“Grand.” I glanced at Wes—who seemed to be riveted on what Dr. Reeves was saying—before glancing back at Candy. “I’ll call him now. If Wes finishes with the doc before I’m back—”
“I’ll tell him you had a call to make, Patsy.”
“Thanks, boss.” I turned and started to walk away but he stopped me with his next words.
“And Patsy?” I turned around. “I’m really glad you’ve found happiness.” He smiled at me, and I returned the smile with one of my own.
“I appreciate that, Candy…more than ya know.”
Chapter Seventeen
WES
The homeless camp was worse than I could have ever imagined. When I’d come out of the conference room after Dr. Reeves had given me the profile of the serial killer he and his team were chasing, I was in a little bit of shock. No wonder Patsy had told me he wanted to be with me while I was down there. First of all, the suspect they were trying to capture was a vicious killer and second, the place where he was thought to be hiding out from the authorities, was a sprawling, horrendous place.
Like I’d told Patsy, I’d spent a few weeks in a homeless encampment in Hollywood while I worked odd jobs to get my car out of impound. But it didn’t compare to the human misery on display down in South L.A.
I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of despair as soon as Captain Sorensen dropped us off a block from the camp carrying our possessions in backpacks along with a ratty old tent just after sunset. It was mid-February and temperatures got into the low fifties at night. Even though Patsy had packed blankets and sleeping bags for us, I still wasn’t looking forward to battling the cold at night. At least we could huddle together for warmth.
By the looks of it, some of the other camp residents had nothing more than cardboard boxes for shelter. Napoleon and another of Patsy’s friends called Nash would be camping out nearby. Captain Sorensen had given us all earwigs to keep in touch with each other. It was comforting to know that we had backup but even so, I was already looking forward to identifyingthis killer so Patsy and I could go home and sleep in his big, warm bed.
I smiled to myself every time I thought of the offer he’d made. Yes, we hardly knew each other, but I’d readily agreed to his offer to move in. He was a very special man. It was sickening to think about everything he’d endured, from captivity to torture. I was proud of him for getting clean and sober and certainly couldn’t blame him for turning to alcohol to help him cope in the aftermath of his imprisonment. He was kind and funny and extremely sexy. I was happy with the way things were going with us and glad that Patsy had made the offer he did. He’d put a lot of trust in my character from the very beginning and never faltered in his confidence in me.
The camp stretched the length of a city block and sprawled two and three deep with tents and makeshift shelters in some places. Part of it was covered by a bridge, but those not lucky enough to have built their shelters there, showed signs of the rainy weather. The aftermath of the storm had left cardboard structures wet and those who had tents, huddled just inside the flimsy dwellings. People followed our progress down the street with vacant, haunted expressions.
There was a low buzz of conversation which instantly ceased only to resume seconds after we passed. We were probably being momentarily assessed as threats, but when it seemed none existed, we were then summarily dismissed. I hated this. In all honesty, if I never had to come back to somewhere like this, that would be fine by me. The unsettling absence of joy or laughter, even from the few children we saw as we walked by was eerie. I got a lump in my throat as I remembered the enormity of the suffering. Patsy kept close by my side, walking slowly as he appraised the landscape, probably looking for the best place to pitch our tent. He stopped about midway down the block.
“This will work,” he said, looking at a trampled patch of grass in the open. He pointed to a row of Andy Gumps which had been set up about thirty feet away. “Close enough to the jacks to walk to at night, but far enough away that we won’t get the smell.”
I smiled. “Jacks?”
“Shitters.” He nodded in the direction of the portable toilets the city provided.
I shuddered, knowing that they wouldn’t be maintained properly, and more than likely, the source of much dread with camp residents. “Yeah.”
He set down his pack and pulled the tent off his shoulder before squatting to open it. Our neighbors watched with great interest as we set up the tent. It was made of camouflage green canvas that someone had dirtied to look like it’d seen a long campaign of field warfare. I noticed a mildew smell the minute Patsy opened it, but ignored it, grateful for the heavy fabric that would keep the rain out as well as the wind. It was probably selected not to stand out, and definitely not roomy…more like what I’d describe as a pup tent, but it would accommodate both of us.
Once inside, we rolled out our sleeping bags which, though, made to look distressed, were warmly insulated. I sat down on one, noting the feel of rocks beneath my ass, as he sat cross-legged facing me. I resigned myself to getting almost no sleep for the duration. Patsy dug through the packs and inserted his earwigs before handing me a pair. I followed his example as he showed me how to touch the side to mute our conversation after checking in with Nash and Napoleon who’d set up separate tents somewhere close. I was startled at their clear voices, loud enough to sound like they were standing in front of us. After he’dmade contact, he pulled out the earwigs, pocketing them as I did the same.
“Ya okay, luv?” he asked as soon as we were out of earshot from the others.
“It’s sad, you know. Medical care, shelter, and hunger are horrible things, Patsy, but you know what these people lack more than bread?”
He shook his head.
“Hope.”
“Aye, ‘tis exactly that, luv.”
I smiled sadly at him, barely able to make out the expression on his face in the darkened tent. Agent Kindness Rayburn had given Patsy a tin of some sort of face paint that the military used in the field before he left the office. As soon as we were inside the BearCat headed to the camp, Patsy had sparingly applied the paint to our faces, making sure to wipe most of it off, leaving only what looked like dirt on our faces. He’d doctored our hands as well, then gave me the tin to use more under my fingernails.
I also had on a Kevlar vest beneath my long-sleeved T-shirt which I’d covered with a ratty old camouflage jacket I’d dug out of the boxes I’d dragged to Patsy’s house. He’d opened an overhead bin and pulled out a box with what turned out to be a selection of knives. I’d watched him select one with a five-inch blade and slide it into a sheath, before strapping it to my belt.
“I’ll be by yer side, but if somethin’ should happen, you’ll have this.”
I’d glanced around the back of the BearCat where Patsy’s team sat on benches all around us. “Are you really sure I need to be armed, Patsy? I feel like you’re equipping me to walk into a warzone.”
“Ya could compare it to that, sure.” He’d unzipped his jacket, showing me a mean-looking iron cudgel which he’d tucked into an inside pocket. Then he lifted his T-shirt, revealing the two knives he’d tucked into his pants, along with one that slid into a hidden opening in his belt. By the time we’d stepped out of the FBI tactical vehicle parked a block from the camp, our disguise looked quite believable.
