The Executioner (33 page)

Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Would it surprise you if I told you Brett Stewart Nichols became a Catholic priest?’

Reed stared at both detectives. ‘Are you serious?’

No reply.

‘They say redemption isn’t beyond anyone, but yes, that would surprise me immensely.’

‘The leader,’ Garcia questioned again, pushing the open yearbook closer to Reed. ‘Who was he?’

Reed’s eyes finally drifted towards the book. For a minute he flipped through the pages before pausing and glaring at a picture on the bottom left-hand corner for a long while. A nervous muscle flexed on his jaw as he tapped the photo with his right index finger.

‘Him.’

The picture Reed had pointed out showed a pale-faced boy with full lips, cat-like menacing dark eyes and shoulder-length black hair. The name under the picture read Peter Elder.

Hunter wrote the name down in his black notebook. ‘What do you remember about him?’

‘I already told you. They were bullies and I stayed out of their way. There’s nothing else I can say.’

‘Anyone else you recognize?’ Garcia pressed. ‘The rest of their gang, maybe?’

‘No,’ Reed said curtly, closing the yearbook with a thump and pushing it back in Hunter’s direction.

‘How about any of these girls?’ Hunter showed Reed the photograph of Amanda Reilly’s girl group.

Reed looked at it attentively for almost a minute before shaking his head. ‘No, I never saw them in school.’ His eyes stayed on the picture.

‘They weren’t students at Compton High. I was wondering if you might’ve seen them hanging around outside school, maybe with Brett and Peter’s gang?’

‘We’re talking twentysomething years ago, detective. Unfortunately, I don’t have a photographic memory. And as I said, I did everything I could to stay out of their way.’ Reed checked his watch. ‘This has gone way over fifteen minutes, detective. I really have to get going.’

‘As a teacher, your mother suspended Brett seven times, didn’t she?’ Hunter pushed.

‘That’s right.’ The answer came with a hint of indignation. ‘My mother was a very good and proud teacher. She always did what she thought should be done in any given situation. She refused to be intimidated by anyone, never mind a pushy student.’

‘Did he threaten her after he was suspended?’

‘Brett and Peter didn’t threat. They acted.’ The muscle in his jaw flexed again.

‘What did he do?’

The question made Reed edgy. ‘Gentlemen, I really have to go. I have a class to teach.’ He sprang to his feet, and both detectives stood. Reed motioned his guests towards the door.

As Hunter walked past the large table with the jigsaw puzzle he paused, studied the pieces for a few seconds, reached for one and slotted it in place.

Reed glared at him.

‘Lucky guess,’ Hunter said, shrugging.

At the door Reed’s eyes narrowed and a look of recognition came over his face. ‘Wait a second. Now I remember where I’ve seen you two before. You were in the paper yesterday. The Tarot Cops, right? Something to do with enlisting the help of a young girl who claims to be psychic.’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers,’ Garcia shot back.

‘A priest was killed, isn’t that right?’ Reed continued. ‘Decapitated? The papers are calling the killer the Executioner. You said Brett became a Catholic priest. Was he the one who was killed?’ A flicker of satisfaction flashed in his eyes.

Hunter zipped up his jacket and nodded. ‘Yes, Brett Stewart Nichols was savagely murdered.’ He waited for a reaction from Reed but got none. ‘Thanks for your time and help, Mr. Reed.’

‘All the best with your investigation, detective.’ Reed closed the door calmly. A satisfied smile spread across his thin, ascetic face.

Outside, Hunter reached for his phone and called Hopkins again. ‘Ian, listen, there’s one more thing I need you to investigate . . .’

Today was an important and proud day for young police officer Shauna Williams. It was her first-ever solo patrol.

Shauna was born in Inglewood, a tough neighborhood in southwestern LA. The youngest of four siblings, she was also the only girl. In school, contrary to all her brothers, she was dedicated and studious. Her grades only occasionally fell under B+. Tall and athletic, Shauna played shooting guard for the basketball team and third base in varsity softball. She was the first and only of all four Williams to ever graduate from high school. Maybe, if things had turned out differently, she would’ve also been the first in her family to have ever gone to university.

Shauna knew her brothers were involved in bad things, she just didn’t know how bad. It’s hard to grow up in an underprivileged neighborhood in a city like Los Angeles and not be affected by the crazy gang culture that rules the streets. Being African-American, for some reason, seemed to make it even harder. She’ll never forget the night she opened the door to a couple of police officers who’d come to give her parents the worst news any parent can ever get. All three of her brothers had been gunned down inside a stolen vehicle in what looked to be a gang retaliation hit. She had just turned nineteen.

Shauna gave up her dream of university and months later, after passing the recruitment tests, she joined the LAPD academy.

The six months of rigorous training that followed didn’t bother her and Shauna graduated top of her class. Her ambition was to make detective or the SWAT team.

Shauna was assigned to the West Bureau Pacific Division and paired up with a more experienced officer, twelve years her senior. She’s been out of the academy for only five months, but she was a quick learner, very intelligent and extremely focused. Lieutenant Cooper thought it was time Shauna did a few rounds by herself, and when her partner called in sick this morning, Cooper saw it as the perfect opportunity.

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.

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?’