Great angle. I knew you were the right one for this story.
Macy deleted Jerry’s email as fast as she’d read it. The story she’d written about Beck Ramsey was a distraction. Ramsey was a cop with cop instincts and cop tendencies and there was nothing newsworthy about that. She’d probably protected Jack Staples’s homicidal tendencies until it became unbearable for her, but a life might have been saved if she’d spoken up sooner. Every other paper in town was casting Ramsey as either a hero or pariah, but rarely was the truth that simple. Which brought her back to the feature piece she’d been working on for the past six months, the one Jerry was convinced she should abandon but knew that if he ordered her off it, she’d walk out.
Ten years ago, a ruthless killer had started a violent spree, claiming five victims from various walking/biking trails in the Dallas city limits. The victims were all female and in their early twenties and their deaths had taken place over the course of a year. The times of the deaths had varied—three in the pre-sunrise dark and two just after dusk. Their bodies had been found in various stages of decomposition, from one day to a week, by a variety of different people: a hiker chasing her dog who’d slipped his leash, a fisherman looking for the perfect cove to cast his line, a kayaker cutting through the brush to put in on a portion of the lake not as crowded as the rest. Each victim had been bounded, gagged, and strangled with a piece of plain hemp rope. And the fifth victim had been her best friend, Lauren Webb.
The press at the time had dubbed the perpetrator the Parks and Rec Killer. The moniker had stuck, but there had never been a face to put to the name. Somehow, he’d managed to lure his victims off one of the many walking/biking trails around the area, kill them, and leave them for dead in the ditches and byways mere yards from public view without being detected. The police had assumed the women went with him willingly, à la Ted Bundy, which was how he avoided detection in the initial capture, but how had he committed such violent crimes without anyone suspecting what was going on?
A source at the police department had told her the police had initially questioned a suspect, but it didn’t go anywhere. With no eyewitnesses, no leads from the simple, generic tools of the murder, and only trace amounts of DNA that had never been matched to anyone in the system, the investigation had seemed futile, and within a few months after Lauren’s death, the police had moved on, relegating the dormant Parks and Rec Killer files to the other unsolved cases that didn’t merit more resources since the danger had disappeared. If he wasn’t still killing, their efforts could be put to better use stopping active criminals from their evil pursuits.
But dormant didn’t mean dead, and Macy had always suspected the killer was lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to resume his spree. Or maybe he had already. Over the course of the past ten years, she’d spent her free time chatting in social media groups, searching online law enforcement databases, and scouring media outlets for any clues the Parks and Rec Killer had resumed his activities elsewhere. Lead after lead had gone nowhere, but last week when she’d heard the call over the radio about the dead body at White Rock Lake she’d gone on high alert, because the canon of serial killer knowledge was clear—bloodlust didn’t merely disappear. That, coupled with the memory of her own, very personal loss, drove her to keep the story alive and now, on the eve of the anniversary of what appeared to be the killer’s last murderous act, she was determined to publish a feature-length piece designed to bring the story back into the spotlight. Gruesome as the thought might be, if the killer was back at it, the likelihood of publication was even higher.
She picked up her phone to set a reminder to contact Claire Hanlon, the detective who’d been assigned to the White Rock case, for an update, but before she could type the note, her phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Quit being radio silent. We need to plan for Sunday.
It was Harrison, one of her best friends, and he was referring to Pride.
I may have to work.
Nope. Not how this goes. Pick you up at eleven. Donna will save our spot.
She hovered over the keys, crafting a half dozen different replies that all ended with I can’t make it, but she knew skipping out wasn’t an option and ultimately decided to give in. Fine.
The reminder of the past made her feel claustrophobic. She carried her phone with her and walked through the newsroom, passing by the desks of young reporters working on getting their stories in under deadline. There weren’t many. The board had instructed management to slim down staff to buffer the bottom line and make the paper more palatable for potential purchasers, and many had been sent off to work from home so they could lease out half the space. She got it. The economics of news didn’t work in a world where there was so much online content for free, even if more than half of it was unvetted dog shit. She’d managed to hang on to her salary and her tiny little office in the building, but with every passing day came the possibility she’d have to compromise and start composing unvetted clickbait. She wasn’t going to do it. Not ever. The very idea caused her throat to close and her skin to burn, which, in turn, made her want to run. She gave in to the urge and walked briskly out of the building, gasping when she reached the outside air.
Downtown Dallas during the day was a bustling place, even with the early onset of high temperatures. The paper was only a block from Klyde Warren Park, and Macy slowed her walk to take in the ambiance of a city putting on a good face to hide its darker bits. Today was one of the better showings. A quartet from the arts magnet high school was playing at one end of the park and a group was taking a yoga class at the other end. In between, a dozen food trucks lined the edge, offering up an amazing array of choices. She often strolled the park at lunch, but she normally brought her own packed lunch. Today she was unencumbered by her usual turkey sandwich and free to feed her cravings. She watched the trucks to see which one had the biggest line, and she queued up behind the crowd at Easy Slider.
