Face of a Killer

48

They pulled onto Becky Lynn’s street, parked a few houses down, just as they’d done the first time they’d been there. This time, they checked the street both directions just in case Gnoble was there. They didn’t see his car, but Becky Lynn’s white Lexus was in the drive and the trunk lid was open.

“Loading or unloading?” Carillo asked.

But before Sydney could decide, Becky Lynn stepped out of the door with a suitcase and a tote bag-maybe tripped out was a more apt description-then on down the porch steps, righted herself, walked to the car, threw both items in the trunk. She walked back to the house, navigated the steps, gave a thorough perusal in both directions, then shut the door. “Apparently going somewhere.”

“Looking a little tipsy. Not sure I like the timing. Why now?”

“And where to?” Sydney said as she hit redial, calling Dixon.

He answered on the second ring. No greeting, just “You two better be heading back to the office.”

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

“And you would know this because…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks of what?”

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

She did.

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

But Becky Lynn did not stop.

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