“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Archer.” She put a skinny finger to her lips and then laughed from her belly.
“Just watch your butt so nothing comes around to bite it,” he warned.
“I could get down with that depending on who’s doing the biting,” Liz quipped as she slid her eyes his way. Archer couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way Liz Driscoll could look enticing, but he admired her for working with what she had. He would truly hate to see her go down. Liz Driscoll was one of the good people, and it was clear she was sticking out her neck for him, not Josie.
“What did they tell you?” Archer asked as they came to a stoplight.
“Hernandez was on the Westside, he’s been down here and around Hollywood. I’d bet you anything he was in the hills. That means he has transportation and mom’s car is out. He didn’t have money for his own. Even if he did, nobody was going to insure him.” The light changed. She hit the gas. “Anyway, that’s how he got the photographs.”
“He took them with a car?”
“Funny.” She grimaced. “I tell you shit’s going to hit the fan if we don’t find those ladies alive. Parole is already in helluva of lot trouble these days-”
Archer only half listened to Liz’s litany of screw ups by the parole board and their minions. Liz didn’t have a clue her off-handed comment was anything personal and he couldn’t blame her. Archer had been where she was, wanting a break, a big case, a spotlight bust. Still, in her excitement, she was losing sight of the human element, and that meant Liz Driscoll might make decisions that weren’t in the best interest of the victims. It wasn’t for him to point this out because he walked the other side of the road: the victims were all he cared about and that made for its own slippery slope.
“There it is.” Liz glanced to her left and eased into the median. She cut her eyes Archer’s way, and her grin faltered as she noted his expression. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” he assured her. “And so are you. Let’s do this.”
“You got it.”
Liz turned away to attend to traffic, but her smile was gone. Archer was right. It was time to get serious.
They were on the border of Torrance and El Segundo, waiting to make a left that would let them cross the wide and busy highway. The flush at Liz’s jaw, the sparkle in her eye, did not escape Archer’s notice. Pleased with his validation, Liz turned the wheel and the car bounced over the railroad track that still serviced a run from L.A. to Santa Monica. She drove past the big, high gates and finally stopped in front of the office of A1-Storage.
The California Mountains
He loved the wind in his hair. It was a long way to go, but he was taking a leisurely ride this time. He liked that it would be dark by the time he arrived. His presence would be unexpected. He would surprise them once more. Gaslight them. Why not? Tit-for-tat the way they had done to him all those years ago. He would wake them up and make them play. Twenty questions was his game. It would be a cross examination combined with a journalist’s interview. He had packed prizes. If they answered his questions correctly, they would each get one.
Maybe.
If they didn’t, well, wouldn’t he just show them that he could play hardball, too.
A-1 Storage, El Segundo
The A-1 Storage facility was deceptive. From the street it looked like a few garages sitting on a patch of land between an abandoned body shop on one side and an empty lot on the other. Now that Archer and Liz were behind the gates, the landscape changed: hundreds of storage units radiated across acres of land. Row upon row of freshly painted, identical steel buildings lined wide, paved lanes. You could get a flatbed back here, and the units were big enough to store a good-sized boat. There was no landscaping, nothing that would entice anyone to waste a minute more here than was necessary.
Liz cut the engine and pulled on the emergency brake. They opened their respective doors simultaneously. It was dusk now and the spotlights atop each unit were lit but ineffectual. When it was dark, the place would look like Stalag 13.
“There’s got to be a hundred of them.” Liz was looking around even as she came to stand with Archer.
“We only need one to cough something up,” Archer noted, quietly hoping they wouldn’t find two dead bodies.
Liz led the way; Archer was close behind as they walked up the three wooden steps that led to a door marked ‘office’. The ‘office’ was nothing more than a converted storage unit, changing out the rollup to double glass doors. Inside was cool, narrow and basic. There was a desk, a couple of filing cabinets and a guy who looked like he should be selling insurance instead of sitting in a little metal box watching television.
