A Trace of Death. Blake Pierce

across the intersection.

      “Over there,” she said and started walking.

      This stretch of Venice north of Washington Boulevard up to about Rose Avenue was a weird crossroads of humanity. There were the mansions of the Venice Canals to the south, the fancy shops of Abbot Kinney Boulevard directly east, the commercial sector to the north, and the grungy surf and skate section along the beach.

      But throughout the entire area were gangs. They were more prominent at night, especially closer to the coast. But LAPD Pacific Division was tracking fourteen active gangs in greater Venice, at least five of which considered the spot Keri was standing on as part of their territory. There was one black gang, two Hispanic ones, a white power motorcycle gang, and a gang comprised primarily of drug- and gun-dealing surfers. All of them existed uneasily on the same streets as millennial bar-goers, hookers, wide-eyed tourists, homeless vets, and long-time granola-chomping, tie-dyed T-shirt–wearing residents.

      As a result, business in the area comprised everything from hipster speakeasies to henna tattoo parlors to medicinal marijuana dispensaries to the place Keri stood in front of now, a bail bondsman’s office.

      It was on the second story of a recently restored building, just above a pressed juice bar.

      “Check it out,” she said. Above the front door, the sign read Briggs Bail Bonds.

      “What about it?” Ray said.

      “Look right above the sign, above ‘Bail.’”

      Ray did, confused at first, then squinted his one good eye to see a very small security camera. He looked in the direction the camera was pointing. It was trained on the intersection. Beyond that was the stretch of Main Street near the dog park, where Ashley had allegedly entered the van.

      “Good catch,” he said.

      Keri stepped back and studied the area. It was probably busier now than it had been a few hours ago. But this wasn’t exactly a quiet area.

      “If you were going to abduct someone, is this where you’d do it?”

      Ray shook his head.

      “Me? No, I’m more of an alley guy.”

      “So what kind of person is so brazen as to snatch someone in broad daylight near a busy intersection?”

      “Let’s find out,” Ray said, heading for the door.

      They walked up the narrow stairwell to the second floor. The Briggs Bail Bonds door was propped open. Immediately inside that door to the right, a large man with an even larger gut was settled into a recliner, perusing Guns & Ammo magazine.

      He looked up when Keri and Ray walked in, made the snap decision that they weren’t a threat, and nodded to the back of the room. A long-haired man with a scruffy beard sitting at a desk waved them over. Keri and Ray sat in the chairs in front of the man’s desk and waited patiently as he worked the phone with a client. The issue wasn’t the ten percent cash down, it was the collateral for the full amount. He needed a deed of trust on a house, or possession of a car with a clean title, something like that.

      Keri could hear the person on the other end of the line pleading but the long-haired guy wasn’t moved.

      Thirty seconds later he hung up and focused on the two people in front of him.

      “Stu Briggs,” he said, “what can I do for you, Detectives?”

      Nobody had flashed a badge. Keri was impressed.

      Before they could answer he looked more closely at Ray, then nearly shouted.

      “Ray Sands – The Sandman! I actually saw your last fight, the one with the southpaw; what was his name?”

      “Lenny Jack.”

      “Right, right, yeah, that’s it, Lenny Jack – the Jack Attack. He was missing a finger or something, wasn’t he? A pinky?”

      “That was after.”

      “Yeah, well, pinky or not, I thought you had him, I really did. I mean, his legs were rubber, his face was a bloody pulp. He was tripping all over himself. One more good punch, that’s all you needed; just one more. Hell, a half-punch would have been enough. You probably could have just blown on him and he would have fallen over.”

      “That’s what I thought too,” Ray admitted. “In hindsight, that’s probably why I let my guard down. Apparently he had one punch left he wasn’t telling anyone about.”

      The man shrugged.

      “Apparently. I lost money on that fight.” He seemed to realize that his loss wasn’t as great as Ray’s and added, “I mean, not that much. Not compared to you. It’s not that bad, though, the eye. I can tell it’s fake because I know the story. I don’t think most people could though.”

      There was a long silence as he caught his breath and Ray let him twist awkwardly. Stu tried again.

      “So you’re a cop now? Why exactly is the Sandman sitting in front of my desk with this pretty little lady, excuse me, pretty little peace officer?”

      Keri didn’t appreciate the condescension but let it slide. They had bigger priorities.

      “We need to look at your security camera footage from today,” Ray said. “Specifically from two forty-five to four PM.”

      “Not a problem,” Stu answered as if he got this kind of request every day.

      The security camera was operational, necessary, actually, given the establishment’s clientele; it wasn’t just live-time to a monitor but streamed to a hard drive where it was recorded. The lens was wide angled and picked up the entire intersection of Main and Westminster. The video quality was exceptional.

      In a back room, Keri and Ray watched the footage on a desktop monitor. The section of Main Street in front of the dog park was visible to about halfway up the block. They could only hope that whatever happened took place on that stretch of road.

      Nothing eventful happened until about 3:05. School had obviously just let out as kids began streaming across the street, headed in all directions.

      At 3:08, Ashley came into view. Ray didn’t recognize her immediately so Keri pointed her out – a confident-looking girl in a skirt and tight top.

      Then, just like that, there it was, the black van. It pulled up next to her. The windows were heavily tinted, illegally so. The driver’s face wasn’t visible as he wore a cap with the brim pulled low. Both sun visors were down and the glare from the bright afternoon sunlight made getting a clear view of the interior of the vehicle impossible.

      Ashley stopped walking and looked in the van. The driver seemed to be speaking. She said something and moved closer. As she did, the vehicle’s passenger door swung open. Ashley continued to speak, appearing to lean in toward the van. She was engaged in a conversation with whoever was driving. Then, suddenly, she was inside. It wasn’t clear if she got in voluntarily or was pulled in. After a few more seconds, the van casually pulled out into the street. No peeling out. No speeding. Nothing out of the ordinary.

      They watched the scene again at regular speed, and then a third time, in slow motion.

      At the end Ray shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I still can’t tell. She ended up inside, that’s all I can say for certain. Whether it was against her will or not, I’m not sure.”

      Keri couldn’t disagree. The clip was maddeningly indeterminate. But something about it wasn’t right. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. She rewound the footage and let it replay to the point when the van was nearest the security camera. Then she hit pause. It was the only moment when the van was completely in shadow. It was still impossible to see inside the vehicle. But something else was visible.

      “You seeing what I’m seeing?” she asked.

      Ray nodded.

      “The license plate is covered,” he noted. “I’d put that in the ‘suspicious’ category.”

      “Same here.”

      Suddenly