McCaleb’s hunch was that the killer would return to one of the disposal spots or visit the graves. It would bring him closer to his victims and help him stave off the need to kill again.
Winston was reluctant to instigate a multiple point surveillance operation on the basis of an FBI agent’s hunch. But McCaleb had already received approval for himself and two other agents for stake-out duty. He also played upon Winston’s professionalism, telling her that if she didn’t do it, she would always wonder if the stake-out would have been successful, especially if the Unknown Subject hit again. With that kind of threat to her conscience, Winston went to her lieutenant and counterparts on the LAPD case and a surveillance squad was assembled from all three agencies. While planning the surveillance, Winston learned that by coincidence both of the victims were buried in the same Glendale cemetery, about one hundred yards apart. Hearing that, McCaleb predicted that if the Unknown Subject was going to show, it would be in the cemetery.
He was right. On the fifth night of the surveillance, McCaleb, Winston and two other detectives hiding in a mausoleum with a view of both grave sites watched a man drive into the cemetery in a van, get out and climb over the locked gate. Carrying something under his arm, he walked to the grave of the first victim, stood motionless in front of it for ten minutes and then headed to the grave of the second victim. His actions showed a prior knowledge of the location of the graves. At the second grave, he unrolled what turned out to be a sleeping bag on top of the grave, sat down on it and leaned back against the headstone. The detectives did not disturb the man. They were recording his visit with a night-vision video camera. Before long he opened his pants and began masturbating.
Before he returned to the van, the man had already been identified through its license plates as Luther Hatch, a thirty-eight-year-old gardener from North Hollywood released four years earlier from a nine-year Folsom Prison term for a rape conviction.
The subject was no longer unknown. Hatch became a working suspect. When his years in prison were subtracted from his age, he fit the VICAP profile perfectly. He was watched around the clock for three weeks- including during two more visits to the Glendale cemetery-until finally one night the detectives moved in as he attempted to force a young woman leaving the Sherman Oaks Galleria into his van. In the van, the arresting officers found duct tape and clothesline cut into four-foot lengths. After receiving a search warrant, the investigators tore apart the interior of the van as well as Hatch’s apartment. They recovered hair, thread and dried fluid evidence that was later linked through DNA and other scientific analysis to the two murder victims. Quickly dubbed “The Cemetery Man” by the local media, Hatch took his place in the pantheon of multiple murderers who fascinate the public.
McCaleb’s expertise and hunches had helped Winston break the case. It was one of the successes they still talked about in Los Angeles and Quantico. On the night they arrested Hatch, the surveillance team went out to celebrate. During a lull in the din, Jaye Winston turned to McCaleb at the bar and said, “I owe you one. We all do.”
Buddy Lockridge had dressed for his job as Terry McCaleb’s driver as if he were going to a nightclub on the Sunset Strip. Head to toe, he was clad in black. He also carried a black leather briefcase. Standing on the dock next to the
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, let’s go.”
“Is this all right?”
“It’s fine but I didn’t think you’d get so dressed up for just sitting in a car all day. You going to be comfortable?”
“Sure.”
“Then let’s go.”
Lockridge’s car was a seven-year-old silver Ford Taurus that was well maintained. On the way out to Whittier, he tried three different times to find out what it was McCaleb was investigating but each time the questions were unanswered. Finally, McCaleb was able to deflect the line of questioning by bringing up their old debate over the merits of sailboats versus power boats. They got to the Sheriff’s Department Star Center in a little over an hour. Lockridge slid the Taurus into a spot in the visitor’s lot and turned off the ignition.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” McCaleb said. “I hope you brought something to read or you’ve got one of your harmonicas on you.”
“You sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”
“Look, Bud, this might have been a mistake. I’m not looking for a partner. All I need is somebody to drive me. I spent more than a hundred bucks yesterday on cabs. I figured maybe you could use the money instead, but if you’re going to be asking me questions and-”
“Okay, okay,” Lockridge said, cutting in. He held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just sit here and read my book. No more questions.”
“Good. I’ll see you.”
McCaleb entered the homicide squad offices on time for his appointment and Jaye Winston was hovering around the reception area waiting for him. She was an attractive woman a few years older than McCaleb. She had blond hair that was straight and kept midlength. She had a slim build and was dressed in a blue suit with a white blouse. McCaleb had not seen her in almost five years, since the night they had celebrated the arrest of Luther Hatch. They shook hands and Winston led McCaleb to a conference room that had an oval table surrounded by six chairs. There was a smaller table against one wall with a double-pot coffeemaker on it. The room was empty. A thick stack of documents and four videocassettes were sitting on the table.
“You want some coffee?” Winston asked.
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Then let’s get started. I’ve got twenty minutes.”
They took chairs across the table from each other. Winston pointed at the paper stack and the videos.
“This is all yours. I copied everything after you called this morning.”
“Jeez, you kidding? Thanks.”
With two hands McCaleb pulled the pile toward his chest like a man raking in the pot at the poker table.
“I called Arrango over at L.A.,” Winston said. “He told me not to work with you but I told him you were the best agent I ever dealt with and that I owed you one. He’s pissed but he’ll get over it.”
“Is this L.A. ’s stuff, too?”
“Yeah, we’ve copied each other back and forth. I haven’t gotten anything from Arrango in a couple weeks but that’s probably because there hasn’t been anything. I think it’s all up to date. Problem is, it’s a lot of paper and video and it all adds up to nothing so far.”
McCaleb broke the stack of reports in half and started sorting through them. It became clear that about two- thirds of the work had been generated by sheriff’s investigators and the rest by the LAPD. He gestured to the videotapes.
“What are these?”
“You’ve got both crime scenes there and both shoots. Arrango told me he showed you the market robbery already.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, on ours you get even less. The shooter enters the frame for only a few seconds. Just enough for us to see he was wearing a mask. But anyway, it’s there for you to look at if you want.”
“On yours, did the guy take the money from the machine or the victim?”
“The machine, why?”
“I might be able to use that to get some help from the bureau, if I need it. Technically, it means the money was taken from the bank, not the victim. That’s a federal offense.”
Winston nodded that she understood.
“So how did you connect these, ballistics?” McCaleb asked, mindful that her time was limited and he wanted as much from her as he could get.
She nodded.
“I was working my case already and then a few weeks later I’m reading the paper and see a story about the other one. Sounded the same. I called L.A. and we got together. When you watch the videos, Terry, you’ll see.
