Chapter 1
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Tuesday, just before noon, on a beautiful spring day, Detective Lainie Jensen and her partner Mike Pepper left the courthouse and faced a gauntlet of reporters and news cameras.
After a twelve-month investigation, they’d just closed the book on a serial rapist, so the attention was expected.
The case had gone to the jury first thing this morning, and they only deliberated three hours.
“Detectives, do you have a statement for us?”
“Was the verdict satisfying?”
“Did the quick verdict surprise you?”
“What about Hammer’s claim that the DNA sample was planted? That he is, in fact, innocent?”
Lainie had to stop for that one. She searched the group for the voice. Callen West, a local reporter for a Long Beach weekly. West was a vocal activist for what he called “bail reform,” but in Lainie’s opinion, he espoused not arresting anyone for anything, meaning no one should ever go to jail.
“What about it? The evidence proved that Cory Hammer was a serial rapist. We caught him in the act, and his DNA tied him to thirteen other attacks. The jury was spot-on with its verdict. I would have expected nothing less.”
“You profiled him! It’s not a stretch to think that you planted evidence.”
Lainie started to head toward West, but Mike grabbed her arm and kept her walking toward the car. Lainie let him. If she got in West’s face, she’d get herself in trouble. And she’d already been in enough trouble at work—she couldn’t afford any more.
They continued through the crowd, ignoring the rest of the reporters’ questions. West’s gaze shot daggers at her. He would never be called a friend to law enforcement.
Once in the car, she blew out an aggravated breath. “That guy.”
Mike chuckled as he started the engine. “He sure knows how to rev you up.”
“He sat in the courtroom; he saw the evidence and heard the testimony.” She shook her head. “Still, he thinks the guy is innocent. Or worse, that we fudged the evidence.”
“It gets him clicks.”
“Humph.” Lainie was just happy to be done with court.
It was, of course, essential, but with their caseload, it felt like lost time.
She was eager to be busy with police work.
Lainie had wanted to do this job since she was seven, when her best friend, Jaycee, had been kidnapped in front of her house.
The police had found and rescued her seven hours later.
The picture on the newspaper’s front page of Jaycee cradled by a large police officer, her arms wrapped around his neck, was indelibly inked in Lainie’s mind and heart.
The incident fomented a desire to be a cop herself, to be a dragon slayer and a rescuer.
“Thanks for the save, by the way.”
Mike shrugged. “That’s what partners are for.”
After the trouble she’d had with internal affairs, Lainie was lucky to have Mike.
An inch taller than her, five foot ten to her five nine, he was well-built and fit, having dabbled in boxing and MMA before he became a cop.
He kept his head shaved and wore a bushy black mustache.
Mike was devoted to his wife and their special-needs son.
He was thirty-six, the same age as Lainie, though she’d been a cop a year longer, so technically she was the senior partner.
But they played to each other’s strengths, and there never was a power struggle.
Mike drove and headed for their predetermined lunch spot.
Lainie pulled out her tablet to review the details of their next case, now that the rape case was over and done.
As violent crimes detectives, they handled assaults, rapes, serious domestic violence, and just about anything short of murder.
At times the work weighed on Lainie—they couldn’t save everyone, and some of the victims’ stories were heart-wrenching.
But she rejoiced in victories like the one they’d had in court today.
The radio crackled on and off with routine police traffic, and she half listened to the happenings in the city. Her best friend on the force, Sara Green, worked day patrol, and Lainie picked out her call sign, 2David23, from time to time.
Beep beep.
The emergency tone caught her attention, and she looked up from the iPad.
“All units and 2David23, incomplete 911 call, possible domestic violence at 345 Elm Street. Respond Code 3.”
Lainie glanced over at Mike. They were about to turn into the restaurant lot, but they were only two blocks from the address. On the radio, Sara’s voice answered that she was en route, and her siren blared in the background.
“Hey, you up to helping on that? Sara’s without her rookie and we’re close.”
He gave a half shrug. “Sure, we’ll get the case anyway if it’s a domestic.” Mike swung the car in a U-turn and activated the plain car’s lights and siren.
Lainie turned up the radio a bit as the dispatcher continued.
“Before the call disconnected, the calling party stated that her boyfriend had hit her and was now threatening her with a knife . . .”
Mike turned the corner on Elm and slowed—at the other end of the street a black-and-white rapidly approached.