“Hey.” He greeted them without taking his eyes from the screen. “Just a sec. They’re going to have the reveal any minute. You wouldn’t believe what this woman used to look like. She was butt ugly. I mean b-u-t-t ugly. Coyote ugly. Here she comes. Oh, God! She looks worse. What a dog.”
Archer looked at Liz. Liz shrugged just as the man turned an absolutely delighted face their way. He didn’t seem to mind that they hadn’t uttered a word.
“These make-over shows are incredible. What Not To Wear is the best. That Windy person’s show isn’t bad, but this one – what’s her name, the cook lady with the talk show? Come on. Big chic.” He looked at the two as if they should know. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, totally delighted with himself. “Corrine something. Yeah. She does the worst ones. Ever watch it?”
Happily he looked from Liz to Archer, but Liz caught his attention when she pulled out her I.D. The guy behind the desk was not really impressed and definitely not nervous.
“Why didn’t you say so?” He grinned wider.
“We wanted you to have your moment,” Liz answered. “You done?”
“Oh yeah. Show’s over. What do you need?” The man rearranged his face into an expression of concern, but when he furrowed his brow his eyes seemed to cross. Archer thought it looked painful.
“We’re looking for a guy named Xavier Hernandez. Five seven. Good build. Black hair. We had him here about a week ago according to his monitoring. Maybe he rents a unit,” Liz suggested. “Want to see a picture?”
“Nope. I see people who rent these units for like five minutes while they fill out the paperwork. I never see them again after they get their key. I’d be hard pressed to remember what any of them look like.”
The man rolled his chair away, spun around and landed expertly in front of the smaller filing cabinet. Archer wondered how many hours he had spent perfecting the move between waiting for someone to walk through the door and the next makeover show. He whipped open the drawer. Behind him someone on TV was still gushing and Archer couldn’t resist a look. The guy turned back and caught him in the act.
“A dog, right? Huh? See what I’m sayin’?” The man’s head bobbed up and down.
“I’ve seen better,” Archer admitted and then he stepped forward. “What have you got?”
“I’m really not supposed to show you this without a court order. Privacy stuff and all that.” The man said it like it was no skin off his nose if someone squawked.
“I can get one,” Liz offered, “but this is a life and death thing. I’d hate to waste any more time than we have to. So, maybe you could just chat with us a little bit. We’ll start by assuming Hernandez rented a unit here because you are holding a file.”
“Yeah, you could assume that. Good customer. He’s been with me since-” The man cracked the lips of the folder like he was peeking at a Christmas present, “-1997.”
Archer and Liz looked at one another.
“Really? Were you here then?” Liz asked.
“Yep.”
“You sure it was him that rented the unit. Not a woman?”
“Nope. It was him. I would have had to see his I.D.,” he assured them. “Unless he was on that chick’s make-over show. Some of those makeovers look like guys when they’re done.” He guffawed, pleased with himself. “I’m tellin’ y
a. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, we got it.” Archer tapped his temple. “Is there anything in the unit?”
“Hey, I don’t stick my nose in,” he objected. “Besides, not my job. Trucks are in and out of here all day. He rented that space like 8 years ago.”
“Seven,” Liz corrected.
“What?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Seven, six, eight. All I know is the bill gets paid every month, and that makes me happy ‘cause I don’t have to make those reminder calls. Hate those damn calls.”
“How does he pay?” Liz asked.
“Check.”
“Got copies?”
“Naw, we changed over to electronic about three years ago.” He twirled his chair around again. Archer would bet he was singing along to Stayin’ Alive in his head. He bounced in his chair, happy as a clam to have someone to talk to. “I can track it down, but for that I’m going to need an order for sure.”
“Can we take a look inside his unit?” Liz asked, but it sounded more like an order.
The guy shrugged. “Am I going to get in trouble if I show you?”
“I think you were probably concerned that you smelled smoke and opened that unit to check it out. We just happened to be here to offer our assistance to a citizen.”
