Suddenly, he was on his back again, his feet swept out from underneath him.
That was when he felt the hands around his neck. Squeezing. Holding tight.
He tried to struggle, but the shadow was too strong.
Or he was too drunk.
Before long, his resistance stopped.
He no longer fought. He no longer struggled. He felt he deserved this. This was his punishment.
As the final few breaths escaped his throat, he accepted his fate.
He was no longer Harry Jones.
He could finally let his past go.
Now, he was to be known as victim number seven.
Chapter 2
“Another one dead.” Penny Pearson slapped a copy of the L.A. Times on her boss’ desk. “Page twenty-three. Small article—probably all the scum deserved.”
“Don’t be so flippant. That’s somebody’s life you’re talking about.” Criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey responded firmly, fist clenched around his pen. “Does the person have a name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. A life is a life.”
“It’s just another homeless guy. That makes it seven now in the past twelve months. These people are homeless because nobody cares about them. If anyone cared about them, they’d have a house to stay in, they’d have people to look after them. These men are scum. This killer is doing the city a favor. This killer is cleaning up the streets and saving the city from itself.”
“Not true.”
“Why do you care? Why do you need me to keep you updated on this? Why do you care about these nameless people?”
Harvey dropped his pen on the desk and stared at his new temporary assistant.
He didn’t expect this attitude. He didn’t expect this fire from her. He knew her past was harrowing, he knew her life was full of pain, but he didn’t expect this level of hatred, and he certainly didn’t expect her to express it on a daily basis.
Penny Pearson’s exterior was stunning—flowing blonde hair, perfect skin, athletic body. When she was a model in her mid-teens, she was an advertiser’s dream. She left school at fifteen, appeared on a number of ads for Nike, and then tried to make it big on the catwalk. But modeling was a tough gig, and Penny didn’t play nicely with others. Now, at the mere age of twenty, her modeling career was over and she had little to show for it.
“Any of these men could have been my brother.” Harvey flipped open the newspaper. “He went missing many years ago, two decades in fact, and he could be one of the nameless men that are being killed. I cared about my brother, even though he went missing. He’s my family, and he will always hold a place in my heart. These men are something to somebody. These people, these lives, matter. They matter to me, and they matter to this city.”
The mere mention of his brother made his heart sink.
The depths of despair, despite the twenty years that had passed, still haunted him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really have to try to keep my mouth closed,” Penny responded, looking down. “But you did ask to be kept updated on that case, and tell you if anything else comes up.”
Penny slumped into the chair opposite the large desk in the private office, slouching like a misinformed teenager.
Being a temporary assistant had its pluses and minuses. One; she didn’t have to hold her tongue. She didn’t have to think about the long-term consequences of her uncontrolled attitude. Two; she didn’t have to worry about being fired, because if she was, there was another temp position around the corner. However, the job offered no stability, no health benefits, and no career path. Not exactly the dream profession.
When Kate Spencer, Harvey’s faithful assistant, insisted she needed a holiday, Harvey had to bring in someone to fill her role. Luckily, his bookkeeper’s niece was available. However, despite Penny’s efficiency and enthusiasm in the office, he was starting to regret that decision. He didn’t want to spend the next two weeks arguing against her idealistic twenty-something attitudes.
His bookkeeper, Nicole Cowan, had been running his books for the last ten years—ever since he started practicing as a criminal defense attorney. With an office just around the corner from his building, he initially hired her services out of convenience of location, but over the years, they had formed a bond closer to friendship than associates.
She had been faithful to his cause, and when he mentioned that he needed a new temp assistant, she threw her niece’s name into the ring. He accepted the proposal, but Penny was a girl that came with a warning. Nicole, as her sole guardian after Penny’s family passed away, had raised her niece since Penny was eight years old.
Penny Pearson certainly had all the credentials that he required for an assistant—fiery, intelligent, street-smart, and witty. She was studying part-time for a college degree majoring in psychology, and she had a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She was not a woman that anyone should mess with, but her feminine appearance had sex appeal, and more importantly, she knew how to use it.
Under the watchful eye of Kate Spencer for the next week, she was being shown the office procedures, the systems, and hopefully, some more tact.
“Come on,” Harvey stated, trying to avoid another argument with Penny. “Let me take you to dinner. I’ll call your Aunt, and see if she wants to join us.”
“I just don’t understand why you want to be updated on these deaths.” Penny shrugged. “I don’t understand why you want to help people you’ve never met.”
“Like I said, any of these men could be my brother. If I help them, I feel like I’m helping him.”
“But you can’t do anything about it. You can’t stop this killer. That’s not your job.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Penny. We have the resources to solve these cases. We have the ability. And right now, I have the time.” He began to walk towards the door. “And if the LAPD isn’t going to solve these murders, then I will.”
Chapter 3
“Got a dollar?”
In a dark area just off 6th St., Downtown Los Angeles, a rough hand rested against criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey’s chest.
This wasn’t a friendly hand.
