radar-absorbent paint
19
helped deflect electromagnetic waves, but the Coast Guard had
airplanes and helicopters, radar looking down.
Two miles out the skipper trimmed the throttle, looked over his
shoulder and nodded. A man opened a cooler but no one smiled. He
passed a beer to each and toasted with his can.
“Looks like we’re good.”
“So far,” the skipper said.
“Si dios quiere.” The first man nodded in agreement.
“God willing.”
_____
Larry Shaffer waved his arms and shouted, “They landed on the
beach in Marina Del Rey for Chrissakes!”
Assembling a case against the smugglers was going nowhere,
their surfside hit and run drops random. It was like trying to catch
individual snowflakes. There was just too much beachfront in Los
Angeles County.
“Mr. Shaffer, uh, Larry, we don’t even know it was them. For
sure, I mean.” Eyebrows together, BeBe tugged at her skirt.
“We might have to let the Feds take over if SMPD can’t handle
this,” he said.
Understanding flashed on BeBe’s face. “Is Captain Coil
working on it?”
He looked at her, half-discouraged, half-amused. “She is, she’s
more disgusted than I am. It’s no fun at home.” A thin smile. “Char
got the call at 3:30 a.m. Since SMPD is the lead agency…” He
raised his hands in surrender.
20
“Why is SMPD—”
“Because everybody’s budget is for shit! LAPD had it, then the
Sheriffs. Then they palmed it off on SMPD.”
He counted on fingers. “First, Dockweiler Beach by the airport,
three months ago. Two weeks later, junkies were dying all over the
place.”
Another finger. “Then Pacific Palisades, bottom of Temescal
Canyon, also LA. So it’s all LAPD. They consulted with FBI and
DEA, but the Feds have it worse than we do, money-wise.”
He ticked a third finger. “Then Malibu. That’s the Sheriffs, they
came in to supplement. It was a little awkward, but no big deal.
Then last month in Santa Monica.”
He held up a fourth. “Char ran with it on her own, working with
LAPD. A couple weeks go by and she gets the bright idea that since
it’s my case, it’s more efficient for her to take the lead. LAPD’s
overjoyed. They call the Sheriffs and dump the whole thing on her.”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s happy. She’s always happy to get a
really tough one. She’s Charlotte Coil.”
He looked away, then looked back. “Hey, don’t take this wrong.
I love her and I really, really respect her. But I know what’s gonna
happen. She’s gonna be all over Marina Del Rey, there’ll be a
million requests.”
Again his hands flew out. “We’re stuck with it. I’m not going to
have a home life until this thing is put to bed.” He arched an
eyebrow.
BeBe started to smile then stopped. “OK Larry, let me read the
files, see if I can take some of it.”
21
“You sure? I mean with your worry about Char the other day?”
She stood up and picked files off his desk. “I’m sure. I’m a big
girl, I can handle it.”
It was his turn to stifle a smile. She was a big girl, and it was
time for her to step up. Well-played, Shaffer.
BeBe marched out with the files. Then he smiled.
22
3
“DEA’s here,” Detective Micki Kelman said.
Coil looked up. “OK, you want to take it? Call Chad if you need
help, I want to get back to the office.”
Micki grinned, looking proud. “Got it.”
Coil walked away from the Marina Del Rey crime scene and
touched base with LAPD on the way to her car. She looked around.
At least Jessie Kovac wasn’t there.
The murders were bothering her. She wanted to read paper and
think about them. Execution style with a .22, two shots to the head.
No exit wounds, the bullets were small enough they stayed inside
the skull. The gunman had policed the brass—collected the spent
shells. No fingerprints, no footprints, no witnesses, nothing but a
connection—each of them owned bars in Santa Monica.
Coil knew most of the bar owners in town but knew one of them
well, Steve McKuen. She knew McKuen’s manager, Dennis
Reneaux, even better. Over the years, McKuen and Dennis had
helped her on occasion. She was glad for the help, but was pretty
sure that not everything they did was legal. She didn’t necessarily
suspect them in connection with the murders, but she hadn’t ruled
them out.
Dennis often tipped her on bar-related crimes. She reciprocated
with information if there was no apparent conflict. Discreet for the
most part, Dennis was open to going further than tips when his or
McKuen’s interests weren’t threatened.
23
She started her car. Call him? Nine thirty, might wake him up.
Tough.
Two rings and he answered. His voice sounded like a garbage
truck backing up, but it always sounded that way. “Dennis.”
“Sorry to wake you up.”
“Oh, Char. No you didn’t, Liv’s pregnant. She’s been waking
up at six. If I’m not up by eight she comes in and nags.”
Coil almost smiled. “Glad to hear she’s made an honest man out
of you.”
He laughed, a low rumble. “What do you want, anyway?”
“Got two murders.”
“Esterhazy and Grimshaw, right?”
“Um hmmm. Figured you heard.”
“Since they’re both bar owners, I’m being questioned.”
She thought about being sarcastic but there was no time.
“If you want to call it that, yeah. As usual, off the record,” she
said.
“As usual, OK.”
“We’ve got nothing. Want to ask around?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“I’m busy with something else, but I noticed the connection.”
She thought about playing to his self-importance, but decided
against it. He would see it a mile away.
“Your other thing,” he said. “I heard about the beach landings.
Smuggling, middle of the night.”
“I’m not talking about it.”
24
“Tell ya what, Char. I’ll talk to Steve about the murders.” He
paused as if writing a note. “I’ve got a source, a guy who works for
me, he knows people. If I hear anything about H, want me to let you
know?”
“Yes, please.” She made a left turn into the police garage.
“OK, I’ll get back to you. Anything else?”
“No thanks, later.” She ended the call and sat in her car,
thinking about it. Captain? To get the resources she needed she’d
agreed to take the promotion. The administrative burden was way
more than she’d bargained for. Oh sure, she knew it would happen,
but still…it wasn’t why she was there.
Solving crimes, burying the bad guys, that’s what she did. The
beach smuggling operation and serial murders were right up her
alley. She’d get ‘em, sooner or later.
Maybe she should move to a smaller city, start over. That had a
nice ring to it. But what about Larry? She stared into space.
Never mind. She blew a hard breath through her lips, opened the
door of the old Lincoln Town Car, banged it shut and stalked into
the station.
_____
Micki Kelman looked down and kicked a pebble. “It was
Councilman Taurino’s brother, the victim.”
“That’s why she got promoted to Captain?” Chad said.
“There were two other big cases going on, too. She nailed ‘em,
and remember there was a scandal.”
“Oh, yeah.”
25
“The Captain averages over eighty percent, even a couple years
over ninety. That’s why she’s the best. I heard she didn’t even want
the promotion. She told the council it was a team effort, the cases
were solved with LAPD.”
Chin up, Micki stood straighter. “She only reports to the Chief
and she can recruit whoever she wants. That’s why I’m here, ‘cause
I solved that murder, well, we solved it.”
“They made her train two new detectives every year,” he said.
Micki pointed and grinned. “That’s why you’re here, and your
connections.” Chad looked away.
“I mean, I heard you have a trust fund, like fifty million?” she
said.
He gave her a look. “Uh forty, but that has nothing to do with it.
I bet she thinks that’s a handicap. I’m working my ass off.”
Mouth to the side in concession, she nodded. Chad was putting
in the hours.
He smiled. “I work hard but you’re married to the job.”
Micki was unsure of how to take that. “I just want to give back.”
That stopped him. “Look, I’m gonna go check in.”
She pulled open the door to head for Coil’s office, feeling his
eyes on her back, probably thinking teacher’s pet. So juvenile.
When she walked in, Coil was narrating, Ishido listening.
“So I asked Dennis to—” Coil waved a hand. “C’mon in Micki,
you need to hear this. I asked Dennis to talk to McKuen about the
murders. The dead guys are competitors. Maybe they’ll hear
something.”
26
“You don’t like McKuen or Dennis for some kind of
involvement?” Ishido said.
Coil lowered her head and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know,
could go either way. We’ll figure it out. He also knew about the
smuggling drops. I wasn’t surprised, not like it’s a big secret. He
volunteered to ask around.” She shrugged. “Can’t hurt.” Her phone
rang.
“Coil.” She listened. “Your ears are burning. I was just telling
staff you’re a real Boy Scout these days.” She wrote some notes.
“Very helpful, Dennis, thanks.” A few more seconds, and she
hung up.
She looked down, then back at them. “He said he heard the
smuggling operation is coming from somewhere on the east side.
Predictable. Anyway he got us a name, Brendan Page. Anybody
heard of him?” Micki and Ishido shook their heads.
Coil glanced at the pad, then back at Micki. “Why don’t you
take Chad and see if you guys can make a little progress on this
Brendan Page? I want to work with Don on the murders. Jen’s off
today. Her shift swings around to days tomorrow, then Chad has
nights.”
Micki stifled her disappointment. It wasn’t that she didn’t like
Chad. He just seemed too content to be a really good detective. But
Coil was the boss.
“I’ll get Chad and fill him in,” she said.
She found him in front of the building talking on his phone, and
made a gesture for him to wrap it up.
“Yeah hey, gotta go. Ya bro, ‘loha.” He tapped the phone off.
27
She gave him a mouth-half-open look of friendly disapproval.
“Captain wants us to look up somebody. Guess we could start with
the mug books.”
“What’s the name?” Chad said.
“Brendan Page, connected with the smuggling case.” She saw
Chad’s face change. “What?”
“I know who he is.”
“Really? Who?”
“Brendan Page is a serious surf legend. Longboard,
paddleboard, dude’s got sponsors.”
“OK, great. So how do we find him?”
“Now that could be a challenge. We could go out to Zuma. I
probably see somebody who knows him, but that might take a lot of
time.” He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Maybe we just ask the
Malibu Sheriffs for an address.”
Micki crooked a finger. “Let’s see if the Captain’s still around.”
Chad started to follow.
At the door he pointed. “Hey, isn’t that her car?”
An old black Lincoln Town Car was poised at the garage exit,
waiting for a break in traffic. He jammed two fingers in his mouth
and whistled, loud. Two heads swiveled. Micki waved and started
toward the car, Chad in tow. Ishido lowered the window.
Micki walked up and gestured at Chad. “He knows who
Brendan Page is.” Coil leaned around Ishido.
Chad stooped. “He’s a big-time surfer, all hooked in with the
pro scene. Lives somewhere in Malibu, don’t think he’ll be hard to
find.”
28
Coil turned to Ishido. “We were just gonna stop by the Sears
parking lot and the hotel, see if something hit us. You want to take
these two over there? I’ll see if I can track down Page.”
“Sure.” Ishido popped the door handle.
Coil looked back at Chad. “Malibu Sheriff, ya think?”
He shrugged. “Good a place as any.”
Ishido banged the door shut, Coil saw an opening in traffic and
floored it, burning rubber. Head down, Micki followed Ishido and
Chad.
_____
Cruising past the ocean, Coil called the Sheriffs. The last
address they had was on a cul-de-sac above Ogie Kanogie. Coil had
shopped at Ogie’s, a casual but expensive boutique just a few miles
up the road. She decided to check out the address. The smog thinned
but traffic got thicker. The first really warm day since November,
Coast Highway was packed with beachgoers.
A half hour later she parked in front of a modest, well-worn
rambler, the view of Santa Monica Bay magnificent. She looked up
at a mansion a thousand feet above. Must be nice.
The doorbell didn’t work. She knocked, waited a minute then
knocked again. The door opened and a sleepy-looking blond beach
bunny, clad only in a ripped T-shirt and panties squinted up at her.
“Santa Monica Police.” Coil showed her credentials. “Brendan
Page here?” Maybe fifteen, the girl shook her head.
“Where can I find him?” Coil said. Still mute, the girl shook her
head and started to shut the door.
29
Coil blocked it. “When will he be back?”
“Don’ know.”
“Sure you don’t know where he is?”
The blonde stared, eyes pleading to be left alone.
Coil pulled out a business card. “Please ask him to call me.”
Obviously hoping it was a sign that the conversation was over,
the girl took it and closed the door. Coil let her. She knew Page
wouldn’t call. She considered telling the Sheriffs he was harboring
jailbait, but that was smalltime when heroin was the focus. As if the
Sheriffs had time to deal with underage houseguests.
Coil had probably dealt with a dozen subjects with the last name
Page. Somewhere back there, a little bell rang. Huh. She powered
back through the Tunnel and took the Lincoln Boulevard offramp,
wondering.
_____
Almost five o’clock. Mile-high clouds scudded across the
mouth of Santa Monica Bay. Sand blew around a huge dune
jammed against a cliff. Kids skidded down on snow saucers.
They were parked on a shoulder of Coast Highway overlooking
low tide, Micki at the wheel. Coil rode shotgun, Chad in the back
seat. Coil gazed out at the waves. They looked chilly. She shivered
and tried to clear her mind.
A jacked-up SVT Raptor rolled up behind them. A man wearing
a hoodie and a fur-lined parka stepped down. Six feet one,
unshaven, with tousled blond hair, he had a ruddy complexion.
30
Ripped jeans and bare feet completed the picture. Standing behind
Micki’s Explorer, he waited.
“That our man, Chad?”
Chad looked over his shoulder. “It’s Page.”
Coil pulled on the door handle and stepped out. The wind
caught her wild brown hair and blew it sideways. She turned to keep
the hair out of her face, walked back to Page and looked him in the
eye. About her height, he had forty pounds of muscle on her.
Armed, she wasn’t concerned. It wouldn’t come to that,
anyway.
He tilted his head toward the water and gave her a faint smile.
“Detective Coil, like to take a walk?”
She really didn’t want to walk on the beach in the wind, but
since the meeting was her request, she nodded.
He nodded back and moved to the uneven dirt berm. Extending
his hand, he took hers and helped her descend the small slope.
Surprised, she said nothing.
Without hesitating, Page started east, putting the wind at their
backs. Coil fell in alongside, commanding her teeth not to chatter.
“Think he’s got a gun?” Micki said.
“Probably not. The Captain can take him anyway.”
Micki snorted. “That’s not where I was going, never mind.”
Chad gave her a curious look.
“We could pop him,” she said. “Unlikely he’s got a concealed
carry permit.”
“Oh. Yeah, well like I said, doubt it.”
31
“Why do you think he agreed to meet?”
“Maybe he’s innocent and wants to clear the air.”
Micki’s sixth sense was doing backflips.
“Uh uh, he’s got some kind of agenda,” she said. “Thinks he’s
gonna get over on her.”
“OK…how do you figure you know all this, Micki?”
“I just do. When I feel this way, I’m not often wrong. We’ll
see.”
They watched the two figures recede down the beach.
Coil glanced at Page. “You got my message.”
“My girlfriend gave me your card, been hoping we could chat.”
“OK.” Why would he want to talk to her?
A hand came out of his pocket. “There’s something you should
know, we have a connection.”
She hid her confusion. The cold wind sneaked under her cuffs
and her nose started to run.
She stopped and looked at him. “Explain, please.”
“Sure.” He used his hands with the economy of an athlete. “One
night a long time ago, you shot and killed somebody. It was my
father. You might not even have known, but I traced it back to you.”
His brows came together. “Given the circumstances, you might
think you’re immune. My lawyer doesn’t think so. I’ll make you an
offer, one-time. Get back to me within forty-eight hours.”
He continued in a low tone but his voice was sharp. “Leave me
alone and I’ll leave you alone. Keep asking questions and I’ll take
32
your badge. Go any further and you might end up in prison. I’ve
heard that’s a bad place for cops.”
His face relaxed a little. “Any questions?” Green eyes bright
with conviction, his lips were a hard line.
Not intimidated, she stared. He was a criminal, tough shit. She
gazed up the beach as if lost in thought, then looked at his eyes
without blinking. “Tell you what. I’ll review all the facts.” She
started to walk back to the trucks. He fell in beside her.
She glanced over. “I’ll contact you. Maybe with an arrest
warrant, maybe I’ll ask you to come in for questioning, it depends. I
don’t make deals,” she said in a voice like forged iron.
Then she tossed it off as though it were a pleasant chat. “So, Mr.
Page, we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
They were even with the vehicles. She started up the incline.
His eyes tracked her as he stood on the sand.
She got in the Explorer. “Go.”
Micki pulled onto the highway. Page stared, not moving.
Chad looked back. “What did you say? He looks pissed.”
“Now I know why I thought he was an asshole before I even
met him,” Coil said.
Micki chuckled. “‘Cause he’s an asshole?”
Coil nodded. Her mouth softened, a proxy smile.
But she was shaken by what Page spoke of, a memory she’d
carried for years. She needed to think, then talk to a lawyer and
probably the Chief.
33
The sky slowly darkened. As they drove past the most exclusive
real estate on the west coast, she thought about a night almost
twenty years before.
34
4
Three a.m. in August, muggy and warm, two blocks from the
beach. Tendrils of fog crept around windows in an alley.
“Rafe?” Her whisper over the two-way unit sounded harsh. Too
loud. Had she screwed up? She commanded her night vision to
focus.
Coil was in uniform, gripping her nine millimeter, backed up to
a front door of a shop on Main. An alarm had sounded a few blocks
from the Venice line. Her partner, Rafael Gonzalez, drove them
from where they were pulled over, drinking coffee to stay awake.
They split up. Rafe took the back, down the alley. She waited.
Gunfire!
Coil crabwalked around the corner and hustled to the alley. Too
dark to see.
Then a muzzle flash and boom of another shot. She crept that
way, safety off.
She caught movement from the opposite direction and whirled.
A shape jumped out of the shadows and fired. She hit the ground
and shot back. The person ran.
She shot again but he escaped. There was a clatter from the
direction of the first shot. She turned and squinted in the dark.
Nothing. She slowly got up and stayed low, moving in the direction
of the shooter.
Rafe was down. No! Get on the radio or go after the subject?
She put an ear to his chest. His breathing was labored and thready.
35
She could hear somebody stumbling on the bricks. He wasn’t
far, she could bag him.
But Rafe was barely hanging on. She’d only been on the job
two months. How could this happen? Gotta start CPR, but gotta call
in.
“Hang on, Rafe!” She jumped up and ran for the car, expecting
shots. Racing around the corner, long legs pumping, she reached the
cruiser and grabbed the mike.
“Officer down!” She shouted details, charged back to Rafe and
started CPR.
Don’t die on me, buddy. Please.
_____
A small apartment in Venice, banging on the door.
“Will? Is that you?”
“It’s me honey, open up!”
She pulled the door open. “Oh my God!”
Blood everywhere, he grabbed a chair and left a sticky red print.
She helped him to the sofa and ran to the kitchen.
He slid the gun from his pocket, and put it up on the back of the
sofa, away from where his son could find it. She charged into the
room with a towel and pressed it to his chest. Blood soaked through.
“Get some hot water and another towel,” he moaned.
She ran out, the sound of water running.
“Will, what happened?”
36
“Burglar, just as I was locking up. He didn’t know…ah, shit it
hurts. He didn’t know I was there. I surprised him, but the cops
showed up.” He kept clutching the towel.
“Baby, I shot a cop!”
She ran back in and pressed another towel to his chest. “But
what happened to you?” The towel turned red.
“‘Nother cop got me. Oh Susie, it hurts.”
“Gotta call 911.”
“No, no baby. I shot a cop, don’t you see? It’ll be three strikes.”
“But they’ll understand, we can work it out, just tell the truth.”
“No, they won’t. Oh crap. Susie, I don’t think…I don’t…”
“Will!” She ran back to the kitchen, shut off the water and
grabbed another towel. Coming back through the doorway, she
slipped, but caught herself and clamped the towel to the wound.
He was white, coughing. He went still.
“No! No!” she screamed. “Wiiiiillllllll!”
She broke into a keening wail. He stopped breathing.
A young boy peeked around the corner, eyes wet. Tousled blond
hair fell over his hands as he pushed them tighter against his ears.
