Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (18 page)

RHD was the department’s Robbery Homicide Division, which handled routine homicide cases.

Edna sighed and shook his head. “Just be sure you run what you’re doing past Markley and Waters, and keep me in the loop.”

I called over to Bernie, and he came up from his nap. As I put the leash on his collar, I said to Edna, “You might want to keep an eye on Darby and Mel. I think he’s finally wearing on her. They might even come to blows.”

“I can’t blame her. He’s wearing on everybody, including yours truly.” I saw his features soften. “I’m sorry things went like this, Kate. None of it was my call.”

I tugged on Bernie’s leash as an idea came to mind. In that moment, I realized that finding my power was all about learning to use it in the right way.

“Some things are probably meant to be,” I said.

I got approval from Lieutenant Edna and the two detectives assigned to the Slayer case to take a drive to Taft to talk to the detective assigned to the murder of Valerie Quail. When I told Edna that Molly had done the legwork, pulling the reports together, he agreed to let me take her along.

The city of Taft was located in the San Joaquin Valley, about two hours from Hollywood. The area was part of the largest petroleum and natural gas reserve in the state, and most of the inhabitants worked in the oil industry.

It was also in the middle of nowhere, something that Molly commented on. “This must be what it’s like living on the moon.”

The analogy wasn’t far off. The desert landscape was barren, giving the impression we were a million miles from civilization.

“What do you suppose the Slayer was doing in this area?” I said.

“Maybe he worked for an oil company.” She swept her red hair behind one shoulder and crinkled up her nose. “It even smells like oil around here.” She glanced at me. “By the way, thanks for bringing me along. It’s nice to have a change of scenery, even if it is a lunar landscape.

I laughed. “You’re welcome. I’ll be working with the feds, starting next week, but when I’m not with them you might be seeing me around the office more often.”

“Why is that?”

“I gave an interview to a reporter named Cynthia McFadden and I’m paying for it by sitting in the Chief Dunbar penalty box.”

“I happened to see it. You did the right thing.”

“Thanks. Do you know anything about the reporter?”

“I’ve talked to her a couple of times when she’s called for background on our cases. She seems nice enough.”

If I was to honor the path Francesca had talked about, I knew I would need to learn to use my power in the right way. I decided the reporter might come in handy in that regard. We drove on in silence for a couple minutes before Molly asked about my weekend plans.

I pushed down my anxiety about meeting with Jenson Moore tonight. “Joe Dawson, that FBI agent I’ve worked with before, is coming to town. We’re supposed to have dinner.”

“I met him once.” She smiled. “He seems nice, not to mention he’s not bad to look at, either.”

“We’re just friends.” Molly knew all about my past relationships, including what happened with Noah. “Believe me, I’m not ready to become involved with anyone again.” I glanced at her. “What about you? Any plans?”

“I’m actually seeing someone. He’s a teacher where Ben and Carly go to school.”

“Really? Good for you.” I smiled. “Is it serious?”

“Not sure.” She chuckled. “As you know, I come with some baggage in the way of a four-and seven-year-old, but he’s nice. I’m taking things slow.”

“I hope it works out.”

Ten minutes later, we arrived in the small city of Taft and went directly to the police station. After checking in and waiting a couple minutes, we were met by Ross Adams, the detective assigned to the Valerie Quail murder case.

After introductions, we followed Adams to his office, Molly nudging me and smiling along the way. Adams looked like he was in his mid-thirties. He was solidly built and handsome, with black hair and green eyes. I remembered my earlier comment to Molly, about not being ready for a relationship, as I returned her smile. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Adams asked, after we took seats in his office and he set out a bowl of water for Bernie.

“We’re fine,” I said, looking at Bernie. “However, my dog appreciates the offer.”

Adams brushed a hand through Bernie’s fur after my partner came up for air. “He’s welcome. I always wished our department was large enough to have canines.” He smiled. “My partner is off today and he isn’t nearly as good looking, or have as much hair, as yours.”

