Last Chance to Die, Noah Boyd [most read book in the world TXT] 📗

The other girls were starting to move away from the corner. Denise smiled. “Well, what kept you boys?” She strutted comically for the other girls, as if she were getting into a limousine. Once the door was closed, she said, “I hope you’re here to tell me that you caught that freak.”

Bursaw turned around in his seat and said, “I just found out about it today. But I’m making it a priority. Did you know him?”

“Never saw him before.”

“Ever date him?”

“Not me, but some of the other girls told me they did.”

Bursaw handed her the photographs of the three prostitutes that had been murdered. “Any of these girls?”

She shuffled past the first two, but the third girl caused a reaction. “You think he’s the one who killed Darlene?”

“That’s what we’d like to ask him. Tell me about what happened with you.”

“You sure we’re cool?”

“This is what it is, Denise. Nothing else.”

“Okay, but if it ain’t, this is entrapment.”

“I’ll consider myself warned,” Bursaw said.

“I guess it was two or three months ago. He pulls up, and I ask him what he wants. He agrees to the money, and I get in. He had this old van, the kind with no windows. He drives for a couple of blocks. I could tell he knew where he was going. Some dead-end street, just factories and stuff. I tell him I need the money up front. He gives me a twenty, and we start to get busy. All of a sudden, he’s got this screwdriver pressed to my neck and tells me to get in the back. I hesitate, and he jabs it into my skin.” She lifted her head. “I still got a scar.” Both agents inspected the rectangular mark that the tip of a screwdriver would leave. “So I get in the back. Once I’m there, I see he’s got ropes tied to the inside braces on the walls, four of them. I’ve been doing this long enough to know I was in trouble. He sets down the screwdriver so he can use both his hands to tie me. I waited until he was just about to tighten the first knot, and then I picked up the screwdriver and stabbed him with it. I must have hit him pretty good, because he fell back yelling in pain. Then I jumped out and ran as fast as I could.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“I haven’t.”

“Did you talk to the other girls about him?”

“Sure. We’re always warning each other. But if it’s slow out here, you know, you’re not as careful.”

“According to the report you filed, it happened after Darlene was killed.”

“That sounds about right. You think it was this freak?”

“She was tortured, and both ankles and wrists had rope burns on them.”

“Jesus Almighty. It’s got to be him, then.”

“Tell me about the van—what color, make, model, whatever you can.”

“All I remember is it was old, maybe white, with some big rust spots on it. I couldn’t tell you what kind. There was fast-food wrappers and a bunch of other garbage in the back, like he never cleaned it.”

“Describe him.”

“Black, maybe in his thirties. Medium build. Had his head shaved. Never saw him standing up, so I don’t know how tall he was, but probably average.”

“Where did you stab him?” Vail asked.

“You know, I just lashed out. I think it was in the chest.”

“Think you got any depth?”

“It felt like it. And the way he fell back, I’m pretty sure I did.”

Bursaw took out a dozen business cards and handed them to her. “Give these to the other girls. Anybody sees him, call me twenty-four hours a day. Let them know there’s a decent chance that one of them could be next. The best thing we can get is a license plate. It’s worth some money.”

“If this’s the fool who did Darlene that way, it’d be an insult to her to take money.”

She got out of the car and leaned back in the window. “You really FBI?” she asked Bursaw. Then she got a mischievous grin on her face. “Ain’t this the part where you’re supposed to give me the lecture about getting out of the life?”

“Since you didn’t pay any attention to the guy with the screwdriver, why would I bother?”

She laughed a single syllable and backed away from the car. “I’m going to call you, Mr. FBI. One way or the other.”

As Bursaw pulled away from the curb, Vail said, “Looks like somebody’s got a date for this year’s Christmas party.”

At a few minutes before nine the next morning, Vail walked into the assistant director’s office. He had received a call from John Kalix that a meeting had been scheduled to plan Yanko Petriv’s arrest. Kate was sitting at a small conference table, along with Kalix and the three unit and section chiefs Vail had been introduced to at the off-site on New Year’s Day. He sat down next to her. “Where’s the boss man?” he asked.

Kalix, said, “He’s at the Department of Justice, getting authorization for Petriv’s arrest.”

“Have you found out where he works?”

Kalix said, “NSA. He was born in Bulgaria, and currently he’s a Bulgarian and Czech interpreter for them. Those lists of handwritten phone numbers you found in the safe-deposit box are some of the phones they’re up on. Bill talked to his counterpart over there last night and let them know what we’ve found. They called back this morning and said they haven’t gotten anything off those wires in over two months. Previously they’d been fairly productive.”

The door opened, and Bill Langston walked in with another man, someone Vail hadn’t seen before, but he had an idea who it was. “Everyone, this is Lance Wimert from OPR.”

Vail leaned over to Kate. “I wonder who he could be here to see.”

Langston continued, “We’re green-lighted to detain Mr. Petriv.”

“By ‘detain’ you mean arrest, right?” Kate asked.

“I mean detain, as in hold with extremely slow due process. Justice has consented to this approach because of the possibility