by Bill Bernico
“Doesn’t look like the treatment took, does it?” I said.
“That’s just it,” Vivian said. “I don’t think Virgil did this one. Oh, I know they proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that he did that one twelve years ago, but Virgil didn’t do this one. Someone else did and they’re trying to frame Virgil.”
I heaved a sigh. “How can you be so sure that Virgil’s innocent this time?”
“I don’t have what you would call solid proof,” Vivian said. “But I just know Virgil couldn’t have done this murder. And I’d like you to look into it for me and prove that he’s innocent. Would you do that, Mr. Cooper?”
“And just where would you propose I start?” I said.
“I was hoping you could go and see Virgil in the county jail,” Vivian said. “Maybe you could talk to him and find out if he knows anything. I’ve tried, but he won’t talk to me.”
“And what do the police say?” I asked.
Vivian hung her head and couldn’t look at me. “They say it looks like an open and shut case,” she said. “They’re not even looking into the possibility that someone else could have done this. Oh, Mr. Cooper, I just don’t know where to turn. You’ve got to help me.”
“Let me make a few calls downtown and get a little background,” I said. “If I think I can do you any good, I’ll take on this case and charge my going rate of thirty-five dollars a day plus expenses. If I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything for you, there’ll be no charge for this meeting. Sound fair?”
“That’s all I’m asking, Mr. Cooper,” Vivian said. “For someone, anyone, to look into it.”
I pulled my yellow legal pad out of the desk drawer and slid it over to Vivian with a pen. “Would you write down your name and a number where I can reach you?”
Vivian did as I asked and passed the pad and pen back over to me. She stood and extended her hand. I shook it and showed her to the door. She turned once before leaving.
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” Vivian said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “Until I see if I can do anything for you. Goodbye, Miss Dunbar.”
I closed the door and returned to my desk and picked up the phone to call Dan. I got Hannah on the second ring.
“Lieutenant Hollister’s office,” she said.
“Hannah,” I said. “It’s Matt Cooper. Could I speak…”
“Matt,” Hannah interrupted. “Wherever did you find Amy? She’s adorable, simply adorable.”
“Uh yeah,” I said. “Listen Hannah, could we talk about Amy another time? I have some important business with Dan. Is he there?”
“Oh yeah,” Hannah said. “Sorry, let me connect you.”
Dan came on the line. “Matt, that Amy is really something, you know.”
“Dan, please,” I said. “The talk about Amy will have to wait. I need to see you about another matter and it’s pretty important. You in the middle of anything that can’t keep?”
“What is it, Matt?” Dan said. “You never sound this serious.”
“A woman came to see me just now,” I said. “She wants me to look into an accusation against her brother.”
“And?” Dan said.
“And I was wondering if you could shed a little light on it for me,” I said.
“What are you talking about, Matt?” Dan said.
“The woman’s name is Vivian Dunbar and she…”
“She wants you to find out if her brother, Virgil, really buried the hatchet in Mike Miller’s skull, right?” Dan said.
“So you’re familiar with this one?” I said.
“Everyone here is,” Dan explained. “Open and shut case, Matt. Open and shut. No doubt about it.”
“That what she said you were all saying about this one,” I said. “No chance that he didn’t do it, is there?”
“No,” Dan said adamantly. “Exact same M.O. he used twelve years ago. Exact same kind of hatchet in the exact same place with this latest victim. Nearly split the skull in half. This guy doesn’t know his own strength, Matt. He’s dangerous and this time he’s not looking at another twelve years in the nut house. This time he’ll get the death penalty.”
“Well,” I said, “I told Vivian I’d at least talk to you about it.”
“And now you can go back and tell you did,” Dan said.
“But I also told her I’d talk to Virgil and see what he has to say,” I said.
“That’s probably not a good idea, Matt,” Dan said. “He’s sitting in a cell here and he’s doing a pretty good Houdini impersonation.”
“Huh?”
“He’s wearing a straight jacket,” Dan said.
“Well, then he’s not going to hurt me if I talk to him,” I said. “Can I come by for a little while and see what I can learn?”
Dan sighed. “It’s your time and your gas money if you want to waste them. Sure, come on down.”
“Thanks, Dan,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hung up, locked up the office, hung the ‘Back at’ sign on the outer office window and set the hands on the little clock to noon. I made it to the twelfth precinct in fifteen minutes and went straight to Dan’s office. Hannah was away from her desk so I just walked right in. Dan was standing there talking with another man.
“Oops, sorry,” I said, and started to back out of the room.
Dan waved me in. “No, that’s all right,” Dan said. “Come on in.” Dan gestured toward the other man and said, “Matt Cooper, this is Arthur Compton, Virgil Dunbar’s attorney.”
I shook Compton’s hand and nodded politely before turning back to Dan. “Can I see him?” I said.
“Matt,” Dan said. “Mr. Compton insists on being there with you when you question Dunbar. Any objections?”
“Would it matter if I did?” I said.
“No,” Dan said.
“Well, in that case, I don’t mind,” I said. “Can we go see him now?”
“Follow me,” Dan said to Compton and me.