He couldn’t bear to hear his mommy scream. His daddy was dying
and he didn’t know what to do.
_____
By the time medics got there, Rafe was dead, nothing Coil
could have done. It looked like they interrupted a burglary. A
suspect was detained two blocks away. Detectives linked him to the
break-in but could never make a murder case.
37
Coil had replayed it hundreds of times over the years, but the
scene finally faded. Something didn’t make sense. The burglar was
caught two blocks north of the shooting, but she returned fire
pointing south.
Now she knew. There was another person and she’d hit him.
She just never knew what happened next.
It wasn’t a righteous shoot!
This was going to be a tough one. Taking it to the Chief without
being prepared was out of the question. Suspension? Lose her job?
It was really goddamned hard.
She was glad she knew a lawyer.
_____
The scent of garlic, oregano and fresh tomato hit her when she
opened the door. There he was, love of her life. Larry Shaffer, six
feet three, thin, hooked nose, mildly handsome. He turned around
when he felt her hand on his neck. He didn’t have to look down. In
boots Coil was only an inch shorter.
The kiss was slow. She broke away. “I need a drink.” She
moved to the small bar.
“I’d get it, but—”
“Yeah Lar, I’m good.”
Ninety seconds and she was back, leaning against the
doorframe. She drained half the tumbler in a gulp.
He lifted the lid from the saucepot and stirred the pasta. “Musta
been a tough one.” He lowered the lid and turned down the flame.
Coil’s head drooped. Her neck muscles unclenched. Better.
38
She raised her head and opened her eyes, trying to leave worry
behind. Not fair to Larry to drag her bullshit through the door when
he was trying to be a good guy and make dinner.
“Smells good.” She drained the drink and went back for
another.
He pulled out a couple of plates and cracked open the oven door
to check the bread. More garlic fumes. Everything looked ready. He
spun three dials to Off, turned around and smiled. “Dinner is
served.”
Finally in the present, she took a step, put her arms around his
neck and gave him a big, wet kiss. “Thanks, Lar. You’re great and
I’m lucky.”
At the tiny kitchen table, they ate in silence for a few minutes.
“I think I need a lawyer,” she said.
He grinned. “You came to the right place, baby.”
“Defense lawyer, maybe a civil problem, not sure.”
He frowned. “Why?”
Framing it as related to the smuggling case they were consumed
with, she told him about the shooting eighteen years before, then the
scene on the beach with Page. “I must have killed his father. It’s the
only conclusion.”
He washed down his food with a sip of wine. “Well, it’s not
murder,” he said. “Pretty sure the longest statute that would apply is
six years, manslaughter.”
“What about wrongful death? Rafe was dying. I didn’t make a
move to go after the guy.”
39
“Two years.” He gestured with a fork. “I don’t see how this guy
can bring an action, Char.”
“Could a good lawyer slant it as murder?”
“Anybody can say anything. A claim would be made with the
City of Santa Monica, then a suit can be filed. You know all that.”
She pushed the food around on her plate, not hungry anymore.
“Media’s gonna throw a party.”
“This guy is possibly, no probably, conspiring to smuggle large
quantities of hard drugs,” he said. “My advice, if you want it, is get
together with your chief and city attorney. Get the media manager
on it. Hit back, maybe a pre-emptive strike. It’s up to the Chief,
maybe even the Mayor.”
“Crap.” She was hot all over. “As if I need this.”
He looked in her eyes, tone soft. “It can wait ‘til tomorrow,
baby. Either way, I’m with you. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Her whole world had collapsed on her. It wasn’t about the legal
maneuvering or a potential lawsuit or the drug smuggling case. She
had killed an innocent man, somebody trying to defend his property.
His family never surfaced and the books were closed a long time
ago. She was green at the time and the situation was confusing, but
she’d screwed up.
She had shot two other people since, and fired on two more, but
each instance was clean and she went through mandated counseling.
Eighteen years ago counseling wasn’t automatic. At the time
nobody knew she shot somebody. But she did, and it was a bad
shoot.
40
Elbows on the table, head in her hands, she started to cry. Larry
got up and put his arm around her. She shrugged him off.
He cleared the table and ran water over the dishes. She got up,
grabbed a paper towel and went to the living room. Dabbing her
eyes until they were dry, she kept going over the facts.
He walked over. She waved him away and reached for her bag.
“C’mon, Char, you don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Yeah I do, I’m going home.”
“Aw Char, you should stay. I’ll give you some of Dr. Larry’s
special TLC.”
She didn’t smile, not a hint. She picked up her bag, touched the
front door handle and looked at him. “Thanks, Lar. I know you’re
trying, but I want to be alone.”
“But Char, that’s the last thing you should do. C’mon, baby.”
“Goddamn it Larry, that’s what I want!”
She threw open the door and walked out. Usually she slammed
it but not this time. She stomped down the stairs to the carport.
In her old Lincoln, she gripped the steering wheel and cradled
her head with her arms. She didn’t do anything wrong! How could
she have known?
No crying.
She sat up straight and started the car. Only one cure for her
pain. Build a case against Page and arrest his ass.
41
5
Saturday the 7th The little parking lot on Appian Way had a glimpse of the Santa
Monica Pier. Two men finished a short conversation.
The target stepped down from the passenger side of the Dodge
Ram. He looked over at the Pier and stopped, reached into his
jacket, drew out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. The Ram’s taillights
receded in the distance. He inhaled deeply and gazed at the bright
colored lights of the Pier.
Jen was wearing a baseball cap this time, her blond hair tucked
inside. She moved forward on tiptoe.
The target ground out the cigarette and reached in his jacket
pocket. She held the gun high.
Glink. He was down, twitching but silent. She bent over.
Glink. He was still. Blood seeped on the pavement.
She checked his pulse with a knuckle. It slowed.
She waited. It stopped.
She unscrewed the suppressor, picked up the spent shells and
tucked everything in pockets.
She moved away quickly. Not many cars in the lot but one
might be occupied.
Twenty steps to Appian Way. Thirty more steps to Ocean Front
Walk. She turned the corner and started to jog.
42
Up the concrete walkway, she turned right and picked up speed.
Jen could run five miles without much effort, ten if she wanted. Six
blocks and she turned left. She got into her car, pulled a small, flat
box from under the seat and deposited the gun and silencer. She
flipped off the cap, brushed her hair and drove away. No sweat.
A few turns and she looped around to the police station.
Another perfect alibi. She breezed in with a nod to the watch
commander and headed for the detectives’ desk. Better calm down.
Too much bounce in her step, still high from the kill.
Chad was on the phone. Jen wasn’t on the desk that night, but
was on call. When he hung up she was looking through an
expandable folder of unsolved petty crimes.
“T’s goin’ on?” he said.
“Nothin,’ just bored. Thought I’d stop by and see what your
pitiful ass is up to.” She grinned at him.
A call was on hold, light blinking. A buzz from the watch desk,
and Chad picked up the phone. He started writing.
“Appian Way? Yeah, I’ll be there in ten. Better send a couple
more unis, thanks.” He hung up, wrote a few notes and looked over.
“Wanna check out a homicide?”
“Sure, let me grab a different jacket, be right back.” She forced
herself not to run to the locker room, euphoric.
She made sure the shells were tight in her pocket and washed
her hands. At her locker, she pulled out a grey blazer, brushed her
hair, tied it back, looked over her shoulder and pronounced herself
ready.
43
When she banged through the door, Chad started walking,
making her jog to catch up. “Don’s meeting us there,” he said.
“Captain?”
“Didn’t answer.” He shrugged. They jumped in an unmarked
car and screeched out, lights flashing.
Jen smiled out the window. Practice makes perfect.
_____
Coil blew into the station, moping over. “Who took the call?”
Chad raised his hand.
She turned to Ishido. “SID’s underway?” He nodded.
She glanced at Jen. “Thought you were off.”
“I was on call, stopped by for the hell of it. Figured it would be
slow, the call came in.” Jen looked tired. Coil figured she’d been up
nearly twenty-four hours.
“Want to go home, get a nap?” she said.
“Naw, I’m good.”
Coil looked at her phone. “I’m not calling Micki yet, we’ve got
a full crew. This is the third in ten days. We have to assume there’s
a thread. At least we’re going to assume it, I hate coincidences.” She
saw Ishido suppress a smirk. There were no coincidences. Every
coincidence was guilty until proven innocent.
“You two.” She pointed at Chad and Jen. “Review all the facts.
Memorize ‘em. In fifteen minutes, I want a very complete, but very
concise verbal summary. Then write it up. I don’t care who writes it
but it needs to be perfect.”
She glared at Jen to make her wishes clear. Jen stood straighter.
44
Thirty minutes later, Jen submitted the report. Her body ached,
but she was eager for approval.
“Let’s go,” Coil said. “I want to see the scene.” Jen beamed.
It was only a few blocks to the site. Coil asked Jen to drive so
she could see the approach. Dawn had passed. SID was packing a
trailer, done with preliminary work. The parking lot was cordoned
off. A couple of official vehicles blocked Appian Way, a narrow
side street.
Coil discussed SID’s findings with the team leader, then turned
to Jen. “OK, run me through the scene. Tell me what you and Don
thought mighta happened.”
Jen concentrated. There couldn’t be any slips. Charlotte Coil
had a legendary sense for details that didn’t fit. “He was smoking a
cigarette. We found the butt.”
“Sanborn, the victim, right?”
“Right, Sanborn. Anyway, it must have been sudden. The killer
stepped up behind him, here.” She moved back four feet and drew a
channel through the air.
“Then he shot him here.” She pointed at the chalk outline in a
shape of a corpse.
Her brow wrinkled. “We’re not sure if both shots were one right
after the other. Coulda been, but preliminary observations show that
the second one might’ve been after he was down.”
“Did you and Don agree on the probable height of the shooter?”
“We thought about five ten to six feet.” She’d shot at an angle
to simulate a taller person’s stance.
45
“No brass?”
“Must’ve picked it up. Nothing out here and no exit wounds,
ME should find the slugs inside the skull.”
Coil walked to the pedestrian exit that Jen had used to get to the
bike path. She surveyed the concrete. Jen watched closely.
“There’s a scuff mark here,” Coil said.
Oh shit, Jen thought, but gave her a blank look.
“Make a note to ask SID about it. It’s not going anywhere.” Coil
turned back and paced the inside perimeter of the parking lot.
Jen pretended to police the interior, walking a grid pattern.
There wouldn’t be anything but she needed to look good. They met
at the outline.
“I know who Sanborn is,” Coil said. Jen remembered the victim
was a drug dealer. She looked at Coil, a question.
“High-level pot distributor, he has a tie over this way,” Coil
said. “I’m gonna make a call or two. Might find out something.”
“Let me know Captain, I’ll note it in the file.”
“That’s OK, probably nothing.”
Jen wondered about the black truck. Her lover had told her to
wait until the end of the meeting and shoot Sanborn as soon as
practical. She should have noted the truck’s license plate as a hedge.
“Do you think we should check beyond the perimeter?” she
said. “Maybe down that sidewalk to Ocean Front Walk?”
“We could, but we should start knocking on doors around here.
Find out if somebody saw something.” Coil looked around
carefully. “Approximate time of death?”
46
“Between nine thirty and ten, probably closer to ten.” Jen had
arrived at the station by nine thirty and made sure she noted the
estimate in the report. The medical examiner wouldn’t be giving a
time of death more specific than a one or two hour range. It would
work out perfectly.
Coil paced along Appian Way, nowhere near the murder
location. She looked at an oblique angle toward a Marriott hotel,
then walked an ellipse past a flower store to a small luxury hotel
next to Jen’s getaway route.
She pointed at the small hotel. “I’ll take this block, you go
north. Interview everybody you can find at the Marriott. Ten’s not
that late. Somebody saw something, even if they don’t know they
saw it.”
Jen nodded. Since Coil never smiled, she never smiled in her
presence. Jen was determined to act like a detective in single-
minded pursuit of excellence, which she was, even if she was the
killer. It was a crime of passion anyway. Three hours later, she
returned to the parking lot with pages and pages of names,
addresses, phone numbers and notes of recollections and references
on her phone, succumbing to fatigue.
Willpower kept her going. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four
hours. It’s what Coil would do, she was sure. In her way, Jen looked
to Coil as a mentor, but also loved the challenge of outwitting the
veteran detective. Her darling CeCe was way more important. A
second wind took her.
Coil stepped out of the luxury hotel, holding a notepad. She
walked toward Jen, studying her notes, flipping pages back and
forth.
47
She looked up. “All done?”
Jen held up her phone. “Got a lot of data.”
“Probably save you a ton of time. I gotta learn how to do that.”
“I can show you.”
Coil’s expression relaxed, her mouth moved, an impulse.
“Yeah, it’s mainly practice, just gotta start. Anyway, I got a lot of
stuff and I’m sure you do, too.”
Coil looked at the car. “Let’s head back and put it together. I
need to make some calls.”
Jen drove them to the station. As they walked through the
garage, she said, “If you want to give me your notes, I could type
them up. Then you could edit it.”
Coil handed her the notepad. “Was gonna ask anyway, thanks.”
They split up and Coil went to her office. She fell into the chair,
the memories triggered by the meeting with Page crushing.
But she had to get moving, leave that for later. She checked
with Ishido about the smuggling case. Nothing new so she went to
Jen’s desk and asked her when she might have the notes ready.
“’Bout a half hour, there’s a lot.” Jen looked weary.
“When you’re done, I want you to go home.”
“I can make it.”
“You’re thrashed, I need you alert. Take three or four hours, get
some sleep. I don’t want to have to make it an order.”
“OK thanks, Captain.”
Coil went back to her office. None of it made sense, but things
weren’t looking good for McKuen and Dennis. She made a few
48
notes. Now suspects, she needed them on an invisible leash.
Leaving aside alliances, she knew that they were capable of killing.
Time to turn up the heat.
49
6
Everything perfect, in its place, Jen stepped back and admired
her work. It was her cleaning day and she was sticking to her
schedule, Coil or not. Punched into overdrive, no way was she
taking a nap. Humming tunelessly, she dusted and vacuumed her
little apartment and wiped it down. Laundry launched, she cleaned
herself, plucking and shaving and scrubbing and buffing.
Jenditha Delaney had escaped her mother’s grimy little cave
years ago and only went back at Christmas. The dirt made her skin
crawl.
How could she name me Jenditha? Her mother, always in a
bathrobe, living on disability, had more than one boyfriend who
liked little girls. Jen blocked that memory forever.
“I coulda been pretty like the twins,” she said.
“Don’t think so,” the mirror said. Maybe if her jaw was a half
inch longer, her eyes a quarter-inch bigger, and her nose a bit less
pointed. Maybe.
She twirled and came down in a combat stance, hitched a
shoulder and gave the mirror the Red Queen’s haughty glare. “It’s
all about the hair, peasant!”
Her brilliant blond hair was always in a perfect ponytail. With
perfect posture, perfect nails and perfectly understated makeup, her
elegance declared who was divine. She scowled at the mirror.
“That Kelman,” she said through her teeth. She’d figure out
Micki eventually. Someday she’d catch her alone and…
50
She snapped out of her trance. How long had she been away?
With a deep sigh, she pulled herself straight and glanced at the
mirror again. OK, makeup and back to the station, looking like a
million bucks. Perfect!
_____
Ishido knocked on Coil’s door frame, curious. She motioned for
him to shut the door. He sat down. She sighed. He noted it. Odd.
“Obviously these murders are a clusterfuck,” she said. “I can
smell politicians and they haven’t even heard about it yet. There’s
something else. I can trust you, we’ve been through the wars.”
He nodded, waiting.
Her lips softened, along with her tone. “I don’t know where to
start… You know about the meeting with Brendan Page.”
Chad had filled him in. He nodded again, curious.
Visibly shaken, she told him about a night eighteen years prior,
a shooting in which she was involved, a bad shoot in her opinion.
“It’s not right to bury something like this,” she said. “I’m going
to have to get a lawyer, then I’m going to have to go to the Chief.”
“IAD?”
“It’s way past that, it’s political. I may have to step down for
awhile, maybe for good, I don’t know.”
Coil step down? Unthinkable. Maybe a leave, but resign?
He used his hands. “Char, look. So far, you’ve only told Larry
and me. You need to wait a couple days. Let’s get some perspective
on this. I’ll help you write it up, privately, you know.”
51
It seemed urgent. “I know you want to get everything out in the
open, take the high road,” he said. “But maybe this can be handled
differently, maybe we can nail Page. Then if he tells some wild
story, it’s his word against yours.” He paused, making sure.
“OK, I’m done,” he said. She looked surprised. Normally he
didn’t say more than five or six words.
“No Don, I can’t bury it.”
“Put Micki on the smuggling case,” he said. “You’ve wanted
her to lead something, let her step up. She can have Chad, I’ll
oversee. You take Jen and the murders. While I’m working with
Micki and Chad, I’ll ask around, do a little data mining.”
He wrapped it up. “We’ll meet daily, OK? It’s your team so it’s
your call, but if you tell the Chief you’re personally working on the
murders, that might help head off some of the politics.”
She twisted in her chair, her discomfort obvious. It seemed like
her mind was made up. Silence. He heard the bustle of the station on
the other side of the door.
She scrunched a cheek. “Well…”
He let his eyes close his argument. Can’t save her from herself.
She looked him in the eye. “OK, only because it’s you,” she
said. “I’ll wait a day or two, but how can that matter?”
“You never know.” He nodded, trying to persuade without
words. A lot can happen in a day.
“OK thanks, Don. Thanks for understanding. I don’t know
what’s wrong with me, this kind of thing never gets to me.”
He was pretty sure this kind of thing had never happened to her.
He stood up. “Got your back, Char. Let’s kick some ass.”
52
He saw it. She almost smiled.
She got up and shut the door. One more thing. She picked up
her phone and called Larry at work. She heard him dismiss
somebody then the sound of a door shutting.
“Good to hear your voice,” he said.
“Yeah Lar, sorry to bother you.”
“It’s OK, what’s going on?”
“I’m gonna stay at my place for awhile. It’s not about you, I just
have to deal with this Page thing, OK?”
He said nothing. It obviously wasn’t OK but he seemed to sense
the time wasn’t right to assert his needs.
“Don’s going to run the smuggling case, he’s your liaison,” she
said. “I’m going to move to other things for a few days. I sure
would appreciate some space.”
“How about hiring a good lawyer? Would you at least do that?”
“It’s not at the top of my list.”
“It should be.”
“Larry, just let me run this my way, OK?”
“Sure Char, not like it’s gonna be any other way.”
“Look Larry, I called to say I need some space, so just back
off.”
“I just want to talk—”
“Go talk to that chickie you work with. I’m sure she wouldn’t
mind a bit!”
“Whatever.”
“Goddamn it! I don’t need this, don’t call me!” Click.
53
She looked at the phone in her hand, and contained the urge to
throw it across the room. A tear dripped down her cheek, and she
wiped it. Crap—no crying.
She buried her head in her arms, hair falling dangerously close
to the coffee. Breathe. She counted to twenty. Another deep breath
and she stood tall as possible, opened the door and went to find
Micki. Larry was right about something.
Back at her office she gestured at a chair and shut the door.
“Please keep this in confidence. It can’t go anywhere.”
“Sure, Char.”
“You noticed my mood after talking to Page?”
Obviously Micki had noticed. Coil was often withdrawn, but
riding back to the station, her spirit was black. Kind of hard to miss.
“I’m not going into details but I need an attorney, personally.”
Micki nodded.
“You worked with somebody on the attempted homicide, a
woman in the Valley,” Coil said.
Micki smiled. “Elizabeth Pulaski, she’s awesome. Want her
phone number?” Coil nodded. Micki pulled out her phone and gave
it to her.
Coil started to speak, but Micki held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I
won’t even mention it to Don.”
Coil hoped her eyes conveyed her gratitude. Micki stood up and
closed the door behind her.