“Okay. Sure.”
He put his nose in the air like he was sniffing. He got it. He grinned. He was having fun. He hopped up, grabbed his key, double checked his records and led them out the door and into the facility.
Behind them, the television host continued to gush.
Mrs. Rice’s Apartment, West Los Angeles
Mrs. Rice, a woman of sour disposition even when she was at home, ate her dinner early on a T.V. tray in front of the television. Her husband worked nights, and that was fine with her since she always brought home a lot of work.
Tonight she was lamenting the fact that she had left Hannah Sheraton’s file at the office. Given what she was seeing on the local news, the girl was completely out of control. No doubt the video would go viral. The public seemed to have an insatiable appetite for beautiful young girls acting out. Mrs. Rice had never done anything like that in her entire life. Then again, if she had, no one would have noticed. She had never been beautiful and even she doubted she had ever been young. Still stinging from her defeat in court, Mrs. Rice was sure she would vindicate herself with this proof that Hannah Sheraton was living a permissive existence in a beach town whose notoriety stemmed from annual volleyball tournaments and drinking contests. Add to that her attack on a man of God, and this was just the fodder Mrs. Rice needed to revisit the forty-eight hour ruling Judge Leisinger had handed down.
That kid was a loose cannon. She had to go, and she had to go as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
A-1 Storage, El Segundo
Unit 244 was down the main path and over one at the end of the row just in front of a high wall that was topped by curling barbed wire.
“Is there only one way into these units?” Archer asked as he eyed the wide rolling door that was closed and padlocked.
“Yep. Once your stuff is in there, the only way to get it out is through this door.”
Satisfied, Archer moved closer and to the right. Once they opened it there was no telling what could happen. If Hernandez was behind the door, there was going to be a fight. Archer would assume he had weapons. If so, no one wanted to be directly in the line of fire. If he didn’t have anything and he tried to run, he would have to get through three people in order to make his escape. Make that two. The manager, Archer figured, would be pretty useless.
He was unlocking the unit and starting to roll the door up as Liz eased her gun out of her holster and inched to the left. She held it casually by her side, but Archer knew if anything came out of that unit too fast it was toast – including Xavier Hernandez. He only hoped Liz was a good shot and downed him. The last thing they wanted, however, was a dead guy who couldn’t tell them where Josie and Erika were. Archer did not draw his weapon. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a shooting with an officer at his side; the first thing he wanted was his hands around Hernandez’s neck.
The door rose smoothly, riding its rails with a slight, well-oiled rumble. Inch by inch it went up, revealing nothing initially. Six eyes squinted through the gloom of the setting sun into the black cave-like interior of the storage unit. The manager, so fond of reveals on television makeovers, had latched onto the fact that Archer and Liz were looking for something that might not be all that cool, so he had moved behind Archer and was ready to duck if he had to. The door stopped moving, the motor stopped whirring and the three people stared into the unit. A dozen heartbeats were shared between them as they waited.
Nothing happened. Josie did not call out. The stench of death did not hit them broadside. A frantic Hernandez did not rush them.
“Is there a light in there?” Archer asked.
“Want me to turn it on?” The man whispered.
“You’re just checking to make sure everything’s okay, right?” Liz suggested.
“For God’s sake. Flip it,” Archer barked.
“Right. Right.” The manager wrung his hands, swallowed hard. Taking one giant, Mother-May-I step forward, he reached around and flipped a switch, stepped back and put himself against the wall next to the door.
“Holy moly.” Liz whistled as she stowed her gun and rested her hands on her hips. “You ever see anything like this, Archer?”
“Nope,” he said.
The manager poked his head around the corner, saw what they were seeing and laughed with giddy relief. All thoughts about privacy rights and the need for a warrant flew out of his head.
“I’ll be damned,” he whistled and walked right on in.
