“No. The parole officer said he asked but she wouldn’t say.”
Nashville had been Bonnie’s destination. “What about the child? Elena. The girl said her mother’s name was Christina Sanchez. Was there a record of Bonnie having a relationship with Ms. Sanchez?”
“Bonnie never mentioned Christina or a child to her parole officer.”
“Was Christina or Bonnie living at the address Elena gave us?”
“Yes. The address is in East LA. Not the best part of town. Not surprising. Ms. Sanchez was arrested several times for prostitution and possession. Her offences were small-time stuff, but she got picked up regularly. Sanchez never did hard time, but she was in and out of jail several times before her daughter was born.”
“Find out who owned the residence where Sanchez lived. Maybe the landlord can tell us something about Christina, Elena, or Bonnie.”
“Might take me a day or two, but I’m on it.”
“Thanks, Andy.”
“How much longer will you be in Nashville?”
“A couple of days. I want to see what’s going on with this case; then I’ll turn it over to TBI. Anything on the Key Killer?”
“Who?”
“The killer who murdered ten prostitutes.”
“The Key Killer? Who came up with that moniker?”
“Local PD.”
“I was reviewing the victim case files we have on the Key Killer, a.k.a. the Riverside Ripper in Atlanta. As you know, the first victim was killed in June 1999. What I’d forgotten is that she’d filed a police report a week before she vanished for good. In her report, she claimed a strange man driving a white van approached her. She said he tried to coax her into it with a wad of bills, but her street radar went off. He tried to drag her inside, but her pimp showed up. A week later she was dead.”
Shit. He had forgotten that detail as well. Too many damn cases. They were all starting to blend. “The killer doubled back?”
“Appears so. Tell Agent Shepard to keep her eyes peeled.”
“Will do.” He hung up.
A knock on his door had him reaching for his gun and tucking it under his belt at the base of his spine. He looked through the peephole and saw the hotel room service guy. His name was Benny, and he had delivered meals the last two nights.
Ramsey fished a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and opened the door. “Hello, Benny.”
“Good day, sir. I have your lunch.”
Ramsey handed him the folded bill and took the tray. “Thanks, Benny.”
Benny rubbed the bill between his fingers as if touch might confirm this tip was as good as he hoped. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
The kid gave him a once-over, his bright eyes narrowing a fraction. “Are you FBI?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I dunno. I heard some of the guys in the lobby talking.”
Fresh face and bright eyes were typical of those on the other side of the thin blue line. They only saw excitement and all the shit that was on TV. If he showed this kid his files and told him what he really saw, he would ruin the kid’s year.
He defaulted to a practiced half grin that tipped the edge of his lips. “Don’t believe everything you hear. Have a good day.”
Before the boy could ask a second time, Ramsey stepped back and pushed the door closed.
He set the tray down on the desk and rolled his head from side to side. He reminded himself that his kind of work needed to be done. The world needed men like him, women like Shepard, just like they needed garbage collectors.
Everyone agreed that someone had to clean the mess up. They just did not really want to know the particulars. It made for a lonely life that took a toll not only on personal relationships but also on physical and mental health.
Years ago, he’d had a fiancée. She was beautiful, bright, and truly kind. But the more he had confided in her about his work, the more distant they became.
He was never sure if she had pulled away from him or he from her. Whatever the cause, neither could stop, and eventually they only spoke about the weather or social gatherings. There had been no drama or hard words when it had ended. It simply did. He’d heard she was now married to an ob-gyn and was expecting her second child.
It all went back to the question asked by his mentor. How did you boil a frog alive? Slowly.
In Shepard’s dark eyes, he saw the isolation. The loneliness. In her, he saw his own anger mirrored back. She was not as subtle about her frustrations as he was, but then he doubted she cared if she offended anyone.
