Killer

CHAPTER 40

I approached slowly.

Rambla brightened with recognition. Then her little face clouded and constricted. Shuddering, she jerked away from me, clutched her mother.

Cody in the fleabag, now this.

Both kids reverting to primal survival impulse, genetically encoded eons ago: Make yourself small.

As Rambla fought to burrow into her mother, Ree capped the child’s head with a protective hand.

I backed away.

Ree’s eyes bounced around. “They’re crazy!” Her voice quaked like that of an old woman.

“I know—”

“We need to go now.” Lifting her shackled leg. Rambla trembled and mewled.

I glanced back at Milo. On the phone. “Soon.”

I stood there, making sure to pose no threat to anyone.

Rambla hazarded a peek at me. I smiled. Her lips vibrated and tears streamed out of her eyes and tiny fingers began clawing her mother’s nightgown.

“C’mon, now,” said Ree. “Baby-dolly’s okay baby-dolly okay, ’sokay …”

Rambla mumbled, “Nuhnuhnuh,” and broke into sobs.

Ree looked at me. “I can’t help her.”

I said, “You’re doing fine.”

“We need to go.”

“We’ll get you out of here.”

She clutched Rambla tighter, rocked faster. “Both of us.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I, Ree. You’re her only mother.”

She studied me. “You,” she said. As if seeing me for the first time. “You hold me.”

Mother sank into my embrace but daughter cried harder, letting loose tears and gasps and sprays of mucus that glazed my sleeve.

Ree’s comforting chant lowered to a mechanical drone. “ ’Sokay, baby dolly, ’sokay …”

I focused on Milo’s phone conversation, 911 request for Fire Rescue, specifying bolt cutters, a “freed hostage situation.” Then the lieutenant at Van Nuys station.

Rambla never stopped crying.

When the sirens sounded, Ree Sykes said, “That’s beautiful.”

With both victims hustled away in an ambulance and an army of techs ready to do their thing, the entire property became a crime scene.

Milo and I returned to the unmarked. Leaning against the van and kicking the tire the way he had with the garage wall, he followed up with Moe Reed.

Reed said, “Didn’t call you, El Tee, because she’s not coming back there right now, drove into Burbank, Marie Callender’s, she’s having lunch. That gave me a chance to look into her car. She’s a slob, but no baby stuff and nothing overtly weird.”

“She dining alone?”

“So far. I’m out in the parking lot, in position to see if that changes.”

“Whenever you’re ready, take her down, Moses.”

“Re-ally,” said Reed. “So you got the evidence.”

“Got everything.” Milo filled in the details.

“Whoa. And I missed the party. Okay, so she’s my loose end, I’ll tie her up.”

“Any indication she’s packing?”

“Not unless she’s got something small in her purse.”

“One of our vics was killed with a .25.”

“I’ll remember that, El Tee. Congratulations.”

“For what?”

“Live victims.”

Next call: SWAT lieutenant Byron Bird, using a secure tactical band. Bird answered with a growling, “Yeah?”

Milo said, “I could use your help.”

“And here I was thinking you were offering me tickets to the game,” said Bird. “Let me give you some deep background, friend: Been up since three a.m., shitload of time wasted on a false-alarm dope raid. So don’t even talk to me about work, Milo. Going to the gym.”

“Got something more therapeutic than bench-pressing, Byron.”

“Like what?”

Milo told him the situation. Bird said, “Two tan-shirts, Lordy Lord. Where exactly at Mosk?”

“Family and probate.”

“Familiar with both those purgatories. Two divorces and my mother’s will. Okay, I’m déjà-vu-ing the layout in my head, those halls full of civilians … my thought is we need to be subtle. That’s French for just enough foreplay.”

The takedown team would be sixteen of Bird’s physically strongest officers in plainclothes.

“Eight for him, eight for her,” said Bird. “Last thing I need is my new girlfriend getting on me for the sexist thing.”

Laughing his way through the planning but not pleased at substituting muscle for staggering firepower. But getting any sort of a weapon into the court building without triggering a commotion would be tough, let alone showing up with the heavy artillery the swatters preferred.

The final arrangement: each of the sixteen officers would be limited to a single 9mm handgun concealed by a blousy shirt and relegated to last resort.

The primary weapon would be human bulk: blitz-swarming the Nebes after they left their respective courtrooms. As long as the bailiffs ventured far enough from onlookers to minimize collateral damage.

If the hallways were packed, the arrest would be postponed for a safer time and place.

“Just what I need,” said Bird. “Another pud-yank marathon.”

“Be optimistic, Byron.”

“Why?”

“I got live victims.”

“Good for you — but you also got those two dead ones so don’t be going all positive-thinking on me.”

Hank Nebe, exiting Nancy Maestro’s chambers an hour after the SWAT team was in place, went down easy.

“Shoulda seen the look on his face,” said Bird, radioing in the all-clear. “Like a geek who crapped his pants on a first date. Then he gets all smirky, don’t even try to talk to me, I want a lawyer. Not my problem, he’s on his way to Central Booking. That should get interesting, no? Man-in-tan processed by his compadres. All those po-lice-loving gangbangers.”

Milo said, “I think that’s called irony.”

“It’s called ef-you justice, Milo. You have any indication he did something to that baby?”

“Not so far.”

“ ’Cause if I knew he did something like that, I might’ve aimed a well-placed kick,” said Bird. “Either way he’s evil. Probably need to call in a shrink for your vics.”

“Thanks for the tip, Byron.”

“Okay, back to you when we nab Missus Evil.”

Ten minutes later, Bird was back on the line: “Got a problem, Milo. Her court got recessed two hours ago, some kind of stomach bug hitting the judge.”

“She show up?”

“We’re still checking.”

“Her car’s not in staff parking?”

“No sign of it yet. We’re covering every inch of the structure, including the visitors sections. Something happens, I’ll let you know.”

Milo hung up and rubbed his eyes. Settling behind the wheel of the unmarked, he pushed the seat back and stretched. I got in the passenger side.

I watched him fidget.

“What’s on your mind, Big Guy?”

“What Byron said, any indication the baby was abused?” His laugh was bitter. “Other than being locked up in a garage with her mother shackled to the wall?”

He phoned Reed again.

“No change, El Tee.”

“Yes, there is, Moses. Look out for the aunt. Her court recessed and she left the house in civvies, so it’s possible she never made it to the court building. She’s a deputy, is likely to be packing.”

Reed said, “Appreciate the warning, El Tee.”

Milo clicked off. “No, he doesn’t, but that’s one of the things I like about the kid.”

“Respectful.”

“I prefer deferential. Bet he always ate his vegetables.” He yawned, placed the cell phone on the dash, rolled the back of his head along the seat. Tugging his tie loose, he closed his eyes. “Hope to hell this doesn’t drag on.”

Just as he began to snore, I said, “Doesn’t look as if it will.”