Hollywood Murder (18 page)

“Let’s hope this isn’t a big waste of time,” Shelia Woods said as we stood in the lobby of the probation office in downtown Los Angeles an hour later.

The reporter had managed to make a miraculous recovery from the bullet wound to her head, only because her homicide had been a product of my overactive imagination. By the time we met with Dern’s probation officer, I’d also drawn and quartered her and composed a brief eulogy: bye-bye bitch.

The office was a bureaucratic maze of cubicles and desks, with files scattered everywhere. All eyes turned in our direction as Leo and I were escorted to a back office by a clerk, followed by Woods and her two cameramen. Selfie and Molly had volunteered to walk Bernie while we met with the probation officer.

“Mr. Dern’s file is right here,” Maggie Clausen said, handing a thick file across her desk to me after we took seats across from her. Woods’ camera crew was behind us, shooting scenes through the doorway. Dern’s probation officer was about fifty and heavyset, with an overbite. I wondered if she ever got out of the office. She went on, “He’s in our bank caseload.”

“What’s that?” Woods asked.

“It means that he’s on NSS. He reports by sending us a green sheet once a month.”

I’d never heard of the terms she was using. “Can you explain what you mean in layman terms?”

Clausen smiled. I wasn’t sure why, maybe for the cameras. “We use a Wasserman Assessment of Risk scale for all of our probationers. The WAR allows us to manage our offenders based on the likelihood of recidivism and future victimization. Dern scored in the twentieth percentile, that’s why he’s on NSS. It means Non-Supervised Status.”

The probation officer was engaging in classic bureaucratic speak, something that wasn’t lost on Shelia Woods. “Are you telling us that a convicted sex offender who has to register his home address with the authorities isn’t a risk?”

Clausen’s smile waned. “Low risk. At least that’s what the WAR says.”

“Have you ever had any contact with Mr. Dern?” Leo asked her.

She shook her head. “As I said, offenders in our bank report by sending us a monthly green sheet. It requires that they self-report any violations of probation or changes in their work or living conditions.”

Woods raised her voice. “Are you kidding me? How many others are in what you call your bank caseload?”

Clausen flinched, apparently suddenly aware that she had disclosed something that wasn’t common knowledge. “In this office, we have close to ten thousand. I’m not sure about our other locations.”

I’d been thumbing through Dern’s file while she spoke and didn’t find anything recent in the way of the green sheet forms she was referring to.

“There’s nothing here that shows he’s sent a report form since February,” I said.

“Let me see,” Clausen said, taking the file back from me. She took a moment, going through the reporting forms. “Oh, my. It would appear that Mr. Dern is in VOP.”

I glanced at Leo, then looked back at her. “What does that mean?”

“He’s in violation of probation. It’s a technical violation. Usually we call the probationer and ask him to send us the forms we’re missing.”

Woods said, “Are you kidding me…”

I cut her off. “Isn’t a probation violation grounds for someone to be arrested and brought before a judge?”

Clausen sighed. “Yes, but nothing would happen if we did that. The courts don’t want to be bothered with this kind of technical violation.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said, standing. “We’re going to pay Mr. Dern a little visit. In the meantime, do us a favor and keep this confidential. I don’t want you calling him, asking him to send you a wad of your green sheets, and tell him we’re coming by.”

Woods grilled Clausen for ten minutes about how they handled their probationers. By the time it was over, we learned that active supervision of offenders was reserved for those who were violent, aggressive, or active gang members. It was obvious that the department was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of cases under their supervision.

After Woods told her camera crew they could pack up, she said to me, “This is an outrage. Wait until our viewers find out what’s been going on.”

I did my best to defuse the situation. “I don’t think the department is at fault. It looks like they’re just overwhelmed with cases, through a lack of manpower, and are doing what they can to manage the risk.”

“I don’t care what excuse they have. It’s contemptable, and I intend to do something about it.”

***

An hour later, we stopped down the street from Howard Dern’s house in the Hollywood Hills. According to his probation file, Dern lived with his parents and had a condition of his probation that allowed us to search his residence and belongings, something we intended to utilize.

I tried to get Woods and her crew to stay back, but they insisted on following us to the door. Bernie was on alert as a woman, who we learned was Howard Dern’s mother, answered the door.

