They Never Die Quietly (2010) (21 page)

Mary walked in the door and sat behind her desk. "According to my records, Simon Kwosokowski still lives on Felspar Street. The mail carrier responsible for that area told me that he's been delivering Mr. Kwosokowski's mail to 850 Felspar for years."

"Can I see his mail?"

"Sorry, Detective Diaz, I checked his mail slot and it's empty."

"Thank you for your time, Mary."

Deflated and panic-stricken, Al hopped in his car and telephoned Captain Davison. After bringing the captain up to speed, Al said, "The Clairemont branch DMV is only fifteen minutes from here. I'm gonna scoot over there and have them run his VIN and plate number. Hopefully, they'll have his real address."

"Why go to the DMV, Al? We can run the VIN and plates here in the office."

Although the police department had access to the Department of Motor Vehicles database, occasionally a glitch in the system would result in inaccurate information. Al wasn't going to take any chances with Sami's life. "I'd rather go right to the source, boss. In the meantime, would you have someone contact Pacific Tel and South Coast Gas and Electric and see if this asshole has a phone or electric service?"

"Hicks and Robinson are already on it, Al. I'll call you back in thirty minutes."

The conversation was over but neither man hung up.

"She's going to be okay, Al. Sami's a tough cookie. She'll figure out a way to get the upper hand."

"I hope you're right, captain."

Sami had no appetite, but to absorb the acid eating away at her stomach, she had to force something down her throat. As she stood with the refrigerator door wide open, staring at a well-stocked assortment of fruits, vegetables, cold cuts, bread, bagels, prepared salads, cheeses, various dressings, and condiments galore, it struck Sami that Simon's plan might be different than he claimed. If he truly intended to kill her Sunday at six p.m.--the mere thought made her shiver--why had he stocked the refrigerator full of food that would last for weeks? Granted, Simon was completely out of touch with reality. But he wasn't stupid. There was, of course, the grim possibility that he intended to immediately abduct another mother and daughter when his work with Sami was finished. She tried not to consider this scenario.

"Would you like something to eat, honey?"

Angelina was restless, tired of television, bored with the assortment of toys, cranky. She snapped her head from side to side. "I wanna go home, Mommy."

Sami postponed breakfast and sat next to Angelina. Her stomach growled. She combed her fingers through her daughter's hair. "Would you like to play a game, sweetheart?"

"No."

"How about I tell you a story?"

"No!"

Sami didn't know how to occupy her. How do you reason with a two-year-old locked in a cage? "Mommy loves you."

Angelina cocked her head and glanced at Sami. Her mouth twitched to a smile.

"Will you give Mommy a hug?"

Eyes moist with tears, throat tightening, Sami held her daughter close.

Thoughts of her mother drifted into Sami's mind. She wondered how she was coping. Foolish thought. How would any mother handle such a traumatic situation? No doubt Sami's mother was an absolute mess. If only she could send a message just to let her know that Angelina and she were okay. There was the possibility that Simon had lied, that her mother was...Sami pushed the thought out of her mind. She'd give anything to speak to her mom. Ironic, Sami thought. For most of her adult life, she avoided her mother as much as a daughter could, making their encounters as brief and perfunctory as possible. Sami maintained a self-serving kinship, wrestling with this hypocrisy for years. The guilt of daughterly obligation was forever dueling with her free will. She could not deny that she exploited the relationship with her mother, selfishly trading companionship for her mother's babysitting services.

Given over thirty years of vivid examples, no one could deny that Josephine Rizzo was a close-minded, meddlesome old woman. But the compelling question haunting Sami at this moment of self-recrimination was this: Why hadn't Sami ever accepted her mother for who she was without judging or trying to change her? There were so many things Sami needed to say. She searched her memory but could not remember the last time she hugged or kissed her mother. Their relationship had been lacking affection for as long as Sami could remember. Never willing to accept part of the responsibility, Sami now recognized that a good part of their tepid relationship rested on her shoulders.

Sami jumped when the steel door swung open. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't heard the dead bolt unlock. "Would you go watch television for a while, honey?"

"Do I have to?"

"Please."

Sami waited until she heard the sound from the TV, and then sat on the bed. Time for a different tactic. "I owe you an apology, Simon."

He stared at her suspiciously. "For what?"