Walking home on the streets of Los Angeles after a late night at a restaurant, Harvey was stopped by a filthy, homeless drunk. The man’s clothes were in tatters, he had the odor of a lifelong alcoholic, and his mouth was missing more than a few teeth.
Being a tall, broad man, Bill Harvey had never hesitated walking down a dark alley in L.A. late at night. Despite the danger in Downtown, despite the craziness of its people, he knew the right places to avoid and when to avoid them. He was not usually the target of weak, vulnerable people.
But the man in front of him stood as tall and as broad as he was.
“I need a dollar.” The man’s voice rose. “Just give me a dollar. That’s all I want, man. Nothing more. You look rich, I’m sure you can spare a dollar.”
Harvey paused, feeling the tension in the moment quickly escalate. The night air was fresh, and the street was bathed in darkness.
It was brave for this man to be here. There were currently homeless people being strangled all over the city. All drunks. All strangled. It should’ve been front-page news, there should’ve been hysteria, but nobody missed these men. They were society’s forgotten people, left out in the dark, slogging through another day without love.
“Give me your wallet.” The voice had changed to a snarl. “Give me the money or I’ll stab you. I don’t want to, but I need a dollar, man. Just give me a dollar.”
The man growled aggressively, drawing a small knife from his coat pocket.
Harvey’s heart pounded at the sight of the knife.
It was sharp, clean.
The man in front of Harvey had nothing more to lose.
The pure desperation in the man’s eyes was clear.
He was willing to plunge the knife deep into Harvey’s torso for the sake of a dollar. One dolla
r. That’s what his life had come to. That’s where his life was at.
“Give me the money.” The growl was harsh. Edgy.
Harvey was walking home after an evening with Penny, her boyfriend, Caleb Wood, and her aunt, Nicole Cowan. He was buzzing from the high of spending the evening with one of the most beautiful and animated women he had ever met. Effortlessly, Penny dazzled everyone with her stunning smile and fluttering eyelids.
But that buzz was gone now, replaced with fear.
“You’ve got five seconds to pull that wallet out,” the man growled again, closing the distance between them.
The hand of the homeless man was steady—the situation held no fear for him. There was no shaking, no nerves.
As Harvey’s hand went to his coat pocket, the man licked his lips. He desperately wanted the money.
He needed it.
But as Harvey looked at the man’s face, he noticed something else.
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I’ve got a knife, man! How could you say that?”
“Because, Gerard,” Harvey stated calmly. “We’re old friends.”
Chapter 4
Gerard West was once one of Los Angeles’s most prominent prosecutors. He stood in the courtroom proudly, displaying his smarts, delivering victory after victory. He talked to the media with confidence and loved to splash his name on the front page of the paper. No publicity stunt was beyond him.
When you’ve won case after case, the DA’s department gives you a lot of leniencies.
But it was the first case that he lost that led to Gerard’s high-profile downfall.
She was a girl, just a small two-year-old girl, laying in a dumpster at the back of a Downtown hotel. The case captured the public’s attention, and social media was alight with any news of the case. How could an angelic girl become so lost in the system that she didn’t even have a name for some weeks after she was found?
Her picture in the newspapers was perfect—a beautiful smile, soft skin, glowing innocent eyes.
The mother was a deceased drug-addict, and the father unknown. For her short life, she was passed from family to family, and home to home, but nobody took responsibility for her.
The system failed a little angel.
When they charged a possible killer, Reece Knowles, the media ran with the story. He was the perfect fit—a convicted rapist, a loner, a homeless drunk. There was outrage on the streets, calling for his immediate death. After his arrest, other prisoners attacked him on a daily basis. Guards attacked him. The hatred for the man was overwhelming.
But despite the weight of evidence, despite the support of all the people in L.A., Gerard West couldn’t land the conviction for the DA’s department.
The jury had no choice but to find Reece Knowles Not Guilty of the murder charges.
The media storm that followed would had broken even the strongest of men. The media outlets placed the lack of justice on Gerard’s shoulders—even going as far to blame him for dishonoring the beautiful deceased angel. The Facebook haters, the keyboard warriors, all blamed Gerard for the lack of justice.
He had struggled with bouts of depression his whole life, but that tipped him over the edge.
He self-medicated with alcohol, trying to escape his deep, horrible pain. How could he not find justice for the poor girl? How could he let the case slip? How could he let that killer back out onto the streets?
Alcohol became his only escape from the hatred of his community.
His wife left him. His kids disowned him.
And then his job let him go.
They couldn’t have a desperate alcoholic walking into court every day.
When he lost his job, his life’s work, his world finally imploded.
Gerard lost everything.
Everything.
“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Bill Harvey stated calmly, looking at the man with a knife.
The man looked at Harvey like he was being misled. He didn’t recognize the man in front of him. After years of living day-to-day on hard alcohol, his memory was shot to pieces. He could barely recognize his own face in a mirror.
