by M. Z. Kelly
The engine stops abruptly. She then hears a door slamming and movement inside the house. Then there’s a voice and she realizes it’s Lamech. He’s running through the house—screaming!
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The next morning Buck and I stopped by Ben Howard’s house. When he opened the door we saw Santa, aka Lou Burr, standing next to him.
“Lou looked me up yesterday and I asked him to stay the night,” Ben said, showing us inside.
“Nothing like a few beers and a couple dozen war stories to fill your evening,” Burr said.
We accepted an offer of coffee and took our cups to the patio where Bernie and Ben’s Bassett Hound, Harry, got reacquainted. The day had dawned foggy and cool, not atypical for mornings on the island.
“Heard you went to see Hopkins,” Burr said. Santa was wearing a blue shirt and white suspenders, that had trouble containing his ample girth.
Buck went over what Hopkins had told us, including his claim that a man matching the description of Harvey Brill had met him in a bar a couple of days before Angela Waters was murdered. He went on to say that it was possible Brill and Aster had worked together to frame Hopkins, with Aster providing an inadequate legal defense so that the condemned man would take the fall for the crime.
“I always thought it was strange that a guy like Aster represented Hopkins,” Burr said. He sipped his coffee, set the cup down. “I’d hate to see an asshole like Hopkins walk, but if he’s innocent, we won’t have much choice.”
I heard Bernie barking and looked over to see that he and Harry were chasing each other. “I think we’re a long way from having enough to overturn his conviction,” I said, looking back at the hefty detective. “Buck and I discussed the possibility that Hopkins might have also been on the island when the sex tape was made. It could be that he was the one holding the camera while Aster and Brill attacked Angela.”
“It’s possible,” Ben agreed. “Hopkins had priors for battery and sexual assault.”
“Were there any other suspects, anyone else you looked at for Angela’s murder?” Buck asked.
They both shook their heads. “Angela had a former boyfriend, but they’d been on the outs for over six months,” Ben said. “We talked to her manager at the dance club, the actors on the soap she worked on part-time, but no one had a motive.”
“We also had the smoking gun,” Burr said, “Namely Hopkins print on the business card in her purse.”
“Hopkins claims that Brill, or the guy he met at the bar, gave him the card when he asked him to go with him to the dance club,” I said. “Hopkins said he picked it up long enough to transfer a print and gave it back.”
“That was the only defense that came up at trial but the jury didn’t buy it.”
“Did Aster try very hard to sell it?”
The two detectives look at each other. Ben said, “Looking back now, I can’t really say that he did. Seemed a little strange at the time but I don’t think we thought much about it.”
Burr agreed with what Ben had said.
“Who was Hopkins living with at the time of his arrest?” I asked.
“A kid named Jackson Caldwell,” Burr said. “They’d been sharing a small apartment for a few weeks before his arrest. Caldwell had a couple of prior arrests for possession of meth, nothing else. He claimed he didn’t have any knowledge of the crime or Hopkins’ involvement.”
Buck looked at Ben Howard. “A couple of names have come up during our current investigation. A kid named Josh Robbins was dating one of the girls who was kidnapped. There’s also a security screener at the courthouse who abandoned his job right after the crimes. His name is Brian Green.”
“Don’t know Green,” Ben said. “But I think the Robbins kid’s father might be Lyndon Robbins. He’s got priors for drug dealing. He and the kid’s mother are separated, so I’m not sure if he’s still on the island.”
***
We’d spent the better part of an hour with Howard and Burr, not getting anything else to go on, before heading to the station. We then caught a break. We’d gotten a birthdate on Jackson Caldwell from the arrest reports on Hopkins and ran a record check.
Bernie trailed behind me as I walked into Buck’s office and showed him the printout. “He’s got several priors for assault, and one for a rape that was plea bargained down to sexual battery.”
“Is he still living in L.A.?”
“That’s the good part. I also ran a DMV check.” I handed over the printout. “Caldwell’s address of record is right here on Catalina. He’s got a suspended license for several infractions while riding his motorcycle.”
Buck brushed a hand through his hair, leaned back in his chair, and met my eyes. “Our shooter left the courthouse parking lot on the back of a motorcycle.”
“And Ben Howard mentioned a few days ago that Aster represented the members of a motorcycle club a few years back. Guess who the attorney of record was on all of Caldwell’s cases.”
Buck’s blue eyes brightened, his eyes drawing me in where I lost myself for a moment. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say, Clay Aster?”
“You got it.”
Lieutenant Sloan went with us to Jackson Caldwell’s house, probably because he said the press was on him like a swarm of bees, but also because he wanted to get away from Julie Spencer. He’d told us confidentially that his detective was constantly “riding his ass” about playing a bigger role in the investigation, especially with her partner going out on sick leave again. From what we understood, Baxter had a case of hemorrhoids. I wanted to say something about it being a natural condition brought on by him being an asshole, but kept my big mouth shut for once.
Sloan pulled to the curb about a block up from Caldwell’s house, a small single story with a yard full of weeds. There was an older model Ford in the driveway. We were in a rundown section of Avalon, not too far from where Josh Robbins lived. It occurred to me that Caldwell might be involved in what happened along with Robbins, and maybe Brian Green, but we had nothing linking the three subjects.
We watched the house for a couple of minutes but saw no activity other than a couple of neighbors down the street going to their cars and leaving.
