The Executioner (39 page)

The officer nodded, searching his folder. ‘Unlike Brett, James Reed was an exemplary everything – student, citizen, you name it. He maintained a 4.0 average all throughout high school and graduated with honors in ’87. He didn’t lose any time either, starting university the same year – UCLA. Two majors, mathematics and physics, and again his grades were outstanding. He got involved with computer software design right after university and for several years worked for a games company right here in LA named Konami. They’re one of the big boys. He made a lot of money using his math and physics knowledge to develop ‘shoot ’em up’ game engines. His mother, who used to be Father Fabian’s algebra 2 teacher in Compton High, fell ill about three years ago, and that’s when he quit the company.’ He looked at Hunter. ‘You asked me to also check where he lived when young. Guess what?’ He smiled. ‘When he was in high school, they used to live just a few houses from our young priest.’

‘And that’s why Elder has highlighted him. If they lived on the same street as Brett, Strutter’s gang must’ve picked on him no end.’

‘Funny how he failed to mention that when we talked to him yesterday,’ Garcia commented with irritation. ‘I think we should pay him a less cordial visit this time.’

‘You were right on the money again when you suggested I check everything about him, including who his neighbors were and if they had kids the same age,’ Hopkins said, nodding at Hunter. ‘I would’ve never thought of that.’

‘What did you get?’

‘One of their neighbors had two kids, a boy and a girl, both around James Reed’s age. Neither of them went to Compton or Gardena High. They went to Centennial High on North Central Avenue. The boy’s called Keyon Powell. He’s now a doctor and lives in Colorado, but his sister, Kelly Powell, now Kelly Sanchez, is an attorney at law and lives in Santa Monica with her husband and two children.’ Hopkins handed Hunter his sheet.

He studied it for a moment before checking his watch.

‘Maybe we should talk to her first – like now.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Garcia said, reaching for his jacket.

Hardgrave and Mortimer Law Firm occupied the third, fourth and fifth floor of the large, all tinted-window modern office building on the corner of Sixth and Broadway in Santa Monica. Hunter had called from the car just to make sure Kelly Sanchez was in her office and not in court this afternoon.

At the reception, a young and immensely attractive red-haired woman told them that without an appointment it was very doubtful Mrs. Sanchez would be able to see them today, but the magic of Hunter’s detective badge created a last-minute opening in her schedule.

They still had to wait a few minutes before the receptionist was given the all clear to guide them inside. They tailed her down a corridor where photographs and framed newspaper articles hung on the walls, passing a display case filled with golf trophies and into a second corridor. Kelly Sanchez’s office was the second to last on the right. The red-haired receptionist knocked gently and waited precisely three seconds before opening the door and showing them into a spacious and luxurious office. Delicate furniture, oil paintings on the walls, a broad window behind an imposing Victorian mahogany desk and an entire wall covered in books. An office certainly decorated to impress clients.

Kelly Sanchez came to meet them at the door. A statuesque black woman in her late thirties with lush, straight shoulder-length hair and razor-sharp hazel eyes. They shook hands and Kelly scrutinized their credentials before offering them a seat.

‘How can I assist you, gentlemen?’ she asked, taking her place behind her desk.

Without giving too much away, Hunter explained the purpose of their unannounced visit.

‘James Reed? Wow, that’s a blast from the past.’

‘You were neighbors, is that correct?’

Kelly nodded skeptically. ‘Many years ago.’

‘Do you remember a boy they used to call Strutter and the group of kids he used to hang out with?’

Kelly’s sweet demeanor hardened, and she leaned back on her chair, clinically studying both detectives. ‘Yes, I remember them.’

‘Did you or your brother know any of them? Did you know their names?’

She shook her head. ‘The only name that was ever mentioned was Strutter’s, and that’s a nickname. I knew who they were if I saw them on the street. Every time I did I went the other way.’

‘In Strutter’s gang there was a girl they called Lipz and a skinny boy they called JayJay. Did you know them at all?’ Garcia pressed.

She frowned. ‘I just told you I didn’t know any of them.’ Her stare moved from Garcia to Hunter. ‘What’s this really about, detective? James was never part of that gang.’

‘Yes, we know. Were you and your brother friends with James Reed? Did you know him well?’

‘We were friends, but I wouldn’t say we knew him well.’

‘Do you remember if he got along with Strutter and his gang?’

Kelly chuckled. ‘Nobody got along with Strutter’s gang. In fact, everyone did their best to avoid them.’

‘Including James?’

‘Especially James, but it was harder for him.’

‘How’s that?’ His leather seat squeaked as Hunter leaned forward.

Kelly gave them a subtle shrug. ‘James went to Compton High. His mother was a teacher there, and I think some of Strutter’s gang members were students of hers. James paid the bill every time they got bad grades or detentions in her class.’

‘Or suspensions,’ Garcia noted quietly.

‘Strutter’s gang sought him out. He got more heat than most.’

‘How about you and your brother?’

‘We went to a different school, Centennial High. None of Strutter’s gang were students there. It was easier for us to avoid them.’ Kelly rested her elbow on the arm of her luxurious leather chair and her chin on her closed fist. ‘We got pushed around every now and then, but nothing extreme, mainly just name-calling.’

‘And that wasn’t the kind of
pushed around
James got?’ Garcia asked.

She shook her head. ‘James was very timid, very insecure. I’m not sure if that was the reason or if it was because his mother was a teacher, but Strutter’s gang made his life hell.’ Kelly tucked her hair behind her ears. Her eyes moved slightly up and to the right. ‘James used to have this little white dog. It was very cute and tiny and it was always running around, full of energy. Even my mom liked that dog, and she definitely wasn’t a dog person.’ Her expression saddened at the memory. ‘The dog went missing one day and James went absolutely nuts. He probably knocked on every door in our neighborhood, but no one had seen it. I don’t think he got any sleep that night. I’m not sure of all the details, but the next morning a cardboard box was left at his door. Inside was the little dog. Its head was missing.’

