Detective Sam Hodiak tucked the case file under his armpit and poured himself a second cup of stale coffee from the station's break room. Caffeine had become his compromised addiction. With a ten-year sobriety to uphold, not to mention the long grueling hours of detective work, coffee was the logical Choice.
He was the classic detective—cliché; divorced with a past full of heartache and broken relationships. But he was good at his job, his years in the military afforded him certain physical and mental abilities that some of his other colleagues lacked. He liked to think he was street-smart and a fairly intelligent guy with the innate ability to trust his gut.
A gut that ended up being more right than wrong.
His current case resided at a crucial junction. It's either going nowhere or it's about to break. And he wanted to make sure it was the latter. Months had passed, and while leads had trickled in, the killer always seemed ten steps ahead, which annoyed Sam; he solved cases, he caught bad guys and put them away. Failure wasn't on the docket.
His Captain, Ed Cutler, had called Sam late last night to let Sam know he had acquired some new information and needed to meet first thing in the morning to discuss the case. He didn't want to get into particulars over the phone, which meant whatever he had to say probably wasn't good news.
Sam wasn't typically concerned with punctuality, but that morning, with two cups in, he was wired and anxiously awaiting his meeting with the captain. Good or bad, he just wanted to get it over with.
He made his way to his desk, took his suit jacket off, and draped it over the back of his chair. Sam took a seat and waited to be called into Ed's office. Thumbing his finger on the edge of his desk, details of the case filled his consciousness.
All the victims, four so far, were strangled and moved to another location to be dumped. The killer left no prints at the scene. Several oddities about this case stood out, first, the killer carefully arranged the bodies on their backs, then, possibly the most disturbing, he lodged two pebbles within the victim's eye sockets. The first victim had been dead for months before the body was discovered, which had led Sam to believe there might be more, and he was right. Three more were found after that. All the victims were from outside the L.A. area, they were backpackers, all reported missing by family members after they hadn't checked in.
"Hodiak!" A shout from Ed breaking his thought process.
"Yeah, I'm coming." Sam rose and grabbed his jacket off the chair and slipped his arms through the holes, careful not to snag it on his shoulder harness.
"Bring the Aquarius file," Ed said before he walked back into his office pacing behind his desk.
They had named the case after the constellation Aquarius because the first two victims, as well as the last one, were found in a state park within close proximity to the ocean; that, and one of his officers pointed out the constellation Aquarius in the summer evening sky when they were processing the first crime scene.
Pivoting on his heels, Sam quickly scooped up the file from his desk and made his way to Ed's office. This better not be a waste of my time.
DSU Stella Gibson only flew first class. It was part of her work praxis of isolationism. She'd developed the habit years ago. First-class afforded her the ability to go over case files and notes, but it kept her away from people.
The public, while she had taken an oath to protect and serve them—oftentimes left her irritated and annoyed. She grew tired of their incessant prying when she was traveling from one destination to the next. She simply didn't have the time or the desire to make small talk. It was a variable easily controlled.
Stella was no stranger to high-profile cases. She'd apprehended the serial killer, Paul Spector, albeit almost losing herself in the process. But it was nothing any good detective wouldn't have done themselves. Winning in the field of police work meant losing in one's personal life. And she had resigned herself to the notion.
This case wouldn't be any different.
When the Chief Superintendent called her early this morning to let her know Interpol had received a hit from a case in Los Angeles, California, the case had the same MO as her current unsub—she was on the first plane to the states with only her overnight holdall and laptop.
When she landed she would call the hotel and order a wardrobe service. She wasn't trying to be arrogant or spoiled. She just didn't have time to bother with unpacking; she needed to quickly assess what the local authorities had already uncovered and certainly, most likely what they had missed.
She wasn't keen on the idea that another department, let alone one across the pond, could have information concerning her case.
Make no mistake, this was her case.
She spent months chasing her unsub. The profile was firm; he was male, early thirties, a drifter most likely disguised as a backpacker preying on other unsuspecting young backpackers.