No time like the present, she made the call. Luck was with her
and Pulaski took it. After a brief sketch, Pulaski asked Coil to come
54
to her office. Wrangling ensued and they agreed to meet over a late
dinner.
They hung up and Coil paced, apprehension growing.
_____
Coil put down her fork. “I can’t do this.”
“Please try,” Elizabeth Pulaski said.
“The whole night? I can’t remember everything.”
“I need more details.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Coil stared, fingers clenched. Eighteen years and thousands of
other events had blurred the memories. Elizabeth stared back, then
looked down and paid attention to her meal.
Coil forced herself to focus. Elizabeth had classic features, plain
at first glance but after looking closer, prettier. With wheat-colored
hair and warm brown eyes outlined by stylish black frames, she
underplayed her expressions. She looked up. There was something
about her eyes, the glasses? Coil wasn’t sure.
Her shoulders drooped. She wasn’t hungry. Dining at a fine
restaurant was something she could take or leave. She needed to
engage, but didn’t want to be there. She needed to be at the station,
working the two cases. She forced herself to concentrate but
couldn’t speak.
Elizabeth broke the silence. “Charlotte? May I call you
Charlotte?” Her eyes seemed to glow.
“Sure.”
55
“This man Page might not have much to stand on but I need to
know everything about that night. Could you find the case file? I
could start there.”
Coil shrugged. “It’ll take time, I’ll try.” Elizabeth held her eyes
with a small nod. They looked at each other another minute.
“I need help,” Coil said. “I’ll get you the file, anything else?”
“No thank you, that’s good for now.”
Elizabeth’s eyes said: Please tell me, Char.
“I need to take this guy down,” Coil said. “I don’t want him to
slide out from under this on a technicality. The problem is,” she
used her fork for emphasis, “he’s gonna hit again soon. These guys
are shaking their asses at us, daring us to catch them, there’s a lot of
coastline.”
She stopped, but Elizabeth’s eyes wanted all of it.
Coil started again, intent. “What I really want to do is go all the
way up the chain, nail the bastards who’re running this.” She
shrugged. “Probably not the thing to say to a defense attorney.”
For a second it was as if Elizabeth’s eyes were inside her head.
“My sister died because of drugs over ten years ago,” Elizabeth
said softly. “My brother…well, he’s not that respectable.” Her voice
went hard. “Nail the bastards.” She picked up her fork.
Coil thought that Micki was right, Elizabeth Pulaski was for
real. If what she just said is true… And if not, she’s a hell of an
actress.
Either way, I’m in.
They finished up. Coil got in her car and headed to Santa
Monica. With the Page issue not screaming at her anymore, the
56
murders began to nag. Three in ten days, all in parking lots, the first
in daylight, the others before midnight, it seemed really risky.
Maybe the killer didn’t care? Why?
Normally she would have assumed McKuen and Dennis were
innocent, but now she wasn’t sure. Her gut said they weren’t
involved but they were the only suspects. Pretty convoluted.
She was missing something.
Each victim connected to them, the circumstances seemed tidy
and convenient. Like the killer was pointing at them?
Misdirection? A thought, the kind of leap she distrusted but had
worked out in the past. She put it aside and went over facts.
There was only one discrepancy. In Jen’s notes from the third
murder, two different guests at the Marriott heard a big truck drive
by. One guest thought it was around nine, the other said nine-thirty.
According to the report, the murder was later. But the guests could
be wrong about the time by an hour, and it didn’t have to be the
same truck. She sighed and pulled into the SMPD parking garage,
drained. Sure would be nice to go home, have a couple of cocktails
and sleep for ten hours.
It wasn’t an option. She walked into the station, wondering.
57
7
Monday the 9th Five a.m. but Celeste Sauvage was moving hard. An hour in the
gym, shower, makeup and wardrobe, and the car was ready. The
valet looked sleepy. So what? She punched her phone and let the car
speaker take over as she flew down Wilshire Boulevard.
“mmmph…”
“Bob, get up! I’m not paying you to sleep.” Not a nasty tone,
yet.
“Oh, sorry Celeste, just taking a little nap. I’m at headquarters
already, I’ll get coffee started.”
“OK, data ready?”
“Yeah, I finished a couple hours ago.”
“And?”
“Your name recognition is up oh, ‘bout twenty-five percent.”
“What percent of the electorate?”
“Approaching fifty.” She thought he sounded smug. The last
poll said forty-eight. Good enough.
“See you in five.” She punched off the phone and thought about
the scorecard. Was she moving fast enough?
Sauvage wanted it all. With a clear vision of her path to the
White House, she’d spent six months wining, dining and having sex
with anyone, man or woman, who could contribute to her campaign.
It’s not like she would launch it using her own money. She had
58
millions, but that’s not how it’s done. Equally at home with the big
picture and details, she’d set her sights on the Santa Monica City
Council seat of Joshua Taurino. The election about seven months
away, she would bury him with cash.
As she rode the elevator to her penthouse office, she wondered
if Bob Costanza had delivered. She needed an issue, something
hard-hitting and local, something to set her apart.
She marched in and stopped at his door. “Got anything?”
Costanza, rumpled and balding, held a donut to his mouth. He
wasn’t her campaign manager. For that she had someone
photogenic. A genius of some sort, Costanza ran the machine.
He put down the donut. “Think we do.” He gestured at a piece
of paper. “Monitoring police scanners paid off.” He pushed a single-
page double-spaced summary across his desk.
She read it, then looked at him. “Three murders? So what?”
“Third one’s the night before last, down by the beach, a
businessman from the Valley.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And…?”
“First one’s a local guy, owned a couple bars and restaurants
here in town. Ditto the second guy, same profile. Third one, well
he’s a little different. Our sources say he’s connected.”
“Mob?”
He shook his head. “Drugs, just got out of Lompoc.”
She waved a hand. “I’m lost, get to the punchline.”
“Ever hear of Tony’s Cocktail Lounge on Lincoln?”
She shook her head.
59
He cocked an eyebrow. “How ‘bout Bart’s Bar on Washington
in Venice?”
“Wait a minute, I’ve seen that place. Not far from Takedown.
So?” She rolled her hand.
“Same guys run both places. Steve McKuen is the owner and
Dennis Reneaux is the manager. The first two victims are
competitors. Our source at the police station says Reneaux’s been
linked with drug distribution. Not a dealer, more like a consultant.
The last guy who got hit…?”
Her smile was sinister. “He has ties to this Reneaux?”
“Yeah, nothing definite, so far. Could be, there’s rumors.”
She sat down across from Costanza. “What’s happening with
the investigation?”
“That’s where we have an edge.” His smile turned wicked.
“Nothing. They haven’t put together what we know.”
He ticked off points. “Either the Santa Monica police are, one—
clueless, or two—looking the other way, or three—you decide. We
should track this. If nothing else comes up, you have an issue.
Police incompetence, or corruption, or maybe we can come up with
something else. We’ve got some pretty creative people.”
He was right. Her city council campaign was financed as if she
were running for Governor—total overkill.
Celeste Sauvage wasn’t screwing around.
_____
Whaztt? Her phone was ringing. She hit Answer. “Coil.”
“Hold for Celeste Sauvage.”
60
Huh?
“Detective Charlotte Coil? Celeste Sauvage. Are you planning
to detain Dennis Reneaux for the murder of Alan Sanborn?”
“What? Are you media? I don’t do media.”
“Candidate for City Council, you didn’t answer the question.”
Coil’s head started to clear. Crap, she’d heard the name.
“That’s police business,” she said.
“It’s the public’s business, Detective. You still haven’t
answered the question.”
“It’s none of your business, that’s for sure.”
“Detective—Captain, sorry.” The voice turned silky and warm.
“I’d like to get off on the right foot. I have it on good authority that
you’re the best peace officer in the City of Santa Monica.”
Coil held the phone away and looked at it. She didn’t do
politics, but had a suspicion she’d better not hang up yet.
“Ms. Sauvage,” she said. “Sorry to snap at you, I fell asleep at
my desk.”
“Dedicated too, my sources are quite good.”
“OK look, I’m in the middle of a lot of things. So no, I really
can’t give out information, the investigation is ongoing.”
The tone came back. “Well then Detective, I’m going to have to
call a press conference. The public has a right to know a convicted
drug dealer was probably murdered by another high-level drug
dealer posing as a businessman. Are you sure you don’t want to talk
to me first?”
It took a lot to render Coil speechless. Her brain scrambled to
catch up.
61
“Tell you what, Ms. Sauvage. I’ll meet with you this morning,
my office, nine o’clock.”
“Excellent, I look forward to it. Mind if I bring my assistant?”
“Yes, I mind. But go ahead, one person only, and I can only
give you fifteen minutes.”
“That’s all I have, too. See you then.” Click.
Rude bitch. Five thirty a.m. and no one around, Coil allowed
herself a quick grin. She was a rude bitch too, sometimes.
Where did Sauvage get all that? A leak at the station wouldn’t
surprise her. People leak police business for acclaim, love, and of
course, money.
A picture of Sauvage’s reputation was filtering through. She had
money, a lot of money. Now she had a source.
Coil wanted to yell at somebody. One of her team would do
nicely, but they weren’t in yet. She went on a quest for coffee. Her
desk phone was ringing when she returned to her office. She picked
it up and her expression went sour.
“You’re just calling now? We’re supposed to be notified right
away. I don’t care if it’s LA, we’re lead on this!” She stopped
yelling and wrote notes. “OK, be there in a few.”
Who did she want to pull out of bed? Micki would be her first
choice but she lived too far away. She sighed and called Chad.
“The smugglers hit again. Forget showering or shaving, just get
over here. I’ll have a cup of coffee ready.” She slammed down the
phone and walked out to pour a cup.
62
This is for shit! Page is fuckin’ with me, she thought. Thinks
he’s got over on me. We’ll see about that. “Cocksucker,” she said
under her breath.
Chad banged through the door ten minutes later, reeling,
looking like he might stumble.
She scribbled a note: 9:00—Sauvage, and looked up. “Let’s
go.”
On the way to the scene she remembered that when Page’s
father was allegedly shot and killed, her lieutenant was Art Cross. A
couple of years ago, Cross—Deputy Chief by then—was sentenced
to the Federal prison at Lompoc on a battery of convictions.
She wondered if Cross remembered the events of that night. He
was on the scene. She had probably mentioned shooting at
somebody. She jammed in a headset, punched her home number and
used her voicemail as a notepad. “Tell Elizabeth about Art.”
LAPD’s SID unit had the beach cordoned off from the water to
half a block up from the sand. None of the condo residents would be
sleeping. The crime scene lights were bright enough to light up
Dodger Stadium.
“Listen up and take notes,” she said to Chad. The senior LAPD
detective gave them a twenty minute tour.
“Tire tracks?” she said.
“Too much wind last night,” he said. “Sand blew all over the
street.” His best estimate was that the crime took place around 2:30
a.m., same as the job in Marina Del Rey.
Mountains thirty miles east glowed dark purple, daybreak
surfacing. She did another walk-through in the dawn light.
63
Her phone rang. Caller ID said Steve McKuen. She turned away
from the gaggle of detectives. He said he wanted to meet with her.
She told him to be at her office at nine thirty. That way she could
get Sauvage moving along.
She walked over to Chad. Holding a big phone, thumbs
bouncing, he was writing the Great American Novel.
“Email me your notes?” she said to the LAPD man.
He looked at Chad and winked. “No problem.”
“C’mon, we’ve got things to do,” she said to Chad.
The old Town Car motored up Lincoln on autopilot. Coil gave
up trying to organize her thoughts, not enough sleep.
Chad looked over. “Uh…”
“Yes?”
“Just wondering, Captain. How come you don’t like McKuen or
Reneaux for those murders?”
“Start with opportunity, then means. On this case, you can’t sell
me on motive, and motive is lowest priority. Half the time, it only
makes sense after the fact.”
“OK, means,” he said. “It’s a .22, we know that.”
They were approaching the station. She flipped the turn signal.
“Good. You could see if McKuen, Reneaux or one of their people
has a .22.”
“How?” They got out of the car.
She wanted to teach, give him a little help. “Ask questions, lots
of them, about everything. Sometimes clues appear. When you press
here,” she gestured near the car, “something pops up over there.”
She pointed at a spot near a column.
64
Aching from lack of sleep, she was still alert. Talking to Chad
had reminded her of something she wanted to ask McKuen.
_____
Coil could hear them approaching.
“And I need a time on the promo shoot. Oh yeah, see if the
stylist’s got a slot tomorrow.”
Celeste Sauvage breezed into Coil’s office and stood, radiant,
perfectly coiffed and put together, obviously expecting attention. A
man pulled up behind her, tapping his phone.
Coil stared at them. Ten minutes late. “Ms. Sauvage.”
Sauvage’s hand shot out as Coil stood up. Confronted with
Coil’s full height she took a half-step back. Then undaunted, she
stepped forward and shook hands. Coil remained expressionless.
Sauvage gestured around as if she were hostess. “My chief of
staff, Bob Costanza. May we sit?” Coil nodded.
“Thank you,” Sauvage said. They made themselves
comfortable.
Sauvage leaned in. “Far be it from me to tell you your job,
you’re the best.” Her smile gleamed. “But we have a duty to work
together for public safety.”
Her tone implied it’s just us sisters. “Now I know and you know
the city administration can be a bit…stodgy.” She winked, a dig at
the Chief of Police.
“But think of it,” she threw her arms wide, “solving a series of
murders so quickly and neatly in little over a week, what a feather in
your cap.”
65
She continued to cover reasons why Coil should drop whatever
she was doing and investigate Dennis Reneaux. It was a masterfully
upbeat speech, laced with flattery and humor.
When Sauvage was done, Coil sat back, elbows on the chair
arms, fingers steepled as if she were thinking. Sauvage waited. Coil
said nothing. The air grew thick.
“Thank you for coming by, Ms. Sauvage,” Coil said. “It’s been
a pleasure meeting you.” She started to get up.
Sauvage looked shocked. “That’s it? Excuse me, Detective uh,
Captain, I think I deserve a reply.”
Coil settled back down. Inwardly amused, she maintained a
stone face. Chad appeared at the door, took a look and vanished.
“Ms. Sauvage, we agreed on fifteen minutes and we said nine
o’clock. It’s nine twenty-five.”
Sauvage stood up, trying to appear taller than she was. Costanza
stood also, looking unsure. “Detective, I’m going to give that press
conference,” Sauvage said. “I’m going to tell them you’re
stonewalling.”
“Feel free, first amendment.”
Sauvage’s eyes were tight, almost closed in fury. The bitch was
blowing her off! She turned to leave.
“Mr. Costanza,” Coil said. He stopped and looked back. “Please
email me the recording.”
He looked at Sauvage, then at his shoes, busted. Sauvage
flounced out. He nodded at Coil and followed.
Coil’s mouth relaxed. She emailed a two-paragraph summary of
the meeting to Chief Brotman, mentioning the recording and the fact
66
that the candidate was going to give a press conference. Coil had a
thick skin but this was politics. She would be getting a call within
the hour.
_____
A half hour later she was thinking about her interview with
McKuen and Dennis. McKuen had given her an off-topic sketch
about his wife being detained by a gunman in a Westwood parking
garage.
Coil’s interest perked up when he mentioned a certain piece of
paper, a list of letters and numbers probably related to an old case of
hers. The SMPD had never found a fortune hidden by counterfeiter
and murderer, John Christian. McKuen said the man who detained
his wife wanted the paper because he probably had another set of
numbers. The two sets made up account numbers, routing numbers
and bank names.
That made sense. Christian was one of the most devious
criminals Coil had ever encountered. She agreed that the man might
come back, and pointed out that Westwood was outside her
jurisdiction.
She then grilled Dennis about his actions and whereabouts
around the time Sanborn was shot. First vague, after he and
McKuen exchanged a few glances, Dennis admitted to being at the
scene. She asked Ishido to interview Dennis in more detail, then
pressed McKuen about his connection to the three murders.
He asked if the Chief suspected them. She kept a straight face,
and asked McKuen to write a journal of their whereabouts. McKuen
67
again told her how unhappy he was about his wife being detained.
Coil got the message—quid pro quo.
Finally she told him that Celeste Sauvage, candidate for city
council, was making them an issue. McKuen was visibly displeased.
She explained that it was political—Sauvage needed a wedge.
McKuen should work on the journal and keep a low profile.
Eventually he agreed and departed.
She wasn’t trying to insulate Dennis and McKuen from
Sauvage, but tactically it was wise to separate the two issues, for
now. Tighten surveillance on them? Something to think about.
She peered out the window at a visible sliver of freeway,
watching cars exit the McClure Tunnel.
Another shitstorm. She sighed.
68
8
Wednesday the 11th Bob Costanza huddled in a sweater, hands around a coffee mug.
Rain clattered on the window at Sauvage For City Council
headquarters. He listened to Sauvage horse trade, and idly pondered
her makeover. Born with average looks, she had invested in herself.
Her smile was wider, her lips fuller, her nose now Greek and chest
subtly enhanced. Brutal workouts with a personal trainer had
produced a perfect body. She practiced poise and concerned candor
with a coach, and had a writer who created brilliant one-liners that
she delivered with a playful smile. Had she gone into acting, she
would have done well.
Costanza knew that she considered acting smalltime. To be the
most powerful person in the world was her destiny. It might take
twenty years, but the Presidency was hers. He hoped he could
endure the ride.
“Ms. Alvarez, all I’m saying is Captain Coil is stonewalling an
investigation.” Sauvage listened to the phone response.
“I know you have no corroboration, that’s why I’m calling you.”
More listening.
“But it’s in black and white! The first two murders were Santa
Monica bar owners. They were direct competition to this Steve
McKuen. The third one was a high-level drug dealer. He had ties to
McKuen’s fixer, Dennis Reneaux.”
69
The person on the other end raised her voice also. She went on
for a full minute.
Sauvage switched to a silky tone. “Ms. Alvarez, may I call you
Patty? You’re the number one TV news personality in Southern
California, that’s why I’m contacting you first.”
She attempted a humble tone. “Can you please look into this?
Just ask around, if it’s nothing, well…” Alvarez must have
responded positively.
Sauvage’s inflection slid to cordial and even. “Thank you, I
appreciate it.” Another question from the phone.
“Just doing my civic duty, I want nothing in return.” One more
remark, then Sauvage smiled sweetly. “That’s very kind of you, I’ll
reserve a seat for you, Patty. Bye.”
She turned to Costanza. “Front row for Patty Alvarez, plus two
cameras.” He wrote a note. She yawned and covered her mouth.
Shaking her shoulders, she looked at her iPad, then a spot on the
opposite wall.
“Invite Coil?” he said.
She gave him an arrogant look and barked a quick laugh. “Yeah,
right. That bitch ignored me. You said she talked to McKuen and
Reneaux and then sent them on their way? No, screw her.”
“I was thinking it might be good. You know, politically.”
“I’m not trying to make friends. I’ll be her boss soon enough.”
She looked at the dark window. “Get me Chief Brotman’s office
number. I’ll tell him about the press conference after I talk to the
rest of the media.”
70
Costanza went to retrieve the number. Getting out of range of
Sauvage every now and then was good for the soul. He had a thick
skin, but her vibe was toxic.
When he returned, he found her on the phone with journalist
Jessie Kovac. The sky dark and the storm fierce, inside the
campaign office destiny marched on. The Celeste Sauvage
steamroller ground its way through Santa Monica, leaving victims
in its wake.
_____
Coil huddled under the covers, limbs aching, forehead on fire.
When was the last time she called in sick, ten years ago? She
sneezed and grabbed a tissue. The downpour battered the building,
punctuated by thunder. Traffic would be a nightmare, a perfect day
to stay home. The police station was a five minute drive from her
place, but she knew that according to Murphy’s Law, the first call of
the morning would send her to the farthest corner of the city.