I explained why we were there and asked, “Is your son home?”

Dern’s mother was probably pushing fifty. She was overweight, with stringy brown hair. She had one of those wary, skeptical looks that seemed to be standard protocol for parents I’d dealt with in the past who would do anything to protect their kids.

“I don’t think he’s home right now,” Tina Dern said, her gaze wandering over to Woods and her crew. “He might have gone to the park.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “Since he’s a registered sex offender and is prohibited from being within a hundred yards of where children gather.”

She tried to cover her tracks. “Or, he might have gone to the store. I’m not really sure.”

“We need to come in and take a look at his room,” Leo said.

She shook her head. “This isn’t a good time. Maybe you could come by tomorrow. I’ll make sure Howard is here.” Somewhere behind her there was a jostling sound, maybe footsteps.

“Is anyone home with you today?” I asked. She shook her head. I took a step forward with Bernie, brushing my blazer back so I had access to my weapon. “We’re going to take a quick look in your son’s room.”

Dern’s mother stood her ground. “You can’t come in…” Behind her, there was the unmistakable sound of a door opening, someone leaving.

“You cover the back,” I called over to Leo, at the same time I pushed past her with Bernie and entered the residence.

Despite my warnings to stay back, Woods and her crew were right behind me. As Dern’s mother shouted out a protest, I moved through the residence to the family room where I saw the French doors to the patio were open. Then I saw a man scrambling down the hillside. By the time I got into the back yard with Bernie, Leo had come through a side gate. We both called out warnings for Dern to stop.

Dern ignored us and was halfway down the hillside that I noticed had an almost direct view into the Potters’ backyard. I reached down, removed Bernie’s leash, and gave him the attack command,
“FASS!”

While Dern’s mother screamed and the cameras rolled, Bernie covered the distance to our fleeing suspect in seconds. Dern fell and began rolling down the hillside while Bernie clamped down on his leg.

Leo led the way down the hill, while I followed, with Woods and her crew not far behind. I managed to get Bernie back under control while Leo got our suspect, who was now wailing like a baby, into handcuffs. Dern had suffered a couple of bites to his ankle and was bleeding as we marched him back up the hill.

We were moving past Woods and her camera crew when the reporter lost her footing and tumbled down the hill behind us. I barely suppressed my laughter as she grabbed hold of a bush, managed to regain her footing, and began spewing obscenities. When we finally got Dern back up the hillside, along with Woods and her crew, I saw that the reporter’s blouse was ripped and she was covered with mud.

“I’m going to sue you and your idiotic son,” Woods fumed at Dern’s mother. She looked at our suspect. “Why the hell did you run?”

Dern, who was still moaning from his bleeding ankle, managed to say, “You had no right to come onto my private property and arrest me.”

Our suspect was about five seven, pushing two hundred pounds, with a receding hairline. If there was a poster boy for child molester, Dern would be the centerfold.

I met his sullen eyes. “Sorry, buddy. Even though you’re low on the WAR scale, your NSS was just revoked for not mailing green sheets. You’re going to jail.”

After calling for an ambulance to administer first-aid and arranging for a unit to transport Dern to Hollywood Station for an interview, Leo and I searched his bedroom. Woods had recovered enough to insist on going with us with one of her cameramen. It took us less than ten minutes to realize our suspect had committed multiple felonies and had taken a special interest in the Potter residence.

“There’s enough kiddie-porn here to send our boy to prison for the next decade,” Leo said after examining Dern’s computer. “He’s also been spying on the neighbors.”

I walked over to the screen. It looked like Howard Dern had stood in his back yard and used a telephoto lens. The subject of his photographic montage was a nine-year-old girl. Her name was Samantha Potter.

We got back to the station late in the afternoon. We let Dern sit in an interview room for a couple of hours. My past experience had taught me that letting a suspect sit and think about his crimes and going to jail served a couple of purposes. It began the process of wearing someone down, even before the questioning began. It gave the subject time to prepare his story, at the same time second-guessing what he planned to say. Lies were easy to fabricate, but often didn’t hold up under a rigorous probing of the facts.

As Leo and I were making final preparations to interview Dern, Shelia Woods made her desires known. “I want to sit in on the interview, with one of my cameramen. We’ll stay in the background and won’t interfere.”

