‘If you leave me your number, I’ll give you a call if I hear from him.’ This time her smile was more than friendly.
Hundred and Twelve
Night had already descended over LA by the time Garcia pulled up in front of James Reed’s house. The black Dodge Journey they saw parked in his driveway the day before was gone. From outside, the house looked deserted. The curtains were drawn shut and the lights were all off. They insistently rang the doorbell, knocked on the door and called his name, but after a few minutes they knew they’d be getting no reply.
‘He’s fled,’ Garcia said curtly.
‘We don’t know that yet. He might not be our guy and he’s really just off on a break to clear his head.’
‘Or the panic is already starting to set in. As you said, he knows we’re closing in on him.’
The neighbors confirmed Doctor Pate’s allegations that Reed was an introvert man who liked to keep himself to himself. The woman directly across the road from him said she was watering the flowers in her garden when she saw Reed loading his car with a backpack and what looked to be a few supplies before setting off in the middle of the afternoon.
From the car, on their way back to their office, Hunter called Hopkins and asked him to find out Reed’s license plate number and put a citywide sighting call out on the car. They had no grounds to detain him yet, but Hunter needed to know his location.
‘What if he’s left LA or crossed state lines?’ Garcia asked.
‘Then that’s a good sign,’ Hunter replied, returning his cell phone to his pocket.
‘What?’
‘Doctor Pate said he finished his last scheduled class yesterday afternoon. His neighbor said he set off today in the middle of the day. You know Los Angeles traffic. If you were setting off on an interstate trip this close to Christmas, would you leave in the middle of the afternoon?’
‘Are you kidding? If I had a choice I wouldn’t go from West Hollywood to Long Beach in the middle of the afternoon. You saw how long it took us to get here from Santa Monica. Grid-locked all the way.’
‘Reed is a computer science professor and a jigsaw puzzle aficionado. His brain is conditioned to think logically. If he had this trip planned beforehand, he would’ve been ready to leave last night or early this morning, when traffic wasn’t so busy.’
‘But he didn’t.’ Garcia smiled. ‘I’m telling you, he’s panicking.’
‘When we were in his house yesterday, did you see any signs of a person who was about to leave on a long car trip?’
Garcia shook his head. ‘And if he was, he also failed to mention it when we told him that we might need to talk to him again.’
‘Peter Elder also told me that the two remaining members of their gang, JayJay and Lipz, hated school as much as he did,’ Hunter explained. ‘They flunked out of it as well. Statistically, street kids without a high school diploma don’t move around much. I’m certain they’re still in LA. If James Reed is our man, he hasn’t left this city.’
Hundred and Thirteen
By the time they got back to their office, Hopkins had already covered a new corkboard with photographs.
‘I scanned all the pictures Peter Elder highlighted in the Compton High yearbook and left copies on both of your desks.’ He nodded towards two piles of photographs on both detectives’ desks and chuckled at their surprise. ‘Don’t be alarmed – that’s the whole lot.’ He fumbled for his notes. ‘Out of those, three have passed away, seven aren’t US residents anymore, three are serving time, six are in the military and stationed somewhere else and five are either confined to wheelchairs or have some debilitating physical condition.’ Hopkins pointed to the new corkboard. ‘These are the ones we must concentrate on. Twenty-one in total.’
‘Fuck!’ Garcia looked surprised. ‘How many people did they bully?’
‘A hell of a lot,’ Hopkins confirmed.
The first picture on the board was of James Reed.
‘No feedback from anyone yet on Reed’s car being sighted?’ Hunter asked.
‘Not yet, but I did get more information on our first victim, Gregory Carlson, aka Strutter.’
‘I’m listening,’ Hunter said while his eyes studied the new photo board. Typical yearbook portraits – dated haircuts, fake smiles and acne-covered cheeks. All of the kids would be in their forties now.
Hopkins cleared his throat. ‘Apparently, Greg was a bona fide badass. He dropped out of high school in Rancho Dominguez before completing his freshman year and disappeared under the radar for several years. No job, no social security contribution, nothing. Quite a violent person too. Looks like he beat up every girlfriend he ever had. He was arrested several times, the charges ranging from violent assault to possession of illegal substances. Greg wasn’t a dealer, though. He never made money out of drugs. Instead, he became a technology crook, creating internet companies and conning people out of their cash. Allegedly, he was also involved in several email scams. Due to his background, the LAPD is treating his death as revenge kill. They think Greg finally conned the wrong person out of his money.’ Hopkins flipped a page on his report. ‘Strangely, it looks like he was a good father.’
‘He had a son?’ Garcia questioned.
Hopkins shook his head and faced him. ‘A daughter, Beth, whom he visited four times a week. She suffers from multiple sclerosis. Her mother left as soon as Beth started showing symptoms of the disease. Her present location is unknown.’ He handed Garcia his report.
Hunter kept his attention on the photos.
‘A preliminary list with all their names and locations is on your desk, on top of the photographs,’ Hopkins confirmed. ‘We’ve got addresses, but we haven’t had time to establish the whereabouts of these twenty-one for the past three weeks yet.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Let’s each pick seven and see what we can come up with in the next hour.’
Hundred and Fourteen
Mollie had spent the day in a cloud of worry. Something wasn’t adding up. She kept having residual flashes, but they were getting stranger and more confusing. It looked like everything was doubling up, as if there were two killers, two sets of victims. She couldn’t make sense of anything anymore, and it was scaring her like never before.
She’d woken up in the middle of the night feeling claustrophobic. Her room was spacious enough, but the air inside felt stale. As she opened her window and allowed the cold and humid Los Angeles winter breeze to caress her face, an uncomfortable feeling made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She felt as if she was being watched. Craning her upper body out of the window, she allowed her eyes to scan the portion of the street she could see from her room. The street was deserted.
Mollie went back to bed, but her mind kept playing tricks on her, keeping her awake for the rest of the night. The sun rose at 6:53 a.m. and finally Mollie was able to relax a little. Nighttime was always harder. For some reason the images came stronger then – more real, more painful.
She finally left her room as the afternoon was coming to an end. Hunger was stinging at her growling stomach. Just down the road, Mollie found a sandwich shop which also sold cakes, sweets and creamed-topped coffees. She ordered a salami and cheese sandwich, a slice of apple pie with ice cream and a hot chocolate before taking a seat at a table close to the shop’s front window.