She heard her phone buzz. That would be Ishido. Since she was
rarely late and hadn’t called yet, she knew the text was his way of
politely inquiring when she might be coming in.
Her hand snaked out from under the covers. She pressed
Messages. And gasped.
dennis called. olivia reneaux possibly kidnapped. any ideas. don
What? She pressed Ishido’s contact icon.
“You got my text,” he said.
“What the hell is going on?”
71
“Don’t know. Dennis just called, I told him you were home
sick. Are you?”
“Yeaaahhh…hang on…” She sneezed. “Damn cold. When did
this happen?”
“This morning. I figured if you didn’t show up, it was
important, but then I thought you’d want to know about this.”
“You’re almost always right, Don.” A shiver. Great, a fever.
“Besides Dennis, anything else I need to deal with?” Of course
she wanted the answer to be no.
“Um, well—”
“What? Tell me.”
“Just a rumor, but I heard Celeste Sauvage called the Chief.”
Coil fought to stay silent. She had asked Ishido to keep an eye
out for trouble, but letting him know she was worried wouldn’t help.
“Anyway, could be bullshit,” Ishido said.
“Probably isn’t.” Coil steeled herself. “OK, I’ll call Dennis and
you’ll probably see me in an hour or two.”
“Char?”
“Yeah?”
“You sound terrible, just sayin.’”
“Thanks for the encouragement, Detective.”
He gave her a small chuckle. “Anything else, Captain?”
“No Don, catch ya later.”
They hung up. She rolled over and groaned. After a minute, she
picked up her phone and pressed Dennis’s contact.
“Hey, Char.”
72
“Ishido called me, hang on—” She sneezed. Her voice was in
rags. “Sorry, I can’t put resources on this.”
“Yeah.” He sounded resigned.
She tried to simulate a friendly tone, but wasn’t sure if it came
through. “Knowing you, you’ve already made a ton of calls and
you’ve got a private militia driving around looking for her.”
“Uh—”
“I’m going to look the other way, as long as nothing blows up in
Santa Monica.”
“Mmm, OK.”
She felt ghastly, and struggled to sound sympathetic. “Dennis, I
get it, I know Liv’s pregnant and you’re probably going insane right
now. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“OK, thanks Char.”
“No problem.”
She texted Ishido, reiterated she would try to come in, and asked
him to call if a real emergency came up.
A couple hours later in the bathroom she felt like she’d been run
over by a train. Making a valiant effort to get ready for work, if she
could just untangle a few more strands of hair…
Her phone rang. She glanced over—McKuen.
Hoping he might be able to add something relevant, she
answered. “This better be good.”
“Hi Char, nice to talk to you, too.”
“This about Liv?”
McKuen told her that Dennis had received a ransom call, but
McKuen thought a hundred thousand was far too low for it to be
73
serious. It was his opinion that Amy’s detention and Liv’s
disappearance were linked.
Coil thought he was reaching. She suggested calling the FBI,
but McKuen wanted to deal with the Liv matter off the radar, at
least initially. Always one to try to leverage a conversation, he
reminded her that she already said he and Dennis should keep a low
profile.
Even though both incidents happened outside of Santa Monica,
she felt so lousy she said that she would put Liv’s abduction on her
list. She wondered how the kidnapping fit with the murders but
ending the call was more important. He finally hung up.
She slunk away and flopped across the bed. A sinus headache
had her full in its grip. Thank God Sauvage hadn’t picked up on the
smuggling case. Better keep it that way.
With a groan, she forced herself up and over to the closet, slid
into a pair of jeans and a fluffy long-sleeved T-shirt. She strapped
on her shoulder holster. Better.
Boots, a heavy winter jacket and a wool cap completed the
ensemble. She stared at herself in the mirror. Awful.
Screw this. Sick or not, she was going in.
_____
The Chief was a political animal. Today’s balancing act was to
pretend to take Celeste Sauvage seriously in case she managed to
unseat Councilman Taurino, and at the same time pretend to care
about staff morale by backing Charlotte Coil.
74
His wife had convinced him that chamomile tea might help
calm him. He sipped some while looking out the window. Sun was
peeking through huge thunderheads. The storm was moving on.
He punched the old-fashioned intercom. “Send in Coil.”
She walked in and stood at attention. With practiced grace, he
gestured to a guest chair. They stared at each other. Hundreds of
sleepless nights had added several pounds to the Chief’s frame. He
hid it well, but his senior detective intimidated him. That day he was
heartened to note that she looked terrible, probably sick.
“Tell me, Captain, these two guys, McKuen and Reneaux.”
“There’s no evidence they participated in the murders, sir.”
“But there’s a fair amount of indirect, ah, suspicion. Correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
He could see that he wasn’t going to get any more than the
minimum, and glanced at a note. “You have unofficial contact with
Reneaux, right? He’s helped you solve some cases, like this John
Christian matter? I assume there’s some quid pro quo.” The Chief
was brought in after the Christian shook up the department. Well-
tutored and a veteran, he knew how things worked.
“Nothing outside of official policy…sir.”
Nothing that could be traced, he assumed.
“You understand what I’m dealing with here?” The fact that he
was yielding to a rich city council candidate probably lowered
Coil’s opinion of him, not that he cared.
“Ms. Sauvage called me,” Coil said. “She then came to my
office. She said she would be calling a press conference to discuss
why I wasn’t naming Dennis Reneaux as a suspect.”
75
“Reneaux met with one of the victims minutes before the victim
was shot?”
“Yes.” She took a wheezy breath.
“But he’s not a suspect?”
“Correct, he’s a person of interest. We’re investigating him, and
we are also investigating Steve McKuen. I haven’t made those facts
public because I think it’s not in the department’s best interest to
look like we’re yielding to political pressure from a person who is
not actually connected with city government,” she took another
wheezy breath, “sir.”
Splitting hairs, but she had a point. He had polled city council
members and Councilman Taurino’s criticism was scathing. Coil
had given him an opening.
“Captain, I think I’ll issue a statement to the effect that the
Department is actively investigating two persons of interest in
connection with the murders.”
He waved a hand. “If Ms. Sauvage wants to throw around
allegations, free speech and all. When the press asks for a response,
I’ll decline to name names, citing my previous statement. As long as
I have your assurance you’re pursuing an investigation, I don’t need
to go further, for now.”
He looked down at his desk. “You have two days to produce
further results. By the end of the day Friday, I expect a full report on
my desk. I don’t need to tell you that bringing charges would help
significantly in this matter.” He looked up and waggled his bushy
eyebrows to make sure she got his message.
Coil stood, straight as before. “If there’s nothing else, sir.”
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He waved her out. He thought he deserved a thank-you but he’d
accumulated enough crust on his psyche that it didn’t bother him.
He sketched his statement on a yellow pad and sipped his tea.
During the next half hour his exercise in ass-covering went
smoothly. The statement was posted on the department web site and
emailed strategically.
The Chief looked out at the clouds, then opened his file drawer.
His dossier on Coil was filling up.
_____
Sun reflected off the wet sidewalk outside a tall luxury hotel.
The glare alternated with occasional bursts of color from motor oil
streaks on the street. As Sauvage finished last-minute makeup
amendments, Costanza caught up with her in the wings of the
ballroom stage. He handed her a piece of paper.
She waved away the makeup man, focused on appearing
confident for the cameras. “What’s this?”
“Statement from Chief Brotman. He says the police have two
persons of interest under active investigation. The department is not
disclosing names until the facts firm up.”
She caught him point-blank with a blast. “Are you shittin’ me?
This came out just now?”
“Went to all the media, a staffer pulled it off the web site.”
“Goddamn it! I’m two minutes out and now I got no edge!” She
stamped her foot but kept a stone face, too late to postpone the
event.
77
“OK, I know what to do,” she said, eyes icy. “But Coil’s gonna
be eating shit with a spoon when I’m done with her.”
“Time,” said a handler.
Sauvage waltzed onstage, pushing her hair back with the flair of
a woman who knows eyes are following her.
With a huge smile, she held up the Chief’s statement. “As most
of you know, I had some prepared remarks. But because our Chief
of Police so graciously answered some of my questions, I’d like to
start by applauding him and his department for being so efficient
investigating the three murders which have rocked our city in the
last week. I know I feel much safer knowing the SMPD is on the
job.” She clasped the piece of paper to her chest. The cameras loved
her and she loved them back.
“Questions?” she said in a steamy contralto affected for male
viewers.
Jessie Kovac raised a hand. “Doesn’t this pre-empt the one issue
you had going into today’s presser? It was my understanding you
were going to imply that the SMPD is showing favoritism toward a
local businessman by overlooking him in the investigation.”
Watching from the wings, Costanza figured that Sauvage
wished she had Kovac alone in a room with a boxcutter in her hand.
“Ms. Kovac, Jessie.” Sauvage smiled warmly. “I’m always
ready to give our courageous first responders the benefit of the
doubt in light of new facts. Let’s show some respect. Next?”
Several reporters and TV personalities had weak follow-ups.
Sauvage fielded them easily.
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The reporter from Channel 4 raised a hand. “Ms. Sauvage, up to
now, your campaign has been driven by prepared speeches and
screened interviews. No one has asked an obvious question. Your
campaign is well-funded and well-run. You’re not a long-term
resident of Santa Monica. In essence, aren’t you trying to buy your
way into politics by running in a small, but high-profile city?”
The room went silent.
But Sauvage had an adept political answer. “My ties to the city
are self-evident. As you know, I started Takedown in Venice, less
than a mile from Santa Monica’s borders, and most of my staff lived
in Santa Monica. When Takedown’s popularity exploded, the
economic benefit to Santa Monica was enormous. Many of the
publicity and modeling photos in the first several years highlighted
Santa Monica landmarks, especially the Pier.”
She waved vaguely west. “My campaign and ultimate
representation on the City Council is merely an extension of my
long-term ties with our beautiful city. Next, please?”
Costanza smiled. Her answer was partially true. The questions
moved to what she would do if elected. On that subject, Sauvage
excelled. Promising an elaborate marketing push to fund tourism,
she also listed several infrastructure improvements she would
champion.
Well-tutored in audience manipulation, she inexorably steered
succeeding queries to be less penetrating. The reporter from
Channel 4 lost interest and concentrated on her phone. Jessie Kovac
left, probably to cover another story. Sauvage sensed growing
boredom and gracefully wound down the appearance before the
questions could become too mundane.
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As they walked to the town car, she fumed over the Chief’s
maneuver. “There’ll be a new Chief when I win.”
“Let’s get that win, and then worry about it,” Costanza said.
“You’re right.” She turned to him. “Dig deeper. Find me
something.”
She slipped into the back seat and looked up. “Do you have
people watching McKuen and Reneaux? Like full-time?”
“Well, no. That would be…” He rubbed two fingers against his
thumb.
“I don’t care, whatever it takes! I’ve got lots of money, you
know that. I need an edge. Do it!” She slammed the door and turned
away in a huff.
Costanza rolled his eyes and walked to the other side of the car.
A fleeting grin crossed his face.
He could get almost anybody elected, even Celeste Sauvage.
_____
“You were right,” Ishido said. “Art Cross was the lieutenant on
the scene. Chad helped me get a report from the old files.” He
handed Coil a thin folder.
She flipped it open and skimmed. “Thanks, Don, you’re the
best. She tapped a long finger on her desk. “Shut the door, please?”
He reached over.
“I spoke with Dennis again,” she said. “He’s going crazy,
worrying. I’m surprised he had it together to call me. Anyway, he
said something. Now McKuen’s on his way over, I’m sure they’re
connected.” Ishido sat straighter.
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“Last week, I asked Dennis to check around about the
smugglers,” she said. “You never know what he might come up
with.” Dennis had connections they would love to know about.
“Having this much China White land in Southern California in a
short period is unusual, I asked some of the old guys.” She twirled a
finger. “There hasn’t been this kind of volume in forty years.”
“It’s usually brown, from South America.”
“Yeah, so I asked Dennis. Some source of his came back with
one word, Montebello.”
Ishido raised his eyebrows. “Not The Five. You think there’s a
successor? Successors?”
Coil gave him a quick nod. “You know about McKuen and his
wife’s death.”
Ishido threw his hands out. “Yeah, but what can we do? I mean,
we can pursue this, but we’re going to need Federal resources.
Maybe a task force with the Feds and Montebello PD.”
“Let’s see what McKuen has to say. We might not have to
spend a ton of time gearing up and launching an investigation.”
“Let them do some of the work for us?”
She nodded, cat-like. No smile, but a satisfied look.
Ishido stood up. “Your call, Char. I like the idea of not spinning
our wheels if we don’t have to. But if you don’t mind, this is yours.”
“Just want to keep you in the loop, Don. In case it helps you,
um, allocate resources better.”
He smiled and opened the door. “Leave it open?”
She nodded. “Thanks, McKuen should be here soon.”
81
McKuen came and went in less than twenty minutes. He took
her on a short conversational trip. She was pretty sure he was legit
these days, but he was wily enough that she was on guard.
Of course he didn’t mention any possible criminal acts he might
have engaged in. She knew there were plenty of things he didn’t
want to discuss with her, and she didn’t bring them up. He hinted
that he and Dennis might be able to help with the Montebello
connection—exactly what she’d hoped for.
The elephant in the room, the serial murder case, was the only
thing he avoided, trying to skate around it by appearing to be
confused. He was probably trying to plant a seed. She didn’t press
it.
Sauvage could only seize the media spotlight for as long as the
SMPD refused to do what she wanted. Coil wondered if she should
feed that beast to get it to shut up. Presumption of innocence is a
basic right, but maybe she could split the difference.
She made a note to request more surveillance on McKuen and
Dennis. They were useful, but she had cut them enough slack. It
would be good to know what they were up to, minute-to-minute for
a few days. Too many interesting things were happening on her turf.
She didn’t like it one bit.
82
9
Friday the 13th Early morning frost had formed on the corners of Coil’s office
window. A glance caught a rainbow effect from refracted light. She
heard voices in the hall.
“Don?” she called.
He strolled in, Micki trailing with a half-awake smile. Coil
poked a finger for him to shut the door.
She looked at Micki. “Sit down. Just want to get your opinion
on Jen and Chad.”
“Uh—”
“Char comes up with stuff whenever it crosses her mind,”
Ishido said. “Say what you think.”
Micki nodded and took a few seconds. “Chad’s trying hard,
he’ll be fine in a few months.” She paused. Coil knew what was
coming.
“You know I’m not a fan of Jen’s, but let me explain.” Micki
touched her fingers to her chest. “Her eyes…when I catch her by
surprise, you know, when I walk up from behind? Her eyes are like,
dead. They come to life in a second, but it’s kinda creepy.”
Coil chose her words carefully. “So it’s not personal. This is
more…psychological?”
Micki nodded. Coil looked away and tapped her cheek with a
pen.
83
She looked back at them. “We’ll keep your observation between
the three of us. No problem with your opinion, I appreciate the
honesty.” She stood up and gestured outside. “Let’s see if they’re
here yet.”
Then she held up a hand. “You know, it’s kind of curious that
there were three murders in ten days and none in the last five. Feels
like the killer’s overdue.” She glanced at Ishido. “You talked to the
last three bar owners?”
He nodded. “I did my best to impress on them they need
protection twenty-four seven, but it’s up to them.”
“All we can do.” She sat down and tapped a few keys, making
notes. Micki stood up to leave.
Ishido did also. “Conference room?”
Coil nodded. “Fifteen minutes. Ask Jen to bring everything.
Then if you could come back here for a second.”
Ishido returned. Coil swiped her head at the door and he shut it.
“Thought I’d get your opinion on something,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“This serial killer, we’ve really got nothing on him. So far, he’s
way too good. I’m thinking about provoking him.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Give the media some disinformation, kinda stir the pot.”
“I don’t know…”
She held up a hand. “Here’s what I have in mind. We talked to
each bar owner and warned them. Since a senior detective contacted
them and said they need to tighten up personal security, it’s all we
can do by the book.” He nodded.
84
“Two part,” she said, “I’ll tell the media that SMPD’s basically
providing security for certain members of the public. The subject’s
now warned.” He nodded again.
“Then I’m going to say a source speculated the killer’s deranged
or challenged,” she twirled a finger, “he just got lucky. The
department’s taking the murders seriously, but it’s not likely there’ll
be more. The murderer’s not that good.”
“That’s really risky,” he said. “What if the asshole pulls off
another one? The department’s going to look really bad.”
“It’s off the record, it’s speculation, each reporter will put it in
their own words.”
“Maybe you should run it past the Chief.”
Of course the Chief would never agree to it.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said.
She knew that Ishido wasn’t fooled. She had expected his
objection and it wouldn’t deter her a bit.
He sighed. “Good luck, Char.”
“Thanks, Don.” She stood up.
In the conference room Coil briefed everybody on the
kidnapping of Olivia Reneaux. Technically, LAPD had the case, but
she wanted her team to be aware of it.
“Nothing pointing at a particular person or group?” Chad said.
Coil hesitated. McKuen was sure that the kidnapping was
related to Amy’s detention and the piece of paper in the locket. She
thought that was tangential, and shook her head. She asked Jen to
present a brief on the serial murders.
85
Jen’s presentation was exactly what she had in mind, concise
but complete, delivered in short sentences. It painted a picture and
described each circumstance accurately, a model of police
procedural prose but easy on the jargon. Coil thought that Jen would
be the youngest female senior detective since she claimed that
distinction several years before. She debated whether to tell the
other detectives about her proposed leak, or use their reactions after
the press disseminated it to gauge their maturity.
“Don and I have talked to most, if not all the bar and restaurant
owners in direct competition with Steve McKuen’s bars, about
twenty?” Ishido nodded.
“We’ve told them to hire security. This killer’s not screwing
around.” Jen’s dark brown eyes were riveted on her, expressionless.
On instinct, Coil shifted gears. “There has to be a thread. So far,
the only one is the killings relate to McKuen, or Dennis Reneaux.
There’s something else, we just haven’t found it.”
She glanced at her phone. “That’s it. Oh, and everybody’s on
full twelves for the next few days.” They all nodded.
On the way up the hall, Ishido leaned over. “You’re not going to
tell ‘em about the media?”
“Last minute thought.”
The change of course was a gut feeling. She trusted her team,
but wanted to see what the element of surprise generated. She closed
her door and got busy on the phone. The first call was to Channel 4,
but she had to leave a voicemail. She found a business card for
Jessie Kovac and punched the number.
“Charlotte Coil here,” she said when the sleepy voice answered.
86
“Oh, Captain Coil, nice surprise.”
“First ground rule, you may not record this.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“To be honest, I’m using you.”
“Happy to be used. I take it whatever you say is off the record.”
“You take it right.”
“This about the beach smugglers?”
“No, it’s about the murders.”
“Great, what’s happening?”
“Depending on what you do, I may or may not talk to you
again. To reiterate, this is background only, not for attribution. The
source is outside the department, do you agree?”
Kovac sounded eager. “You’re the boss.”
“You heard that SMPD is going to keep a watch on certain
business owners, certain people who may be targets based on the
prior crimes.”
“You’re hoping to warn the killer off.”
“Something like that.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” Coil paused for effect. “The subject got lucky, we’re
pretty sure the person isn’t that smart, but he is mentally ill.”
“So that rules out Steve McKuen and Dennis Reneaux.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“You really think the killer’s crazy? Seems pretty well-
planned.”
“Do you want this or not?”
“OK OK, just my opinion.”
87
Coil softened her tone. “Jessie, we didn’t start well, and things
haven’t gone so well between us. It doesn’t have to stay that way.
This is a good story, could get a lot of attention. You’re pretty
creative. Stay within the lines of what I just told you, you’ve got a
good article.”
“So if I go along and plant this, somewhere in the future, maybe
we can talk?”
“Depends on how you play it.”
“What do I do about a source?”
