8
L.A. County Sheriff’s Department
Homicide Bureau
Commerce, California
Monday, May 19, 3:15 P.M.
Hogan had a show going.
Brandon never ceased to be amazed at how quickly the lieutenant could put a presentation together. It was his forte-the ability to use computers had been no small part of Hogan’s rise within the department. Didn’t know shit about detective work, but that didn’t make him any different from most lieutenants, in Alex’s estimation.
In the time since he had received Alex’s first calls from Catalina, Hogan had managed to put together a computer “slide show.” Hogan had also loaded in photos Ciara had taken with a digital camera at the scene.
The conference room at the homicide bureau was crowded. Alex counted twenty-three people, among them Homicide Bureau Captain Bill Nelson, all of the other lieutenants, the head of the crime lab, Enrique Marquez and other detectives, as well as a public information officer, or PIO. Alex watched their faces. They were tense and serious, aware that the department was about to become the focus of a tremendous amount of attention, most of it unwanted.
Hogan had just finished going over the Adrianos case, and now a blurry photo of a smiling, narrow-faced woman appeared on the screen. Her long gray and brown hair was parted in the middle, her skin was tanned and creased. She had the look of a woman who had once been pretty but had not aged well. Nothing in her brown eyes reflected what she was capable of, which had probably been the key to her success as a killer.
“Valerie Perry was a white female, aged forty-seven,” Hogan said. Everyone had seen this one-it had probably been posted in every law enforcement department in the country, on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitives flyer. Still, they stared at her face as if seeing it for the first time. “Until recently, she spent most of her time in the Phoenix area. She ran a boardinghouse and only accepted clients over sixty-five years of age, although for the past five years, most were in their eighties, and none were younger than seventy-eight. She carefully screened her tenants, making sure they were unlikely to have family members who’d be looking for them.” The next few slides were of elderly men and women. “She didn’t charge much to provide room and board, and although residents didn’t seem to stay there long, there was never a shortage of renters.
“Ms. Perry took nicer vacations than most people who do that for a living,” Hogan continued, “but her neighbors weren’t aware of that, among other things.” The image on the screen changed to excavations made in a large sandy yard. “Remains of ten men and three women whose Social Security checks were still being cashed were found behind Valerie Perry’s boardinghouse.”
The slide changed to the face of a young man with dark eyes and a weak chin. “The remains of a twenty- seven-year-old male were also found-apparently those of her accomplice and boyfriend. Perry and her boyfriend had a falling-out-he had found a new girlfriend, and apparently Ms. Perry wasn’t pleased about that. When the new girlfriend hadn’t seen him for a few days, she reported him missing. That led police to investigate, and it was discovered that Ms. Perry had already fled, taking a large amount of cash with her. That was in February of last year. Until this morning, she had not been seen since March of this year-that was when a national television program aired information about the case, and callers from locations in Colorado, New Mexico, and Nevada indicated that they had seen her over the intervening months. It was clear to investigators that she had indeed been in some of these places, but they failed to locate her. The trail went cold after that.”
“Which program?” Alex asked.
Hogan seemed a little put out by the interruption, but consulted his notes and said, “Crimesolvers USA.”
“Based in Santa Monica?”
“I believe so, yes. One of those shows that wants to be the next America’s Most Wanted. To continue-”
But this time the captain interrupted. “Why do you ask, Alex?”
Alex saw Ciara smile. Focusing his attention on the captain, he said, “Whoever is doing this is getting his information from somewhere. He has leads even we don’t have. If he’s not getting information from the FBI itself, or other law enforcement agencies, maybe this show is the answer. Have the other fugitives on the FBI list been featured on it?”
The captain looked to Hogan.
“Not exactly featured,” the lieutenant said carefully. “Not all of them. But at the end of the program, they do go over the FBI list, show the photographs of all ten.”
“Worth talking to the staff, then,” the captain said.
“Was she number seven or number eight?” the public information officer asked, not looking up from his notes.
There was a stunned silence. The PIO looked up anxiously, only to be met with the captain’s scowl.
“The FBI doesn’t rank the criminals within its top ten list,” Alex said. “There is no number one, two, three, and so on. A fugitive is either one of the ten or not.”
“Oh.”
“Lieutenant Hogan,” the captain said, “I believe you have some information about the other victim?”
It didn’t take Hogan long to find his stride again. He clicked something on his computer keyboard, and the projector showed a new image, that of a slender man with close-cropped blond hair. “You’re probably already aware that Harold Denihan was a member of Aryan Destiny, a white supremacist organization. The nearest branch office of this group is in El Monte, but Denihan was part of a Kentucky unit. He’s wanted in connection with the bombing last January of a Louisville, Kentucky, church two years ago. He was identified as the purchaser of components, and diagrams of the church and bomb-making equipment were found in his home. The bomb killed seven, but if things had gone as he had hoped, it would have been a much higher number. He appears to have been able to elude capture because he’s been aided by his knuckle-headed brethren.” He paused, looked at his notes, and said, “He’s also been featured on the Crimesolvers program.”
“Any chance the victims have some connection to one another other than being on the FBI list?” Captain Nelson asked.
“Not that we know of at this time, sir,” Alex answered. “We’ll check further.”
“It seems highly unlikely, sir,” Hogan said.
Captain Nelson took over the meeting. “You have probably noticed that we do not have a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation present at this meeting. Undoubtedly, they will want to claim jurisdiction over these two cases, especially because others will have reason to believe that these individuals were brought here from other states against their will. None of that is proved, however, so-you may expect some delays before we are working with the FBI. These are homicides in our jurisdiction, no matter who the victims are, or where they came from. Sheriff Dwyer fully intends to cooperate with authorities in the jurisdictions where the victims allegedly committed their crimes, but as you know there have been recent difficulties between our department and the Bureau.”
Brandon exchanged a glance with Ciara. She rolled her eyes. “Difficulties” hardly began to describe the level of animosity between the leaders of the FBI and the LASD at the moment. The two agencies had worked together to bring charges against a number of Los Angeles County politicians accused of accepting payoffs from organized crime. The sheriff’s department had cooperated fully, knowing that federal charges would carry higher penalties on conviction. The FBI had not shared the information it gathered-nothing new there-and insisted on using its own lab, and only its own lab, to process evidence in a major sting operation. The cases were high profile, and Sheriff James Dwyer-who held an elected position-had enjoyed the positive press, even though he allowed the FBI to take more credit than many of his employees thought they deserved. But when the cases went to court, defense experts successfully attacked the FBI’s handling and testing of the evidence, and what had promised to be a source of pride in interagency cooperation became a fiasco.
For the last six months, department cooperation with the Bureau had been minimal. Brandon wasn’t surprised that the department was delaying working with the FBI, but wondered how long the sheriff would be able to ignore the inevitable pressure to involve the Bureau in the murders of three fugitives on its Most Wanted list. He figured it