"I said a lot of horrible things earlier, and I'm sorry."

"I don't expect you to understand all this, but it would be easier for both of us, and Angelina, if you remained civil."

She curled her hands into fists.
I'll show you civil, you fucking asshole!
She wanted desperately to smash his face.

Easy, girl. Stay focused.

"I'd like to learn more about the Bible and redemption. Will you teach me?"

He moved toward her. "You're playing with me."

"I swear, Simon, I'm not. If my life is going to end soon, I want to prepare myself emotionally and spiritually."

"Your life won't be over. It will begin."

"Help me to understand this."

"Would you like to read the Bible with me?" His voice was suddenly animated.

"Very much."

He turned and opened the door, his eyes glowing with purpose. "I'll be right back."

The line trailing out the front entrance of the DMV looked longer than the one Al encountered at the post office. He slid past the crowd and walked up to the man posted at the central information booth. A young brunette woman waved her arms, inquiring about registering her out-of-state Toyota. Al stepped in front of her.

He flashed his police ID. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to run a VIN and plate number immediately."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Can't you do that at the police station?"

"I don't have time to play twenty questions. I need to speak to someone
now!
"

The man turned around to see which service representative was available. "Go to window four."

"Thank you." Al jogged to the window.

"How may I help you, sir?" The stunning African-American woman smiled.

Al handed her a piece of paper. "Would you check the VIN and plate number of this vehicle and give me the owner's current address?"

"And you are?"

Again he showed his ID. "Detective Diaz."

He glanced at his watch: two-fifteen.

"Well, sir, it seems that the prior owner traded this vehicle in for a new one. Wait just one minute." She pushed a few keys. "Yep. We received the report of sale from the dealer yesterday."

"Can you give me the name and address on the report of sale?"

"Simon Kwos--"

"Kwosokowski?"

"Right."

"What's his address?"

"850 Felspar, apartment number 3."

Son of a bitch!

"What kind of vehicle did he purchase?"

"A two-thousand-nine Ford Explorer."

"Where did he buy it?"

"Benson Ford in Mission Valley."

In California, license plates were not issued on new vehicles until six to eight weeks after they were sold. "Would you be kind enough to write down the VIN and a description of the vehicle, please?"

Al dashed out the door without thanking her or saying goodbye. No time to win the Mr. Congeniality award. As he ran toward his car, perspiration dripping off his forehead, his cellular rang.

"This is Diaz."

"The plot thickens." Captain Davison said. "South Coast G and E said that our perp canceled his utility service ages ago on Felspar Street but didn't transfer it to a different address."

"Well, he must have electric service."

"Not in his name."

Al pondered for a moment. "How about Pacific Tel?"

"Same story. Closed the account a long time ago and never requested they transfer phone service."

"He doesn't have a fucking telephone either?"

"Apparently not. What did the DMV tell you?"

Al gave the captain an update. "I'm on my way to Benson Ford now. Maybe his real address will show up somewhere in the paperwork."

"Check his credit report. Those fuckers know what you ate for breakfast."

"Good idea, boss."

There was an awkward silence.

"Six detectives are working on this, Al, so don't think you're all alone."

Al found little comfort in the captain's words. "Thanks, boss."

After Al hung up, he pulled copies of Simon's driver's license and parking permit application out of his shirt pocket. The home telephone number listed on the application was 619-555-7288. What did he have to lose? Al dialed the number. After four rings Al heard the annoying recording: "The cellular telephone you are trying to reach has been turned off by the customer. Please try again later."

So, Al thought, the bastard has a cellular. Al guessed there were at least a dozen cellular providers in Southern California. Maybe more. He called Davison.

"Do me a favor, captain. Our perp has a cellular telephone. If we can find out who's providing his service, they might have his address."

"I'll have someone get right on it."

"While they're at it, have them check with the
San Diego Chronicle
and Southwestern Communications. Maybe the son of a bitch reads the newspaper or watches cable TV."

"Good idea, Al. Anything else?"

"See if he has any relatives anywhere in the country. Can't be too many unrelated Kwosokowskis."

Quite to Sami's surprise, Angelina fell asleep in front of the television. She turned off the TV, carefully lifted her daughter, carried her to the bed, and laid her down. Angelina's timing couldn't be more perfect. She kissed her warm cheek and covered her with a blanket. Still hungry and fighting nausea, Sami ate a sesame bagel with a dab of cream cheese and raspberry preserves, hoping it would absorb the acid churning in her stomach. Just as she swallowed the last mouthful, Simon returned. What she really wanted was a warm shower.