Garcia shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Hunter, who kept a steady face.

‘James buried its body in the park. He cried for weeks.’

The room fell silent for a long moment. ‘James blamed Strutter’s gang.’ Hunter concluded.

Kelly nodded. ‘Poor little Numberz,’ she said sadly.

‘What did you say?’ Hunter frowned.

‘James’s tiny white dog.’ She nodded. ‘It was called Numberz, with a “z” at the end.’

One of the busiest freeways in the state, busiest time of the day. From Santa Monica to Pomona they moved at a snail’s pace, averaging twenty-five miles an hour. On their way they encountered gridlocks, foul tempers, compulsive horn blowers and some frightening risk-takers.

‘We should just take him in and put him under pressure in an interrogation room, I’m sure he’ll crack. Especially if you interrogate him.’ Garcia said as they slowed down behind a truck.

‘You wanna arrest him on what charge? Being bullied by a street gang over twenty years ago and having a dog called Numberz? At the moment we’ve got nothing.’

‘We’ve got motive.’

‘
Probable
. You have to work that word into your vocabulary, Carlos.’

‘OK, so we’ve got probable motive. James Reed was severely bullied when young and he blamed Strutter’s gang for what happened to his dog, whether they did it or not. A dog called Numberz that was beheaded. The killer numbers his victims, Robert. Father Fabian was decapitated and his head replaced by a dog’s one. Coincidence? And did you notice that he’s—’

‘Your height, six-two,’ Hunter interrupted, nodding.

‘The man we’re looking for is six-two.’

‘I know.’ Hunter leaned against the passenger door and pinched his chin. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that we can’t panic. If we do, this killer will get away. The only thing we have that can tie anyone to one of the crime scenes is a partial fingerprint found in the mansion in Malibu. That’s good, but it’s not enough and you know it. Even if we take him in and match his fingerprint to the one we have, he could easily beat it in a court of law. The house was on the market for quite a while, remember? Anyone could have gone for a viewing. If that’s all we’ve got, no jury in the country will convict. There are still two members of Strutter’s gang out there, and I know the killer will be going after them. We’ve gotta play this tactfully. If James Reed’s our guy, he knows we’re closing the circle. We knocked on his door yesterday, and we’re about to do it again.’

‘And that might make him nervous,’ Garcia concluded.

‘With nervousness comes mistakes. One mistake is all we need.’

The short winter LA afternoon was sliding to an end when they finally reached Pomona. Hunter consulted his watch and decided to go straight to Cal Poly University.

The main campus of the California State Polytechnic University sits on almost fifteen hundred acres of suburban district, making it the second-largest campus in the California State University system. Once inside the grounds, it didn’t take them long to spot the famous CLA building – Classroom/ Laboratory/Administration. Its daring futuristic architecture has earned the structure a place in several sci-fi Hollywood productions as well as numerous TV commercials. But the building also sits directly above the San Jose Hills Fault. It has a very high seismic risk, and its connections and beams don’t meet California earthquake safety standards.

‘Cool building,’ Garcia commented as he parked his car.

‘Let’s just hope we don’t get a quake in the next few minutes.’

‘Huh?’

Hunter shook his head dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about it. Useless information, really.’

Garcia’s brow furrowed and he doubled his step, following Hunter into the building.

The reception area wasn’t busy. A heavyset man with friendly eyes and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail smiled with bright white teeth as they approached his desk. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked giddily.

‘We’re looking for Professor Reed, James Reed.’ Hunter returned the smile.

‘Do you know what subject he teaches?’

‘I’m not sure. Is there a way you can find out for us?’

‘Sure, give me a minute.’

‘Computer Science and Software Engineering.’ The answer came from a tall angular woman with a delicate and attractive face framed by ash-blond hair. She was standing next to the receptionist’s desk, reading through some sort of report. Both detectives turned to face her. ‘Professor Reed teaches Computer Science and Software Engineering,’ she confirmed. ‘But he’s not around.’

‘Oh.’ Hunter nodded disappointedly. ‘You are?’

‘Doctor Nicola Pate.’ She offered her hand. ‘I run the computer science department. Are you looking to enroll?’

Garcia coughed and Hunter’s smile widened. ‘Wow, do we look that young?’

‘You look old enough to me,’ the receptionist said, flashing Hunter a new smile followed by a discreet wink, which made Garcia almost choke.

Doctor Pate chuckled comfortingly. ‘You don’t have to be a teenager to enroll in university.’

‘Does that mean we don’t look like teenagers?’ Hunter teased and got a ‘don’t push it’ look from Doctor Pate.

‘I’m at a loss here,’ she said, running her hand through her hair. ‘I know you’re not looking to enroll as students, but I still don’t know who you are.’

They stepped away from the receptionist’s desk and Hunter went through the proper introductions.

Doctor Pate’s aura changed as she checked their badges. ‘Homicide?’

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Hunter reassured her. ‘James Reed is just helping us.’

‘Is there a problem with one of his students?’

‘No, nothing like that. An investigation we’re conducting might involve someone James Reed knew a very long time ago. He might be able to help us obtain a better insight.’

The doctor’s gaze bounced between both detectives for a moment and her worried expression relaxed.

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

A gentle head tilt. ‘You’re a day too late.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘We’re three days away from Christmas, detective. Classes have been dying down for the past week. Professor Reed finished his last scheduled class yesterday afternoon. He told me he was going away for a few days.’