He squeezed his skinny body past the towers of toilettes: white, pink, blue, beige, high boys and elongated seat models. There was even one that was painted with flowers. All of them were new and stacked to the ceiling, packed into the place from one wall to the next. Curious as a kid in a corn maze, the manager kept up a steady stream of chatter as he picked his way into the unit. When he came out again he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Look what Hernandez had in the back.”
Here came that laugh again. The guy sounded like a honking goose as he held up his treasure. Archer rolled his eyes. Liz stifled a chuckle. Plastic, life sized, blow-up dolls were draped over each of the man’s arms. One was dark haired and bore a striking resemblance to Betty Boop. The other was blond. Both had lips like blowfish. It would take a whole lot of hot air to puff up the rubber babes, but it didn’t look like they’d been inflated for a while. Archer had a funny feeling that the manager was going to take some liberties as soon as they were gone. At least someone would get something out of this.
“What’s your name?” Archer asked the man who was carefully inspecting his rubber friends.
“Benny,” he answered offhandedly. “Think Hernandez would notice if one was missing?”
Archer gave himself a mental checkmark for reading the guy right.
“Think your wife would notice she had competition?” Liz pointed to his wedding ring, and Benny appeared crestfallen.
“Come on, I’m talking a joke. You don’t think I’d really, well, you know.”
“’Course not, but curiosity can be powerful, Benny. Besides, we couldn’t let you steal. Just wouldn’t be right,” Liz went on.
“We’re obliged you took a look inside,” Archer mumbled as Liz holstered her gun. As much as he was relieved, it was still a huge disappointment not to find some clue that would lead them to Josie. Hernandez’s profile was getting weirder by the minute.
“Hey, my pleasure. That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Benny stuffed the plastic dolls into a toilette. “Your guy sure has an interesting inventory.”
“I didn’t think Xavier was kinky that way. Thought he preferred the real thing,” Archer noted. Benny stepped out and hit the switch.
The door started to come down.
“Who’s Xavier?” Benny asked.
“The guy who owns this unit,” Liz reminded him.
“Nobody named Xavier on this docket. It’s Havier Hernandez. Havier,” he insisted, snapping his head between Liz and Archer. “I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t listening.”
“Geeze,” Liz breathed, chancing a look at Archer who was none too pleased.
He turned away, disgusted that they had wasted more than an hour on a wild goose chase. He kicked at a stone and headed toward the car. Behind him, Benny continued to apologize as Liz continued to assure him anybody could have made the mistake. That was a lie Archer wouldn’t have told, but that’s what women brought to the force. Peacemakers, dammit. Lost in his thoughts, trying to decide which way to turn next, Archer only half-registered the rest of the conversation between Liz and Benny. The other half of his brain was noting that they weren’t alone on the lot.
About fifty yards down, a man was working a unit lock. He was short, light skinned and dark haired. Archer paused. He tilted his head. The man looked familiar, and in the next second he knew why. He had seen this man in his dreams and carried his image with him every waking minute since finding that note in Josie’s Jeep.
Xavier Hernandez had finally made an appearance in the flesh.
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
It took him longer to get there than he had anticipated since he wasn’t driving the old car, but it had been a lovely ride nonetheless. So it was quite dark as he hitched his pack and picked his way through the forest. He had been feeling a little blue, a little lack-luster until that afternoon. Then the girl had made such a fuss, a wonderful fuss for the television people. Boy, didn’t she get everyone’s attention? Her method was a little awkward but her intent was spot on. That’s really what it was about, wasn’t it? A little recognition of the harm being done to so many. Well, that and a little retribution, and retribution was just another word for payback and that was just another word for justice. She was just too young to know how to exact her pound of flesh with grace and creativity. He had the advantage of time, hindsight and maturity to plan, and execute a plan, and that plan was going better than he ever could have imagined. Soon he would pull the PR trigger and he would be back in the game. And the women? Well, they’d be back home safe and sound but he would always be there, in their nightmares. That was perfect justice. Make ‘em sweat forever.
Expert Witness Page 23