Since the emergency tone would keep beeping until someone called Code 4, Lainie advised that they were on-scene so everyone would be aware that the beat car had backup.
Sara had exited her vehicle. By the way she moved, Lainie had to believe she heard or saw something dangerous. Mike saw it too because he sped up and slammed on the brakes when they were one house away from the address.
They both got out and hurried toward the dispatch address.
“Drop the knife!”
Sara clearly faced a threat.
Lainie sprinted up five stairs and saw a courtyard to the right. Sara’s back came into view. She repeated the command to drop the knife.
Lainie saw a man holding a woman by the hair. She was on her knees, face bloody, and in his free hand, the man held a knife, a big one.
“I’m not going to prison.”
When he spoke, Lainie recognized him. He was what they called a frequent flyer. Someone every beat cop in the city had interacted with at some point. She’d arrested him for burglary when she was in uniform and had noted his name in several reports now that she worked violent crimes. Hank Bucshon.
He jerked the woman’s hair and raised the knife.
“Taser, Taser, Taser,” Sara said as she deployed the less-than-lethal tool.
The prongs hit the target, and the knife fell to the ground as Bucshon stiffened and fell backward, toppling like a tree.
The Taser delivered electrical currents meant to overwhelm the central nervous system.
When it worked like it should, it totally incapacitated a suspect long enough to get him cuffed and secured.
All three of them surged forward. Sara secured the knife and the man, while Lainie helped detangle the woman’s hair from Bucshon’s clenched fingers. She and Mike moved her to the side as gently and quickly as they could.
The woman sobbed, in shock. Lainie requested paramedics and knelt next to her, comforting her until they arrived.
Later back at the station, after the woman had been admitted to the hospital, Sara called Lainie from booking.
“This guy wants to talk.”
Lainie shrugged, not really concerned. After all, they’d witnessed Bucshon while he was threatening his girlfriend with a knife. They didn’t need a confession. “I’ll be around to talk to him after he’s booked.”
“No, you don’t understand. He wants to talk now. We found some receipts on him. He works for Dallas Vine.”
Lainie sat up straight. Sara had her full attention. Dallas Vine—a name Lainie would never forget. The first big arrest of her career. And the first crushing disappointment. “What?”
“He sounds legit. Bucshon’s saying he’s got inside knowledge, and he wants to spill. He doesn’t want to go to jail again; it’s a third strike for him.”
“I’ll be right down.” Lainie ended the call, and Mike shot her a quizzical expression.
“Come on, I’ll explain on the way downstairs.”
Lainie finished telling Mike in the elevator.
“He’s totally pulling our legs,” he protested as they exited in the basement. “No one rolls over on Vine.” Mike shook his head. “You of all people should know that.”
“We can talk to Bucshon and figure it out. It’s worth a few minutes of our time.”
She could tell he wasn’t sold.
“What can it hurt?” She went to push open the door to booking, and he stopped her.
“Lainie, you were sued by Vine for harassment. Your obsession with him almost ended your career.”
“Ahh.” Lainie closed her eyes, brought her palms to her forehead. “Mike, that was years ago. I’ve stayed away. Other than reading the occasional news article about him, I haven’t been watching him or searching for evidence against him.”
She opened her eyes, lowered her hands, and held his gaze. “Bucshon dropped right. In. My. Lap. All I want to do is see if he’s on the level.”
Mike said nothing for a few seconds. “Five minutes.” He pushed open the door.
Sara met them in the holding area with Bucshon cuffed to the bench.
Hank was a rat-faced guy with a slight build.
The burglary he’d committed when Lainie arrested him was a window entry.
Wiry and flexible, Bucshon had no trouble getting in and out of small windows.
She’d caught him in the alley coming out of one when he tried to run.
Now, he sat on the bench, subdued. Taking a Taser shot tended to do that to people. He’d been checked out by medical personnel and was okay to process.
“You still want to talk?” Lainie asked him.
“I don’t wanna go to jail.”
“I can’t help you there. We saw you about to scalp your girlfriend. I can’t make that go away.”
“You can keep me out of county jail, can’t you?”
Lainie considered this. No one liked going to county jail. Especially those men with small builds and no gang attachments. Hank was only tough when it came to hitting women.
“I’ll listen to what you want to say, then it’s up to the DA.”