Angeles Crest

by P. J. Zander

  The captain looked at the lonely Christmas tree standing next to his in-box. His wife had been after him to participate more in the office decorating, and the foot-tall, fake tree with blinking mini-lights was the result. Baby steps toward a more congenial me. The rest of the homicide group was awe-struck, and he'd had a hard time living it down. He turned his head and stared blankly out the window.

  The Homicide Bureau sat in a business park located in the proud City of Commerce, about a dozen freeway miles southeast of downtown Los Angeles. Although the County Fire Department was close by, there was a hodgepodge of mostly one- and two-story buildings housing businesses and government offices in the vicinity. A majority of the structures set along this section of Rickenbacker Road were indistinguishable from each other, larger and smaller versions constructed of concrete with vanilla facades. The well-kept lawns and gentle curves in the tree-lined road softened the industrial look of the place.

  As bad as the Lomita murder and, for that matter, all the others had been, no case had stuck with Quintana like one that occurred two months before—the Occidental College student taken from her rented house one October night. There had been no sign of her since and no witnesses. They had sweated the gardener for hours. But there was no evidence he had a thing for the young woman, no indication they ever spoke more than two words to each other, and in the end, they had no motive. They also had brought in a lifetime friend who’d been her love interest for a few years. The detectives hammered at him, but the jealousy motive four years after breaking up seemed unlikely. They figured he was leveling with them. So, there the sheriffs were, two months down the road with a big bucket of nothing.

  That was the case that Quintana couldn’t shake. He’d go home at night and see his daughter, a senior at Alhambra High set to follow her older brother to UCLA, studying like her life depended on it. He and Marcie had either done well or lucked out with their two intelligent, industrious kids. And Alyssa was daddy’s little girl. He wished he could protect her always, but he needed some say in her life to do that, and her life was rapidly becoming her own. Soon she would leave the nest and experience all the good and the bad that were out there. He could only hope the bad never became the worst imaginable. Jolene Ojibway’s disappearance was the first case of his career that was too close. The thing was he knew the Oxy student and her mother, and the most important man in the young woman’s life.

  He moved his gaze from the window, which framed shade trees pierced by needles of sunlight that highlighted another case file on his desk. There was a knock, and he raised his eyes to see a young deputy sheriff.

  “Excuse me, sir. There’s a gentleman with a lady out here who asked me to tell you that Crusader Rabbit should . . . ,” he paused and there was the sound of whispering, “that goddamned Crusader Rabbit should have partnered with you, not Sheriff John.” He offered an embarrassed, quizzical smile as behind him the doorway filled with the visitor.

  Without looking up Quintana knew immediately from the reference to the fifties kids’ television show the man interrupting his day. “Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you.”

  The deputy inched out of the way as Rusty Banyan moved into the captain’s office, then ushered in Raylene Ojibway. Quintana walked around the desk to hug her.

  “Ray, it’s good to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m okay, Ernie. This big guy keeps me going.” She returned the hug but he could feel it was an effort for her.

  “I wish we could do more,” was all he could think of saying.

  She gave a little smile, then turned toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to your guy talk. Be waiting out in the reception area.” Quintana felt a twinge of sorrow seeing her touch Banyan’s arm as she left.

  He turned to shake his hand. While Banyan’s hand was much larger than the sheriff’s, the latter had inherited those of a brick-mason. They enjoyed each other’s grip, a handshake that went back nearly fifty years.

  “Well, I hope those were comforting thoughts, Ernie. How’s my favorite lawman doing, anyway?”

  “What thoughts? Oh, yeah, just before you came in. I’m fair enough, Banyan. But, what’s with the . . .?” He moved his index finger back and forth in front of his own forehead.

  “Oh, you like the beauty work my dermatologist has etched on my mug. He says I’m paying the price for all those years out in the sun since way back when.”

