Present day
The phone rang at four in the morning. Which, for Detective Mike Jones, only ever meant one thing.
“Who’s dead and where?” he growled down the line, too tired and uncaffeinated to be polite. Not that his manners had ever been anything to write home about, even with a good night’s sleep and a cup of coffee.
On the other end of the line a desk sergeant read off an address. Mike confirmed it and was out the door in five minutes. He had gotten good at getting ready on short notice, and he would have been gone in three if he hadn’t made a coffee to drink on the way. He put the address into his phone, and it started giving him directions. Mike didn’t get a lot of things that phones did nowadays, most seemed like a waste of time, but having a map of the world you could keep in your pocket was something he could appreciate.
The crime scene was in a house just this side of a mansion, complete with a manicured lawn and features designed to get it into architectural magazines. It looked like it cost more than Mike would make in a lifetime. He could just imagine the station getting calls from annoyed neighbors about squad cars bringing down the tone of the neighborhood or something like that.
Rich people. Mike wasn’t looking forward to canvassing the area for potential witnesses.
Among the squad cars, Mike spotted his partner’s ridiculous yellow Mini Cooper. She really needed a more appropriate car now that she was in homicide. She had obviously just gotten there too, as she was getting out of her car as Mike was parking.
“Speak of the Devil,” Mike said by way of greeting as he stepped out of his own, much less silly-looking, car.
“You were talking about me in your car alone?” Alesha asked. “That’s pretty creepy, Jones.” Alesha may have been new, and she may have owned a silly car, but she was taking to the banter part of the job very well.
Mike snorted. “Na, I was just thinking that I used to love Mr. Bean, and now here’s his car.”
“That would be think of the Devil. Or maybe think of the Devil’s car. Either way, it doesn’t work.”
“Why, Detective Price, I had no idea you had been elected president of the pedantic society. Congratulations.”
“Vice president actually.”
Alesha drew appreciative glances from the beat cops on perimeter as they entered the crime scene. Most weren’t subtle about it.
Mike would never get used to that. Any fool could tell Alesha was attractive, but that didn’t mean you had to leer like a horny schoolboy. Mike wanted to say something, maybe knock some heads together, but his partner had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want him chastising creeps on her behalf and that the next time he tried, she’d kick his ass. Something about not wanting a man to stand up for her. He had protested that it isn’t sexist to treat a woman with respect, it’s just good manners, but she was having none of it.
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So Mike kept his opinions to himself, and took note of the particularly lecherous officers for future reference.
The crime scene turned out to be in a secret room behind a false wall.
“Well that’s different,” Mike commented. “Any ID on him?”
“Lance Bryson,” one of the CSI guys supplied.
“Hmm,” Mike said, inspecting the scene.
Died on the bed. Two doors leading off the main room. Bathroom and a closet.
The bathroom contained makeup, the closet contained women’s clothing and enough food to last maybe two days.
“We’re thinking home invasion,” one of the cops said. “Guy makes it to the panic room but doesn’t get the door locked in time. Invader shoots him in the head and he falls back onto the bed.”
Mike put one hand to his forehead and reminded himself that this one idiot didn’t represent the whole next generation of cops.
“You think he was shot at the door then fell six feet back onto the bed?” he asked mildly.
“Um,” the cop who had spoken said. “Yes?”
“And then turned his body so his head would be by the pillow?”
“The killer could have done that.”
“Ah,” Mike said, sarcasm practically forming a visible vapor around him at this point. “And then the killer stocked the closet with women’s clothes and the bathroom with makeup to cunningly throw us off the trail. It all makes sense now.”
“He might have been one of those crossdresser types,” the cop muttered defensively. Everyone ignored him.
“He was keeping a woman in here,” Alesha said. “A sex slave. Most likely Asian based on the aesthetic of the makeup and clothing.”
“Exactly,” Mike confirmed. “Though I hadn’t picked the Asian thing. Nice work, Price.”
“Thanks,” Alesha said, trying to play down how much the compliment meant to her. She was good, but she was still young, and hungry for the recognition of her senior detectives.
“So maybe he brought a gun in here to control her,” Alesha suggested. “She goes along with it, takes the gun when he’s distracted, then shoots him in the head and runs.”
“Maybe,” Mike conceded. “But I don’t think so. Did you see the keypad out there? It was inside an entirely separate secret wall panel. I doubt anyone paranoid enough to do that is bringing a gun in here and then just leaving it lying around to get taken. He wouldn’t have needed it anyway; he must have had at least a foot on her based on those clothes. Plus, the body doesn’t look right for that. I think someone else broke in here, killed this guy, and then either left with the girl or left alone and she ran for it.”
“No sign of forced entry in here,” Alesha commented. “Anything outside?”
“Nothing,” one of the other cops confirmed.
“Then, if there was another person,” Alesha said, “either Lance let them in or they’re very, very good.”
“That about covers it,” Mike said. “And given how paranoid our victim was, I’m guessing it was the latter.”
“This is going to be a tough one, isn’t it?” Alesha asked. “Where do we start?”
“From the beginning. We gather evidence, we look for witnesses, and we find out if anyone wanted Lance dead. This could have been professional, which would mean someone had to hire the killer, and this guy was obviously rich enough to have powerful enemies. We should also start checking hospitals, shelters, the local police station, anywhere this girl might go if our mystery intruder didn’t take her with him. She either saw the killer or I’m wrong and she is the killer.”
“We’d better get started then.”
So they got to work hunting a murderer.
What Mike didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that they were hunting one of the most feared men in the world. And the one most deserving of that reputation.