“There was a commercial running when he called,” Kitchen explained. “My producer thought he recognized his voice, so he patched him through. I picked up, and it was him. He wanted me to tell you that he wasn’t going to kill Jan. He said that wasn’t why he’d kidnapped her.”
Hardare’s heart skipped a beat. Is alive!
“I told him that I wanted to speak to her,” Kitchen said. “I figured if he was lying, it was best to find out right away.”
Hardare tried to swallow the rising lump in his throat. “Did you... speak to her... or not?”
The DJ nodded stiffly. “I spoke to a woman who sounded very groggy. She told me to tell you she loves you. Then Death cut her off. He said he wants to do a trade: you for her. He said he would call me tomorrow during my show with the details. Then he said that if you screwed up and double-crossed him, he would beat your wife to death with a baseball bat. He told me that normally, he killed his victims with a knife, but that your wife deserved to be punished. Then he hung up.”
Hardare’s lips formed a faint smile. Knowing Jan, she must have gotten a few licks in to elicit that kind of threat. He put his hand on Kitchen’s shoulder and said, “Thank you for coming and telling me this in person.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
Hardare walked him to the door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow once he makes contact again,” Kitchen said. “Good luck, Vince.”
As Kitchen walked out the door, a black LAPD detective came in from the hallway. His name was Detective Franklin Tate, and he wore the look of someone carrying bad news.
“Any luck?” Wondero said.
“Afraid not.” Tate tugged at his necktie like it was strangling him. “I contacted the high school in San Diego where the Red Warriors play football. The principal agreed to release the names of all males who attended between over the past twenty-five years. Then I contacted San Diego Homicide, and they picked up the names and ran them through their computers and tagged anyone with a criminal record.”
“How many popped up?” Wondero asked.
“Nearly two thousand,” Tate replied. “Most of them petty drug busts, DUIs, that sort of crap. I weeded out all the brothers and minorities plus everyone who’s currently doing time. That brought it down to two hundred. I took that list over to the Department of Motor Vehicles to see how many were currently living in Orange County, and came up with twenty names.”
Tate removed the short list from his pocket. “I sent four teams out, and by noon we located everybody.” He read from his notes. “Six are dead, eight moved out of state, four are in the Army—”
Wondero said, “He grabbed Hardare’s wife this morning.”
“—one in a halfway house... What?” Tate eyes bugged out of his head. To Hardare he said, “Oh Christ, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Hardare said.
Tate put the list back in his pocket. “Anyway, it was a dead end. We ran all the suspects down, and none of them were a match. So much for the Red Warriors.”
“Thanks for the quick turnaround,” Wondero said.
“Anytime, Harry.”
As Tate started to walk out the door, Wondero stopped him.
“Did you ask the principal if he recalled any male students with psychiatric problems?” Wondero asked.
Halting, Tate said, “Come to mention it, I did. I asked him if any student had really stuck out. He said society produces a lot of bad seeds, some worse than others. I asked him to explain, and he said he had a meeting to go to.”
“Are you sure that was the expression he used? Bad seeds?”
“Yup. It struck me as funny, too.”
“Think he was hiding something?”
The black detective rubbed his chin. “Maybe.”
“How many years has he been principal of that school?”
“I think he said over thirty.”
“That’s a long time. Yet he couldn’t cough up a single name of a bad student. That strike you as odd?”
“Yeah, it did.”
“You better give me his name and number,” Wondero said.
Tate took a piece of paper from his wallet. “Here you go.”
“Do you think the principal is hiding something?” Hardare asked when the black detective was gone.
“That would be a fair assumption.” Wondero took out his cell phone and punched in the number Tate had given him. “The trick is going to get him to open up.”
The call went through, and Wondero began speaking with the principal down in San Diego. Hearing a noise, Hardare turned to see Crystal standing in the doorway to her bedroom, her face awash with tears. He went and put his arms around her.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.
“Have they found Jan?” she asked.
“Not yet. You need to lie down, and rest.”
“I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. He’s not normal, Dad. There’s something wrong with him.”
“I know, Crys. He’s sick in the head.”
“No, I mean there’s something physically wrong with him.”
His daughter was telling him something important. Clasping her shoulders, he looked her in the eye. “What did you see?”
“His hat and sunglasses flew off when Jan was fighting with him. He doesn’t have any hair on his head. No eyebrows or eyelashes or any facial hair. That’s not normal, is it?”
“Maybe he shaved his hair away.”
“He doesn’t have any hair on his chest, either.”
“How do you know that?”
“Right before he shot the cab driver, he pulled up the front of his shirt to draw his gun, and I saw his chest. It was hairless. Guys always have hair on their chests, don’t they?”
“Usually.”
“Death doesn’t. He’s got something wrong with him. You need to tell the police.”
He gave his daughter another hug. “Okay, honey, I will. Promise me you’ll lie down, and get some rest.”
She said okay, and returned to her room. Hardare shut the bedroom door, and crossed the suite to where Wondero stood. The detective had finished his call, and had his car keys out.
“The principal agreed to meet with me this afternoon,” Wondero said. “Tate was right. He knows something.”
“Good,” Hardare said. “I’m going with you.”
“I’m sorry, Vince, but I can’t do that. It would compromise the investigation.”
“I don’t care about that,” Hardare said. “You dragged me and my family into this mess. I have a right to go.”
The remark made Wondero wince. To his partner he said, “You mind staying here, and watching the girl?”
“Not at all,” Rittenbaugh replied.
Wondero nodded and headed for the door.
“Time’s a wasting. Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
The Early Years
Woodrow Wilson high school was located due west of the Miramar Naval Air Station in a densely populated area called Miramar. Home of the Red Warriors, boasted a billboard just past the exit on Interstate 15. State Football Champions 2006, 2008, 2010 201?????? No, not in 2011, Wondero thought, coming off the exit ramp. In 2011, the Trojans were going to be state champs.
A security guard flagged them down inside the school parking lot. “We’re here to see Dr. Bridgewater,” Wondero explained, flashing his badge.
“Dr. Bridgewater is on the second floor, room 206,” the guard said, pointing to a spot marked Visitors Only near the entrance of an imposing red brick building. “Have a nice day.”
School was in session, and there were kids everywhere they looked. As they headed inside, Hardare wondered how many students had gone to school here during the past twenty-five years. Forty thousand, maybe fifty? What where their chances of finding one bad seed? Not good, he realized, but they still had to look.