After chatting about Bernie for a few minutes, we got down to business. “As I mentioned when I called, the Quail case appears to have some things in common with several murders in and around LA. We have four victims where the circumstances of their homicides look similar to yours.”

“What can you tell us about your victim?” Molly asked, with a notepad in hand.

“Valerie Quail was twenty-three, single. She worked for Sheffield Oil. It’s a small company about five miles out of town. She went missing...” He checked a file in front of him. “April 17
th
, 2012. Left work at five, stopped at the Albertsons on the highway, and was never seen again until...” He exhaled. “I was one of the detectives that worked the scene. It was as bad as anything I’ve ever encountered.”

I knew that sometimes there were details left out of reports that could be instrumental to breaking a case. “Tell us about what you found.”

He took a moment, massaging his brow. “Our victim was found by a couple of boys who were playing in the area. The body was in a shallow grave near an oil field. There was lots of decomp. She was in her bra and panties, and there were numerous cuts and abrasions. It was apparent from the autopsy that she’d been bound at the ankles and hands during what were probably multiple sexual assaults. He used a condom, no DNA."

“Did you find anything that looked like this near the body?” I showed him the photographs of our crime scene in Runyon Canyon. The body of the woman we’d found had since been identified as Carolyn Johnson, a prostitute. “The wooden device was a replica of a pillory, like they used in medieval times to hold someone’s head and hands in place.”

He examined the photo and shook his head. “Nothing like this was found, but I suppose he could have used it and then took it down.”

“But you did find a hook, like one that’s sometimes used to move bales of hay,” Molly said.

Adams nodded. “The girl’s blood was found on it. We assume he used it as part of whatever he did to her.”

“Where exactly was it found?” I asked.

“Just beyond a deserted building, above the...” Adams took a moment. “If y’all have some time, it might be good if I showed you the area. It would give you a better idea of what the gulch looks like.”

“The gulch?”

“That’s the name of the area where our victim was found. It’s known as Devil’s Gulch.”

“The creek bed is dry most of the year,” Detective Adams told us, “unless we get flash floods, then the whole area can be washed out.”

We were in his four-wheel-drive SUV, about two miles off the main highway. If the area we’d seen earlier looked like the moon, Devil’s Gulch was an asteroid. The vegetation here was almost non-existent, the soil rocky and barren.

“The girl’s body was found near that abandoned building.” Adam’s pointed to an area a couple hundred yards off the dirt road. “It was used by an oil company that abandoned the wells in this area a few years back.”

The big SUV rocked back and forth as we went off road before stopping near the building. The same foul petroleum-filled air greeted us when we left the vehicle.

Molly put her hand against her mouth and nose. “Does it always smell this bad around here?”

Adams’ full lips turned up. “Depends on which way the wind’s blowing.”

Bernie sniffed along the rocky path as he led us over to the building, but stopped a few feet away. “The grave was right about here,” Adams said, pointing to the rocky ground. “Like you saw in the photographs, some timbers were used to outline the gravesite.”

I stopped and bent down to the rocky soil. The area was about as desolate and lonely as any I could imagine. Valerie Quail being held here for weeks, raped and tortured, made bile rise in my throat. The only sound I heard was the soft howl of the dusty, dry wind raking the area. Bernie came over and pushed his muzzle into my hand, his way of asking what we were doing here.

I stood and said to Adams, “Let’s take a look at the building.”

He waved a hand. “Not much to see.”

We followed him into the aluminum-sided building. It was empty, except for some large oil containers and wood pallets. I looked up, seeing there was a loft. “Anything up there?”

Adams shook his head. “We had our crime scene people go through the place. Nothing was found.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Only way up is a ladder.”

I gave Molly my satchel and made my way up the ladder. The loft area was about the size of a bedroom, with plywood flooring. I stood at the railing and looked down at Molly and Bernie.

“He was likely sleeping up here.”

I turned, seeing that Detective Adams had climbed into the loft and was walking over to me.

“That was my thought.” I met his eyes. “Did the girl’s parents give you anything to go on?”

He shook his head. “Not really, just that she was a sweet kid. She had a boyfriend, but he checked out okay, no record. They were talking about getting married before...”