She carried her paper plate crowded with two small but well-stuffed burgers to a nearby bench and dove in, deliberating leaving her phone in her pocket so she could eat and people watch in peace. As if on cue, a group of businessmen walked in front of her holding tacos in their outstretched hands to avoid dribbling salsa onto their fussy suits. They’d be better off in one of the many steakhouses, dining on white tablecloths with fancy waiters, but she wasn’t here to judge, only to observe.
A few minutes later, she spotted a cop standing a few feet away, turned in the other direction. She was tall and wore her blond hair in a braid. Could it possibly be? She willed the woman to turn around, and seconds later she did, but Macy was instantly disappointed at the unfamiliar face. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Beck Ramsey wasn’t going to be able to simply return to patrol. Not for a while anyway. Chances were good that after the damning testimony she’d given at the hearing, the department had her riding a desk, shuffling papers to stay busy, if not relevant.
Macy finished off her food and found a trash can to dispose of the plate. On her way back to the office, she spotted another female cop with her back turned. Another blonde, sans braid. The officer waved and smiled in her direction which told her right away it wasn’t Beck. No, Beck hadn’t been pleased with the press attention and she’d made it perfectly clear she’d prefer they all left her alone. Macy had no problem with that. The best stories came from witnesses who hadn’t been coerced but were voluntarily helping out. Pressing Beck for a story again right now would likely drive her completely away. She wasn’t sure why she cared about that, but she did, and it probably had something to do with those sad but beautiful brown eyes that had captivated her at the hearing last week. Stupid really since she didn’t know Beck at all and people were rarely what they seemed to be.
* * *
Beck stared at the screen on her cell phone, unable to believe what she was reading. She’d had a two-second conversation with Macy Moran and not a bit of it was about the shooting, yet Moran had determined she was a codependent enabler of her psychopath ex-partner. Fucking reporters.
“Hey, Ramsey, Lieutenant Coy wants to see you in his office.”
She tore her gaze away from the article to look at the guy riding the desk. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.”
She jabbed at her phone to make Moran’s story disappear, and then took a moment to clear her head. Her lieutenant didn’t need to see her pissed off—it would be just one more thing to add to the list of reasons not to put her back out in the field. Like she needed any more. She took a few deep breaths, following the only decent advice she’d received from the department shrink, and then made her way to his office. She rapped on the doorframe.
“Come in and have a seat. And shut the door.”
Great. This was going to be one of those conversations. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the edge of the seat in front of his desk, tense and ready.
He tossed aside the file in his hand and faced her. “Two things.”
She waited, not interested in guessing her fate. He knew her well enough to nod and keep talking. “You passed your detective exam.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a box and slid it across the desk.
She hesitated before reaching for it. She’d imagined this moment many, many times, but in her head, it had carried much more momentum and celebration than the deadpan delivery of her lieutenant handing her a hunk of metal.
“It’s yours, you may as well take it.”
He didn’t mean any harm with his words, but the casual delivery made it official. She’d been promoted and it meant nothing up against the position she was in for turning in Jack. Fine. But she’d earned the shield and she’d be damned if she was going to pass it up. She reached for the box but didn’t open it, merely clenching it in her fist while she waited for whatever else he wanted to discuss. “You said there was something else.”
“You’ve been assigned to the cold case squad. Take the rest of the day off and report to Sergeant Mendoza tomorrow morning.”
Her head spun as his words slowly penetrated. It wasn’t unusual to be transferred to a different division after making detective, but the cold case squad? What a joke. She was being promoted and shoved aside to examine files no one cared about anymore. What an appropriate end to her career. She pushed herself to her feet. “Fine. I’ll clear out my locker and go.”
She reached the door before he said another word.
“Ramsey?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Sir?”
“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing. No one here is going to say that where anyone else can hear, but you should hear it from me.”
“You know what? I did do the right thing, but apparently, I’m going to pay for it because despite what I believed, that’s not what we’re about.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” She raised her hands in surrender. “I give up trying to understand it. The only thing I can do now is stick around and be a thorn in the side of everyone who thinks Jack Staples is a standup guy who did the right thing. You want to do me a solid? How about putting a word in to keep me from ending my career on the cold case squad?”
“I hate to say this, but it’s probably the best place for you right now.”
He was right and she knew it. With every other cop on the force gunning for her, she wouldn’t be able to do her job knowing backup would be questionable at best, but it didn’t make the conclusion sting any less. She left his office and packed her locker. It was noon on a Wednesday, and she had an entire afternoon to burn. She loaded her stuff in her Jeep and called her brother, Liam, as she pulled out of the parking lot at the station.
“Hey, sis. Everything okay?”
“Can I not call you just for the hell of it?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes. But lately…”
“Yeah, I know. Can I buy you lunch?”
