Chapter Thirteen: Key Evidence

As soon as Amanda rounded the corner into the kitchen alongside Mark, she knew that something had happened. Laughter at some muttered joke from Mark died in her throat at the weight of the tension in the room. Judging by the stiff set of Steve's shoulders as he spoke into his cellular, she felt sure that the tension had something to do with whomever he was speaking with.

She turned toward Jesse, who shrugged, looking as bewildered as she felt. She then turned toward Mark, wondering if he might have some idea what was going on. But her old friend's eyes were focused worriedly on his son who seemed to be bringing his call to an end. Mark moved around her in Steve's direction. She and Jesse followed.

They all waited expectantly as Steve slipped his phone into a pocket. If Amanda had to choose a word to describe his expression, it would be grim. That wasn't a word she normally applied to her friend. He seemed to be searching for a way to say what was on his mind. Then, making a waving gesture, he herded them all out onto the balcony.

Amanda followed, confused. Jesse and Mark didn't seem overly surprised, so she followed along without much of a comment.

"That was Jonathan Bright," he said once they were all outside.

Amanda frowned. Jesse and Mark had filled her in on some details of the case while they were on their way out to Malibu to see if Steve was at home. It was her day off, and she decided to come see for herself how her friend was doing. "I thought you already talked to him," she said.

"I did. But something has come up. Someone sent him a package. The return address was here, at the beach house."

"Here?!" Mark exclaimed. "What was it?"

"It was a bottle of Vodka."

"Vodka? Why would anyone send him a bottle of vodka and use your address?" Amanda asked.

"That's the million dollar question. Bright doesn't drink. At all. He swears that none of his friends would ever send him anything like that," Steve replied. "Besides, he found a card while we were on the phone."

"What did it say?" Jesse asked.

"It said: Justice is on the way."

"Amber." Mark said. "It's her."

"I agree. And I think this will be enough to convince the chief that something is really going on here."

"Maybe," Mark said. "If there is anything in that box that ties back to her."

"The note does," Jesse replied. "That's her MO."

"I think what Mark means, Jesse," Amanda spoke up, "Is that if there is no physical evidence that ties that package to Amber then it could be argued that Steve or Mark sent it to make it look like there is something there. After all, the return address is theirs."

"Right." Jesse agreed slightly disheartened. "And everyone knows about the Justice thing."

"Well, I'm going to try to get the Captain to get a team over there," Steve declared, pulling his phone out of his pocket again. "I told Bright to say put and not to touch anything. We need to make sure that the evidence doesn't get tainted."

Mark's gaze lingered worriedly on Steve for several moments before he turned toward Amanda and Jesse. "The locksmith said that he would be here some time in the next couple of hours. I don't know when Cheryl will be able to get a crime scene team here. Can one of you stay here and wait for them?"

Amanda looked in askance from Jesse to Mark. "What am I missing?" she asked. "Why do you need a locksmith and a crime scene team. And for that matter, why are we talking on the balcony instead of inside?"

Mark clued her in. "A couple things have happened since we last talked. There is a possibility that Amber had Steve's keys copied when he was assaulted. And it's also possible that the house is bugged. Hence the locksmith and crime scene team. Steve's having the place checked out for bugs and prints."

"Oh, Mark. No," Amanda reached a reassuring hand toward her friend. "You think she was in your house?"

"We're not sure. We only know that two of the keys that were copied by one of the men who attacked Steve is the same brand as the locks here at the beach house. It seems too much to be a coincidence."

"Well, I'll be happy to stay and wait. Just let me know which doors you want to have changed."

"Thanks honey." Mark smiled at her. "Come on, and I'll show you what I need." They left Steve on the deck talking on his cellular.

-- --

Cheryl hung up her cellular as she glanced over toward the Home Central locksmith clerk. He was intently viewing images of known offenders. She had been sure to include the pictures of the men that the Corona zone commander had mentioned as well as Amber McPherson among the females. She was very curious to see what he would come up with. There was another assailant out there somewhere, and they still hadn't definitively tied Amber to the crime.