I nodded, looking back down into the empty building.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said.

I looked back at him. “I’m sorry?”

“For coming here, for being thorough. Most detectives...” He exhaled and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “They wouldn’t take the time.”

I held on his eyes. They were the color of a forest, darker than mine. “Let’s take a look at where you found the hook.”

We made our way back down from the loft. Molly and I then followed Adams to an area that was about a hundred yards from the building, where the terrain was higher. It was a rock-strewn area that looked like a washed-out streambed.

“It was right about in this area,” Adams said, stopping and pointing to the streambed.

“Why do you think it was left up here?” Molly asked. “It’s a long way from the building and from where the body was found.”

“Not sure,” Adams said. “Maybe he was trying to get rid of it and thought it wouldn’t be found.”

“What are your thoughts about the hook?” I asked him. “Is it possible our suspect worked for one of the oil companies and used it on the job?”

“We asked around about that. No one seemed to think it had any legitimate use in the oil fields.”

We took a few minutes to walk around the area before heading back to the car. After getting Bernie situated in the back seat, I brushed the hair out my eyes and said to Adams, “Do you think I could borrow the hook?”

“What for?”

“I know your crime scene people processed it, but I’d also like our Scientific Investigation Division to take a look at it.” I smiled. “It never hurts to take a second look.”

Adams nodded. His gaze moved off and he massaged his forehead in a way that made me think it was a habit. He then looked back at me. “I’ll need to stop by our evidence room and check it out. I’ll need it back as soon as possible.” He lowered his voice. “Consider this a professional courtesy, Detective. Just between you and me.”

My smile grew wider. “Thanks, and please, call me Kate.”

We got back to Hollywood Station a little after three. I dropped Molly off, then went to SID in Los Angeles, where I left the evidence Detective Adams had given me with Jerry Sumner, an analyst I’d worked with in the past.

“The victim’s blood was found on the hook,” I said, as Sumner opened the evidence box. “I’m not sure exactly what other analysis was done to it.”

Sumner was in his fifties, bald, and heavyset. Thick wire-rimmed glasses magnified his watery brown eyes. “I’ll take a look using the SEM, do some particle analysis for any kind of microscopic residue, such as fibers.”

I knew from past cases that a SEM was a scanning electron microscope. “The Taft case could be linked to other murders in our area. I’ll have our crime analysts send over all the reports.” I glanced at the hook as he gloved up and gingerly lifted it out of the box. “Do you think there’s any chance contact DNA from the suspect could be present?”

Sumner glanced at me. “I wouldn’t rule it out, but it depends on whether or not he wore gloves. If he didn’t, he might have shed cells while using the...” He looked at the hook. “...the instrument. There’s also the potential for contaminant DNA if the crime scene investigators weren’t careful.”

Sumner went on for a couple minutes, talking about epithelial cells and something called PCR typing.

When he was finished, I said, “I appreciate you moving as quickly as possible on this. I need to get the evidence back to the Taft detective next week.”

His magnified eyes blinked behind his glasses. “I’ll move as quickly as possible, but...” He smiled. “...you know how it goes. Too many cases, not enough time.”

I thanked him and checked the time on my phone as I walked to my car. It was just after five, and I had to be at Lake of the Shrine by eight. I saw that Natalie and Mo had texted me several times, asking if they should meet me there. I knew traffic would be a mess, so Bernie and I stopped for a bite to eat at a restaurant, where I took a moment and called my friends.

“I’ve decided I need to take care of things on my own tonight,” I told them. I had FaceTime on my iPhone and saw Natalie and Mo’s faces hovering on the screen. “I’ll call you if there’s any problem.”

“You can’t go there alone,” Mo said, her big features twisting up in disapproval beneath a pink wig. “That terrorist is a crazy killer.”

“It’s not safe,” Natalie agreed. “Please let us go with you.”

I tried to remain calm, even though my anxiety about meeting Jenson Moore was rising, along with my blood pressure. “You forget, I’ve dealt with crazy killers before. I’ll be fine.”