“Strictly anonymous, but you can say the source is well-
informed and reliable. Like I said, you’re creative.”
“You going to plant this elsewhere?”
“Damn straight I am. Right now, you’ve got it first. We both
know you can get it online in a couple hours.”
Kovac said nothing. Coil knew it wasn’t that juicy, but Kovac
could punch it up. The fact that she could beat the Times and the
television media should be appealing.
“OK, deal,” Kovac said. “You’ll probably hear about it in two
or three hours.”
“I’m planning on it, gotta go.”
During the next half hour, she repeated the dance with the
Times and Channel 4. Both expressed dismay that she had talked to
Kovac first. She told them they could take it or leave it. They could
get the stories online within an hour of Kovac’s. They agreed to
terms.
88
By eleven, CNN, the Times and Channel 4 had published short
pieces based on Coil’s phone calls. By noon, the department’s PR
rep was inundated with queries.
_____
The articles weren’t attributed to SMPD, but Coil knew the
Chief had his suspicions. His assistant waved her in. She stood,
thinking about the disappearance of Liv Reneaux. The timing was
suspect. He ignored her, dwelling on paperwork, letting her engine
idle.
Finally, he looked up. “Captain, when I promoted you, I had
certain expectations.”
“Yes, sir.” She gazed at a spot on the wall. The kidnapping puts
a ton of pressure on Dennis, she thought.
“One of them was that you would clear major communications
with the media through my office in advance,” he said.
“With all due respect, sir, the source is anonymous, and
anyway, it’s speculation, isn’t it?”
He gave her a don’t-act-stupid look. “Well, that’s the point, it’s
speculation but well-coordinated speculation. It’s like dangling bait
in front of a hungry fish. Do you think that anyone with any
intelligence isn’t going to figure that out?”
“The media says that the killer isn’t that smart, probably crazy,”
she said with a straight face.
“Goddamn it Coil, don’t fuck with me! That Sauvage woman is
all over our ass and the media’s eating it up. This kind of thing
89
makes my stomach hurt, and when that happens, captains become
unhappy!” She was surprised he didn’t pound on the desk.
“Yes, sir.” The kidnapping had to be connected to the murders,
she thought.
He sighed and looked out the window. The morning chill had
melted with the California sun’s rays. “Dismissed. And Captain?”
Coil halted her turn and came back to full attention. “Yes, sir?”
“No more of this shit. Get it?”
“Yes, sir!” She twirled on a toe, walked out of the room and
edged the door shut. The killer would come out to play. Hopefully,
the SMPD or some hired gun would be there when he made his next
attempt.
Coil was sure that things were moving. The chaos felt good.
Something was going to break. As she walked back to her office,
she checked her phone. A couple of calls from media flacks,
guessing or hoping she was the source. Forget them.
There was a voicemail from Elizabeth Pulaski. She shut her
office door and made the call.
“Charlotte, thanks for getting back to me quickly,” Elizabeth
said. “I’d like to discuss the voicemail you left, about former
Deputy Chief Cross? Got a minute?”
“Sure. Thanks for calling back. It’s been kinda crazy here, I
forgot I called you.”
“No problem. I contacted Art Cross’s parole officer. He’s
actually an old friend. He said he would have a chat with the warden
at Lompoc, maybe one of my staff can interview Cross.”
“Can I be there?”
90
“Hmmm, I didn’t really think of going in that direction.”
“Yeah sorry, I didn’t make it clear in my message, but it feels
like… Look, Art and I had an off-and-on sort of relationship for
almost twenty years. I played a part in sending him up, but it wasn’t
a big part, he kind of hung himself.”
“OK, I guess I could add to the request. If you’re approved to
visit him, I need to be there. At that point, it’s not a job for an
associate.”
“Fine fine, I just want to remind Cross about the night of the
shooting. He was on the scene, he and I talked a lot. I was new and
he was in charge. One of my detectives verified he wrote the report.
I’m hoping there’s something I’m not remembering.”
“I like the angle, if it works out. If I can get under any kind of
technical flaw in the debriefing, you never know.”
“Also, I have to take this to the Chief of Police.”
“Why don’t we hold off, at least for another week or two?”
Coil fell silent.
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth said softly. “I’m on your side, please let
me guide you.” Her presence seemed to transcend the distance.
Coil was startled. There was some kind of feeling, but she
couldn’t place it.
She cleared her throat. “OK, I’ll wait. I really appreciate your
help, Ms. Pulaski.”
“Please call me Elizabeth.”
“OK Elizabeth, just wanted you to know.”
“It’s my job, Charlotte. Don’t worry, it’ll work out.”
“Char,” Coil said, lost in a place far from her surroundings.
91
“All right Char, I’ll call you back when I know something.
Please relax, I’m with you on this.”
“Thank you, I have to go.” They hung up. With effort, Coil
snapped out of her reverie. Strange.
The world rushed back in with a knock. Ishido stood in the
doorway. “Everybody’s talking about the media reports.” He peered
at her. “You OK, Char?”
“Yeah, actually I feel pretty good.” She gestured for him to
come in. “What’s the consensus?”
He laughed. “Of course they’re being diplomatic, but I think
Chad and Jen think you’ve lost your marbles.”
She snorted. “Not my problem. And Micki?”
“You know, she’s your biggest fan.”
“And you?”
“Char, I’ve seen you pull more stuff out of your, uh, hat than
any three detectives combined.”
“Actually Don, some of my best work rests on yours.”
“We’re a good team, but still—”
“Look, we can stand around and admire each other all day.
What do you think?”
“I think you’re taking a big risk, but I said that already.”
“Thanks Don, I mean it. Look, I’m running behind on email.
Not to be rude but…”
He grinned. “See ya.” He turned and walked out.
She tore through three quarters of the unread mails. One of them
made her think. A KNX radio reporter didn’t demand information
on the murders. He pointed out that the smuggling incidents were
92
random in frequency and location. How did she expect to counter
the smuggler’s actions?
She didn’t delete it. Something to think about.
As she raced through the rest, the radio reporter’s message
continued to resonate. Random? Probably. Or were they? She got up
and looked at a huge wall map of Southern California, pushpins
marking the smuggling crimes.
Sometimes her mind entered a certain zone. It couldn’t be
forced. With the stress and fatigue of the last few days, it was
hovering. She let her eyes unfocus.
Staring, not seeing, her thoughts lingered on the previous
incidents. She drifted…and saw it.
Tonight, the Santa Monica Pier.
What the hell? That’s voodoo. The picture faded, then sailed off
to sea like a bad movie ending.
As if she were clairvoyant. She shook her head. Reports were
calling, but she stared at the monitor. Had her subconscious seen a
pattern?
_____
Chad knocked on her door frame. “Captain, Jen just took a call,
she said to come get you.” Coil jumped up and followed him to the
detectives’ area.
Jen stood up as they came through the door. “I think we’ve got
the kidnap victim, Captain.”
Coil squinted. “A call?”
93
“The library next to the park on Overland.” Jen scrunched her
brow. “I think it’s called Palms Recreation Center.”
Coil pointed at Chad. “Tell Don and Micki to get rolling. You
stay here.” He looked downcast, but walked away.
“Call LAPD,” she said to Jen. “Tell them we know it’s their turf
but we’re on the way. Use your cell. You’re with me, come on.”
She started for the parking garage, long legs eating up the yards.
Jen scrambled after her. Coil revved the Lincoln, Jen jumped in the
passenger seat, slammed the door and punched her phone.
Liv was unharmed. LAPD arrived, and predictably, Dennis.
Coil wondered about the scope of Dennis’s reach, but filed that for
another day. They handed Liv off to LAPD and started back.
“I’ve got Saturday night, six to six,” Jen said. “I should take off
soon.”
“Yeah, you’re almost four hours OT now. Clock out when we
get back.” They pulled into the parking garage.
Coil looked over. “Not a review or anything, but you’re doing
great.”
Jen’s face lit up. “Thanks, Captain.”
“You can call me Char, you know.”
“Uh OK, thanks, Char. I really better get home, I’m so tired.”
“Sure.” Coil waved Jen toward the locker room and headed to
the detectives’ section. Something about the kidnapping and release
didn’t add up. Earlier she thought it had to be connected to the
murders. But how?
_____
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Detective Chadwick Venable McAllister VI had a pretty good
idea of where he stood. After giving everything he had, he was still
number five on a team of five. He accepted it: each of the others
was more experienced except Jen, and she was more obsessed with
perfection.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the shooting in
which Captain Coil was involved years ago was somehow linked to
Brendan Page. Chad didn’t know what Coil and Page talked about,
but when she got back in the vehicle, she was shaken.
He wanted to help. If he could assist in the solution of the
smuggling crime, it would take a big load off her shoulders. It
would also boost his profile, but that was secondary. After Coil and
Page’s encounter on the beach, Chad started working his
connections in the surf community. When the other four detectives
left for the library, he called in a favor. His gamble meant leaving
his post but when his call yielded a result, he rolled one line to
another. He asked the lone detective on the floor to cover it. He just
needed to step out and get some antacid tablets, fifteen minutes tops.
He hustled to the parking lot of the Santa Monica Civic
Auditorium. A big green truck was parked near the back. Page
waved for him to open the side door. He climbed in.
Page’s green eyes smoldered. “Kelly said you wanted to talk.”
Chad breathed in, now or never. “My boss, Captain Coil,
something’s going on with you and her. I can help.” Page stared.
Chad stuck out his chin. “I don’t know what you really want but
whatever it is, I can broker this.” Page’s look said he could stare
down this wannabe all day.
95
Chad held his ground. “You want to tell me what it is?”
“No.”
“Oh man, I no wonker here.” Chad made a white boy version of
a gang sign, thumb and little finger splayed.
“You wack.” Page looked away. “Trippin.’”
Time was waning. “I can get her to back off. Keep your trade
under the radar and I get her off you, man.” Chad shrugged. “Or it’s
a brutal beatdown, she’s bad. You choose.”
Page looked at him. “I know you, dude. You’s a little grom
back then, still a grom.” His expression lightened. “Li’l skank with
daddy’s duckets.”
Red-faced at the taunt, Chad pulled out a card. “OK. You da big
awesome nutter.” He tossed the card on the seat and grabbed the
door handle. “Two days. Make the call or get worked.”
Page sneered. Chad jumped out and walked away, head high.
He barely had time to get notes on the calls he missed. Ten
minutes later Coil walked in.
Chad thought about the exchange. Page seemed confident as if
he had leverage, but there was an undercurrent. Chad thought that
behind the mask Page might be anxious, like he had to finish
business and get out of Dodge. Hmmm.
“What’s up?” Coil said.
“Nothin,’ same ol,’” he said, still thinking about Page.
“’K, I’ll be in my office, wrapping up our end of the Liv
Reneaux thing. Don and Micki should be back soon, it’s all LAPD
and FBI now.” She disappeared.
Chad looked at the ceiling. An image floated, just out of reach.
96
10
Saturday the 14th Another misty night, all hands wired on caffeine, electric and on
edge. Waves grew flatter and a thousand colored lights came into
focus. The skipper cut the throttle, the big boat drifted, the brightly
lit hulk of the Pier to their left. Dead ahead, parking lot lights
showed halos. The water was less than four feet deep, the sand
within ten yards. From nowhere, a shape appeared.
“Easy,” Page said. “Company by the Pier.”
“Cops?”
Page nodded. “Little over a quarter mile, we can do this.”
“What if they see us?”
“They might, let’s make it quick.”
Failing to unload when they were this close risked their jefe’s
wrath to the limit. She would go nuclear, way worse than prison.
The big truck coasted down the parking lot driveway. Lights
off, it looked like a silent boulder rolling down a hill. Two more
men in wetsuits materialized, wading through the mist.
The skipper eased the throttle to idle. The boat floated, guided
by the paddleboarders. Only the murmur of the truck backing up to
the sand could be heard. The burly man lowered the sled. Two of
the men in the water steadied the boat, ready to offload.
For speed, Page helped the big man tow the sled through the
sand. Page was amped, this close to Coil and crew. His respect for
97
CeCe Dias, the boss, increased. She’d heard from an informer and
directed the load-out to their current position.
Page’s payoff for this job was large, consistent with risk. It was
the biggest shipment they’d managed and would take six trips up the
beach. Pulling it off under Coil’s nose was immensely gratifying.
A car pulled into the parking lot. Electricity shot through the
team, but they were a well-oiled machine and barely slowed down.
The car parked at the far end. Some teenagers went about their
business. The operation continued.
Three thousand pounds of heroin in nine minutes. The three
men on the boat, three in the water, the burly man with the sled and
the loaders at the truck were drenched with sweat.
Done. The big man hoisted up the sled, hopped in and pulled
down the door as the truck drove away.
Page helped his men turn the boat around and push it into
deeper water. The skipper boosted fuel to the twin nine hundred
horsepower engines. Before Page’s crew had their boards in the
water, the boat disappeared in the mist. The only ones now exposed,
they sought bigger surf.
A floodlight arced and stabbed across the sand and into the
shallows, catching movement from the boarders.
An old black Lincoln screeched down the driveway into the
parking lot, vainly pointing a spotlight at the mist.
“Goddamn it!” Coil screamed. “Goddamn it! That was them—I
know it was them!” At the wheel of the Lincoln, she saw nothing
but fog.
98
“Want me to call the Coast Guard?” Chad said.
“Yeah call ‘em, but it’s too late. Give that boat a quarter mile
and it’s all over.” She jumped out of the idling Town Car and stared
out to sea. “Shit!”
They’d been waiting, watching, worrying they had it wrong.
Then the station called, saying somebody phoned from one of the
condos across Ocean Avenue. The person saw a car full of teenagers
smoking a joint or something.
Oh yes, they also saw a truck and some kind of activity, but
couldn’t make out what it was. The desk sergeant put two and two
together and sounded the alarm.
The idea was right, but a quarter mile off. Goddamn it!
Page reasoned that if they were spotted, their pursuers would
expect them to go south. He and his men headed out past the first
three sets of swells. Most paddleboarders don’t like to be that far out
at night, but the three weren’t most paddleboarders. They swung
around the end of the Pier, cutting north with all their strength, then
pointed toward the Jonathan Beach Club’s lights. Page knew a guy
who rented a rundown shack nearby. The faint reverberation of a
foghorn skimmed across the waves.
It was a long haul, almost two miles against the prevailing tide.
The water was cold and the going choppy, but they were tough and
wired with fear. Page was raking in three hundred thousand for this
job, with which he would pay his bros thirty each, a fifty percent
bump. His compensation couldn’t be measured in money.
99
Inside the men celebrated their victory, endorphins from the last
ninety minutes racing through their blood. Page was happy, but you
wouldn’t know it. When euphoric, he looked vaguely pleased and
when dissatisfied, sullen.
One of his homies handed him a bottle of beer. “Jeez Bren,
cheer up, not like your dog died.”
“Yeah, thanks man.” Page took a swig. “It was righteous, for
sure.”
“Righteous!” The man clinked his bottle in a toast.
Page knew it wasn’t over. Sure, good money. And the next time
he caught CeCe, he’d spank her ‘til she couldn’t move, make that
bitch beg.
But the real payoff was taking down Coil. He looked out the
window at the dark sea, and had an idea. Even the surf community
wasn’t immune to politics.
_____
Coil pounded her desk and swore for a few minutes. Why did
the trap fail? Fury finally vented, she opened her door.
Micki walked in. “Almost had ‘em.”
“Yeah. Hey Micki, you’re good at guessing what’s going on in
peoples’ heads, what do you think here?”
“I’m better at it when I’m with the person. Only saw Page once,
what’s your thinking?”
“Somebody’s running him, he’s not the boss. It’s coming from
the east side, Montebello. You weren’t around then, but—”
“The Five, heard about ‘em. That was their base, Montebello.”
100
“Somebody in one of the families, least that’s what I’m
thinking.”
“Like a son? Maybe a nephew?”
Coil nodded. “Tomorrow, want to start checking into that?”
“Well yeah, feels right.” Micki looked gratified to be on her
wavelength. A few more minutes and she was out the door.
Dawn was breaking. Coil turned off the overhead light and sat
with the desk lamp, thinking about Page.
It’s him or me, she thought. The dark window stared at her. She
sighed. Nothing was working. She slumped in her chair, thinking
about Larry and her decision to walk out that night. Another sigh
escaped.
This is really going nowhere.
At mid-morning she called Ishido, Micki and Chad. A recap of
the previous night’s failure was in order, and she needed to write a
summary for the Chief. The media might get wind of it. So what?
Screw ‘em.
When she met with the bleary-eyed trio, she told Micki and
Chad to write a report. Then she and Don could edit it and send it
onward. The Chief called for a preview—he heard about everything.
She gave him a sketch.
“Since it was based on your hunch, I’m not surprised,” he said.
“We almost had ‘em.”
“You know about almost.” Her ears went red but she rolled her
eyes and shut up.
“I’m glad I restricted your resources,” he said.
101
She bit her tongue, then replied, “Next time.”
He grunted and hung up.
She couldn’t get out it of her head. Liv Reneaux was kidnapped,
then no murders. Now she’s released do they start again?
Early evening she stopped by Jen’s desk and reminded her to
call if anything came up. They talked for a minute. Attentive and
involved, Jen acted normally, eyes lively.
Coil thought she’d better keep checking. Micki’s hunches were
pretty damn good.
Her phone rang in the dark. In a semi-dream state, she guessed
that she’d forgotten to turn the damn thing off. Too exhausted to
answer, she drifted. Voicemail.
Five minutes later, another ring. She groped and found it.
“Captain it’s Jen, another murder, right over here at the Civic.”
“Sonofabitch!” Coil pushed the covers back, sat up and shook
her hair. “Be right there.”
Ten minutes later, puzzled, she took the stairs to the garage. It
was like the killer knew what she was thinking.
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11
Sunday the 15th Coil banged through the swinging door. She saw Jen and kept
moving. “SID?”
“Getting ready.” Jen hurried to keep up. “I called Chad, he’ll be
here soon. Wanted to wait for you to decide about calling Micki and
Don.”
They reached Coil’s office. Jen was bright-eyed and ready to
go. Jacket on, tablet under her arm, she offered a clipboard and pen.
“Thanks, I’ll call Don,” Coil said. She told him to meet them at
the Civic parking lot and take his time. The victim was dead and
they would be there in five minutes.
Jen had a steaming mug of coffee waiting for her at the end of
the desk. Coil took it and gestured out the door. They walked to the
garage.
“How long between when the call came in and you called me?”
Coil said.
“Two minutes. I would have gone to the scene, but I thought
you might want this.” Jen offered a printed transcript of the 911 call
with her written notes at the bottom.
“I’ll get there. Hold this.” Coil handed over the coffee. They got
into the Lincoln and drove the two blocks.
Four uniformed officers were working a large crime scene
perimeter. Three more were talking to nearby drivers who wanted to
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get their cars and leave. The concert obviously over, most of the
parking lot was empty. Forty or fifty people were being detained. A
few questions confirmed what she suspected. The victim, Mathias
“Matty” Rasmussen, a bar owner in Santa Monica, had apparently
ignored her warning.
A radio squawked. One on the other side of the lot echoed it.
The senior uniformed officer, a sergeant, walked over to brief her. A
squad car rolled up, rack lights flashing. The driver was another
sergeant, but the passenger was someone Coil wished had stayed
home, Chief Brotman.
She looked at Jen, who gave her an exaggerated shrug as if to
say, “I sure didn’t call him.”
The Chief got out, surveyed the scene and grimaced. He took a
few steps and planted himself in Coil’s space. Even though he was
three inches shorter, her distinct impression was that he was holding
a large bucket of excrement over her head, positioning himself to
dump it.
He pushed his lips out in disgust. “It appears the killer is
smarter and less deranged than you thought.”
“Chief, we just started investigating a few minutes ago. There
could be a dozen clues, give us a couple hours.” She looked over the
top of his hat.