The bank bag was enough to keep Breckish in custody for the time being, or until he made bail. The locksmith clerk was going over mug shots. The techs were still going through Steve's trucks matching fibers.

She glanced up at a call from the desk sergeant. "Hey Banks? You talked to Sloan lately?"

Frowning, she crossed toward the burly man who had been with the force for over 20 years. "Just hung up with him, something wrong?"

"Don't know. Someone has been trying to reach him. Left a message this morning, but Sloan didn't come in. He just called again a few minutes ago. I asked if he could talk to someone else seeing that Sloan is technically on medical leave but he says he won't speak to anyone but Sloan. A real paranoid if you ask me."

Cheryl took the yellow while-you-were-out slip that was extended in her direction. She glanced down at the name and number of Dr. Edward Gibsen. Her frown deepened. That was the man who wouldn't give Mark and Steve Bright's name. Why would he be calling Steve now?

"I'll let him know," she waved the slip and headed back toward her desk.

-- --

They were fifteen minutes into the drive to Clear Skies and Steve had spent much of that time on the phone. There had been little to no opportunity to discuss the latest developments in the case or their meanings. It seemed that every time that the conversation would begin, Steve's phone would ring. Unfortunately the majority of the conversations related to keeping Bright's identity more-or-less anonymous while still investigating the package that he had received so there was little that Mark or Jesse could contribute.

He and Jesse had spoken softly about inconsequential things for a while, but Mark had eventually sank into his own thoughts, his mind drawn to figuring out the mechanics of the case. He couldn't divorce the idea that he was missing something very important.

He figured that there had to be a pattern to Amber's actions - there had been in the past, and like most repeat killers, she had developed something of a modus operandi. As Steve had mentioned a week prior, she tended to telegraph her moves. Whether she did it purposefully or not, Mark couldn't be sure. The trick was to figure out what she was telegraphing.

He needed to think back through everything to try to get a clear picture. The first thing that she had done after the trial was to go on the air declaring her feelings for Steve. Why had she done that? What could she possibly have hoped to accomplish? What had she accomplished? Well, it had certainly gotten Steve's attention. Was that her intention all along?

Mark could only see two potential responses. Anger or indifference. Indifference was out of the question considering the level of emotion involved. But it had led to Steve contacting her. Had that been what she was after? A continued connection? If so, he would have to say that the move had been a success.

Her second move was the newspaper interview. Her version of events continued to promote the idea of a romantic relationship between she and Steve. The radio interview had already swayed a portion of the public to the idea. Why? Did she truly want a relationship with his son, still? After everything? Or was she hoping that Steve could help her to find out the identity of her next victim? Mark blew out a breath. If she had managed to place listening devices in their home, then it was very possible that they had led her directly to Bright. Had that been her ultimate goal all along -- finding Bright?

Mark was inclined to think so, possibly with the intention of somehow implicating Steve as well. After all, she had to have sent that letter of inquiry to Gibsen under the guise of writing a book before the trial had even ended. Having grown up in and around the small town of Corona, she would surely have been able to find out that there were only two potential psychologists in the area at the time in question. And since one of them was dead, the field was considerably narrowed.

Then there was Steve's assault. The reasons behind that action was painfully clear. She was punishing Steve for his negative response to her interview in the Sensation. He had effectively squashed that and any further attempt at convincing anyone that there was anything between the two of them. There had been a brief fervor on the talk shows the morning the article was printed and then it all just fizzled away from public interest.

From that point, she had behaved as a woman scorned. A woman scorned who had taken his son's keys, wrecked his truck, and was camped outside of his home on the day he had come home from the hospital. Was it all because of the article? The feeling of dread that had begun shortly after Cheryl told him about the keys increased exponentially.

An unexpected catch in Steve's voice drew him out of his thoughts. He turned a sharp glance in his son's direction, quickly accessing, silently asking if he was okay. Steve's response was a wry half smile as he said his final good byes before disconnecting from his second call with Cheryl.

"That was Cheryl," he said unnecessarily. "She says that the locksmith identified a possible accomplice. And the name happened to be on the list of suspects that we got from the Lt. Simpkins."