He liked to watch his victims die as he strangled them; however, once they were dead he would move the bodies by dumping them in a wooded area. He would arrange their bodies carefully, covering the eyes with small pebbles, pushing them deep into the victims' eye sockets. A detail that had not been shared or well known, so when Interpol reached out, she knew there was a high probability that her unsub was now in the states. It would also account for the break in time from the last murder victim until now.
"Would you like a drink, ma'am?" The very attractive brunette crew member asked Stella. If she wasn't on a case flying across the ocean, she might have asked the woman for her number or maybe fucked her in the lavatory. Stella was no stranger to the mile-high club.
Recently she ended things with her on, but mostly off-again girlfriend. The sex was great, but Stella was distracted with work and wasn't completely sold on the idea of embarking on an intense emotional connection. Prior to that relationship, a string of men fulfilled her sexual needs.
It wasn't lost on her that her fear of intimacy kept people away, but it didn't bother her. A good fuck every now and then, Stella thought, suited her lifestyle just fine.
She opened her laptop, and without looking up, she answered the question, "Coffee, black."
"This looks about right, Captain," Sam said as he thumbed through the stack of printed sheets Ed handed him, "And the same MO, too, the pebbles over the eyes." Pointing to both his eyes as he reviewed the paperwork Interpol sent over. Both men, now sitting and reviewing the information.
"Look, Sam. Because this perp has committed crimes in the UK, Interpol suggested we work with one of the UK's finest."
Sam always thought Ed looked like he was one breath away from his last. He was an older gentleman in his late sixties, twice divorced, with high blood pressure.
Another casualty of good police work, Sam thought.
But he was fair and knew how to balance the delicate role of politics and police work. Sam suspected this was one of those times. He watched Ed shuffle his hands over the mounds of paperwork at his desk. Picking up a sticky note, he read the name to Sam,
"Gibson, DSU Stella Gibson. She's due to arrive at LAX in two hours; go pick her up."
Ed stood, signaling the end of their meeting and conversation. Sam sighed and nodded at his orders, then rose from the chair adjacent to the desk. As he turned to leave, Ed spoke up, half-jokingly with a hint of weariness in his voice, "Well, Sam; looks like you just got yourself a new partner."
There is never a time when LAX isn't a logistical nightmare. Sam parked his unmarked police-issued SUV in the designated area for law enforcement and made his way toward the international arrivals terminal. He would wait in the customs area for his soon-to-be pseudo-partner. Flashing his credentials throughout the various civilian checkpoints warranted him a quick trip to customs.
He decided to grab another cup of coffee, hopefully a better one than he had at the station. We need better coffee , he whispered to himself under his breath. The airport, like all airports, was fully stocked with shops, restaurants and bars. Sam spotted the nearest Starbucks, and stepped in line. He reached into his jacket suit pocket, pulled out his cellphone and scrolled through his email.
"Do my tired eyes deceive me, or is the Detective Sam Hodiak of the LAPD in my airport?"
Sam immediately looked up from his phone to see an older African American gentleman dressed in a black suit carrying a walkie in his right hand. Of course Sam recognized him instantly, before he even looked up, he knew the voice well. His old friend, Will Jensen. Will was active-duty during the same time as Sam. They both lived on base in the dorms and they instantly became lifelong friends. Will was Chief of Police for the Los Angeles Airport Police Department.
"I should have known; nothing, and no one gets past you my old friend." Sam said as he placed his phone back into his suit pocket.
An instant smile painted over Will's face and Sam matched his expression.
Will snickered, "And waiting in a Starbucks line at that."
With a chuckle, Sam responded, "Hey man, beggars can't be choosy," and opened his arms to his long-time friend. They briefly hugged and Will stood next to his friend as they began to catch up.
"What brings you here? Do I need to be worried?"
"I have been sent to pick up a London Detective. Apparently, my newest case has international interest. Interpol alerted us that there are several key similarities to a case out of London," Sam said as they inched closer to the ordering line, he continued, "The Detective working the case is on her way, she should arrive in forty-five minutes. And Will, I think Interpol might be right on this one–the similarities are too striking to be ignored."