  “For a moment I thought maybe some terrorists had been questioning you and your answers weren’t to their liking.” The five laser marks in a line from the center of Banyan’s forehead around his right eyebrow to his cheekbone were more or less the size of cigarette burns. He indicated the chair behind the visitor who, before he sat down, handed him a plastic bag.

  “Nice touch,” Banyan deadpanned, gesturing at the miniature tree. “What was the specific ultimatum that got you to bring it in?”

  “Early retirement, loss of rank, loss of pension, loss of sleeping arrangement. Nothing significant.”

  “In keeping with your Christmas spirit, I offer this exquisite gift.”

  Quintana eyed him suspiciously as he opened the bag. He pulled out a neatly folded green tee-shirt with gold writing across the front: Not good at hints. Use 2 x 4. He smiled at the sentiment. “You’ve outdone yourself. Sheriff’s colors, even. Thank you. Can I assume this is meant to be worn around the house?”

  “Those were to be my exact instructions.” They each got a mild laugh, followed by a few seconds of comfortable silence.

  “You sound pretty damn good considering you’ve been out of pocket for two months. How goes it?”

  “Knowing where I’ve been, it feels good to be back. You know Ray was lying when she said I keep her going. Been useless. Hardly answered my phone, really didn’t leave my house much up until the past week or so. Just a black hole. She’s been on her own, literally. I was one sad case.”

  That was all Quintana was going to get out of Banyan about his tailspin.

  “I’ve spoken to Raylene only a couple times since October. How is she doing?”

  Banyan’s face turned serious. “Oh, you know Ray. She has reserves of strength you and I couldn’t hold a candle to. But I think the not-knowing is beginning to wear her down a bit.”

  The captain nodded his head. While his friend didn’t direct it to him as a criticism, he sensed the undertone. Or, perhaps he just felt culpable. Ineffective. “I feel real bad about it, Banyan. No witnesses. No motive. No evidence. We just don’t have anything to go on. Lieutenant Meeks has one detective working it, but, frankly, it’s stalled.” He waited a moment because he’d guessed why Banyan was here. He couldn’t blame him but had held out false hope that his friend was going to stay retired after he threw in the towel three years earlier when he’d finished working a cold case murder that almost destroyed him. That wasn’t going to happen, not with Jolene gone. Then, with this recent debilitation he thought maybe there was a chance of a somewhat longer delay. “And, you know I appreciate your staying out of it and letting us do our work. I’m sure that’s been very difficult.”

  Banyan gave him a long, hard stare. “Well, Ernie, that’s why I’m here. I haven’t been worth a shit lately, and I had no choice but to let you guys have at it. But it’s been two months and from what you said, you don’t have anything new. So, I’m just going to have to get involved. There are a few angles I’d like to work, resurrect a couple trails. You know.”

  “Now, I can’t run interference for you with the Commander or the Chief of Detectives. I’ve got too goddamn many chunks out of my ass from doing that. If I could turn you loose, I would. Just can’t.” Quintana caught the disarming smile and knew he’d lost.

  “Hey, amigo, I know I’m a pain in your rear, but I didn’t come to ask. Just letting you know. Anything I turn up, who do you want me to feed it to?”

  “Back up. What angles are you talking about, exactly?”

  “I’m going back to square one. Give the scene a look. Maybe se
e if I can scare up some people that don’t know they know something. That sort of thing.”

  “Please humor me, Banyan. Don’t use scare. When it comes out of your mouth, some peace officers might envision things going south fast.” He observed the frown. “I’m just saying.”

  “I’ll take that to mean you’re in my corner, as usual.” Banyan grinned. “So, you want me to contact only you with what I find?”

  He sighed in resignation. “Me, directly. If for some reason you can’t reach me, you know Meeks or Yanchunas. They can keep me up to date. But so help me, Banyan, if your work starts turning things to shit, I’m going to have to rein you in. You understand that, right?”

  “Of course, Ernie. I’ve never intended to make your life miserable.”

