The suspect skirted to the opposite side of Dixon’s car, and they froze. He was facing them, but apparently they weren’t his focus, since he cupped both hands to look in the car window.
Harper edged against the retaining wall in front of the cars. Sydney moved closer from her row, could see the guy’s breath steam up the window of Dixon’s car. Suddenly he ducked, and she wondered if he was trying to jimmy the door open. She shouted, “FBI. Freeze!”
The suspect rose. Saw her. Harper jumped out. The man dove out of sight. Harper and Sydney edged to either side of the car. When they got there, he was gone.
“Damn,” she said, looking around. She caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Glanced over, saw the suspect running toward the aisle of cars Harper had just left. “There!”
They ran over. Came out in front of a dark-colored Toyota.
“Where the hell’d he go?” Harper said.
She lifted her finger to her lips. Listened. Nothing at first. Then the slightest of splashes from a puddle the next row over. She pointed. He seemed to be moving toward the center of the lot. Harper nodded. He took one side of the Toyota; she took the other. Again, they emerged to nothing. She happened to look down. Saw a red and white peppermint candy, still wrapped, in the midst of the puddle. As much rain as had fallen, the thing couldn’t have been out there that long and not started disintegrating. “You think he tossed that?” she whispered. “Throw us off?”
Harper pulled out his radio. “Either way, time for reinforcements.” He called the PD, who simply radioed for a couple of officers to step out of the hospital. Convenient.
While Harper walked toward the building to brief them, Sydney eyed the candy, thinking that something was not quite right. A simple burglary, or something more? One of the officers walked over to Dixon’s car, and shouted that it was untouched. She looked from the candy on the ground to where their car was parked against the retaining wall. If the suspect had thrown this, he wanted them to move off in the opposite direction… She swung around. Saw Harper walking toward her, saying something into his radio, something she couldn’t hear because an engine started up.
“The truck!” she shouted. Before anyone could act, the vehicle sped from the delivery doors. Its headlights blinded her. Its wheels screeched across the wet pavement.
And headed straight for them.
2
Officer Harper dove between two cars. Sydney jumped up on the hood of the nearest car, felt the cold metal through her clothes, the wet droplets soaking her knees. The truck sped off, its red taillights fading in the distance. She saw no rear plate, wondered if he’d removed it recently, or if it hadn’t been there when he’d first pulled into the lot.
“Damn it,” she said, sliding from the hood. She checked it for dents, didn’t see any, but on the off chance, tucked her business card in the windshield. Two officers jumped in a patrol car and sped off after the vehicle, and she heard them on Harper’s radio, calling out they were in pursuit of a newer model Chevy utility truck. A moment later, they were asking Harper on the radio what the suspect was wanted for. Translation: How hard were they going to search for him?
“Stand by,” he said, then looked to her for guidance.
She glanced over at Dixon’s car, saw a few smears in the raindrops on the driver’s window, but no apparent damage. All she really had was some suspicious activity, not enough for SFPD to waste their time. “I wouldn’t mind knowing who he is, but unless he’s got a pocket full of burglar tools, I’ve got nothing,” she said, quite simply because other than no license plate on his car, maybe speeding at them through the parking lot, she had bigger fish to fry. And rules were rules.
Any crime would’ve been the SFPD’s jurisdiction anyway. As busy as they were tonight, she doubted they were interested, a fact confirmed when Harper nodded, then into the radio said, “FI, only.” Field investigation. Which basically meant if they caught him, they’d identify him and hope for something more concrete to make an arrest from, like an outstanding warrant.
“Ten-four,” the officer radioed back.
“You think he was trying something?” Harper asked her, as they walked back into the ER.
Sydney thought about that feeling of being watched. “Hard to say what he would’ve done if we hadn’t gotten out there.”
“What’re you here for?” he asked her.
“Rape case we picked up from your office.”
“Yeah. Heard about that. Tough case. All the way from Reno. Got any leads on, what’dya call your suspects? UnSubs?” he asked, referring to the FBI term for unidentified subject.
“Not yet. I’m going up to do a sketch of him now.”
“Good luck. We’ll keep an eye on the parking lot in case this idiot decides to return. Couldn’t be real bright. Not like you can’t tell that’s some sort of cop car once you look inside the thing.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
She gave him her card with her cell number on it, then returned upstairs.
Dixon was waiting just outside the victim’s door. “What happened?” he asked.
“Not much.” She glanced into the room. Tara Brown looked like she was asleep. “I saw some guy in a white utility truck, newer model Chevy. Thought he was about to smash your car window, called out, and he took off.”
“You crawling around in puddles?” he asked, eyeing her wet knees.
“A few. She talk to you yet?”
“When she wasn’t sleeping. The only thing I got from her was that our UnSub stole a ring she wore, when he left her for dead. Wouldn’t say a word after that. I was hoping you could work your magic.”
She brushed at her clothes, tried for an appearance of calm as she walked in. Her briefcase was right where she’d left it by the door, and she picked it up and walked over to the bed, shaking off the bit of adrenaline from her chase outside. Tara appeared to be sleeping still, and when Sydney thought she seemed calm enough, she called out her name, pasting on her best soft smile, steeling herself against the mental drain of empathy needed for a drawing, the feeling that every time she completed a sketch, she was leaving a small part of herself on the paper with the victim. Sometimes it surprised her that she had anything left to give after all the drawings she’d done. “Hi, Tara. My name’s Sydney. I’m an artist for the FBI, here to do a drawing of the man who hurt you.”
Tara made an attempt to shake her head. “I told the other guy that I can’t remember what he looks like…”
Sydney waited, not wanting to push her just yet, but when it seemed Tara wasn’t about to continue, she asked, “Did you see the face of the man who hurt you?”
“Only for a minute. He-I was blindfolded after… He pulled my shirt up…”
“It’s okay,” Sydney said. “But you’d be surprised what you really do remember. And I’m here to help you.”
“I can’t describe him. I don’t want to.”
“Well, let’s start off with something easier. I just want to know what you were doing before you were attacked.”
That seemed to relax her. “I was with my boyfriend. We were in a bar-I’m not going to be in trouble for that, am I?”
“No, Tara. You’re not in trouble. We’re only interested in who hurt you. Tell me what you were doing, maybe an hour before you were attacked.”
“We-we were drinking. I, um, had a fake ID,” she added quietly, and Sydney knew she was blaming herself for the events. If only she hadn’t done this. If only she hadn’t done that.
“Go on,” Sydney said, trying not to think of her own past.
“The bar was closing, and I had to use the bathroom, and he was there, hiding inside it, and he grabbed me.” She didn’t speak for several seconds, and just when Sydney thought she might have given up, she said, “He tried to rape me, and I told him my boyfriend, Eric, was there and would come after me, and he said-he said he hoped he did, because he’d kill him.” She looked up at the ceiling, tears streaming down the sides of her face. “I was so scared. Eric was-he was waiting in the bar when all this was happening. And then the man bit me. My breast. He said it was his mark. He had my mouth covered, but I tried not to scream. I didn’t want Eric to hear. I-I didn’t want him to be killed…” And then she started sobbing, and Sydney let her, not wanting to upset the fragile balance of tumultuous emotions.