Sam reached the counter, and with an overly chipper voice, he's greeted by the barista, "Hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?"
"Yeah, can I get a tall Americano with whole milk, no sugar."
"Is that all for you, sir?' The barista asked as Sam pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. Will put his hand on Sam's arm.
"I got it, buddy," Will flashed his badge to the barista. She smiled, "On the house."
Will smiled and nodded to the girl as they moved to the other side of the coffee bar to wait for Sam's order. Sam spent the next five minutes giving Will the rundown on the case and Will listened attentively. Will was sharp and intuitive. "What's your take, Sam, you think it's the same guy?"
"It's looking like it is and I shudder at the thought that there would be two of these guys running around." Sam said.
From behind the counter, another barista shouts, "Sam, your Americano is ready at the bar."
Both men smiled at each other at the mention of the bar and the wonderful irony, in that the only bar Sam visits these days is one that serves fancy coffee.
"Ten years, Will," Sam softly spoke as he picked up his drink order.
Will nodded in encouragement at his friend's resolve, and patted him on the back.
"Hey, Let's go get your detective friend; sounds like you both have some work to do."
Will placed his arm around Sam's shoulder, and they turned to head out of the Starbucks making their way toward customs.
The flight was uneventful; Stella kept herself busy pouring over the casefile and preparing notes in order to keep the investigation moving forward. She wasn't sure how formal the situation was; she knew the American detectives would likely brief her on their progress. She would obviously share the killer's profile, which she believed was spot on, and the victimology report the Met Police Victims Unit created. She was anxious to get started; she felt like they were always several paces behind the killer.
"Attention, passengers: we have started our descent into Los Angeles and the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return your chairs to the upright position and turn off any electronic devices."
Stella, closed her laptop, removed her earphones, placed her hair in a loose ponytail and closed her eyes. The descent was smooth and she thought the pilot did a good job, not that she would tell them, she didn't have time for pleasantries, but she noted the experience as a good one and was glad it ended up being a smooth flight overall.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of British Airways, welcome to Los Angeles, California."
Stella stood as soon as the fasten seatbelt sign no longer illuminated red above her. She shuffled out to the aisle and opened the overhead compartment to grab her weekend bag. She smoothed her navy suit jacket and brushed off her pencil skirt for lint, retucked her cream silk shirt and made her way toward the front of the plane. She had sat in the first row of first class so her exit from the aircraft had her leaving the plane first. Once in the terminal, she followed the signs for the U.S. Customs and Border Protection check-point.
Because Stella was a police officer, and therefore a crown servant, she had a global entry pass which allowed her the ability to bypass the long lines of the regular customs checkpoints. She could hear the sound of her high heels clicking against the hard polished airport flooring as she walked towards customs. The sound was comforting, it reminded her of the mission to keep moving forward like only she could; forward to catch a killer.
She would not accept anything less.
Stella reached the global entry pass line and waited somewhat impatiently for a kiosk checkpoint station to open. She scanned the other side of the checkpoint looking for any sign of her American counterpart. She knew someone from the police station would be meeting her at the airport. She spotted two men talking and standing behind the plexiglass divider. One man had a walkie in his hand and she could see the security earpiece as he chatted with the other gentleman.
She continued to study the two men, as she made her way to an empty kiosk. She concluded one was a high-ranking airport official and the other, wearing a navy suit with a white shirt and a red tie. Yankee fucking doodle , she thought with a smirk; had to be her guy. He was tall, fit and rather dishy. She briefly caught his eye, and he smiled, nodding at her as he did.
Yes, she thought, he most assuredly was her contact.
Stella finished up at the checkpoint and made her way toward the two gentlemen. She chuckled as she whispered under her breath, fucking yankee doodle and the airport official.
"DSU Gibson?" The tall good looking man in the navy suit asked as she came into his proximity, extending his hand out for a handshake as he spoke.
"DS is fine. And you are?" Reaching her hand to his.
"I'm Detective Sam Hodiak, and this is the Chief of Airport Police, Will Jensen." Moving his head in the direction of Will as he released her hand. Will nodded and smiled, reaching a hand to meet hers in a handshake, "Welcome to LA, DS Gibson, I wish it was under better circumstances."