“No, but I can buy you lunch. Name the place and I’ll meet you there.”
“If it’s okay with you, can we meet at home, uh, your place.” She’d been staying with him so much lately, her subconscious apparently assumed it was a permanent situation. “I’m about fifteen minutes away.”
“Perfect. I’ll order a pizza and it’ll be ready by the time you get here.”
They hung up and she turned east to head toward Deep Ellum. Liam owned a small ad agency in an old warehouse he’d converted into office space. He kept half of the ground floor and rented out the rest to a popular pizza joint and lived on the top floor in a swank industrial apartment.
She pulled into the open parking space in the back he reserved for personal guests and walked around to the front of the building. Liam’s staff knew her well and she was on friendly terms with everyone, but she hadn’t been to the office since before the shooting. Now, when they looked up as she entered, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was imagining the knowing looks and shifting glances. She took a deep breath and pushed through.
“Thank God you’re here. I’m starving.” Liam burst into the room and wrapped her up in a bear hug, likely as much a display of genuine affection as a signal to the rest that she had his total support no matter what they might have read in the papers. “Say hi to the gang.” He kept one arm around her as he spun her to see his tight-knit crew.
Wanda and Larry and Jill waved in her direction and called out hellos, and she waved back. “Hey, everybody. Whatcha working on?”
“Plant-based Spam,” Wanda said, her face deadpan. “It’s the new green meat. You like?”
“Spam or that pitch?”
“Either. They’re both imaginary. Just trying to see how it flies.”
Wendy was weird but she meant well, and according to Liam, she was amazing at coming up with creative campaigns. “Okay. Well, not a fan of Spam, but I like the plant-based angle.”
“She’s jacking with you, Beck. There’s no Spam here, although I’m so hungry, I’d probably bust into a can right now.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s grab that pizza.”
They strolled next door in companionable silence. Beck knew Liam wasn’t going to force her to talk until she was ready, but the longer she went without sharing, the more likely it was she would stuff her feelings and keep her news to herself. They walked into the restaurant next door, and he pointed to the to-go counter. “You want to take it back to my apartment?”
She glanced around the room, The place was busy, but she didn’t see any familiar faces. “We can eat here.” She snagged a table while he grabbed their order. When he joined her with the food, she blurted out. “I got my detective shield today.”
Liam’s face lit up with a big smile. “Holy shit, Beck, that’s great news.”
“I guess so.”
He cocked his head. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“They assigned me to the cold case squad. I start there tomorrow.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s where detectives go to die, not where they start their careers. I finally get my shield and it’s meaningless. I’ll be counting the years to retirement surrounded by boxes of unsolvable cases that no one cares about anymore. What’s the point?”
“That really sucks. Can you appeal?”
She laughed. “No such thing. Besides, the last thing I want to do right now is buck the system any further. Who knows where they’d reassign me next time?”
Liam nodded and pointed at the pizza box. “How about a slice to celebrate the promotion, even if it sucks?”
Beck’s stomach rumbled as if on cue and they both laughed. They spent the next few minutes devouring their food, while Liam steered the conversation away from police work. “We’re planning an open house at the office next month. Clients, neighbors, anyone who might need ad work. You in to help me plan?”
“Sure,” she said, trying not to feel resentful about the muted celebration of her promotion, but considering the circumstances, there wasn’t anything to celebrate. Throwing herself into someone else’s party planning might be the perfect distraction. “I doubt I’ll have long hours in the dead case files, so I should have plenty of free time to help out.”
He reached across and stole a pepperoncini off of her plate. “You know, you might have the perfect opportunity to become a superstar with this promotion.”
“Interesting theory. Based on what?”
“Come on, don’t you ever watch Dateline, 20/20? You could solve the unsolvable. Make the cold case heat up again. You might get a medal.”
“Yeah no.” She appreciated his enthusiasm, but it wasn’t catching. “It doesn’t work that way. Those shows feature cold cases that are one in a million. The truth is if the trail dried up, it’s probably dead for good.”
“Maybe. But you didn’t become a cop because it was easy. You wanted to help people. Remember how you used to try on Mom’s uniform and parade around the house?”
They both fell silent at the mention of their mother, and Beck cast about for a way to change the subject. “You’re cute when you’re being idealistic.”
“You used to be.”
He was right. Once upon a time, she’d been idealistic too. She’d wanted to be a cop since before she ever really understood exactly what it meant besides the cool uniform and badge. For years after she joined the force, she managed to retain the idealism of her youth, despite the blows life had dealt. But this incident and the subsequent abandonment of her brothers and sisters in blue had broken her, and she’d never recapture the hope and dreams of the work she’d once had.
“I don’t think I can be anymore.” The confession was hard coming, but the minute the words left her lips, she knew they were true. She’d try, but she didn’t hold out hope. Her career was over, and a part of her died knowing that was true.