"Watch. He'll be parked right outside his apartment," Nora said to Justine.

But the blue van wasn't in sight, and the doorman said that Crocker had left the building early that morning, around seven, and no, he had no idea when Crocker would be back.

Nora and Justine settled down in the squad car parked across from Crocker's apartment building. Nora continued with her litany of "fuck this" and "fuck that." More than four hours later, Nora got the call from dispatch.

"Lieutenant, that blue Sienna van is in Silver Lake. It was last seen heading north on Alvarado. Our unit was traveling south, then lost him in the turnaround."

Nora barked, "Tell all units to find that van, Sergeant. I want the driver pulled over under any pretext and held until I get there. The suspect may be armed and dangerous. He's our primary in a series of homicides."

Chapter 108

"JACK," MO-BOT SAID in a voice that was unusually tame for her, "so you can keep this straight, we don't know the real names of any of these people."

It was almost four thirty Monday afternoon. I was driving a fleet car, Cruz was riding shotgun beside me, and I was talking to Mo-bot, who was back at the office.

I put Mo on speakerphone so Emilio could hear this too.

She said, " 'Morbid' is texting the unknown target, 'Lady D,' with a name he hijacked off her phone. It's a friend of hers."

"Gotcha."

"So Morbid just texted: 'I got something big to tell you. Can you meet me at Slommo's.' "

"What's Slommo's?" I asked Mo.

Cruz said, "I know it. Newsstand on Vermont."

Mo jumped back in. "Lady D texted again. 'I can't girlfren. I'm cookin tonite. Goin shoppin.' Morbid writes back: 'This is major. I need to meet you at the store.' "

"What store?" I asked.

"Jack, you know everything I know. Uh-oh. The target says 'OK. C u in 15.' She disconnected the call."

"Got a location, Mo? On either party?"

"Morbid is on Montrose, closing in on Glendale. That's as close as I can make it. Wait, Morbid's signal is moving. Heading north.

"Jack, he stopped on Glendale. He's either at a light or, no, his speed tells me he's now on foot."

Cruz was cracking his knuckles obsessively. He said, "There's a Ralph's Supermarket on Glendale. What are we looking for?"

"Justine said he's white, skinny. Early twenties."

"We're on our way," I told Mo-bot. I felt like I was back in combat, like I had a second chance for everything to turn out right.

Chapter 109

EAMON FITZHUGH, aka Morbid, spotted Graciella Gomez standing outside Ralph's Supermarket.

The pretty girl was wearing denim short-shorts and one of those baby-doll tops, a pink one. He came across the parking lot toward her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his head down, hair covering his eyes, which were definitely lusting for this little doll face.

"Lady D" didn't look up. Why would she? She was waiting for her girlfriend Lulu Fernandez to meet her and tell her some major news.

Morbid watched Graciella looking at her wristwatch, and then he walked right up to her, called her by her nickname. This is where he had to be a good actor, which he was. That was why he was on point.

"Gracie?"

"Yes?"

A little shy. "I'm Lulu's friend. I'm Fitz."

"Yeah? I never heard her saying she knows any Fritz."

"It's been our secret so far. Forget about that. Lulu sent me to meet you because she has to go to the hospital. She's in trouble."

"What? That's not right. What happened to her?"

"Look. Okay, she's pregnant with my kid. She told me to tell you she's spotting and she could lose the baby." Fitzhugh teared up. "It's your decision. She really needs you, though."

"You know what? You're bullshitting me, man. She woulda told me she was hooking up with a white boy, 'specially one as old as you."

"Don't you understand English? I said she needs help."

The girl's face stretched in anger. She screamed, "You liar. Get away from me." She backed up into a train of shopping carts, stumbled, righted herself, tried to run.

Fitzhugh caught up with her easily. He grabbed her arm, dragged her to a halt, and held her firm. "Stop, Gracie, you moron. Stop that. I'm for real, okay? Look-I'll let you go."

The girl was almost buying it. He was going to tell her that Lulu was waiting in the van, but he never got to say another word.

There was a stunning blow to his ribs. He fell back, looked up at the slick Mexican guy who had thrown him to the ground and was now yanking his arms behind his back, practically wrenching his right shoulder out of the socket. Fitzhugh screamed.

"What are you trying to do to this girl, you little prick? What's your name?" Cruz said. "I'm talking to you!"

Cruz bent down, grabbed the kid's wallet out of the back of his jeans, and handed it to Jack. Then he said to the guy on the ground, "Where's Rudolph Crocker?"

"I don't know any Rudolph Crocker. Let me go or I'll yell for the police."

"Don't sweat it, Mr. Fitzhugh. The police are already on the way. I called them for you."

Chapter 110

JUSTINE GRIPPED THE armrest tightly with her right hand, held her phone with the other, and shouted to Jack over the sirens. "I'm with Nora Cronin. We've located Crocker's van a block from Ralph's. The van is pinned in by black-and-whites… Jack, I'll call you back. This thing could blow up right now."

Nora braked in the street, and she and Justine jumped out of the squad car. One of a half dozen uniforms came up to Nora.

"LT, here's the thing. He was already parked when we located him. As soon as we pulled up, he put his hands on his head. His doors are locked and he won't get out."

"He's refusing to get out of the vehicle?"

"Right. Who does that? He must have something locked in there. Dope, maybe. Or hot electronics. Guns. He can't go anywhere, though."

Justine looked through the windshield at the young white guy with the wire-rim glasses. He looked out at her, seeming oddly calm.

It was definitely Crocker, the savage sonofabitch psycho. She knew his face from the yearbook, and from seeing him yesterday in the Whiskey Blue. For the past two years, every couple of months he'd lured and killed young women who'd fallen for whatever story he and his partner had concocted.

Justine knew the names of the victims and all about their promising, too-short lives, all thirteen of them. She hated Crocker. And she was also afraid.

Neither she nor the LAPD had anything substantial on Crocker except for a five-year-old ID from a minor who might not even testify.

Justine edged forward until she was close enough to Crocker to see that his nostrils were blanched, his eyebrows hitched up, and that he had a smile on his face.

It was almost like he was excited and just daring someone to shoot him.

What was this? A bid for suicide by cop?

That would not do. Would not do.

Justine went back to Nora's car and took the ASP baton from where it rested on the console. She returned to where Nora held her gun with both hands, the muzzle pointed at Crocker through the closed driver-side window.

"Get out of the car," Nora shouted again to Crocker. "This is the last time I'm telling you. Get out. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Crocker shouted back, "I'm not armed. I don't really think you're going to shoot me."

Justine knew her anger was calling the shots here, but she didn't care. She flicked the ASP down and out, the sound of it like racking a shotgun. The heavy six-inch metal bar extended to become a sixteen-inch nightstick.