Free City of Echoes by Robert Ellis Page A

the girl’s hip.
    “It’s there,” Orlando said. “A heart-shaped tattoo just below her left hip. And there’s a small birthmark right beside it.”
    Matt brought the phone back to his ear. Benson must have heard Orlando’s confirmation.
    “I’d call her a Jane Doe for now, Matt. But her name’s probably Brooke Anderson. I’ll give her parents a heads-up and make sure her dental records are at the coroner’s office in time for the autopsy.”
    “Thanks.”
    “How do you like working homicide?”
    Matt winced. “It’s got its moments,” he said.
    He switched off his phone and returned it to his pocket. Grace still appeared extraordinarily concerned. He had his phone out and was taking pictures of the victim with the built-in camera. It was a violation on pretty much every level. Matt watched Cabrera pick up on it and give him a look. Orlando and Plank seemed to notice as well but were visibly overwhelmed by the victim’s plight and still dealing with it. When Matt heard the chatter from a handful of SID techs and saw their flashlights moving down the slope, he turned back to Grace and watched him slip the phone into his pocket.
    Why?
    He let the question pass. Then he parked a fresh piece of nicotine gum against his cheek and forced himself to take another look at the girl’s face. After a few minutes he moved deeper down the trail for some fresh air and turned back to watch from a distance.
    What was he seeing?
    What the killer wanted him to see.
    Why the display? Why the complexity? Why was he torturing his victims with such a hideous death?
    But even more, why did it seem so familiar?
    Matt sensed something in the center of his back and turned to face the mountain. The darkness. He wondered if someone was out there. It felt like there was. He panned his flashlight off the trail and through the brush. In Afghanistan this same feeling was usually followed by a shot from a sniper.
    He switched off his flashlight and moved another fifty yards down the trail, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The dead of night. He quieted his body and listened. He didn’t see anyone, but the sensation was stronger now. He could almost feel it in his bones. The killer was watching them. He was hiding in the darkness. He felt close.

CHAPTER 17
    It was late. Almost midnight.
    Matt grabbed the murder books Lane had given him and walked out of the station to his car. Cabrera had already left.
    It had taken five hours to process the crime scene, much of the time spent working beneath a tarp, with news choppers hovering above. Still, the media got their money shot when the girl’s body was bagged, strapped to a stretcher, and hauled up the mountain to an emergency vehicle waiting behind the fence. It was more than a money shot. It took five men almost fifteen minutes to reach the top. Two patrol units had stayed behind and would remain at the crime scene overnight. In the morning, Orlando and Plank would return with an SID photographer and a handful of criminalists for a more thorough look in daylight.
    Matt tossed the murder books onto the passenger seat and climbed in. As he jammed his key into the ignition, the rear door to the station burst open and he spotted Grace hustling down the walkway. He was talking to someone on the phone. The conversation appeared heated, and he seemed way too distracted to notice Matt. Too animated. Too everything to be righteous.
    Grace fumbled with his keys but got himself together and pulled out of the lot with his tires screeching. Matt waited a beat, then made the turn onto Wilcox and started following.
    Grace was heading north toward the Valley, the rich fog of the marine layer fading away with each block until it finally vanished. And he was moving fast, running red lights all the way up Cahuenga Boulevard and down the hill on Barham toward the Warner Bros. lot. Matt gave himself a safe cushion, keeping his eye on the car from fifty yards back. There was enough traffic to remain