"Oh really?" Mark was glad to see that they had made another positive step. "Did she say if --"

"We're here, Dad." Mark was cut off as Steve interrupted and gestured toward a turn off on the left.

Mark managed to slow down and make the turn in time, and found himself at a guard building with moveable entry and exit arms. He pulled the car to a halt and waited as the guard spoke with the driver of a delivery truck in the outgoing lane. The guard didn't look as if he would be done anytime soon.

"Did she say if he identified Amber?" Mark completed his question.

"No," Steve replied on a sigh. "He's still going through the mugs. Oh, she did say that Dr. Gibsen called."

"She say why?" Mark found that curious.

"No. She said he wouldn't talk to anyone but me. Probably something else to do with Bright. I'll give him a call if we ever manage to get past this gate."

Mark nodded, looking back toward the guard. He was still in conversation with the driver of the delivery truck.

"Maybe we should toot the horn," Jesse suggested.

"I wouldn't want to be rude," Mark replied. It really had only been less than a minute.

"Maybe I should flash my badge. Would that be rude?" Steve asked, dryly. "I'm sure it'll mean something that his boss is waiting for me and he is holding up things."

Just then, the driver of the truck handed the guard a cardboard box bearing the logo of Carlo's Restaurant. He waved and then headed out toward the road.

The guard settled the box in the shack and moved toward the driver's side window. "I'm sorry about that," he apologized immediately with a friendly smile. "Friday is pizza day. The owner always springs for lunch for everyone. There is a standing order with Carlo's." He gestured back toward the disappearing van.

"That's very generous of him," Mark commented, returning his smile as he settled back further in the seat so that Steve could display his badge from the passenger side.

"I'm Lt. Sloan. LAPD."

"Right," the guard snapped a finger. "You're expected." He pressed a button inside the guard shack and the arm began to raise. "Drive on through."

Mark thanked him and pulled onto the lane that led into the Clear Skies complex as Steve withdrew his cellular and began to dial Gibsen's number.

Steve spoke as he dialed. "Newman isn't sending a team out here. We're going to have to get the package from Bright and take it back to the lab ourselves. That way, hopefully, his identity won't be exposed to anyone else. On the very off chance that Amber doesn't already know who he is."

"Pretty remote chance if you ask me," Jesse said from the back seat.

"I agree," Mark replied. "But there are other reasons for keeping it low key."

"Like maybe preventing Amber from knowing that we know that she knows?" Jesse replied. "That is if she doesn't already know that we know that she knows."

"Exactly." Mark chuckled just as Steve responded to an answer on the other end of his call.

Mark and Jesse fell silent. Mark divided his attention between the one side of the conversation that he could hear and finding a parking space near a building marked as Reception.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked Gibsen.

Mark shared a concerned look with Jesse who leaned forward from the rear seat at Steve's suddenly very grim expression.

"I'll need you to talk to my partner. She's going to have some questions that she needs to ask you. Her name is Detective Sergeant Cheryl Banks, and I'm going to have her call you in just a few minutes."

There were a few moments of silence as the other man continued to speak. Then Steve responded. "I know. Thank you Dr. Gibsen. Yes, use this number. Thank you."

"What's happened?" Mark asked, as soon as he clicked the phone off.

"Bright called Gibsen this morning after my visit with some questions about what happened back then. Gibsen asked his nurse to pull the old file out of storage and discovered that it was gone."

"Where does he keep file storage?" Mark asked.

"He has a locked room -- and unused office near the back of the building."

"You guys thinking we found the last key copy?" Jesse asked as Mark cut the engine.

"That's what Cheryl's going to go find out." Steve replied as he opened the door to climb out of the car.

Mark opened his own door, then turned back toward Steve, before getting out. "I wouldn't mind having another talk with Dr. Gibsen, myself."

Steve half-turned in the act of standing, and then just seemed to collapse. One hand grasped for the passenger side door, but it wasn't enough to prevent his fall. He hit the ground, landing on his backside with a grunt. Jesse's sudden appearance behind him, prevented his knocking his head against the car parked in the space beside them.