Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  There was an air of unease amongst the homeless—the rumors had spread like wildfire. Someone was knocking them off—attempting to clean up Skid Row. Not a vigilante saving the city, but a cold-blooded killer pleasing themselves.

  Cautiously, Bill Harvey walked down the alley where Gerard West’s body was found.

  He studied the tight space, inspecting the piles of trash, looking at the disused cardboard boxes used as homes, searching for any clue. The walls were tagged with names that were unreadable, bullet holes filling some of the spaces.

  It was uneven, dirty, reeking of filth.

  As he cautiously walked further into the alley, he watched for any movements in the fading light, any reason to stop.

  When he saw all was calm, his head dropped as he realized that this was Gerard’s life—once a highflyer living well, but in the end, he lived in the dirt, disregarded and forgotten about. His world had closed in around him, and this was all he had.

  The alley was dark, late at night, and Harvey walked past a man lying under a blanket, sleeping against the wall.

  At least, he looked like he was sleeping; he could be passed out from the alcohol.

  He continued further down the alley, wandering past the back door of a restaurant, stained with urine, covered in graffiti. He walked past the mural of a local artist, a surprisingly good piece of art if it wasn’t graffitied on the walls of a back alley.

  Stopping, he leaned against the wall, sad that this was where his friend finished.

  Sad that this was where it all ended; a ghost of his past life.

  The back of his head tapped against the wall. He had to find justice for Gerard, and if that meant putting his brother away, then so be it.

  He had to stop this killer.

  Crack.

  There was a noise, movement at the other end of the alley.

  Near the entrance.

  Near the streetlight.

  From the obscurity of the darkness, he watched a silhouetted figure walk down the alley, sticking close to the walls.

  5’10. Broad. Confident.

  Not a homeless person. Not someone looking for a place to sleep for the night.

  But then the shadow stopped.

  It studied something in the alley, assessing the situation.

  With one swift movement, the shadow kicked at something, and then jumped back, poised to defend itself.

  The movement was swift.

  Trained.

  And then it did the same again.

  Leaping back, its pose was ready for defense.

  Nothing came at it.

  This time, the shadow moved closer to the position on the ground.

  Slowly.

  Harvey tried to reposition himself to see what the shadow was moving towards.

  The shadow leaned down.

  Ready.

  He moved closer. Still cloaked in darkness.

  “Wait,” he whispered to himself. “The sleeping man.”

  The sleeping man slowly climbed to his feet. He said something. Something inaudible. He moved to the shadow.

  In one swift movement, the shadow slammed the drunk back to the ground.

  “Hey!” Harvey moved.

  The shadow jumped up. Ran.

  Fast.

  No hesitation. No stopping.

  The shadow fled.

  Much too fast for the aging legs of Bill Harvey.

  With effort, Harvey ran to the end of the alley, looking for any movement on the quiet street.

  Nothing.

  Frantically, he ran up and down, looking for a place where the shadow could have escaped to.

  Nothing.

  No sign of any movement.

  Not a thing.

  In a panic, he ran back to the alley, down to the sleeping man, who was now rubbing his neck.

  He ran to his side. “Who was that?”

  The response was incoherent, a mess of jumbled words. The smell of tequila on his breath was overpowering.

  “What did you see?!”

  Again, the response was a mess.

  This man was not sleeping.

  He was drunk.

  And he was just the target of a serial killer.

  Chapter 28

  “Why am I here?”

  “Don’t ask ‘why’ for everything, Penny. Sometimes you have to do what is asked of you without question, especially in this job.”

  “But I would like to know.” She shrugged.

  Harvey stopped his rush through the Metropolitan Detention Center, turning to look down at his assistant. “I would like you to take notes of our conversation. That’s why you’re here this morning. To do a job. That’s why I pay you.”

  She looked confused about the request. “You want me to write down all of the conversation?”

  “Not all of it.” Harvey shook his head and continued through the security checkpoint. The security scanned his body, his briefcase, and his shoes. “Just the important parts of the conversation. You can take notes, and then type it up later this afternoon.”

  “How do I know which parts of the conversation are important?” she asked as the security guard smiled nicely at her.

  Harvey had never received a smile from them.

  “You’ll know.”

  “Ok, boss,” she said as she tried to hide a yawn.

  “Tired, Penny? Late night?”

  “Sorry.” She stretched an arm across her chest. “Yeah. It was. Hopefully, the coffee will kick in soon, and I’ll be wide awake.”

  His eyes lingered on Penny as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and he led the way to the meeting room. The guard standing next to Harvey also let his eyes linger on Penny, but for an entirely different reason.

  When they reached the meeting room, she waited next to the door, holding her notepad to her chest. Smoothly, she took out her mobile phone, held it at arm’s length away from her, smiled, and snapped a picture.

  “Really?” Harvey raised his eyebrows.

  “This is the first time I’ve been inside a prison. I want to remember it. I’m going to post it on my Facebook page. I’ll look back at it in a few years and remember this moment.”