"Yes, of course, thank you."
"Do you have any luggage, DS Gibson?" Sam asked as they stood in the middle of the busy entrance to baggage claim.
"No, I only have the one bag. And please, Stella is fine."
"Okay, Stella. Are you hungry or thirsty? Do you need to check into your hotel or would you like to go to the station first?"
"Actually, I thought you could take me to the location where you found the last victim. You can fill me in on the car ride there."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Well Sam, I should get back to work," Will said looking at his friend, then smiled at Stella, "nice meeting you Stella, you're in good hands."
The three of them parted ways and Stella followed Sam out of the airport and toward the parking lot. They quickly arrived at his SUV and Sam clicked the alarm button, unlocking the doors. Stella opened the passenger door as Sam rounded the front of the car making his way to the driver's side.
Driving to the scene, for a moment both detectives were silent. Stella's thoughts were on the case and she was anxious to get to work. She also let her thoughts drift to the man sitting beside her. His good looks weren't lost on her—another time and place their meeting might have concluded with an entirely different outcome.
One that had them both naked , she thought to herself. But this was work, and having it off with a man she worked with, well, she had made that mistake before. She cleared her throat, snapping herself back into the reality of the situation.
Silence broken.
"This case…" Sam said.
At the same time, Stella spoke, "The victims, what…."
Simultaneously again, "go ahead."
They both quieted, waiting for the other to speak. Sam finally spoke up, chuckling as he did, "Sorry, you first, please," glancing at Stella momentarily, then returning his gaze to the road. She saw a small smile creep to the corner of his mouth. He nodded, offering her a non-verbal cue he was ready to listen.
Stella sighed, clearing her throat again, she collected her words and continued, "The victims, what can you tell me about them?"
Sam spent the entire car ride briefing Stella on the facts surrounding the current status of the case. He noticed midway through she had pulled out a small notebook and pen from her bag on the floorboard at her feet. She would occasionally nod as he spoke, interrupting every now and then with an "I see" or asking for clarification on something he'd said. When he finished, she was quiet.
Processing, he thought. Sam suspected that DS Stella Gibson was a processor. Which no doubt made her a damn good detective. At the airport, he'd picked her out pretty quickly, suspecting she was who he was waiting for when he and Will had been at the exit of customs. He noticed her walking toward the kiosk stations. She had a self-assured walk and he could tell she was casing the environment out as she waited in line—a tell sign of anyone in law enforcement or the military. She was also very beautiful, strikingly beautiful, and sexy, very sexy. He stopped his thoughts before they went too far. Just wouldn't be right, he thought.
He broke the silence once more. He wondered if it would become common practice between them, "Topanga state park. That's where the most recent and first two victims were found. The other body was found just north of the Angeles National Forest entrance."
"Well that would be consistent with our perp for sure. We found all our victims in areas that were heavily wooded and were frequented by backpackers." Stella said, breaking her contemplative silence. Tapping her pen on her notebook, she continued, "And then it all went cold. Until now, of course."
Sam returned a simple, "hmhmm."
Nodding as he waited for a red light to turn green. He debated on whether to initiate small talk, but something about his passenger told him she wouldn't be interested in idle chit chat, so he decided on silence. The drive from the airport to Topanga State Park was a beautiful one. The ocean was to their left and the rolling hills to their right. He always liked this part of the CA-1 highway, the rolling hills offset by the vast ocean reminded him of why he loved the area. He wondered what Stella thought of it. He glanced over at his new temporary partner, she was looking out the window with her elbow propped on the rim where the car window met the door, her head resting in her hand at her cheek. He suspected she might be enjoying the view, but her stoic demeanor was still hard to read, which he also suspected was purposeful. Wearing your emotions on your sleeve wasn't particularly a trait conducive to their line of work.
He rounded the corner to the entrance of the park and slowly took his SUV off the paved path onto a gravel road just a half-mile from the entrance.
It was time to get this show on the road and catch a killer.