Dan took us to the other end of the building where they housed the prisoners. Three cells down we found Dunbar sitting quietly on his bunk, his arms wrapped securely behind him. Dan motioned to the jailer, who unlocked the cell door and waited until Compton and I went in before locking it behind us again.
“Just let the jailer know when you’re finished,” Dan said, “and he’ll let you out again.”
“Thanks, Dan,” I said, as he walked away with the jailer.
Compton sat on the bunk next to Dunbar while I sat on the opposite bunk facing them both. I looked Dunbar in the face and his eyes had a distant, glassy look to them. I waved a hand in front of his face but his eyes showed no recognition. I looked toward Compton.
“He been like this very long?” I said.
“Pretty much since they brought him in,” Compton offered. “I haven’t been able to get through to him. What makes you think you can?”
“Maybe I can’t either,” I said. “But I’ve got to try.”
I turned back to Dunbar and leaned in closer to him. “Vivian sent me here to talk to you, Virgil.”
At the sound of his sister’s name, Virgil Dunbar blinked twice and shifted his gaze toward me.
“That’s right,” I said, trying to hold his attention. “Your sister Vivian wanted me to say hi for her, Virgil. You remember Vivian, don’t you?”
“Vivian,” Virgil said in a low baritone voice.
Compton looked at me. “That’s the first word he’s spoken since they brought him in.”
I ignored the remark and kept trying to communicate with the man in the straight jacket. “Virgil, Vivian tells me you didn’t do this awful thing. What do you want to say about it?”
“Vivian,” Virgil repeated.
I laid my hand on Virgil’s knee, trying to get his attention. He immediately jerked away, his eyes getting wide like a terrified horse. I pulled my hand away quickly.
“Virgil,” I said. “What happened?”
Virgil looked at me
blankly, blinked a few more times and turned his head away.
“Virgil,” I said, this time yelling his name. He snapped his head back toward me and gritted his teeth.
“I’m all better now,” Virgil said. “The doctors told me I was all better now.”
“Are they right?” I said. “Are you all better?”
Virgil said nothing, but just nodded his large head.
“Virgil,” I said. “Did you kill that man with a hatchet?”
Compton quickly turned to Virgil. “Don’t answer that,” he said and quickly turned to me. “You can’t ask him questions like that.”
“You want to get to the bottom of all this?” I said. “Or do you just want to sweep it all under the rug and hope it’ll just go away.”
“I have to look out for the best interest of my client,” Compton said defensively.
“Your client’s best interest would be served with the truth,” I said. “If he did it, well, then you’ve got your work cut out for you with his defense. On the other hand, if he didn’t do it, you’re not helping him any by trying to keep me from getting at the truth.”
Compton said nothing, which I took as a sign that I could go on with my questions for Virgil. I turned my attention back to Virgil. “Virgil,” I said. “Can you tell me what you were doing the Friday before last?”
Virgil stared blankly at me but mumbled, “Friday. I was here.”
“Not last Friday,” I said. “The Friday before that. Where were you?”
Virgil thought for a moment. “I went with Vivian to the beach. We had a lot of fun.”
“Okay, the beach,” I said. “Do you remember what time that was?”
“In the morning,” Virgil said. “Vivian took me in the morning.”
“Do you remember what time you left there?” I said.
I could tell it was a strain for Virgil to put his thoughts into words.
“It was two o’clock,” Virgil said.
“And where’d you go after that?” I said.
Virgil signed heavily and looked like he was beginning to tire of this whole line of questioning. “Vivian took me home after that,” he said. “I have my own place and everything.”
“Where’s that?” I said.
“It’s on the block with all the palm trees,” Virgil said.
I turned to Compton, who flipped open his notepad and read off the address on Sepulveda Boulevard.
“That’s pretty close to Mulholland Drive,” I said to Virgil.
Compton spoke up. “Even as the crow flies, it’s at least two miles and no one reported seeing Virgil cutting through any back yards or anywhere on the streets. And it would be closer to four miles if he had to stay on paved surfaces, Mr. Cooper.”
I turned to Virgil. “Did you go anywhere after you got home?”
“No,” Virgil said. “I went to sleep.”
“You sleep in the afternoon?” I said.
“Yes,” Virgil said. “Three o’clock is nap time. Always three o’clock.”
I turned to Compton with a questioned look on my face. He turned to his notes again and offered, “Three o’clock was his regular nap time at the asylum. I guess old habits are hard to break.”
“Do you know what time you got up again?” I said to Virgil.
“It was four thirty,” Virgil said. “Vivian came over and took me to her house for supper.”
I looked at Compton again and he knew what I was going to ask. “Six o’clock,” he said, give or take fifteen minutes.”
He was referring to Mike Miller’s time of death as established by our coroner, Jack Walsh. In other words, Virgil had no alibi for the time that Miller had been given a lobotomy with that hatchet.
“And what happened after you ate supper with Vivian?” I said to Virgil.
“She took me home,” Virgil said. “And then the police took me away.”
“And that’s all there is to it,” Compton said. “They have nothing else to go on but the M.O. matched his first murder perfectly. It happened in almost the same location. What are they supposed to think?”