  “We’re the sum of our experiences, Penny. We are not the sum of our Facebook feed.”

  Penny stopped, staring at the Luddite next to her. “But they’re photos. They’re memories. This is important.”

  “Photos are an indulgence, a distraction from what matters.”

  “And what matters?”

  “The present. The here and now. Photos are only a distraction to convince yourself that you were once happy. They’re not reality.”

  “Don’t you have a photo album that you like to look at? One with pictures of your first wife perhaps?”

  Harvey stopped, not answering the personal question.

  Those were times that he had tried to move past, grow beyond. His love for his first wife was deep, lifelong, and when she passed after a short battle with cancer, he spent the next month drinking, crying and looking at their wedding album.

  The pictures were still stained with whiskey and tears.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. Are you ok?” Penny asked.

  He didn’t answer; instead, he reached for the door handle. With his hand on the cold metal, he drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and re-centered himself.

  No more soppy emotions now.

  He had had enough of that.

  Right now, he needed to be on top of his game. Right now, was his chance to take this case to another level.

  He wasn’t trying to draw information from his brother, that was not why he was there.

  He was trying to set-up a killer.

  One misplaced word.

  One flinch.

  That was all he needed.

  Something to confirm his suspicions.

  Chapter 29

  “Bill. I’m so glad to see you.” Jonathon Harvey was standing as they walked into the room, worry spread across his face.
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  “Jonathon. I hope you’re well.”

  Their greeting was easier this time—a solid handshake and a nod, like two men without a past, focused on the future.

  Just the way the Harvey men preferred it.

  “Any progress on the investigation?”

  “As a matter of fact Jonathon, yes, we have made some progress. But it might not be what you want to hear.”

  His eyes lit up with a sense of hope. “Please, tell me. Tell me you have the real murderer. That’s what I need to hear today. It’s been a very hard morning in here. I know what prisons are like, but this has been hell. I couldn’t do seven years in here. Not here. There are so many gangs. Everyone is associated with someone. This place would ruin me. I wouldn’t make it through.”

  Harvey placed his briefcase on the table in the middle of the room and offered his hand out for Jonathon to sit down as well. Once Jonathon was seated, Harvey continued, “This is Penny, my temporary assistant. She’s going to take notes of our conversation today. I need you to be very honest with me today, Jonathon. I need you be very truthful.”

  Jonathon nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good.” Harvey opened his notepad. “We’re going to take you through the process first. We will have to enter a plea shortly, possibly later today, and after that, the trial will be scheduled, likely to be within two months. This is a good timeframe; however, the time we have to catch the real killer is starting to run thin, so I’m going to be quite heavy-handed with these questions today. It’s very important that you answer these questions truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.” His words were firm, and the wall around his emotions was holding tough.

  “Do you think we’ll have to go to trial?” Jonathon’s brow creased as he leaned forward on the meeting table. “Two months in here? I don’t know, Bill. I don’t know if I can make it. This place is hell.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Harvey drummed his fingers on the table. “Now, the next set of questions might not seem relevant to you right now, but trust me, they are. They’re very relevant to this case. We’re closing the net on the real killer, and I need to ask these questions of you. Take your time to answer them.”

  Jonathon nodded apprehensively. “Ok.”

  “What have you got against alcoholics?”

  “Alcoholics?”

  “Yes, Jonathon. Drunk people.”

  “Me? Nothing?” Jonathon looked confused. “Why would I have anything against them? I have been through the worst life has to give; I’m in no position to judge anyone. If someone is struggling with addiction, I want to help them, not judge them. I know what they’re going through; I’ve been through it myself. They need help, not judgment. I have nothing against alcoholics. Why would you even say that? I don’t see how that is relevant.”

  “You would have seen a lot of drunk people in the past, Jonathon. A lot of people that you have interacted with would have been addicts of one type or another.”

  “I guess so.” Jonathon winced at the memories. “I’m not a hater anymore, Bill. Before I got clean, sure, I was full of hate and anger. I used to get into bar fights all the time. I’d be trying to get clean, and I’d hang out in bars, looking for a way to distract myself. I’ve been in lots of bar fights. But that’s a different life. I don’t live that life anymore. Not now. I haven’t lived that life for over eighteen months. I’m full of love and life now. It’s a different world.”

  “So you have nothing against alcoholics?”

  “No,” he pled. “I don’t see how that affects my case. I don’t see how that has anything to do with what happened to the dead guy. I don’t get it.”

  “When you were a teenager, you were charged with vandalism of a liquor store. You smashed the front window and numerous bottles of liquor inside the store. You didn’t steal anything, you just smashed things.”

  “That was just mindless vandalism, Bill. It had nothing to do with the actual store. It wasn’t a targeted attack. I have nothing against liquor. That was just some boys going wild, and the store was the closest thing to us at the time. And just because I was an addict doesn’t mean I hate alcoholics.”