I glanced at Leo, who raised his brows, then looked back at her. Woods had changed her blouse, finding one that looked like it was two sizes too small. “Sorry, but we’ll be lucky if we can get Dern to waive his rights and talk. Having a reporter and a camera in his face isn’t going to help that process.”

“You’re forgetting, I’ve been granted full access to this case. I have a right to be there.”

Leo spoke up. “You have a right to be involved in our case, but that doesn’t mean interfering with the potential prosecution of a suspect under arrest for child pornography.”

The discussion, also known as an argument, went back and forth for several minutes before we all went into the lieutenant’s office, where Woods pleaded her case about having full and open access to our investigation.

Judge Oz listened intently, then rendered his verdict. “We’ll videotape the interview without you being in the room. If we get the proper releases and approval, we’ll allow the video to be used on your show.”

“Not good enough.” Woods raised her voice as she went on about the promises our superiors had made to her. Her rant was loud enough to draw the attention of several people walking by the office, including Buck McCade. We briefly made eye contact before our boss told Woods he’d heard enough.

“You can take the issue downtown, if you want,” the lieutenant said. “But, unless someone tells me otherwise, since I supervise Section One, the decision is final.”

After Woods left, probably to call the chief, Leo stayed behind to chat with him. When I was in the hallway, I ran into Buck.

“That reporter is angrier than a bull at a rodeo full of clowns,” Buck said. We were inches apart, me having to look up into his beautiful eyes.

“I guess that doesn’t say much for the good guys,” I said

He smiled and jutted his chin toward the break room. “Got a minute?”

I exhaled. “That’s about all.”

We went into the breakroom. Buck poured himself a cup of coffee and I got water before we took a seat in the corner of the room. Bernie sniffed around the floor as we settled in.

“Missed him,” Buck said, looking over at my dog. “How is Bubba doing?”

Bubba was Bernie’s love-puppy, sired after my hairy partner had a romp with a black lab. Buck had custody of him for a while before the little dog had been reunited with his mother. “He’s good. Bernie got to visit him a few weeks back.”

He nodded, holding on my eyes for a moment. “I guess I need to explain a couple of things.” I waited, as his gaze drifted off for a moment then found me again. “My lieutenant mentioned Section One to me a few weeks back, said he thought I’d be a good fit. He told me he had some connections and I was ready for a change from island life, anyway. I made the lateral request from the sheriff’s department and the rest, as they say, is history. All this happened before I realized who I’d be working with.”

“Would that have made a difference?”

He brushed a hand through his short hair, his gaze moving off. “I don’t know…maybe.” He looked back at me. “Tell you the truth, I’m not sure.”

I took a sip of water. “You do know this is difficult for me.”

“I’m sorry. I know lettin’ the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You always did have a way with words.”

His lips also turned up. “It’s just my daddy talking, taught me everything I know.” He took a sip of his coffee before he asked, “So, how have you been, Kate?”

It was his way of asking if I was in a relationship. “I’m good. I met someone.”

His smile slipped away and he exhaled. “I can’t say that I’m happy for me, but I’m happy for you.”

“And you…is your ex still…”

His gaze moved off. “Last I heard she was in the hospital in Texas, not doing so well.” He looked back at me. “I think she might be in the hospital for the rest of her life.”

“I’m sorry... It must be difficult.” I took a breath and tossed my cup in the trash. “I hope things are better for you.”

He tried to smile again, but didn’t quite pull it off. “I’m on my own here, rented a little place not too far from the station.”

“Hollywood’s a long way from Laredo or Catalina, but, if you give it a chance, I think it might grow on you. Just choose your friends carefully.” I glanced over, seeing that Leo was in the hallway. He tapped his watch and walked away.

Buck’s question brought my attention back to him. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who needs some company?”

“Like I said, I’m involved with someone, and somehow I don’t think you and my friends would have a lot in common.” I stood up. A moment later he was also on his feet and had taken a step closer to me.

He was inches away from me now. I could smell the light scent of his aftershave. “I think we could have made it work, Kate.”

“Maybe, but that ship has sailed. Do me a favor and respect that fact. Let’s leave the past where it is and work together as colleagues.”

He smiled and lowered his eyes. “You deserve nothing less.”