“Just what someone wants them to think,” I said. “If this is a setup or a copycat killing, the real killer knew exactly what he was doing.”
“That’s one big IF hanging out there,” Compton said. “You think you can come up with any proof that’ll help clear Virgil?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a long shot at best, but I have to at least try.” I stood up and faced the cell door, calling for the jailer. Just before he got back to unlock the cell, Virgil stood up and stepped over to where I was standing.
“You gonna help me?” He said.
I turned back to Virgil. “I’m going to try, Virgil. I’m going to try.”
The jailer let Compton and me out of the cell and we walked together back to Dan’s office. Dan invited us both to sit and then looked over at me.
“You get anywhere with Dunbar, Matt?” Dan said.
“Not really,” I said. “He swears he was home napping around the time of the murder, but he has no one to corroborate his story. I do think there’s enough there to convince me to at least look a little further into this thing for his sister.”
“Well,” Dan said. “It’s your time and your money. If you don’t mind wasting either one, go ahead and see what you can find out.”
Compton turned to me and said, “And please, Mr. Cooper, would you let me know what you find, either way?”
“Certainly, Mr. Compton,” I said. “It looks like you’re gonna need all the help you can get with Virgil’s defense.”
I turned back to Dan. “I’ve got to get going, Dan. I’ll check back with you later.”
“Good luck, Matt,” Dan said as I left his office and returned to my car.
I drove up to Mulholland Drive, to the spot where this latest murder took place. I parked on the shoulder and got out to walk the area where they’d found Mike Miller’s body. The gravel on the shoulder was still blood stained in places and some of the underbrush still showed signs of having been trampled. I walked back to my car, pulled the L.A. map out of the glove box and looked up this section of Los Angeles. I took my pencil and circled the area where I now stood. Then I found the place on Sepulveda Boulevard where Virgil Dunbar was living and circled it. According to the legend on the map, it was approximately two miles north northeast from where I stood.
I decided to see how long it might take someone to walk that distance using both methods. I’d try walking there in as straight a path as I could and on the way back, I’d stay on the paved surfaces. I checked my watch and waited for the second hand to reach the twelve and then made a note of the time. I kept walking in a straight direction, traversing over hills and valleys and private yards and empty lots. I encountered a few angry homeowners along the way but I assured them I was working with the police on an important matter, remaining in motion the whole time.
When I stopped in front of Virgil Dunbar’s residence I noted the time. It had taken me exactly sixty-eight minutes and twelve seconds, not exactly a world record for land speed. I sat for a few minutes, catching my breath and waiting until my pulse was back in the normal range before setting out for my car along the paved surfaces route I’d established. Although I was able to move faster, even running at times, the distance was more than half again as long as the straight route. When I got back to my car, I opened my car door and sat, breathing heavily and checking the time again. It had taken me eighty-four minutes and fifteen seconds.
I looked over my notes and found that the police had picked up Virgil Dunbar at exactly three minutes before seven, nearly an hour after Miller’s body had been found on Mulholland Drive. Assuming that Virgil had killed Miller, and assuming he went straight home using the shortest route, he still would not have made it home before seven o’clock. And if he’d taken the paved surfaces route, he wouldn’t have made it home before seven twenty-five. I discarded the paved route option altogether and concentrated on the straight route
.
According to Compton’s records and police interviews with neighbors along the route, no one reported seeing anyone cutting through their yards. No one saw anyone with blood on their clothes. Whoever drove that hatchet into Mike Miller’s head would had to have been splattered with blood. When police picked up Virgil, his clothes were clean and they didn’t find any other clothes at his house with blood stains on them. Yet, because Virgil had no witnesses as to his whereabouts, they’d locked him up as their only suspect based solely on the fact that Virgil had once killed a man in this same manner and same general area twelve years prior.
I wrote down my findings and drove back to my office to phone Vivian Dunbar. She wasn’t home or wasn’t answering her phone. Either way, I felt the information I’d discovered warranted a visit to her at her home. It took me twenty-five minutes to make it to Vivian’s house. The afternoon sun was just dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across her sidewalk. I stepped up on her porch and rang her bell. No one answered. I pulled her screen door open and knocked on her inner door. Still no one answered. I figured she must be out and was about to leave when something made me go around to the back and try that door.
I had to open a gate at the side of the house to enter the back yard. A narrow sidewalk led from the front of the house around to the back door. The door was up three steps on a small landing. I stepped up onto the landing and started to knock. The force of my first knock made the door swing open. I stuck my head in a few inches and yelled, “Hello, anyone home?” No one answered. I pushed the door open all the way and looked in.
I couldn’t see much from where I stood and decided to step inside. I left the back door open as I made my way through the kitchen and into the living room. As I rounded the corner I could see Vivian Dunbar’s black, low-heeled shoes swinging with the breeze that the open back door had created. She hung from the beam that went across the length of the living room. Beneath her was a small step stool, knocked over. Vivian’s arms hung at her sides. Her face was a deep purple and her tongue hung out further than I thought tongues could. I held my hand over my mouth and made a mad dash for the back door.