  Whether it was the tone in his voice or the way he seemed far too comfortable in the chair, Quintana knew that Banyan wasn’t finished and was going to press him for something else. And he had a pretty good idea what that was.

  “Now I have to ask a huge favor. You know I wouldn’t if it weren’t—”

  “Don’t ask me, Banyan. I know what you’re doing and I understand how you feel about Ray, but I can’t give you anything more. I give you an inch and you take a mile. It could cost me.”

  “You know you don’t have enough detectives in the division to handle the load, let alone up at Crescenta Valley Station. I can be an asset, just like I’ve been before, and you know it. At least on this one. Anything I turn up, you’ll get it and you can turn your guys loose. I just need to see those first reports, comb through those details.” He paused, “And you’re right, I have to do this for Raylene.”

  The detective took a deep breath. Banyan was right about the workload. A thousand murders a year and a hundred cops to handle them. With the remote roadside slayings, random body-dumping and suicides, let alone the vehicle accidents, he worried that the Crest would start living up to that saying over in San Bernardino County passed on among their deputy sheriffs over the years: if all the bodies buried there stood up, it would look like a forest. And Angeles Crest was only part of the LASD’s area that stretched clear out to Catalina Island. He was also right about being a good hand to have around. Quintana could count on his old friend who’d come through for him on several occasions. He knew, though, that in saying that he was doing it for Raylene, he probably needed to do it more for himself. Banyan carried this one. It was on him, however unwarranted. He packed it in every fiber. Doing productive work on the case might be cathartic, but he doubted Banyan would find redemption.

  “Okay, okay. Against my better judgment.”

  “Thanks, Ernie.”

  “You know, Banyan, as far back as we go, why do I sometimes feel like I’m being sandbagged?”

  “I don’t know. Must be paranoia.”

  Quintana half smiled and shook his head. “Let me set you up in the conference room across the hall.”

  “I’ll get Raylene.”

  “You sure you want her in there looking at that stuff?”

  “She made it very clear. Whatever I do today, she wants to be part of it and won’t be dissuaded.

  The sheriff gave him a dubious look.

  FIVE

  They sat at a small rectangular conference table and waited for Quintana to bring in the reports. The door to the conference room was open and Banyan saw two young men dressed in coats and ties enter the captain’s office while he was pulling the files. Apparently, one of them in particular had been lobbying for some time to be put on Jolene’s case as a kind of launching pad for assignment to Homicide. He wanted out of Fraud and Cyber Crimes. The exchange made it obvious to Banyan that Quintana didn’t have much use for him.

  “Homicide’s not a goddamn proving ground, McEvoy, and frankly, you don’t have it.”

  “Captain, if you had a good detective on this case, you’d have solved it,” he said, grinning at his cohort.

  “Get out of my office before I shorten your career. Both of you.”

  The two detectives moved to the doorway. Upon seeing Banyan at the table across the hall, McEvoy said, “I suppose that old fart is one of your new detectives.” Then he caught sight of Raylene. “Wait a minute. She must be the vic's mother.” Whispering not quietly enough to his partner, he said, “Dead ringer.” With no sincerity he added, “Sorry about your daughter, ma’am.”

  At first, Banyan was going to let it slide. And if it had been just about him, he would have. But then he shook his head. This was about Ray, and Jo. “Raylene, I’ll be right back.”

  Quintana, who had come to the door when he heard McEvoy’s remarks, saw the look in Banyan’s eyes and mumbled, “Oh, shit.” He held his hand up for Raylene to stay put. “Banyan, wait. Don’t—”

  But he was already three giant strides down the corridor. “Detective McEvoy, hold up there.”

  The two deputy sheriffs turned around to face him. As he approached, he pointed his finger at the other one and told him he needed to talk to his partner. Then in front of him, Banyan just glared at the defiant eyes, and let the anger build.

  “What is it, old man?”

