Shauna received a call from dispatch about a teenage disturbance near Marina Del Rey, just a few blocks away from where she was. The disturbance turned out to be nothing more than a couple of drunken kids making a mess and burning off steam near an abandoned construction site. Shauna was able to tactfully and quickly de-escalate the situation. As she returned to her vehicle, something caught her eye. A black Cadillac Escalade half hidden behind the unfinished building. She remembered an All Points Bulletin that circulated the day before about a black Cadillac car that’d been taken out from a dealer’s in West Hollywood for a test drive and never went back. She checked her in-car computer – the plates matched.
Shauna called dispatch requesting more information and was told that the salesman, an African-American citizen named Darnell Douglas, had taken the car out for a quick test drive with a potential buyer. They had no information on who the customer was. No dangerous warnings had been issued. Shauna told dispatch that she was going to investigate.
The car’s bodywork was intact – no bumps, no scratches. It didn’t look to have been involved in any sort of accident. The doors were all locked. Shauna used her flashlight to illuminate the car’s interior through the tinted windows – nothing suspect. The car was parked on a cemented area. No footprints showed around the vehicle.
Calling dispatch again, Shauna told them she was going into the building to make sure neither Darnell nor the unidentified customer were inside and in need of assistance. She’d call them back if she found anything.
The first room was large and full of construction debris. The air inside was heavy with the pungent fragrance of urine.
‘Hello?’ she called in a loud and firm voice. ‘Anyone in here?’
No sound. Thick, once-clear plastic sheets had been used as a cheap substitute for doors. Shauna used her flashlight to push the ugly drapes aside and moved into the next room.
‘Darnell, are you in here? LAPD. Anyone in need of assistance?’
Nothing.
Shauna cautiously moved deeper into the abandoned building. The further she went, the darker it got, the staler the air became – another empty room, and then another, and then another. Everything was quiet, but instinct told her something was wrong. She was about to go back when a gust of wind shifted a dirty plastic sheet door at the entrance to a room on the south wall. She caught a glimpse of something and her skin crawled.
Cop training took over, and Shauna reached for her gun before nervously moving towards the door in baby steps.
‘Hello, Darnell?’
No reply.
‘LAPD. Anyone in there?’
Silence.
Using her flashlight, she lifted the plastic sheet and stepped inside.
Shauna vomited five seconds later.
Ninety-Three
Debbie Howard, Amanda Reilly’s old school friend and the possible second victim of the Executioner Killer, was an only child. She was brought up by her mother after her father left when she was eight years old. Her mother never remarried and now lives in an old people’s home dedicated to dementia sufferers.
Just like Amanda Reilly, Debbie grew up in Gardena. She finished high school in 1986 and moved to Seattle shortly afterwards to study at Washington State University – School of Law. She graduated with honors and immediately landed a job with Foster Harvey, one of the largest law firms in the Pacific Northwest. Five years after joining the firm she married William Clark, an attorney and associate of Foster Harvey. Their marriage lasted only three and a half years. After her quick divorce, Debbie decided to leave the company and Seattle behind and head back to Los Angeles. Her record as a lawyer spoke for itself, and after passing the California bar exam she was offered a job with the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office – Antelope Valley branch.
Debbie was intelligent, ambitious, pushy and a fierce opponent in a court of law. Since moving back to California, she tried and convicted over five hundred criminals, their offences ranging from misdemeanors to felonies and capital crimes. Two years ago she met, fell in love and married Jonathan Hale, a very successful architect. She was found dead in their home in the city of Lancaster two weeks ago. There was no mention of a number drawn onto her body.
By the time Hunter and Garcia got back to their office, Hopkins had already gathered all the information into a neatly typed two-page report.
‘How did she die?’ Hunter asked, checking the report.
‘According to the detective I spoke to from the LA County Sheriff’s Department, she was found dead inside her bathroom. Because the case is still open and the victim is a prosecutor from the LA DA’s office, they wouldn’t disclose any more information. I talked to Captain Blake and she got on the phone to them with an urgent and very demanding request.’ Hopkins nodded. ‘They’ll share.’
‘So where are the files?’ Hunter pressed.
‘On their way here. Detective Ross from the Sheriff’s Department in Lancaster is making copies of everything they have on Debbie Howard’s death. Captain Blake told them to send us whatever they could get their hands on, immediately. That was just half an hour ago. They should be here soon.’
‘Good. What else you got?’
Information on Peter Elder, Father Fabian’s high school buddy James Reed identified via the yearbook, was a lot easier to come by. He never graduated, and, unlike Brett, Peter never reformed. He escalated from bullying to shoplifting, muggings, armed robbery and finally homicide.
Hopkins handed the detectives Elder’s shorter report.
‘He’s in CCI State Prison?’ Garcia asked, surprised.
The California Correctional Institution State Prison in Tehachapi is one of only three Californian prisons with a Security Housing Unit. The most secure area within a Level IV prison, designed to provide isolation and the highest possible coverage to maximum-security inmates.
‘He was found at the scene of the crime covered in blood with a body at his feet – a shop owner,’ Hopkins explained. ‘The only reason he isn’t sitting in death row is because of some technicality. The cops screwed up at the crime scene. He got life, with no possibility of parole.’
‘How about the two other girls in the Gardena High photo?’ Hunter stood up. ‘Emily Wells and Jessica Pierce. Have we found them yet?’
A quick head shake. ‘I’ve got several searches running at the same time, but so far nothing. You gotta give me a little more time.’
‘Time is something we seem to be running out of very quickly,’ Garcia said, glancing at Hunter. They didn’t want to reveal Mollie’s latest vision about New Year’s Day.
‘I was lucky with Debbie Howard’s search,’ Hopkins said. ‘She opted for keeping her maiden name instead of taking on her husband’s. That and the fact that she worked for the District Attorney’s office made things a lot easier. Her name popped up almost instantly in the Homicide database query. Emily Wells and Jessica Pierce are probably married. I’ll have to track down old records and possibly their parents. I’m working as fast as I can. I’ll get there, but I need a few more hours.’ He ran a hand over his tired-looking face.
‘How about our possible first victim, the unidentified male and the watch search?’ Garcia asked. ‘Any luck?’
‘Nothing so far from the personal possessions’ inventories, but believe it or not, in this day and age, those inventories aren’t entered into a database.’ Hopkins shrugged as if he didn’t get it. ‘They are handwritten forms.’