“No problem, Detective.” The fact that he didn’t call her
Captain told her where she stood. Probably all downhill from there.
He flipped a hand toward the body. “I’ll give you eight hours.
It’s twelve thirty, your full report will be on my desk at eight thirty.”
He turned and walked an inside ellipse, staring at the scene.
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Coil could see that there were no obvious clues. No weapon, no
brass, no litter, the dead man’s key ring looped around a finger.
Lights were being brought in. A dog or two would be enlisted after
a twenty yard diameter around the body was meticulously
examined. The preliminary survey and medical examination would
take longer than eight hours.
She didn’t care how long it took. The process of solving the
crime started with Jen’s phone call. It would end when it ended,
preferably with an arrest. The eight hour demand from the Chief
was, in her experience, minor pressure for political reasons. She
would be obsessively thorough and give it a hundred ten percent.
Eventually the Chief left. Veteran teams of investigators
performed tasks they had practiced three times recently. Everybody
knew their job.
Ishido walked up. “Did I just see our fearless leader leaving?”
Coil gave him an eyeroll.
“This is too slick, too perfect, Matty Rasmussen.”
“He was on the list.”
“I talked to him on the phone, Don.”
“I’ll start documenting his movements and conversations
starting the day before yesterday through…” he waved at the body.
“Betcha I can get a word with a few Civic employees right now.”
He hustled toward the entrance doors. She watched him go. She
could never replace him.
Jen approached. “I looked under all nearby cars and trucks. No
brass.”
105
“Instead of policing the area, I’d like you to start working with
uniforms, interviewing the vehicle owners.”
Coil gestured at the large group of people waiting impatiently.
“Organize statement collection, see if you can spot anybody who
looks more nervous than they should. There’s no rule that the
subject isn’t still here.” Jen left to follow orders.
Coil spotted Chad and waved him over. “Stick with me. We’re
gonna start at the outside and work our way in.”
A helicopter flew too low, searchlight sweeping.
“You’re not worried we might’ve provoked the killer?” Chad
yelled.
“It’s not the department’s fault, it’s on me.” She looked up at
the helicopter, anger building. “But no, not really. If he’s like any
serial killer I’ve ever heard of, he can’t help it, he was overdue.”
The helicopter lifted away.
“I was trying to get in his head, get him to make a mistake.
Yeah, I’m not happy about this,” she waved back at the scene, “but
it was going to happen.”
The Chief had shot down her request for an extra two-man
undercover team to tail McKuen and Dennis. Her patient
explanation to Chad was an attempt to take her mind off of her
feeling of helplessness and failure.
They moved to a corner of the parking lot and began a tedious
process of walking concentric circles, slowly narrowing the
diameter until it converged with the crime scene. One reason she
wanted to take the seemingly unproductive route was to let the facts
of this killing and the other three killings wash over her. Maybe she
106
would tweeze out a fact that led somewhere, like pulling on a
thread. And talking to somebody else helped her subconscious grind
through storylines. Anything was worth a try.
_____
Only two hours after she went to bed, Celeste Sauvage’s phone
rang. She let it go to voicemail. It rang again.
“What!”
“Another killing in Santa Monica,” Costanza said.
She suddenly felt perky and congenial. “Really?”
“Really.”
Sauvage thought about the possibilities. Could it have been
McKuen or Reneaux? She saw them at a party several hours before,
but the gathering was huge. The clock was now closing in on four
a.m.
“Tell your guy to call me,” she said. Click.
She pounded into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on
her face and marched to her housekeeper’s door, banged on it and
demanded coffee. Back to the bathroom. A quick shower washed
away some of the weariness. As she was drying her hair, she noticed
how dreadful she looked on a couple hours of sleep. She shoveled
on extra makeup.
When she reached the breakfast room, she checked her phone,
saw the surveillance man’s call and tapped Reply. Coffee was
placed in front of her. A sip while the phone rang.
“Whaddya got?” she said.
“Well, nothing. I was going to email you later.”
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“Nothing? They were there the whole time?”
“Uh no, they went out to Reneaux’s truck and talked.”
“How long?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“When?”
“’Bout ten ‘til eleven, something like that.”
“I want exact times.”
“Hang on,” he said. “About nine forty-five to ten fifty-five.”
“Good, email me a full report within an hour.”
“Um OK, I can do that.”
“For what you get paid, you bet your ass you can.” Click.
Back to Costanza. “I need as close to an exact time for the
killing as possible.”
“Sure Celeste, my man said they were outside, away from the
party for an hour.”
“I know that, they coulda easily pulled off this murder.”
“But he said they didn’t drive anywhere.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“You can’t allege they’re suspects if you know they weren’t
anywhere near the crime.”
“Like I said, let me worry about it.”
“OK I’ll get you a time, but I don’t know nothing.”
“As usual.”
“Hey!” She hung up on him.
By the time the surveillance man’s report arrived, Costanza had
texted her that the murder was between nine thirty and ten thirty,
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plus or minus a half hour. Close enough. Time to use a phone
number she’d paid a lot of money for.
“Hello.” A cough, throat clearing, then, “Who is this?”
“Chief Brotman, Celeste Sauvage here. I have it on good
authority that Steve McKuen and Dennis Reneaux were together
and unobserved from nine thirty to eleven last night. I’m prepared to
go to the media.”
“Motha— Ms. Sauvage, do you know what time it is?”
Her tone conveyed her lack of concern. “About five or so.”
“It’s… five oh nine. A.M. It’s still dark out.”
“I want to see you at seven. Are you going to meet with me? If
you don’t want to hear from every media outlet in Southern
California in the next hour, the answer is yes.”
The Chief hesitated. She figured he was thinking she would
probably be his boss soon.
“Uh yes, but it has to be completely off-the-record.”
“I’m not a reporter. I’ll decide if it’s off-the-record,” she said,
mocking him.
“Well at least have the decency to consult with me in private.”
“My home, do you know where it is?”
“Somewhere on Georgina?” She gave him the address.
“I’ll have a pot of coffee waiting. English muffins and
croissants, light fare. Seven o’clock.” Click.
_____
Coil was starting to feel the chill fog. Her phone rang, the
Chief’s number. Red alert.
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“Get alibis from Steve McKuen and Dennis Reneaux for nine
until midnight,” the Chief said. “Celeste Sauvage is holding a press
conference.”
“Is she out of her mind?”
“She’s got a source or something, nine-thirty to eleven. I’m
going to find out more in an hour or so when I meet with her.”
Coil held her tongue. She thought that talking to Sauvage was
the wrong move, but who knew what the circumstances were? Plus
the man signed her paycheck.
“I’ll get on it,” she said.
“Get back to me in less than an hour.” Click.
She stood still, gripping her phone, fire in her chest, Sauvage
now officially the enemy.
Then she hustled to Ishido and took him aside. “We gotta drop
everything and put out a fire.” Eyebrows up, he instinctively
reached for his phone.
“The Chief called,” she said. “Celeste Sauvage thinks McKuen
and Reneaux were unaccounted-for an hour and a half last night,
she’s gonna go to the media if we don’t nail ‘em down.
Ishido looked past her. She turned around. A Channel 4 van was
pulling up across the street, and she spotted a well-known LA Times
reporter behind the police line tape. Her lips tightened. “Like we
need this.”
Back to Ishido. “You call Dennis, got his number?”
“Somewhere.”
She gave it to him and walked to an open area. When she
reached McKuen, he was no help. He admitted that he and Dennis
110
were at a party, and they’d left for about an hour. He was
incredulous when she said he had a half hour to come up with
witnesses. She told him that Celeste Sauvage was meeting with the
Chief in about an hour.
“She’s got some balls on her, y’know?” he said.
Coil was tempted to grin. Her lips relaxed.
Ishido signaled that Dennis had nothing further to offer, either.
She suggested that McKuen and Dennis talk and call her back, then
compared notes with Ishido. The bottom line was that McKuen and
Dennis had no alibi. They were together alone in a quiet, wealthy
neighborhood, meeting discreetly. At least that’s what they said.
Since she knew them and their stories matched, she thought it
likely they were being truthful. A few hours of overtime for a
couple of undercover cops would have settled that. She sighed.
McKuen called back, but not much had changed. The only
interesting detail was the name of the party’s host. She had an idea.
She called the Chief, dropped the name and relayed the details.
He was non-committal, but seemed less agitated. Before they ended
the call, he told her to put all resources, including all detectives
outside her team, on the case. He hoped she would respect the fact
that he had temporarily promoted her over Captain Espinoza, et
cetera, et cetera.
Coil didn’t care about rank. She would continue, but with more
bodies to throw at it.
She had one goal—solve the murder case.
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12
At 6:59 a.m. in front of a big house on Georgina Avenue, Chief
Brotman and the city attorney waited for a silver Mercedes to finish
parking. He greeted the driver warmly and politely motioned for
him to precede them. The Chief saw Sauvage come to the door and
peer through the glass.
She opened the door. Her hand went to her mouth when she
recognized the third man, the host of the party, but she turned on the
charm instantly. Not fooled, the Chief knew that if she was elected
she would slit his political throat for a stunt like this. They made
polite, insincere greetings and sat down.
He smiled. “Ms. Sauvage, the investigation is top priority. I’m
putting all resources on it, but it would be premature to accuse two
respected citizens of murder, directly or by implication.”
“They have no alibi,” she said. “They’ve been suspects since the
second killing. As a respected citizen myself, I have to insist you
bring them in for questioning.”
“We have no proof they were involved in any of the murders.”
“I have sources, you know that.”
He looked at her, amused. After all, he’d been playing this game
since she was in diapers. He’d proved that by inviting one of the
world’s top-grossing movie stars to her little drama.
“In the words of my youngest daughter, ‘As if.’”
They stared at each other. She opened her mouth.
112
The Chief raised a meaty hand. “The reason the City Attorney
so kindly agreed to accompany me is that I’m prepared to arrest you
right now.”
Sauvage turned red, speechless. He could read her face,
something like: How dare this public servant speak to her like this!
He gave her a cruel smile.
“On what grounds?” she said.
“Obstruction of justice. It would be your word against mine.”
“Ms. Sauvage,” the City Attorney said, “none of us wants to go
there, but since Chief Brotman is a sworn peace officer, he can
effect an arrest.”
The movie star displayed the boyish grin which had earned
hundreds of millions at the box office. “Celeste, you’re a friend, we
have a good relationship. But we,” he gestured around, “we have a
nice city here. People treat each other fairly, most of the time. So
why don’t we step back a few paces and start over?”
The Chief nodded. “We’ll continue to treat McKuen and
Reneaux as persons of interest. I’ve given Captain Coil all the
resources she needs to move this forward.”
At the mention of Coil’s name, Sauvage frowned and her
nostrils flared. The Chief guessed that Coil hadn’t made an effort to
acknowledge Sauvage’s self-importance. He managed to suppress
an eyeroll. Sauvage appeared to grasp that tactically she was not
going to get anywhere.
She breathed out and her face assumed a warm glow. “All right,
may I get you gentlemen some more coffee or tea?”
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The Chief stood up, as did the movie star and City Attorney.
They said courteous goodbyes and departed.
After shutting the door, Sauvage leaned on it. She had another
card to play. She went to her office to find a phone number.
Coil’s next.
_____
Brendan Page tickled the girl’s nipple. She giggled. He raised a
finger to his lips.
“My lawyer thinks it’s good enough,” he said to the phone.
“I want to run it past my attorney,” Celeste Sauvage said. “Isn’t
there some kind of time limit?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“How do you frame this as murder?”
He controlled his impatience. This bitch could be way helpful,
don’t blow it. He got up from the bed and put his finger over his lips
again. The girl nodded.
“It was confusing,” he said to the phone. “Somebody else shot
at the cops, then this Charlotte Coil shot my father. She’ll claim it
was a mistake, but I have other information.”
“Like what?”
Page left the room. It was bad enough using a cell phone but
having a sixteen-year-old listening? In the living room he stretched,
muscles sore from surfing.
“We need to meet,” he said. “Without going into details, there’s
some pretty good, uh—”
114
“Dirt.”
“Yeah, so when?”
“Right now, sooner the better.”
“OK, where?”
Sauvage gave him her address, and he said he could be there in
an hour.
He told the girl he had to leave for a few hours.
“I gotta stay here? Take me with ya, Bren.”
“Get dressed, I’ll drop you at the Promenade with a hundred
dollar bill.”
“Right on.” She flounced off to get ready.
_____
They lounged in the den of Sauvage’s home on Georgina.
“No coffee, water,” he said.
She tossed him a bottle, eyes lingering. Page was ripped, cut,
buff, his blond-streaked hair, worn-out jeans and flops the classic
surfer look so prized by legions of young men and boys. But he was
one of the few. Having won contest after contest for years, his
income was in the six figure range. More, counting other activities.
He knew the money was chicken feed to Sauvage. It was all about
the political opportunity.
“We’re private now.” She gave him a seductive smile.
He caught her look. She was in shape. Not a hottie, but he
would. He got comfortable, arms over the back of a sofa.
115
“I’ve got friends, connected people.” He waved his beverage.
“Anyway, you know the official version, I told you how it worked
from my angle.”
“But it’s manslaughter at best, probably self defense in the line
of duty.”
“Except,” he held up a finger of the hand holding the bottle,
“somebody else from that night has a story, too.”
“Who?”
“A lieutenant, name’s Arthur Cross. I think he ended up being a
chief or something.” He watched her search her memory.
“Deputy Chief. Oh yeah, he was convicted of bribery and a
bunch of other stuff. He’s in prison, right?”
Page nodded. He wanted to draw it out, dramatize it, reel her in.
“My friends contacted him,” he said, minimizing the truth.
Page had reached out to Cross through CeCe Dias, cartel boss
and patróna of the smuggling operation. With CeCe’s help, he
convinced Cross to refuse to testify on Coil’s behalf. He’d smiled
when CeCe told him how she motivated Cross, silent protection
from a Latino prison gang. If Cross didn’t agree, the gang might
consider him to be fair game for profit or pleasure—an offer he
couldn’t refuse.
Cross came up with an even better lever. Since her partner was
dying at the scene, Coil shot Will Page in anger. That could qualify
as murder. No one but Cross could refute the possibility. In the
hands of a skilled attorney…
Leaving out CeCe, Page explained the angle as slowly and
dramatically as possible.
116
Sauvage looked impressed. He could see her calculate. Even
after discounting his attempt at drama, the idea sounded compelling.
“We want the same thing, you and me,” he said.
“And what’s that?”
“I want her out of the way and so do you.”
“Yeah, but why?” she said. “I mean, what’s in it for you? I get it
you want her to pay for your father’s death, but…”
Page wasn’t going to reveal CeCe’s operation. This bitch might
use it to her advantage.
“My friends deal weed,” he said. She nodded, evidently
assessing him as a smalltimer.
“So what do you want from me?” she said.
“Get an attorney to take statements, press charges. Then you
climb on politically, all the stuff you normally do.”
Sauvage thought about it, nodding. Moving closer, she stuck out
her hand. “Deal.”
He grabbed it and pulled her on top of him. “Wanna fuck on it?”
Sauvage’s poise slipped off like a stripper’s skirt. “Sure!”
Clothes flew as they got down to business. The deal was
consummated.
_____
Page dialed.
“CeCe,” the voice said.
“It’s Page, just a minute.”
Sauvage laughed from the other room, he shut the door.
“Party never ends, huh?”
117
Page smiled. “Something like that.”
“What it is…”
“You’re going to like this.” He described the deal he’d made
with Sauvage. It should slow down the investigation of the
smuggling operation. “She’s ready to roll anytime.”
“If that was her, sounds like she’s already started.”
Page’s rich baritone laugh was laced with a touch of evil.
“Yeah, I think we have a working relationship.”
“Look, I want to set the next drop,” CeCe said. “Ideas?”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking. About the last thing the cops would
guess is doing it at the same place.”
“Next to the Pier?”
“Just once.”
“We’re only gonna do one more.”
“This is it?”
“I’m moving the boat, got a buyer.”
“How you gonna keep this thing going?”
“My problem. You saved your money like I said?”
“Oh yeah, you said we were only going to do six or eight.”
“Good, I want things to sit well with us.”
“No worries, anything else?”
“Too tired to come over?”
He could hear the lust.
“Give me an hour.” He hung up, satisfied that everything was in
place. Perfect. Once the drop was done, he would hit Coil, hard.
118
13
BeBe Dias opened her mouth. She closed it, opened it again and
stopped. Her boss, Larry, was miserable. He was making her and
everybody else miserable, too. He tried to hide it, but she could tell
that he was better off when he and Charlotte Coil were getting
along, or at least talking.
Of the twins, BeBe had always been more empathetic. CeCe
could read people just fine, but BeBe felt their pain. She frowned at
a particularly messy stack of folders.
“I’m done with Trent. He’s getting the max, right?”
“Death, or life plus infinity,” Larry said. California’s Death
Row was on hold while appeals swirled through the courts.
“I can file it and get it for you later if you want.”
He made a grumbling noise.
She wasn’t put off. Instead, she brought him some lunch while
weighing an idea—talk to Charlotte Coil. She had to do something.
Like her sister, BeBe could be bold. She shut her office door
and lifted the phone. A man answered the SMPD detectives’ line
and routed her to Coil.
“Captain, this is BeBe Dias, I work with Larry Shaffer.”
“Oh yes, Ms. Dias, what’s this regarding?”
BeBe gulped. “Larry.”
“Larry? Did something happen?”
You happened, BeBe thought. “No, this isn’t business,” she
said. “Larry doesn’t know I’m calling. I just want—”
119
“Say what you have to say, Ms. Dias. I’m buried.”
“He’s miserable, and I swear he doesn’t know I’m calling. He
would fire me if he knew.”
“He should fire you.” She sounded steamed.
BeBe’s head jerked back and she frowned. That was rude.
“Captain Coil,” she said. “Charlotte please, Larry’s really
unhappy. If you could just talk, I mean, if he could call you and you
could meet him halfway…”
Coil was silent. BeBe pictured lava pouring down the side of a
volcano.
“Ms. Dias,” Coil finally said, “I’ll overlook your presumption
this once. If Larry Shaffer wants to tell me something, he’ll tell me.
He doesn’t need an agent, I’ve got work to do. Goodbye.”
Before Coil could hang up, BeBe erupted. “You’re a real bitch!
He’s better off without you! You’re so cold, you’re going to end up
being an old hag. Fuck you!”
She slammed down the phone and burst into tears. She was
mortified, years since she yelled at somebody. But she cared about
Larry. Nothing romantic, she just cared.
She’d really screwed up. Call back? No, it would just piss her
off even more. Now she would never talk to him. BeBe dropped her
head on her arms for a few minutes, then finally found a Kleenex
and pulled out a hand mirror for damage repair.
Coil ground her teeth. After a minute her expression softened.
BeBe was probably right. If she didn’t make some kind of effort,
Larry would walk away eventually. Better think about it.
120
Larry heard the yelling and thought about getting up to see what
was happening, but the motion responses he was working on would
take him far into the night. Work kept him from feeling empty,
sometimes. He hoped the healing would start.
An old family friend, a doctor, was fond of saying something
like, “With most wounds, physical and emotional, the best medicine
is Tincture of Time.”
Would it work? He had no choice.
_____
The deal with Page was perfect. Opportunity presented itself
and she had seized it. Sauvage was in love with politics, with the
game of dirty tricks. Creativity was her ally, crushing the opposition
her destiny. No need to let momentum slow. It was time to deliver
the coup de grâce.
When McKuen and Reneaux left the party for awhile, they
could have committed the murder at the Santa Monica Civic.
Sauvage employed a well-paid team of researchers and writers.
Surely they could put together a witness statement. There had to be
people the SMPD detained who could provide color, and a few
dollars should refresh their memories. Fifteen minutes, and she had
a pretty good idea of what she wanted to do.