If Ramsey shared his files with Shepard, she would not run away from it. They had more in common than either was willing to admit.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday, August 25, Noon
“Mom!” Melina shouted as she pushed through the front door of her parents’ house. She removed the key from the lock, rattling the ring in her hand as she crossed the living room and headed down the back hallway toward the kitchen. The light of a television glowed, and the sound of the midday news mingled with her parents’ voices. “Mom!”
“In the den, honey! I heated up a plate for you. It’s in the kitchen.”
Her stomach grumbled. “Be right there!”
“Mom made meatloaf, buttercup. Your favorite,” her father shouted.
It was the one dish her mother made well. “She’s a goddess!” She hurried into the kitchen, pulled a warm plate from the oven. She peeled off the foil and grabbed a fork and a soda before making her way to the den.
Her father sat in his recliner, his legs elevated, a slipper on his left foot and a cast on his right. He wore a favorite pair of khaki work pants and a T-shirt smudged with paint colors from last summer’s renovation project. She kissed him on the forehead, and he patted her on the arm as he muted the news. Axel, their nine-year-old rescue pit bull mix, lay on his dog bed. He thumped his tail as he looked up at her.
Melina kissed her mother, who peered up over half glasses, smiling as she sat in another tufted chair. “How’s it going?”
“Just watching a game show, kiddo,” her mother said.
“You haven’t killed Dad yet, I see.”
“A few close calls but he still lives to tell the tale.”
She sat and cut into her meatloaf. “She’s dangerous, Dad.”
“I know,” he said. “Never a dull moment in this house, but Axel keeps me in line.”
The dog lumbered to his feet and sat in front of her. He had the pitiful look down pat when food was involved. She pinched off a piece of meatloaf, and he eagerly accepted it.
Her mother sighed. “The vet says he’s fat.”
“He’s husky,” her father said. “Big bones.”
Her parents argued often about the dog’s weight. He was their second child, the son they never had. “Speaking of bones, have you broken any lately, Dad?” she asked.
“Better to break bones than sit on my ass all day and watch the world go by,” her father countered.
Hank Shepard had been in law enforcement for over thirty-five years when he’d retired the year before. Since then, he had spent the better part of the last year rebuilding the house from the outside in. She had no doubt, once he had the all clear from the doctor, he would be back on a ladder like nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, he was doing a fantastic job of driving his wife insane. Lately, she had been talking about selling the house or taking a long vacation. All her plans had fallen on her father’s and Axel’s deaf ears.
“You’re going to owe her that vacation,” Melina said. “Give me enough notice and I’ll watch Axel.”
“Seriously?” her mother asked.
“I promise.”
“I might consider it.” Her father patted Axel on the head.
Her mother ignored her father’s vague promise and shifted narrowing eyes on Melina. “You don’t like to babysit Axel. What’s going on?”
Melina took a bite of the meatloaf and savored the mix of vegetables, spices, and ground beef. “This is why I moved back to Nashville. To be close and help.”
Her mother’s face stilled as if she were waiting for a second shoe to drop. “I thought you said it was the promotion.”
“And the meatloaf. And Axel.” She took several more bites, not realizing how hungry she had been. “This is amazing.”
“Glad you like it.” Her mother put her book down. “What brings you by in the middle of the day?”
“Do I need a reason?” Melina asked.
“No, but you have one,” her mother countered.
She stabbed one more bite, swirled it in the butter mashed potatoes. Her mother knew her too well. She ate the last bite and placed the plate on the floor for Axel to finish off. He began lapping up the scant remains immediately.
“We have a six-year-old child in the hospital. She was in a car accident.” She saw the worry darken her mother’s eyes. “The child is fine, but the driver abandoned the vehicle and the child.”
Her mother hissed in a breath and sat a little straighter. She said nothing, but both her mother’s and father’s attention was laser focused. “Social services has the case, and she’ll be moved to a foster home likely by tomorrow afternoon.”
“What do you know about the driver?” her father asked.
“This is confidential, guys,” Melina said.