  “This.” With one quick move, he grabbed the detective’s testicles with his left hand, lifting him up on his toes and back against the wall. His right hand was free for fending off would be helpers, and for emphasis if needed. Quintana had come down the hallway and screened off the other one. McEvoy, not a small man, froze, wide-eyed and gave off short, high-pitched pants of agony.

  “Now you listen, you little dickhead,” Banyan said in a voice only the detective could hear. “I’ll chalk up what you just said in there to stupidity. Because if I thought you were trying to be some kind of funny man, you wouldn’t be feeling any pain right now. You’d be down for the count and Captain Quintana would have to arrest me for assault and battery. You understand?” He applied another notch of pressure.

  McEvoy nodded rapidly.

  Quintana, looking up and down the hallway, put his hand on Banyan’s shoulder. “Come on; you’ve made your point. Let’s get back to my office.”

  His stare down into McEvoy’s eyes didn’t waiver. “This episode is a done deal. You agree?”

  McEvoy nodded again. The nutcracker opened and he slumped against the wall, doubled over and clutching his groin.

  #

  “Jesus, Banyan. I’m doing you a goddamn favor and you pull a stunt like that out there? You and I are just lucky no one saw. At least I hope to Christ they didn’t.” He turned his head. “Oh, sorry, Ray.”

  She had walked back in his office and returned a bemused look.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have. Especially here. But you know the guy had it coming. You know what he was doing. He just needed a little aversion therapy to open his mind some.”

  “Rusty, what did you do now?”

  “Oh, I think I persuaded a detective not to ask Captain Quintana for a job.”

  All the sheriff could do was shake his head and meet Banyan’s impish grin with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Okay, this is what I can do for you.” He pointed to a foot-tall stack of file folders. “I’ve pulled what might have the most salient details, plus some that are obscure enough for you to have to connect some dots. You know these files can’t leave, so I can give you one hour in that conference room.” He glanced at Raylene, then back at Banyan.

  “This might not be a good thing for you, Ray. While he’s in there, how about a cup of coffee?”

  With a look of resolve, she said, “I’ll be all right, Ernie. Honest.”

  Banyan felt a tightening in his throat, stinging in his eyes. The dignity and strength which he’d first seen so long ago was even more extraordinary now under unfathomable circumstances. He picked up the folders and waited for her to lead him across the hall into the room. Shutting the door, he saw Quintana, shoulders slumped, standing in the doorway to his office, his face toward them, but his eyes focused way off somewhere. Banyan imagined the captain saw all the murders over the ye
ars, the ones being committed in L.A. County right now, and those that would happen tomorrow as sure as the sun rises. He hoped like hell Jolene’s wasn’t among them.

  Somewhere in the reports he knew there had to be leads. Somewhere in the details the devil was sitting there smiling. Could this have been a random home invasion or a burglary gone bad with no ties between Jo and the scum that did it? He doubted it. Such crimes usually ended with the victim being left at the scene, sometimes unharmed . . . sometimes dead. If he accepted the premise that it wasn’t random, then she was targeted. They knew her or knew of her, maybe something about her. So, what was the motive? What was it about her that caused them a problem and why was kidnapping their solution? The fact that there hadn’t been a ransom demand after two months was chilling. They’d simply removed Jolene.

  Now reading the reports for the first time, he began recalling Detective Marchessa’s initial impressions at the crime scene the day after Jo was taken. Several facts were of immediate interest. Investigators had found her loaded .22 automatic in the night stand next to the bed. The drawer had not been locked, and the key was on her key ring which was found on the floor across the room.

  “Raylene, we know how well she could handle a pistol.”

  “Sure. I taught her young, before high school, how to shoot both a twenty gauge shotgun and the twenty-two. Living in the mountains, I wanted her to know guns. She was safe and confident with firearms. She could use the pistol.”

  “It was found in the bedside table. The drawer was unlocked. Do you think she’d keep it locked up at night, only open the drawer at the time she needed it?”