When Leo and I finally made it to the interview room, Howard Dern looked like a lost child who wanted nothing more than to curl up in his mother’s lap. He tried to pull off a sympathetic look as Leo read him his rights. It only made me want to be sure the pudgy child molester did as much time for his crimes as possible.

I let out a sigh of relief as Dern waived his rights and agreed to talk to us. I let Leo take the lead, maybe because I was exhausted, the drumming in my head was back, and I was still processing the conversation I’d just had. Seeing Buck again had stirred up a lot of old feelings that I needed to sort through and put back in their proper place.

“Let’s start with what’s been happening with you since you were last in court,” Leo said, setting the stage for our discussion.

Dern took a couple of minutes, telling us that he’d spent six months in jail for his prior conviction and had been working part-time at a convenience store since his release. He added, “I just go to work and come home. My life is pretty boring.”

“How do you deal with the boredom?” Leo asked.

Dern shrugged and mopped his slick forehead with the back of his long-sleeved shirt. “I dunno. I watch TV, go for walks. I just try to mind my own business.”

Leo leaned closer to our suspect. “I think you also spend a lot of time on your computer, son. Tell us about that.”

He didn’t look at either of us. “There’s nothing to tell. I just surf the Internet.”

“What kind of sites do you surf?”

Dern’s dark eyes found Leo before moving off again. “Nothing really, just YouTube and other stuff.”

Leo looked at me. It was my cue to throw a roundhouse punch at the pervert. “Stuff like children being raped and tortured by monsters like you.” He didn’t look at me or respond, so I hit him again. “We have everything that was on your computer, Howard. You’re going to prison for a very long time.”

Apparently the mama’s boy couldn’t take a punch. He started crying and said, “You don’t understand.”

“Really? Enlighten me. Tell me why you like to watch children being violated and degraded in the worst way imaginable.”

There were more tears. “I have an illness. I need help.”

My voice rose at the same time the drums went rat-a-tat-tat in my head. “Look at me.” Dern kept his eyes downcast. I leaned forward, yelling. “Look at me, God damn you!” His eyes finally darted up. “I’m going to personally see to it that you spend the rest of your miserable life in prison. There’s only one thing that can help you.”

His tears became sobs that wracked his body. “What is it? I’ll do anything.”

My voice came down a notch. “Well talk to the DA, tell him that you cooperated, if you tell us about Samantha Potter.”

“Who?”

My voice came up again. “Sam. The girl who lived in the house below yours. We saw the pictures of her on your computer. Did you touch her?”

“No…I swear…I just…I liked to watch.”

“Apparently you liked to watch a lot. You have pictures of her playing in her yard, walking to school, and even a couple that were taken through her bedroom window.” My voice rose, then came down like a hammer. “Tell me what you did to her, or I’ll make sure you do hard time with guys who know exactly what crimes you committed.”

Dern’s body began to shake. I had a thought that he might collapse onto the floor. Then we heard his voice, just above a whisper. “I never touched her, but I saw…everything.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

After several deep breaths, he managed to say, “I was looking through the window the night it happened.”

Leo and I exchanged glances. The room was quiet as Dern blew his nose and tried to regain some composure. “Tell us what you saw,” I said.

Our suspect’s murky eyes lifted. He sniffed and said, “I don’t know who the guy was, but he came into the house late. Everyone was in bed.”

“And you were in the back yard when this happened?”

Dern blew out a lungful of air and patted his thinning pate. “I was in my place when he showed up. I think it was around two in the morning.”

“Your place?” Leo said. “What do you mean by that?”

“There’s a spot on the hillside beneath a tree. No one could see me, but I could see everything that went on in their house, especially at night.”

“What did this guy look like?” Leo asked.

“He was kind of big, wearing dark clothes and a hat. I couldn’t see his face.”

“Go on,” I said.

“He parked on the street and came into the back yard. He used something to pry open the doors and went in. I wanted a better look, so I came down the hill into the yard and watched.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“He threatened them with a gun, then came over to the window. When he pulled down the curtains, I was afraid he was going to see me. I ran back up the hill, but when I turned around I could see him tying them up.”

“And?” Leo asked.

“He left the room and came back a couple of minutes later. He had something like a pipe in his hand, and…” Dern started to cry again.

“And what?” I demanded.

“He beat them over and over. It seemed like it went on for ten minutes. It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”