They went on for ten minutes, giving me all the reasons why they should come with me. We finally reached a compromise. I agreed to let them park on a nearby street and told them I would have my phone on during the conversation with Moore, providing they would agree to keep quiet.

“We’ll be as quiet as a couple of church mice,” Natalie assured me. “But we need a code word.”

“A what?”

“A code word, in case you get your nuts in a noose, so we can come runnin’.”

“How ‘bout
vagina
?” Mo said.

I chuckled. “I’m not going to say...” I looked around the restaurant and lowered my voice, “...
vagina
if I get into trouble.”

“Kate probably doesn’t wanna think about her vagina, since it’s in dry dock,” Natalie said. “Why don’t we go with
bumfuzzle
.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“It means you’re flustered or confused.”

I finally agreed to their ridiculous code word and ended the call. The traffic was worse than I anticipated. I had to take surface streets and was pressed for time as I dropped Bernie off with my brother and told him I should be back in a couple hours.

I then took Sunset Boulevard through the city, stopping at Lake of the Shrine, which was just a few miles from the ocean. I knew from the Internet that the spiritual sanctuary had been developed in the middle of the last century. Its primary feature was a temple, built on a hilltop and overlooking a lake. The lake was surrounded by flowers and trees brought there from all over the world.

When I got to the sanctuary’s entrance, I had a moment of panic, seeing that the gate leading to the area was closed for the night. I was able to find a security guard, showed him my credentials, and explained about needing access.

“I just need to walk through the grounds,” I explained. “I promise not to disturb anyone or anything.”

“What’s this about?”

“It has to do with a case I’m working. I can’t go into details.”

He cleared his throat, his gaze moving off for a moment. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm.” He removed a keyring from his belt. “Check in with me when you’re ready to leave.”

I thanked him, then called my friends and left my phone on as promised, before making my way inside the sanctuary.

If this had been any other occasion, I would have felt a sense of serenity as I walked along the path surrounding the beautiful little lake. Moonlight reflected off water that was placid, except for several ducks floating by. A light breeze stirred the trees, and there was a soft glow coming from the temple on the hillside. The spiritual center was minutes from the city, but felt like it was a world away.

My sense of calm was replaced by feelings of dread as I moved deeper into the sanctuary and remembered Moore’s past crimes. I scanned the area, seeing nothing in the way of the terrorist. I was about to give up and take a seat on a bench when I saw a figure moving through the trees beyond the path. My heart nearly beat out of my chest as I recognized my sister.

“Lindsay!”

She came closer and stopped a few feet away from me. She had a solemn expression as I reached out to hug her.

“Stop.”

I took a step back, seeing that she was pale and thin. “What’s going on?”

She hugged her sides and motioned to the bench. “Let’s talk.”

We went over and took a seat. I reached out and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, hugging her sides again.

“Tell me what’s happening,” I said. “Why are you acting like this, and where is Jenson Moore?”

My sister exhaled. Her green eyes, which were the same color as mine, found me. “He’s close by, watching us.”

I scanned the area, seeing no one. “What has he done to you?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. It’s just that...I...I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” When she didn’t respond, I said, “Tell me what’s going on, Lindsay. Please.”

Her arms were still folded around herself. She was wearing a coat, something that I thought was strange, given that it was late summer and the weather was warm.

Her words drew my attention back to her. “There’s a man. He works with you sometimes.”

“Are you talking about Leo Kingsley?”

She shook her head. “He’s with the FBI.”

“Joe Dawson.”

She nodded slowly and locked eyes with me. “There’s something you have to do in the next seventy-two hours.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s going to be a consequence if you don’t. Mr. Moore has made that clear.”

“A consequence.” I saw that her eyes were filling. “Please, just tell me what’s happening.”

Tears were on her cheeks as she pulled her coat open. My eyes widened in horror as I saw that she was wearing a suicide vest.

“If you don’t do exactly what Mr. Moore wants, I will die,” Lindsay said.

“Do what? I don’t understand.”

“You have to kill Joe Dawson.”