  “So you hate alcoholics?”

  “No.” He looked at his brother confused. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t kill one. That’s going too far, even for me.”

  “We’re not talking about just one drunk. We’re talking about many.”

  “Many? What are you on about, Bill? What’s going on? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “Your case has a lot in connection with a number of other unsolved crimes. It appears that the person who killed Gerard West might be guilty of multiple murders. The details of this crime match another seven crimes, possibly eight, or even more. There might be a serial killer at work on the streets of Los Angeles and Gerard West appears to be one of the victims.”

  “What? I came in here thinking that this was a chance to move the case forward, but instead, I’m being accused of multiple murders?!” Jonathon stood abruptly, the chair tipping backward, falling loudly on the floor. “I don’t understand. I thought you were on my side. I thought that we were supposed to be working towards a solution, not digging a deeper hole for me. I haven’t killed anyone. I’m not a killer, and certainly I’m not a serial killer. You have to believe me, Bill. You have to believe me.”

  “What we have is a possible connection between your case and a number of other murder cases. The net is closing on the serial killer. All the deaths are very similar, and all the evidence points to one person in this room.”

  Uncomfortable silence sat over the room like a wet blanket.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Harvey studied Penny for her reaction.

  He needed to see her squirm.

  Sit uncomfortably.

  Wipe her face as a subconscious attempt to hide from the statements.

  But she gave him nothing.

  Not a flinch.

  Not a moment of nervousness.

  Not one clue.

  Nothing.

  She was either a very talented liar, or she was truly clueless about what he was saying.

  “I don’t understand.” Jonathon shook his head. “Are you saying that I’m going to be charged with other murders? Is that what’s going to happen? I’m going to be charged as a serial killer?”

  The confusion on Jonathon’s face was clear.

  “Soon. The prosecution is looking for evidence to link the guilty party to the other cases. They’re working very hard on this case. And they are very close to finding that link.”

  Still no reaction from Penny.

  Nothing.

  Not one movement.

  “What!” Jonathon snapped, slamming his fist down on the table. “I have a lawyer, my brother, that’s accusing me of worse crimes than what the police are accusing me of! I thought you were on my side. I thought we were a team. Now I have to wonder whether you will throw me under the bus during the trial.”

  “We’re on the same side, but there’s no hiding from this fact. We have to be prepared for what’s coming.”

  “Is this about our past? Because I’m sorry, Bill. I really am. I did the wrong things. I destroyed lives. I know that, but I can’t change that now. I’m sorry! If this is about what I did—”

  Harvey closed his eyes and held out his hand, his palm facing his brother. “It has nothing to do with our past. It has everything to do with the present.”

  “Are you sure? Because if this is some underhanded way to get back at me for what I did to our family, then I’ll just get a new lawyer. If you’re not on my side, then I don’t want you here. I’ll get someone new.”

  “I’m on your side,” Harvey reassured him. “But I’m not going to sugarcoat this. I’m not going to lie to you about the case. The prosecution is putting together a file on a serial killer that has been operating on the streets of L.A. for twelve months, and they’re close to solving it. Really close. The rumor is that they want you to take the fal
l for all of it. I believe you’re innocent, but that doesn’t mean anything. They want someone to take the fall for this, and at the moment, you’re that guy. They’re going to present you to the media as a serial killer, and the second they do that, we’ve lost the case.”

  “Why?” Jonathon pled desperately. “Why me? What have I done?”

  “You fit their profile.” Harvey looked to Penny. “You’ve had a rough childhood, have a history of violence, no close family connections, and you’ve had incidents in your past that could have caused great mental distress. That’s the profile they’re looking for.”

  Still nothing from Penny.

  Not a thing.

  She continued to write notes on the pad, oblivious to the accusations.

  “I don’t understand.” Jonathon paced the room, his hand rubbing his brow frantically. “How long do I have before they lay the charges?”

  “One day, possibly two.”

  “What?” Jonathon looked like he wanted to curl up into a ball, sit in a corner, and escape the world. Life had been hard for him, and it was not getting any easier. “Why me? I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me, Bill. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill this guy, and I haven’t killed anyone else!”

  “Do you know any of these people?” Harvey removed a piece of paper from his briefcase and slid it across to Jonathon.

  “No.” Jonathon studied the photo and shook his head. “Who are they?”

  “The murdered people; the ones with unsolved cases. There’s a decorated war veteran in that list of photos. He fell apart with Post-traumatic stress disorder, and ended up on the street, before becoming one of the victims. That’s not going to make you very popular with the public or in here.”

  “I don’t know any of them.” The tears were starting to well in Jonathon’s eyes. He was powerless. He had no control over his future.

  “Do you have an alibi for these dates?” Harvey removed another piece of paper from his briefcase and placed it on the table.

  “How would I know?” Jonathon studied the paper. “Some of these dates are twelve months ago! I’m not a teenage girl; I don’t write in a diary every night! How would I know where I was on those nights!”