“Bob!” Costanza appeared at her office doorway. She abruptly
switched on the charm. “When McKuen and Reneaux left the party
and committed the murder at the Civic—”
121
He held up a hand. “It’s not substantiated, Celeste. Don't you
think that's off the—”
“It's on the front burner. Come up with a scenario based on
news reports. Find witnesses, pay people.”
Her tone sharpened. “I want a draft statement in an hour. It
needs to be detailed and credible. Place those two at the scene. Use
your spy at the police department. I need an ace.”
She slammed a fist on the desk. “Do it!”
He looked away, then looked back. “I'll get something for you,
but it's not going to have my fingerprints on it.”
“That's fine, Bob. I'll work directly with staff. Just get the ball
rolling, OK?” Her smile dripped with fake sincerity.
Costanza walked away. She picked up the phone.
122
14
Coil stepped into the Chief’s office. He looked up and flicked a
finger at the door. She shut it and stood at attention. Now what?
He picked up a manila folder and opened it. “Captain Coil. I
have no choice.”
His manner grave, he looked tired. He set down the folder and
leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped.
“Somehow Celeste Sauvage has a mole in the department,” he
said. Coil opened her mouth, but he held up a hand.
“That’s not the point,” he said. “We’ll find it eventually, but we
have a problem. Sauvage says she has a witness statement for the
Civic murder, a statement the Department doesn’t have.”
Coil’s eyes went wide and her blood pressure shot up. “I doubt
that, sir.”
“Whether she does or doesn’t, whether it’s real or not doesn’t
matter. She said the media will have this statement, signed and
notarized within twenty-four hours,” he glanced at his watch, “make
that twenty-two hours unless something happens.”
Coil glared, then covered her mouth and coughed.
“She’s demanded that SMPD documentation be turned over to
the prosecutor’s office and the prosecutor formally charge Steve
McKuen and Dennis Reneaux with the murder of Matthias
Rasmussen, and by inference, the other three victims,” he said.
Coil held his eyes, waiting.
123
“The best possible outcome is that you solve the murder crimes
within the next day.” He paused. She knew the second best
outcome.
“Or, if you apprehend the smugglers, it should draw attention
away from this mess. It would only buy us time, but would be
welcome in any event.”
Nausea gripped her. She knew what was coming.
He looked her in the eye. “If one of those things doesn’t happen
in twenty-two hours, like I said, I have no choice.”
She closed her eyes. Somebody was going to take the fall. It
certainly wouldn’t be the Chief.
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
“Any questions?”
“No, sir.” She turned and walked out.
On the way to her office she wondered if there was a third
possibility. Maybe she could get lucky.
_____
She gripped her phone, concentrating on Elizabeth Pulaski, her
last hope.
“It was an unofficial contact, this attorney.” Elizabeth said. “He
came up to me as I was leaving a restaurant, on the street, where it’s
hard to record anything. He said, ‘You need to tell your client to
back off.’ I pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he
knew that I knew. He just smiled and walked away.”
“So? Could mean any number of things,” Coil said.
124
“Well, no. Part two was a thumb drive I received by courier. It
was a video, it looked like an interview. A man in silhouette, you
know, like on those reality shows? He was talking about a shooting
in the past. I didn’t understand until the interviewee used the name
‘Rafe.’”
Coil felt like somebody had dropped a brick of ice down her
back. “Uh huh.”
“You told me that was your partner’s name, right?”
Coil closed her eyes. She could feel moisture in her eyelashes.
“That’s right.”
“The man being interviewed went on to say, ‘In my opinion,
Officer Coil shot the unknown subject in anger. It was revenge for
the death of Officer Rafael Gonzalez.’”
Neither of them spoke. Coil stared at nothing.
“It was Art Cross,” she finally said.
Elizabeth’s tone was gentle. “Probably, Char.” She became
more businesslike. “It’s not the end of the world. The first thing to
do is apply voice analysis, make a positive identification—”
“No. It was Cross.” Coil’s brow was hot. “This is the only way
to frame it as murder. Goddamn it! I should’ve seen this coming.”
She wanted to leave, drive far away forever, but she sat there
holding the phone.
Elizabeth’s tone became intimate again. “Char, I’m on your
side. Let me help.” She let it hang.
Coil thought it was hard to believe that an attorney, of all
people, could make her feel this way. But OK, whatever she wants.
125
“I have to believe my colleague, the one who approached me, is
representing Brendan Page,” Elizabeth said, disdain obvious. “We’ll
find out soon enough. But I had to let you know as soon as I knew,
in case you need to make a decision.”
“You think I should back off,” Coil said.
“I think you should do what you feel is right.”
A long pause. Finally Coil forced herself to say, “Other than
revenge, what do you think Cross gets out of this?”
“People often do what’s comfortable for them. Even when
something is painful, if it’s familiar, it’s easier to do than something
unknown. Pain that a person knows is easier to face.”
Coil had to think about that.
“So Page has something on Cross,” she said. “He has leverage,
maybe even a reward, if Cross cooperates.”
She was outgunned. It was hopeless.
“The alternative is, if you’re game, I’ll take my best shot at
Page,” Elizabeth said. “But it could get really ugly, really messy.”
Coil stared at the wall. Keep fighting, that was her comfort
zone. She thought about her career, from her teens when she
hounded the LAPD into investigating and solving her grandfather’s
murder, through the academy, her uniform days and then fifteen
years as a detective.
There was only one thing she knew: never give up. The crushed
feeling let up a little bit. She sat straighter.
“Thanks, Elizabeth. I’ll decide and get back to you.”
“I’ll get an ID on Cross, if it’s him.”
126
“Probably no need, it’s Cross. Send me your bill, please.” Coil
wanted to get that piece of bad news out of the way, her world
falling into a sinkhole.
“Right now, I’m going to hold off. Part of this was a favor to
Micki, and also to you, for your part in that attempted homicide case
last year. Just rest easy for now.”
“OK, but I don’t have much savings. Please don’t drop a big bill
on me without warning.”
“No problem, Char, gotta go.” Elizabeth hung up.
Coil propped her head with her hands. One more time she
considered resigning. Was it pointless? If she lost her badge, then
what?
No. No matter how black the horizon, she had to keep pushing.
Her thoughts drifted. People do what’s comfortable. Hmmm…
Worn out, she looked around. Where could she go with this?
When she needed to bounce ideas off somebody, Larry was the best.
For some reason, talking to him made her take off on worthwhile
tangents.
But more than that, she missed him. When she walked out of his
apartment that night, she thought she needed to concentrate on all
the problems bombarding her.
Her mind kept replaying the shooting eighteen years ago. But
she couldn’t solve the past, she needed to fix the present.
Decision time.
127
The hell with that Dias chickie, Larry was her man. If she had to
fight, she would. She smiled. BeBe wasn’t after Larry, and if there
was a fight, it wouldn’t even be fair. She would slaughter the bitch.
She stood up and opened the door.
128
15
Micki walked in carrying a folder, reading from it. She looked
up. “You and I were talking about The Five, like Page is working
for somebody out of Montebello?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“A primary person of interest to the Montebello PD and the
Sheriffs is a Tyler Jimenez. His father was Julio Jimenez, one of
The Five. Tyler has some minor offenses, aggravated assault,
mainly. Suspected of two murders, but no evidence. This was all a
few years ago, nothing in the last four years.” She placed the folder
on Coil’s desk and stood next to her, pointing at notations and
flipping pages.
“Nice guy,” Coil said. “Let’s see, The Five all died about four
years ago.”
She was pretty sure she knew what happened, but she wasn’t
going to share it with Micki. When The Five were assassinated, not
one law enforcement agency in the eighty-eight jurisdictions that
make up Greater Los Angeles investigated closely.
“So The Five gets hit, and one of their sons, a fairly vicious
thug, goes quiet. What makes your nose tickle, Micki?”
“Needed to clean up his act so he could take over the operation?
Wild-ass guess, Char.”
Again Coil was impressed by how similarly she and Micki
thought.
129
“We can’t investigate this Jimenez guy without a good reason,”
she said. “So who could?”
“Sheriff?”
“Mmm, maybe. Let me keep the folder, OK? Let me know if
you want it back.”
“I don’t need it, it’s all yours.”
“Thanks. Different subject, kinda. The four serial killings all
have the same method.”
“Two shots to the head with a .22.”
“Yeah, I haven’t got to the ballistics on the last one, but the first
three are all the same gun.”
“Fourth one’s the same,” Micki said.
“Anything special about ‘em? At first I thought there was a
smear in the image, but I think it was some kind of scratch or crease
on one of the slugs.” She pointed. “Could you ask the Toolmarks
guys to take a look at all four with that in mind?”
“Sure, I think Don has that file.”
“Don’s got enough going on with the smuggling. Please take
that lead.”
“Gotcha.” Micki smiled and walked out.
Coil didn’t have to think two seconds about who should take a
look at Tyler Jimenez. She shut the door and punched a number.
“Dennis.”
“It’s Coil.”
“Oh hi Char, what’s up?” She gave him the short version of
Jimenez’s jacket.
130
“Do you have anybody who could find out more about this guy
and what he’s been up to the last four years?” she said.
“Oh, for sure. Leave it to me.”
“With the understanding that this is all about intelligence only.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No cowboy shit, I’m serious. I know you’re going to tell Steve,
but you can’t lift a finger or have anybody do anything.”
“Gotcha.” He agreed to get back to her within a few days. Their
relationship good at the moment, he probably didn’t want her asking
more questions.
Coil thought a little more. Dennis was smart and resourceful but
he wasn’t the strategist McKuen was. From what she had put
together, McKuen probably made a serious pile of cash over fifteen
or twenty years. But she thought his life had changed since his wife
died and he remarried. It made Coil even less convinced about
allegations of murder. There was nothing in it for him.
The setup was all too tidy, so how to lay a trap for the real
killer? A semi-dangerous idea: involve McKuen, something to think
about long and hard. She didn’t know him that well, and as far as
policy went, it was on another planet.
She finished her notes and locked them in her desk.
_____
Coil told the four detectives to assemble in the conference room.
While talking through the smuggling crimes, she noticed Chad deep
in thought. He looked at her as if something had struck him, sat up
straight and raised a finger.
131
“Chad?”
“I think they’re closing up shop, I think the last one’s tonight.”
She appraised him. Where did this come from?
“Why do you think that?” she said. His eyes flicked to the side.
“Research. That’s all I can say right now.”
She made a note. “You may be right,” she said. “So where’s it
gonna be? If it’s tonight and if it’s the last one.”
They discussed a couple of possible drop points.
“There’s an easy one they’ve never used, right at the bottom of
Sunset,” Ishido said.
“Next to Gladstone’s?” Micki said.
Coil nodded. It wasn’t a great place but she wanted to focus
their attention away from the place she had in mind. “It’s got great
access, they could get away in any one of three directions,” she said.
“They sure haven’t hit near there before and it’s another few
miles up the coast,” Ishido said.
Micki looked at him. “Any paths down to the beach?”
“Pretty sure there are,” Chad said. He closed one eye. “Yeah,
there have to be, it’s a surf spot.”
Coil nodded again, her eyes down and away as if she were
considering the possibility. “We’re going to set up again tonight,”
she said.
“Where?” Jen said.
“We’ll meet here at ten. Finish your shift, go home and get
some rest. We’ll load up and I’ll do a final briefing. I’ll decide
then.”
132
Coil wasn’t taking any chances. Sauvage had an informer and
there could be another leak. She dismissed them.
Micki stayed behind. “It’s OK you’re not saying.” She waved
toward the beach. “I think I know where they’re going to hit, bet
you’re thinking the same thing.”
“Really, where?” Coil sat down.
“The others probably didn’t notice, but you looked convinced
about the parking lot at the foot of Sunset. Gotta admit, it’s a good
place.” Micki spread her hands wide. “There’s miles and miles of
beach. I bet they figure you can’t even guess when, let alone where.
You ‘got lucky’ last time.” She made air quotes.
Coil’s expression didn’t change. She leaned back. “Can’t say,
Micki. I’ll let everybody know later.”
“OK.” Micki smiled, opened the door and walked out.
_____
Jen cleaned her Nine, anxious about the ambush that night.
Really worried about the fourth murder, she didn’t want to risk a
phone call with CeCe. She could hear her heart pound as she
squirted some Hoppe’s on a swab.
She agonized over sending a text. Would it be less risky? No,
it’s evidence, too. She couldn’t let Ceece walk into a trap, but she
couldn’t go down for this. Damn her for putting me in this position!
Mind racing, Jen noticed she was sweating. She decided to go
home, chill, get into character. She couldn’t afford to be anything
less than perfect.
133
She chewed her lip and wiped her hands, bombarded by too
many feelings. At least she could deny she knew where Coil was
planning to set up. Though Coil was keeping the ambush location a
secret, it really looked to Jen like it would be the parking lot at the
bottom of Sunset.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of letting down her lover.
But above all, Jen was a survivor.
134
16
I’ve got time, Coil thought.
No, can’t do that.
Why not?
She loved Larry. She cared for him. Their connection was
deeper than anything she’d known since her grandfather was alive.
But pride was in the way. It was hard to let go, so hard to open the
door.
She went to the rest room, bent down and splashed cold water
on her face, over and over as if it would give her clarity. No change.
Some skinny broad was staring back at her, telling her to make the
call. The fact that calling might interrupt him up wasn’t a factor.
The fact that she didn’t know where to start was huge. She closed
her eyes. The hell with it, just call.
She punched the number. “Lar, hi.”
“Char, hey.”
“We should talk.”
“Good idea, comin’ over?”
“It’ll take over an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
“See ya.” Just hearing his voice made a difference.
She remembered her thought: talking to him clarified ideas. So
there were two reasons. But it wasn’t about the job or the fact that
he was a great sounding board. She could dodge her feelings for
only so long. She missed the intimacy, and whispering after sex.
135
She needed him. She wanted him, just to be with, maybe grow
old together. She could run, but she couldn’t hide.
She grabbed her phone and was out the door.
This used to take a half hour, she thought. She blew out a huge
breath. Ninety minutes into a ten mile drive to downtown LA, she
was thinking about the murders. She slammed on her brakes as
somebody cut in front of her.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that McKuen and Dennis
were probably innocent. No matter how Celeste Sauvage framed it,
the evidence just wasn’t there. Inching to the bottom of the offramp,
she heard a jackhammer just before she saw Road Construction
signs. More deep breaths.
The murders were a convenient campaign issue for Sauvage but
nothing about her accusation rang true. Coil would figure it out, just
a question of time. Crap! A detour. She flipped the turn signal.
Was there really an informer in the department? Probably.
Tired of thinking, she turned on a news radio station. Some of
the headlines sounded unbelievable. She wasn’t surprised. The
emphasis on stories which would go viral was just another name for
tabloid journalism. She punched it off. Finally she turned the corner
into a sea of traffic. She could see Larry’s building in the distance.
In the elevator she admitted to herself that she was really there
for three reasons. She wanted to bring Larry up to date on the close
call trying to apprehend the smugglers, and she also wanted to
bounce ideas off him about the murders.
136
Neither of those were that important, really. After two weeks
apart and how she pushed him away, she just wanted to be with him.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with BeBe Dias. Had
the hit been direct it would have been epic. BeBe had her by an inch
and thirty pounds.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Captain.” BeBe stooped to pick up
some files she dropped.
Coil dipped an eyebrow. “No problem, Ms. Dias. Working
weekends?”
BeBe looked flustered, like she didn’t know whether to smile or
act all-business.
She chose the safe route, no expression. “Yes, ma’am.”
Coil turned to go to Larry’s office but paused, wavering. “Ms.
Dias, I unloaded on you. It was uncalled for, I don’t even have the
excuse of the job. The job is the job, my fault.”
“Oh no, it was my fault,” BeBe stammered. “No no, I shouldn’t
have called, I apologize.”
Coil had come as close to an apology as she would, but a wrong
should be righted. “Ms. Dias.”
“BeBe.”
“OK BeBe, you’re doing your job, too. Larry says you’re really
good. So…” She shrugged.
BeBe caught her meaning. Her smile exploded. Shifting the
files, she extended her hand. “Captain.”
“Char.” Coil shook it.
137
“Char, thank you. I’m a rookie, I know. I have so much to learn.
Look, I know you want to see Larry.” She started to turn. “And I
have to get to the range.”
“The range? You shoot?”
“Yeah, since I was ten. My father taught me, me and my sister. I
go to L.A. Gun Club over on 6th. It’s so busy, if I don’t get there
soon, I’ll have to wait forever.”
“That’s a good one. I like the funky little one over by LAX, but
you know, the drive.”
“Yeah well, better get going.”
“We should shoot sometime.”
BeBe turned back, mouth open. “Really? Oh, I’m no good,
you’re for real.”
“If you’ve been shooting fifteen years and you still practice,
you’re probably just fine.”
“Wow. Yeah, thanks…Char.”
Coil nodded and started down the hall. Interesting, never
woulda thought. She stepped into Larry’s office. It was empty. Huh?
Back to the reception area, she looked around.
A paralegal walked by. No, Larry was just here. Would she like
to wait there or in his office?
Hopelessness was building, red-hot. Everything piling up, she
wanted to scream and—
“Hi, Char.” She whirled.
He was holding a box of takeout. Her shoulders fell and she ran
to him and hugged him, smiling through tears.
138
Larry wasted no time. He led her to his office, pushed the door
shut and gave her a long kiss. She kissed back hard and wished
there was a bedroom. Finally they broke.
“Larry, I want to say something, so please let me finish. It was
my fault, all of it. I was full of pride—”
She stopped. He was smiling.
She held up a hand and he nodded. “So I’m sorry, I am really,
really sorry,” she said.
“Apology accepted and I love you.”
She held him tight, grateful. “It’s all my fault,” she said.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, feelings unmistakable.
“Char let’s not get into blame, let’s just say we’re together and
move on.”
She wondered if she deserved him. “But I’m such a bitch, I
don’t know how to be any different.”
A tiny smile bloomed on his face. “We all have issues. You
want to beat yourself up, I can’t stop you.” He looked away,
thinking. “Do you want…?”
“What?”
“We could talk to someone, like together.”
“Like counseling?”
“Yeah, something.” He took her hand. “You’re worth it, I’m
worth it. We could try, if one of us doesn’t like it, call it off.”
She gave his hand a squeeze, then paced, thumb and forefinger
to her lips. “Maybe, maybe when all this stuff with the murders and
the smuggling’s over, maybe.” She smiled at him. It had been
139
awhile. Like days. Like more than a week. “I gotta do what I’m
good at.”
She sat down, hair bouncing, flowing over her shoulders. She
flipped it back. “I’ll think about it.”
He grinned. “Sounds good.”
On that note, they picked up where they left off, joshing,
chattering, talking over each other.
That too, she thought. I can’t smile away from him. I miss
laughing.
140
17
Coil drove back from Larry’s office, now ready for war. First,
Sauvage.
Her people had been merciless, getting under every procedural
defect they could find. They filed requests for information on all
actions open to the process. Then there was the witness statement.
The video affidavit by Art Cross—Coil was sure it was Cross—
meant there was no other way. Coil picked up her phone.
“I don’t know,” Jessie Kovac said. “Not sure I should be
spreading rumors.”
“I helped you out, Jessie. Just tell me what you know, please?”
Kovac paused, probably calculating which side would win. “All
right, but this is just speculation.”
“No problem.”
“People think Celeste Sauvage is a one-hit wonder. I mean,
what’s she done lately? Sure, she made a bazillion bucks with her
teen ho fashions, but politics? She don’t know nothin.’”
“She’s a real pain in the ass. Got anything else?”
“I heard she’s got something on the murder at the Civic, like an
eyewitness statement?”
Coil let out a mental groan that Kovac had heard about the
statement. When was she going to get a break?
