‘Lucy?’ he asked tentatively, but he already knew the answer. He’d been observing her from a distance for the past twenty minutes.

Lucy turned and looked back at Bobby for a moment. Confusion colored her face.

‘It’s me, Bobby.’

In reality, Lucy was Sophie Brook, a twenty-one-year-old professional actress from east LA, whom the FBI had used on three previous occasions. She was an excellent actress, but her real gift, as far as the FBI was concerned, was that she had the looks, the body, the voice and the skin of a teenager. Dressed in the right clothes, she had no problem passing as a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl. And that had been exactly the picture Michelle Kelly had sent Bobby over the Internet. A sweet and naive-looking Sophie dressed up as Lucy, the chat-room schoolgirl, and Bobby bought it.

This morning, though, they didn’t have to concern themselves with making Sophie look thirteen, because any thirteen-year-old girl trying to impress an older ‘boy’ would go for a more mature look. They dressed her up in a blue jeans skirt, flat ballerina-style shoes, a trendy white top and a cropped jeans jacket. Her blond hair was loose, falling past her shoulders, and she had applied a little makeup, in tune with a younger girl trying to look older.

Sophie had been coached for this job for weeks, even going through an intensive self-defense course with an FBI instructor. In her right jacket pocket she was also carrying a mini canister of pepper-spray, just in case.

The FBI had spotted Bobby the second he started walking down East Market Street in the direction of the skate park. He was wearing a dark blue hooded jacket with the hood up, blue jeans, white Nike sneakers and a red backpack. Funny – she dressed older, he dressed younger.

Every movement Bobby made was being filmed by a camera set up at a strategic point at the top of one of the skate ramps. Every word he uttered was being recorded by the wire Lucy was wearing under her top. At the beach an undercover agent and his dog were pretending to play with a ball, while watching Bobby from a safe distance.

The surprise on Lucy’s face was all pretend. Michelle had run her through the scenario dozens of times.

‘Remember, you believe he’s twenty-one. When you see him for the first time, be shocked. Be hurt that he has lied to you. Be angry that he has abused your trust.’

‘Wow,’ Bobby said with a big smile, taking down his hood. ‘You’re even prettier in person. Look at you, you look amazing.’

‘What a scumbag,’ Harry said from his observation point at the top of East Market Street.

Lucy’s eyes moistened. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘No, it’s me, Bobby.’

Bobby was in his mid-thirties, with short fair hair, a squared jaw, masculine lips, a strong nose and inviting light blue eyes. He wasn’t exactly a bad-looking man. He probably had no problems getting female attention. The problem was that he preferred young girls.

Bobby sat down.

Lucy recoiled a few inches.

‘The bird is in the nest,’ Harry said into his microphone. ‘We can take him down.’

‘Not yet,’ Michelle replied. She was standing just a few yards from Lucy and Bobby, pretending to listen to her iPod while watching the skate kids do their stuff. ‘Let them talk for a minute.’

‘You’re not twenty-one,’ Lucy said in a trembling voice.

‘Oh, please don’t be upset,’ Bobby said, giving her his best sad-puppy face. ‘Give me a chance to explain, Lucy. It’s still me, the Bobby you know. The Bobby you’ve been chatting to for four months. The Bobby you said you were falling in love with. I just . . . didn’t know how to tell you in the chat room.’

A tear rolled down Lucy’s cheek.

‘Damn, she’s good,’ Harry whispered to himself.

‘Forget the age thing,’ Bobby said in a tender voice. ‘That shouldn’t be important. Remember how we connected? How we chatted? How we got to know and understand each other so well? Nothing has changed. I’m the same person inside. C’mon, Lucy, don’t you believe that when two people connect as strongly as the way we did, when they find their soul mate, nothing else matters? I know you’re mature enough to know that.’

No reply.

‘I think you’re an incredible and beautiful person,’ Bobby continued. ‘I’m in love with you, Lucy. I don’t get why age has to change that.’

‘Are you getting this crock of shit?’ Harry said into his microphone.

‘Yep, every word,’ Michelle replied. ‘He’s one sick slimeball.’

Lucy said nothing. She just sat there, looking hurt.

‘Could we go for a walk and talk some more?’ Bobby said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you so much.’

‘OK, that’s it,’ Michelle said, checking her watch. ‘I’m ending this shit right now.’

Out of the six young girls the FBI knew Bobby had had sex with, only one had agreed to cooperate. She was twelve. But one was all they needed. All she had to do was pick him out from a lineup, and they had him. Michelle also knew that once they had Bobby in custody, and one of the victims had cooperated, the others would also come forth and point their fingers.

Michelle pulled her earbuds out of her ears, strolled up to where Lucy and Bobby were sitting and simply stood in front of Bobby for a moment, sizing him up.

Bobby looked at her and frowned. ‘Can I help you?’

Michelle smiled. ‘Can you help me? No.’ She asked and answered, gesticulating at the same time. ‘Can I help you? No. Can you help yourself? No. Are you a sick scumbag who deserves to rot in prison? Positively yes.’ She pulled out her credentials. ‘FBI, you sack o’ shit. We need to talk to you about some of your online chat-room activity.’

For a second everyone remained still, then, in a flash, Bobby came alive. He jumped up and slammed the top of his head into Michelle’s chin. The brutal impact sent her head flying back as if she had been shot. Her jaw slammed against her skull with such force that her vision instantly blurred. Blood flew up in the air from the fresh cut on her lip. She stumbled backward awkwardly, her body half limp, her legs too jellified to keep her up. She hit the ground like a puppet on severed strings.

Bobby jumped over the bench and made a run for it in the direction of Oceanfront Walk.

Thirty-Nine

‘What?’ Garcia said into his phone. Emilio’s words had caught him completely by surprise. ‘Wait a second, Emilio. Let me put you on speakerphone.’ Garcia clicked a button and returned the receiver to its cradle. ‘Go ahead, say that again.’

Hunter looked at Garcia.

‘The woman in that picture you gave me on Saturday when you came by the shop. I now know where I saw her before. I’m actually looking at her right now.’

It was Hunter’s turn to look baffled. ‘What? Emilio, this is Detective Hunter. What do you mean, you are looking at her right now? Where are you?’

‘I’m at home. And what I mean is, I’m looking at another picture of her right now.’

‘Another picture?’ Garcia asked.

‘That’s right. A picture in yesterday’s newspaper.’

Garcia frowned. ‘The press caught up with the video?’ he asked Hunter.

‘Not that I’m aware of. Captain Blake would’ve been going apeshit if the press was onto this.’

‘You saw her in yesterday’s paper?’ Garcia returned his attention to the phone. ‘Which one?’

‘The LA Times,’ Emilio answered.

Instinctively Hunter and Garcia’s gaze shot to the only window in their office. The LA Times headquarters was literally across the road from the Police Administration Building. It was the first edifice they saw when they looked out of their window.