"If you're eating, I can come back," Simon said.

"Just finished." She hadn't heard his tone this friendly since before he drugged her. Maybe playing the role as a woman seeking a spiritual awakening was a viable strategy, she thought.

Instead of sitting on the bed, risking that Angelina would awaken, Sami sat on a small love seat in the play area. Simon sat next to her, closer than she expected him to.

He showed her the Bible, holding it with obvious reverence, pointing to the cover. It was as if he were caressing a priceless figurine. "This is the New Believer's Bible. Its translations are written in a more contemporary manner. Much easier to follow." He handed it to Sami.

She fanned through the pages, stopping every so often and glancing at a page. "Where do we begin?"

For more than thirty minutes, Simon read various passages about God and Jesus and Satan and salvation. Sami asked questions and Simon answered all of them with the precision and passion of a renowned theologian. That the man sitting next to Sami was the same person who slaughtered four, possibly five, innocent women seemed hard to grasp. How could he read the word of God with complete devotion and then commit such unspeakable crimes? She feared him now more than ever.

Somewhere along the way, something or someone affected Simon in a profound way, twisted his perspective on good and evil. Sami knew a little about sociopaths. Many were physically and emotionally abused as children. But she never encountered a religious fanatic. This was new territory for her, and she didn't have time for on-the-job training. The man sitting only inches away from her was a cold-blooded murderer, yet he preached God's word like a pastor.

"Did your parents teach you the word of God, Simon?"

"My father abandoned us when I was very young."

"So your mother was your religious mentor?"

His eye switched. "You could say that."

"Does she live in San Diego?"

"She"--his angst was obvious--"died about ten years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That your mother died. You must miss her terribly."

"She's not dead; she just doesn't live a mortal life."

"Does she ever talk to you, Simon?"

He stared at her. "What are you fishing for, detective?"

"It's called intimate conversation."

He thought about her answer for a moment. "She's warned me about you."

Sami sat upright, her spinal column feeling as rigid as titanium. "She knows me?"

"Better than you could possibly imagine."

"What has she told you about me?"

"She said that you want to seduce me. Make me a sinner like you."

"Do you believe that, Simon?"

"I didn't expect that you accepted my dinner invitation merely because you were hungry for food."

"Have I acted inappropriately?"

"You didn't have a chance to."

"So you expected that I would tear off your clothes after we had dessert?"

"Something like that."

The conversation was not heading in the right direction. "Simon, explain to me why crucifying women does not break the fifth commandment."

"It's complicated."

"God has appointed you to cleanse souls?"

"Indirectly."

"How?"

Simon didn't answer. He tugged on his collar as if it were too tight.

"Does God talk to you through your mother?"

"I know what you're thinking, detective. But you're way off base."

Again Sami hit a wall. "You told me that crucifixion cleanses the soul and ensures salvation, right?"

"It does."

"Are you the only one in the world appointed to perform God's will?"

"I have no idea. God doesn't consult me before making decisions."

"The Bible claims that anyone can be saved, correct?"

"Jesus is the only path to heaven."

"I'm confused, Simon."

"About what?"

"If any mortal can be saved by accepting Jesus into their hearts, then why must you crucify them?"

The question seemed to stump him. "Do you expect me to defy God's will?"

"No. But if people can be saved without dying, I don't understand why God would wish to impose such pain and misery on the families of those crucified."

"You're questioning God's wisdom?"

"Only suggesting that people can be saved without dying." Sami tried to rationalize with an irrational man. She didn't feel as though she were making progress, but she pressed on. "Couldn't you save me, Simon, without crucifying me?"

"Not without disobeying God."

"So you really believe that it is God's will for my daughter to be an orphan?"

"Not at all."

"But I'm her only living parent."

With wide open eyes, Simon glared at Sami. He grinned like a child who just found an unopened package of Oreos. "Not to worry, Sami. I am quite fond of Angelina."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't think of anyone who would be a better spiritual adviser." His face contorted, becoming almost monsterlike. "When I'm finished with you, I'm going to adopt Angelina."

All sense of reason vanished. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"