Suddenly she remembered her thought about viral news stories.
The so-called statement wasn’t real, Sauvage had manufactured it.
The Chief had even acknowledged that it might not be genuine.
141
Ultimately, it wouldn’t withstand forensic scrutiny. All she really
needed to do was prevent it from reaching the media.
“Sounds like Sauvage’s withholding evidence,” she said.
“Wouldn’t know about that.”
“This statement, you don’t have a copy, do you?”
“I wish. It’s just a rumor.”
“When you said, ‘what’s she done lately,’ you mean she’s not
getting any traction with the voters?”
“You’re all she’s got. If she can’t get something meatier in the
next couple months, Taurino’s gonna clean her clock. There’s a few
million down the drain.”
Coil didn’t speak, in shock. Millions for a city council race?
What the hell?
“Thanks, Jessie,” she finally said. “We even?”
“For now. There’s always tomorrow.”
“Do me a favor, keep this alleged statement to yourself and let
me check it out.”
“No problem. Until I see it, it doesn’t exist.”
Pretty sure she now had leverage, she called Sauvage’s office.
“Bob Costanza, please.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Captain Charlotte Coil, Santa Monica Police, he’s got sixty
seconds or I come over there.”
Costanza made it to the phone in half a minute. “Captain Coil,
how can I help you?”
“This series of murders, your candidate has a written account of
one of them. It’s phony, a clever counterfeit, maybe. You’ve got an
142
hour to produce a copy. If not, I’ll have a search warrant five
minutes later. At that point, your campaign records are fair game.”
“Captain, I don’t know anything about this, Celeste is out of the
office.”
“An hour, the clock starts now.” Click. She pulled into the
parking garage, feeling better.
Thirty minutes later Sauvage was screaming at her over the
phone.
“What do you mean, threatening my campaign? I’ll have your
job for this!”
“Doubt it. You have a half hour.” Click.
The clock was ticking. Sauvage was probably on the phone
trying to reach a member of the media.
Coil marched into the Chief’s office. He winced when he saw
her expression.
But her tone was deferential. “That witness statement Celeste
Sauvage has on the murder at the Civic? It’s not real and I can prove
it. If it’s real, she’s withholding evidence.”
“Hmmm…”
“I want to get a search warrant.”
The Chief licked his lips.
Coil could see that he understood her play, and relished the
thought of having his people tear apart Sauvage’s campaign office.
She might even be able to get him to come along for fun.
“Gladly.” He picked up his phone.
“I gave them an hour,” Coil said, “but it’s down to twenty-five
minutes now. Could we get a warrant ready and put it in front of a
143
judge if they don’t come through?” Coil knew that Brotman had a
judge who would sign almost anything he asked for.
“Sure.” He started to punch some buttons.
_____
Costanza closed the door behind him.
“You have to turn over a copy of that statement you cooked up.”
“No way!” Sauvage yelled. “No fucking way! Coil can go fuck
herself!”
He stayed calm. “They’re gonna come over with a warrant and
tear the place apart. All campaigns have violations, they’ll cite us
for a bunch of bullshit. We don’t need it.”
“Fuck ‘em, bring ‘em on!”
Costanza rolled his eyes and walked out. At a file cabinet, he
pulled out a folder containing the document Sauvage put together.
He made a photocopy. Then he went to the bookkeeper’s office and
told her to write a fifty thousand dollar check payable to him. He
took it to his office, signed it and put it in his pocket, minimal
severance for what he’d put up with. He gathered a few mementos
and put them in his briefcase.
“Be back in an hour or two,” he said to the receptionist.
Costanza stood in front of Coil’s desk. “Captain, this is the only
document I know of.”
She looked at him coolly, about the last person she would trust.
“Really, Captain.” He raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
144
All of her energy went into preventing an eyeroll. She picked up
the paper and read a few paragraphs.
“You promise?” He nodded.
She thought she should have her head examined for trusting this
clown. After reading the rest of it, she looked up.
“Thanks. Please give Ms. Sauvage my thanks, too.”
“You might see her before I do. Bye now.” He turned and
walked out.
What was that supposed to mean? Then it hit her. She stood up
and shut her door.
And broke into a huge smile.
_____
Costanza didn’t answer her yells or texts. None of the media
reps had returned her calls. Sauvage stormed out of her office, a
tower of rage. A staff member told her that Costanza had left.
When she found out that he’d taken a fifty thousand dollar
check in his name, she instructed the bookkeeper to call the bank,
stalked to his office and looked around. It seemed different. Finally
she noticed a photo of his wife and daughter was missing.
“Goddamn it!” she screamed. She raced to her office and called
her law firm’s senior partner. He wasn’t available, which made her
madder. She accepted an offer to speak to the number two man. She
was sputtering, almost incoherent.
“I need to sue Bob Costanza!” she shouted.
“Whoa, slow down, Celeste.”
“He walked out on me, he took fifty thousand of my money!”
145
They talked it through and the partner took notes. He cautioned
against taking any action until he could properly review Costanza’s
contract and meet with other attorneys. Livid, she nearly fired the
firm on the spot, but held onto her temper long enough to end the
call.
She opened her door and stared across the large room, the
operations center of her campaign. There was only one person at her
desk. Her staff had fled.
She slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall.
Staggering to her chair, her shoulders sagged as she put her elbows
on the desk, head in hands. Tears streamed.
No search warrant, so Costanza had delivered the trumped-up
document to Coil.
The election was over.
146
18
Monday the 16th They crouched behind a pile of scrub brush, tumbleweeds and
trash in the dark, speaking in quick whispers. Fog swirled across the
beach. Sets of waves grew louder, then softer as swells subsided.
The hum of traffic faded in and out.
To avoid unnecessary noise, Coil’s team was using cell phones
instead of radios.
Ishido was on Jen’s left. “Five by five, nothing yet.”
Jen looked down at her nine millimeter, safety off and a round
in the chamber. Despite her decision a few hours before, she really
wanted to text CeCe and tell her the SMPD was setting a trap.
“Where are they? It’s two thirty,” Chad said from Ishido’s left.
The few hours at Jen’s apartment were nerve-wracking. Why
was it when she was nervous and scared, the first person to pop into
her mind was her mother?
Jen had busied herself cleaning, polishing furniture, removing
every speck of imaginary dust, and wiping down the tiny kitchen.
She vacuumed the carpet she had vacuumed only the day before,
singing to herself off-key, just to drown out her mother’s voice.
“Maybe we’re at the wrong spot,” Chad said.
An image flitted through Jen’s mind: the huge, pale woman,
plopped on the sofa like a white whale, eating Doritos and laughing
at a reality show.
147
“The Captain knows what she’s doing, they’ll be here,” Micki
said in a hushed voice.
The Captain, Jen thought. What is it about her that reminds me
of Mom? Discipline, possible criticism? She pulled out her phone
and held it low, where the others couldn’t see it. CeCe was the only
person who had ever loved her.
Her finger hovered over Messages.
She glanced to her left and saw Ishido on his phone. His harsh
whisper cut through the night. “Heads up!”
She sighed and stuffed her phone back in her pocket.
Sorry, Ceece.
_____
Careful as always, the skipper eased back on the throttle. The
twin nine hundred horsepower diesels gave off a low purr, and the
craft floated in. CeCe had briefed him on the last drop’s close
escape. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but his spirits
overrode his fear. She’d been excited, this run pure profit. His eyes
gleamed at the thought of his cut.
“Time?” he said.
“Two forty-four,” a crewman said.
The waves grew smaller. The crew was hyperalert. One of them
motioned to the skipper. He nodded. Mist from the surf and a light
fog made it hard to see.
Then three men in wetsuits were visible. As the boat coasted in,
the skipper could make out Page’s mop of blond hair.
“OK, easy now,” Page said.
148
“We good?” the skipper said.
Page looked around. “Yeah.”
The skipper saw the big truck backing up to the sand. The
truck’s rollup door was raised and the burly man lifted down the
sled.
Page scanned the area, glad it was the last drop. If CeCe knew
anything about law enforcement’s plans, she would have texted.
His men got ready for the first handoff. Traffic streamed along
Ocean Avenue atop the bluff, but the entire series of parking lots
below was empty.
He took a bundle from a man in the boat and turned to meet the
sled. It was anchored in position at the waterline. They piled the
bricks on. A sleeve of his wetsuit caught on the side of the boat.
Careless. Pay attention. He looked around again. Everything
was quiet. He stacked the package and turned back for the next one.
Four trips to the truck, the workers were sweating hard. The
night wasn’t warm but heavy labor and adrenaline drove up the heat.
The stacks of heroin grew higher, the goal in sight. The sled was
set for the final trip. Page looked around again. Still quiet.
He turned to the boat and reached to grab a package.
Vague movement out to sea. He squinted, but couldn’t see
anything. Paranoid.
He lifted a couple of bricks to the sled and turned back to the
boat.
And froze. Not movement, a reflection.
“Hey!” he said in a loud whisper, and pointed.
149
The skipper whirled around. A shape in the mist, something big.
Two police cars screeched around a corner and started down the
hill.
“Run!”
Page dropped the load in the water and sprinted down the beach.
His men took off after him.
Four people broke out of the brush and ran at the truck, guns
drawn.
Ishido pointed a shotgun. “Out of the truck! Now!”
Squad cars skidded to a halt, uniforms piling out. The big man
near the sled saw he was cut off. He ran up the beach, Chad
sprinting after him, closing fast. Micki and Jen raced to the boat as
the skipper revved the engines. Micki fired a warning shot.
“Stop!” she yelled, her voice drowned out in the din of the
diesels.
A man jumped out of the boat to push it away. Jen reached the
waterline, waded in and fired a shot in the air. “Hold it!”
He stopped.
A large shape drifted offshore, a Coast Guard cutter with two
.50 caliber machine guns trained on the smaller boat. One burst and
the panga would be cut in half.
The crew raised their hands in surrender.
Page and his men reached the spot where they stashed their
boards. They weren’t there.
150
They looked around. Two figures advanced on them, one from
the north and one from the south, two men pointing handguns.
Page started for the surf. He could swim for miles.
He stopped. Coil stood in the water.
Fifteen feet from the shoreline in heavy rubber boots, she aimed
a 10mm at him, daring him to try it.
“Hey Brendan, thanks for coming to my party.” Her mouth
relaxed a bit.
He knew she’d love to shoot him.
His shoulders sagged, his last desperate thought to whirl and
run. Guns covered him. It wouldn’t be close.
_____
The mop-up didn’t take long. Coil’s plan to use a wide net and
tighten it if the truck showed up worked as planned. The key was
cutting off escape by sea. She rolled the dice, called the FBI and
explained she needed Federal resources. The Coast Guard had been
after the panga boat for months. They were happy to help.
Coil wanted Page herself. The boots were Micki’s idea. The
sight of Coil stomping around in them like a stork prompted a passel
of hidden smiles but she didn’t mind.
While booking Page—her pleasure—he threatened to bring her
down with a lawsuit.
“Fire it up, big boy. Let’s see what ya got,” she said.
151
Later, adrenaline finally dissipating, Coil shot the bull with
Ishido and Micki. “You know, Jen was right on top of it,” she said.
“Still got second thoughts, Micki?”
“She was,” Micki said. “Thought she was gonna shoot the guy
that jumped out of the boat, like she was pissed off or something.”
“She’s a strange one,” Ishido said.
Coil shot him an eyebrow. “You, too?”
Ishido looked away. “You see Chad take down that big fella?”
“Jumped on him like a junkyard dog,” Micki said. “Guy was
swinging and kicking, but Chad held on until Washington caught
up. The guy tried a swing and Harold decked ‘em, one punch.”
“Washington fought in the Navy, won a lot of prizes,” Coil said.
“I’m sure not getting on his bad side,” Ishido said.
He and Micki chuckled. Coil looked sideways.
It was coming up on sunrise. She told everybody to take a half
day. Another team could cover the city for awhile. Page would
probably go ahead with a lawsuit. She might have to face the music,
but for now, she was happy to put the case to rest. With the murders
being the only really big item on her plate, she could afford to go
home to Larry.
_____
The Chief of the Santa Monica Police Department stepped to
the microphone. It was an intimate affair: the City Council, the
SMPD’s management team, two FBI men, two Coast Guard
officials and, of course, a few members of the media.
152
The Chief held up a kilo of heroin. Flashes went off. The fine,
white powder gleamed.
After fifteen seconds posing for pictures, he started. “The City
of Santa Monica is proud to record the largest drug bust of the
twenty-first century in Southern California. Thanks to the City
Council’s backing,” he waved an upturned palm at the officials,
“our outstanding team apprehended twelve hundred kilos of high-
quality narcotics.” He paused for effect.
“In an ongoing investigation in collaboration with the FBI and
the Coast Guard, we were also able to seize a vessel worth over a
million dollars. Its auction will help the SMPD to buy more and
better equipment to continue the battle against drugs.”
After several more minutes of self-serving patter, laced with a
few lame attempts at humor, he reluctantly yielded the stage.
Ranking FBI and Coast Guard representatives followed with short
statements. The Chief allowed one question from each media rep.
The last was from Jessie Kovac. “Isn’t it true that the real credit
goes to Captain Charlotte Coil and her team, and wasn’t she
threatened with termination if the smugglers weren’t caught or the
serial murder crimes weren’t solved by now?”
Standing in the back row, Coil opened her mouth and glared.
She didn’t care about credit and had no idea how Kovac knew about
the Chief’s ultimatum.
The Chief’s eyes flicked over at Coil before moving back to
Kovac. “Captain Coil certainly contributed to the operation. It was a
team effort.” He displayed an impressive investment in dentistry.
“Thank you all for attending.”
153
The stage lights were killed and the media filed out of the room.
The Chief approached Coil.
She looked up at a corner. “I had no idea,” she said. “She didn’t
hear it from me.”
His chuckle was brittle. “Like I said Captain, we have a mole.”
He extended his hand. “She was right, though. Fine work.”
Coil managed to keep her jaw shut as she looked him the eye.
She shook his hand. “Thanks, Chief. You’re right, it was a team
effort.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, Captain.” He walked off.
There’s a mole, all right. He smiled inside.
_____
A little later, Coil received another payoff in the form of a
phone call.
“Hey Char, Steve McKuen.”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Good news. That piece of paper from the locket? It ah, found
its way back to me.” A corner of her mouth drew down.
“Uh huh, just sorta showed up, I bet.”
“Well—”
“I think I don’t want to know about it. But I do want the paper,
of course.”
“Of course, I sure don’t want it.”
He’s already got more money than God, she thought.
“I heard you had good news, too,” he said.
154
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Some sort of ruckus on the beach last night? Dennis told me
you were having a party.”
“Um hmm…”
“And the rumor mill says one of the City Council races is
looking kind of one-sided.”
She’d never heard McKuen gloat, but she knew gloating when
she heard it.
“Don’t go taking any victory laps yet, McKuen. The murders
aren’t solved, not by a long shot.”
“Just expressing my congratulations and best wishes. Anyway,
I’ll bring that piece of paper by.”
“My office, nine tomorrow?”
“No problem, Char. Hasta.” McKuen hung up.
Coil held the phone, then slowly placed it on the hook. She
wondered how McKuen got the necklace back. For starters, he and
Dennis were pretty damned resourceful. And McKuen was about
the luckiest son of a bitch she knew.
Thinking about luck reminded her. Only a few days before, she
took a call from someone who had crossed her path, Secret Service
Agent Annie McCarthy. Her luck had run quite poorly.
Coil thought about luck, and the part it played in everybody’s
lives, every day. If she hadn’t met Micki, she would have never met
Elizabeth.
When Coil was at her lowest point in years, Elizabeth’s
comment that people do what’s comfortable gave her the idea that
Page might repeat the drop location.
155
Coil wondered about Elizabeth’s effect on her.
You don’t think—
Naaah.
156
RECOGNITION
A big thanks to courageous first responders
everywhere, official and unofficial.
Luck is a huge part of life. I’ve been incredibly lucky to be able
to write a few books.
Thanks to Chris Yeseta, Leroy Richards and Stephanie Moss.
This is the second of a series of five books, all thrillers, with
dynamic, suspenseful conclusions.
There are more Free offers at MissionDevelopment.com
Thank you for reading.
If you liked this book, please read my other books that feature
Steve McKuen and Charlotte Coil:
Illusion
The Greatest Game
Control
The Control Series
2-2015-12
157
The next book in the Control series:
A Shadow Enemy
Dominating and Deadly
When young agent, Annie McCarthy, loses the rock of
her world, she stops at nothing to track down her
adversary.
Is she hunting a terrorist? The government isn't
saying. Her foe seems too cunning, but she avenges
the wrong to make it right.
Annie’s War at Amazon.com
158
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Careening down the switchbacks of Highway 1 in Big Sur, it
came to him — he had to do something. With the stories he’d lived
through, sharing them was almost good works.
Early on King was a professional musician, then worked in the
motion picture business. Later demoted to the software industry, he
realized that the keyboard had been following him around for years,
so…it was time to write books.
King’s debut novel, Illusion, was based on a person he knew
with a what-if twist: what if the former-drug-dealer-now-bar-owner
was a nice guy, a moral guy, not a maniac, but pursued by
consequences from his past? Crime thrillers evolved, like The
Greatest Game, starring female sleuth, Charlotte Coil. A slice of
inspirational romance with a dash of the paranormal came from
other characters King has known, colorful people with checkered
pasts, mashed up with urban legends.
159
The books feature dark romance, mystery and suspense,
political figures to serial killers, terrorists and mafia assassins, that
result in Secret Service, FBI and CIA involvement. But they’re no
match for vigilante justice dispensed by the lead characters. You’ll
find them disturbing and intriguing in their quests for vengeance,
and ultimately, freedom.
See MissionDevelopment.com for more books and other high
value content, ventures and social media.
FROM THE AUTHOR:
Did you enjoy this book? You can make a big difference.
Reviews are the most important factor when it comes to helping
an author showcase a book. As much as I would like, I don't have
the clout of a New York publisher. I can't take out full page ads in
the newspaper, pay for flashy web videos or rent the side of a bus
when I have a new release.
But I do have something much more powerful and effective,
something that those big publishers would love to get their hands
on:
A committed and loyal group of readers.
Honest reviews of my books help to bring them to the attention
of other readers.
If you've enjoyed this book I would be extremely grateful if you
could spend just a few short minutes leaving a review on the book's
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Thank you very much!
160
Coil’s Cold Justice
Control, Book 2
by Andy King
Published 2015 by MissionDevelopment.com
Copyright © 2014-2015
MissionDevelopment.com and Andy King
All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-9961974-1-0
Coil’s Cold Justice is a work of fiction. All names, characters,
places, businesses, organizations, events and incidents are the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is
entirely coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning,
uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without
permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of
the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material
from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written
permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
[email protected]. Thank you for your support of
authors' rights.
161
2-2015-12
162
The next book in the Control series:
A Shadow Enemy
Dominating and Deadly
When young agent, Annie McCarthy, loses the rock of
her world, she stops at nothing to track down her
adversary.
Is she hunting a terrorist? The government isn't
saying. Her foe seems too cunning, but she avenges
the wrong to make it right.
Annie’s War at Amazon.com
163
The 4th book in the Control Series:
Ally…or Enemy?
When genius computer hacker, Carla Starr,
encounters forces beyond her virtual power,
she's baffled by her inability to defeat them.
Is the government her enemy? Her friend?
Can she keep her identity, her sanity?
Can she even stay alive?
Carla’s Mission at Amazon.com
164
The 5th and final book in the Control series:
A Deadly Enemy
Hidden in Plain Sight
When a series of murders in Santa Monica
rockets into an act of terrorism, Steve McKuen,
detective Charlotte Coil, agent Annie McCarthy
and hacker Carla Starr are nearly annihilated.
Can they outflank their foes, cunning and cruel?
Annihilation at Amazon.com