Harvey rested one of his large hands on Gerard’s shoulder, a caring touch and a sign of his friendship. “Put the knife away. And let’s get a coffee.”
Harvey’s gentle touch pacified the man, and he slowly put the knife in his pocket.
Without another word spoken, Harvey led Gerard to the nearest diner, and they sat down in a small booth.
“Two coffees please.”
“I don’t recognize you, but you know my name. How do we know each other?” the man questioned, sitting opposite Harvey, leaning his arms on the stained table.
“We were friends for years. I’m a lawyer, like you were once. I was there when you fell apart, and I tried to help you piece it all back together.”
A moment of realization dawned on Gerard’s face. “Oh… Harvey… Bill Harvey?”
He nodded. “It’s been a while, Gerard.”
“That seems like a different lifetime. A different world.” He shook his head as the memories started to come back, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I don’t… I tried to wipe most of that life away. I’d forgotten about the past, all that pain. Days are just about surviving now.” Gerard drew a deep, long breath, leaning back in the uncomfortable vinyl chair. “They were hard times, man. I wouldn’t wish that pain on my worst enemy. They broke me, Harvey. They broke me. They were the worst times of my life.”
“And things are better now, are they?”
Gerard shrugged. “At least people don’t know me these days. They don’t know who I am anymore. I’m just another bum on the street to most people now.” He looked out the window to nothingness. “I was abused every day. People yelled at me when I was walking down the street. They said some horrible things—things that cut me to my core. I had to move house because of the abuse. And the face of that little girl haunted me. Still does. I still see her face everywhere. It sent me into a downward spiral, and I couldn’t stop it. The black dog of depression, it had me. It controlled me. It tore everything away from me.”
“I remember. I took you out a few times for lunch and tried to support you. You were broken, but you could see the way out then.”
“I almost got out of it, you know? I almost escaped the depression; I was so close to getting back on my feet then. The guys at the Wells Community Center were so good—and I was almost there…” Gerard paused, and his painful eyes look deep into the coffee that was placed in front of him. His face was full of confusion and loss. “But then the ex-wife started dating another man, and he was trying to be a father to my children, and it all fell apart again. Depression attacked me, and I couldn’t stop it. It consumed me. It beat me.”
“When was the last time you saw your kids?”
“Years ago.” He shook his head, trying to dismiss the question. “They’d be adults now.”
Bill Harvey knew the pain of watching someone slip away to nothing.
When he was twenty-three, he watched his teenage brother, Jonathon Harvey, succumb to heroin addiction. At fifteen, Jonathon took a quick hit at a party, and he had a great night. He thought nothing of it. He thought he was in control. And at first, he was. It was only casual use, every Friday and Saturday night, but it quickly became everything to him. It quickly became all he could think about. The star high school quarterback became a shell of a man. He lost control, and he couldn’t stop his need for another high.
For years, the Harvey family tried everything to help him, but nothing worked.
Not the psychologists, not the counselors, not moving cities. Nothing worked.
Twenty years ago, the last day they saw each other, Jonathon hit their dear mother, giving her a black eye. He needed more money for another hit, and she refused. After years of addiction, he lashed out.
In a rage, Harvey beat his younger brother into the ground and told him never to return to the family. Jonathon left, and
they never heard another word from him.
That remained Harvey’s greatest heartache.
To treat his pain, he turned to helping others, and he felt by assisting those in need, he was helping his brother. And by looking after Gerard, feeding him a coffee, he hoped that someone, somewhere, had done the same for Jonathon.
“What was the last case you worked on, Harvey?”
“Ah, I just saw a sparkle in your eyes then. You asked about my case, and there was a sparkle.” Harvey waved his finger in the air. “I guess we never lose it, do we? Even after all these years, the desire is still there. These cases are in our blood. This is what we do.”
“It’s who we are.” Gerard tried to smile. His face scrunched at the corners, almost breaking his skin. It had been years since he tried to do that.
“It’s a case of an innocent man.” Harvey laughed.
“They all are!” Gerard smiled easier this time, and his eyes sparkled again. “At least, that’s what they tell you. I have to know, as a defense attorney, do you always believe them?”
“Of course not.” Harvey chuckled. “But it’s clear who the evil ones are. I never have any doubt about the evil ones.”
“Apparently, there’s an evil person out there running loose on the streets of Los Angeles. Somebody’s knocking off all the drunks around Downtown. That’s the rumor on the street. They say it’s seven in the past twelve months. Could be more. It’s got people scared.”
“That’s what I have heard, although you wouldn’t read much in the paper. Not much news coverage about that.”
“That’s because people don’t care. Dead drunks don’t sell papers.”
“The cops don’t have any evidence that the deaths are connected. It could all be a coincidence. It could all just be rumors and chance. We don’t know that it’s a serial killer.”
“Seven homeless men? All strangled? That’s not a coincidence. They’re just not looking hard enough.” Gerard mused. “Must have been more to it.”
“I should get my team to look into it. See if there is anything we can piece together and present to the cops.”
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