“Somebody’s gonna need to cover the back,” Buck said as we came down the street. I had Bernie on his leash. My big dog was on full alert, sensing what was happening.
“I’ll do it,” Sloan offered. “Just let me know when you’re inside, clear.”
We knocked on the door, our hands on our weapons as we stood to the side of the doorway. After a moment, I heard some movement inside. The door creaked open a few inches. The fur on Bernie’s back lifted.
“What is it?” The woman was probably in her fifties. Mousy brown hair. Dark eyes. No makeup. It looked like she might have just gotten up.
Buck flashed his shield. “We’d like to come in for just a moment, ma’am.”
“Why?” She cut her eyes back to the inside of the house for an instant. It was a tell.
“Just a couple of questions about the neighbors,” Buck lied. If Caldwell was inside we didn’t want him to bolt.
She held her ground. “Can we talk here?”
“Could I have your name, please?”
She hesitated. “Diane…Diane Caldwell.”
“Mrs. Caldwell, we’ve had some reports of a little trouble in the area. It will only take a moment of your time.” Buck took a step forward, pushed the door open. I stepped inside right behind him with Bernie.
The woman said, “You can’t just come…”
Buck and I both turned, hearing the sound of a garage door opening, the roar of a motorcycle engine. By the time we were back on the porch, the cyclist was already down the driveway and roaring into the street. He skidded, regained control, and was disappearing around a corner by the time Lieutenant Sloan reached us in the front yard. Releasing Bernie to go after the accelerating motorcycle wasn’t an option.
“I’ll call it in,” Sloan said, trying to catch his breath
. “I’ll do the pursuit, you check the house.”
We went back inside where we found Caldwell’s mother locking a bedroom door. She turned to us, “You need to leave.”
“Not gonna happen, Mrs. Caldwell,” Buck said. “Where’d your son go?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. It’s none of your business anyway.”
“We need to take a look in the boy’s room.” He took a step toward the door.
“You can’t. It’s…I haven’t had a chance to clean it. You can come back later.”
I came over to her. “Listen, you can give us consent to search your son’s room or we can stay here and wait while we get a judge’s signature on a warrant. One way or another we’re going to get inside that room. It’s your call.”
She released a breath and coughed before lowering her eyes and stepping away from the door. She looked back at us. “I want you to know I’m not responsible for anything you find.”
I didn’t want any question to arise later about the legality of our search. “Just so we’re clear, are you giving us consent to search your son’s bedroom without a warrant?”
She sighed and nodded. “Yes.” She took out her keys and unlocked the door.
Before searching the bedroom, Buck and I did a cursory walk through the rest of the house, looking for weapons. When we didn’t find anything I instructed Diane Caldwell to have a seat on the sofa and met up with Buck in the bedroom.
“Anything interesting?” I asked.
Buck was standing in front of the closet and took a step back. “Yeah. Looks like our boy’s a cross dresser, planning to get married, and can’t decide on a gown.”
I moved forward, seeing there were several wedding gowns on hangers inside the closet. On a shelf above the dresses we found chains, some leather straps, and a pair of handcuffs.
I held up the cuffs, “Honeymoon preparations?”
Buck smiled. We moved over to a desk where there was a laptop. My partner opened a desk drawer and found a stack of unmarked DVD’s. He sat down, opened the computer, and inserted one of the disks. “Got a feeling this ain’t gonna be pretty.”
We watched, both in horror and fascination, as two men in blue hoods were seen with several girls. There were different scenes; some with the young women sitting together in a living room, others with the women lined up in a backyard, and some showing the women running through a wooded area before disappearing into the darkness. The recording ended with a marriage ceremony where one of the girls was dressed as a bride with the others acting as bridesmaids.
The wedding ceremony was presided over by one of the hooded men, with the other man, also in a hood, acting as the groom. The horrifying scenes ended with the bride being bludgeoned to death and then lowered into a shallow grave. The final image of the girl revealed the now familiar Glasgow Smile.
I heaved out a breath, the bile rising in my throat. “I don’t know if I’m up to it, but we need to see if our kidnap victims are in any of these DVD’s.” It looked like there were a half dozen to sort through.
Buck nodded. His complexion had lost most of its color. He must have realized that I wasn’t up to watching the videos and said, “I’ll do it.”
I thanked him and said, “I’ll call it in and get the CSI people over here.”
I went into the living room where Diane Caldwell was still sitting on the sofa. I came over to her and waited until her eyes came up to me.
“I don’t know anything about it,” she said, her eyes darting up and then falling away.
I took a step closer to her. “Who is he working with?”
“I don’t know. All I know is he comes and goes at all hours. He barely talks to me.”
“You’ve got one more chance to tell me what you know before I go to the DA, see that you’re charged with being an accessory to multiple murders.”
She stood up, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know anything, I swear.”
I went at her for several minutes before deciding that she was telling the truth. I had no doubt that Diane Caldwell knew what her son was doing but she’d ignored it, giving him tacit approval to commit multiple murders.
I turned away from her in disgust. A half hour later Buck came out of her son’s bedroom. He looked at me and said, “Nothing on our victims.”
I sighed in relief and said a prayer, both for the victims and the missing girls, at the same time knowing the clock was ticking faster now.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The sheriff’s department again sent a small army of CSI techies from the mainland to the island. They spent the rest of the day processing Jackson Caldwell’s room, his computer, and the DVD’s. There were a total of seven victims on the disks, three of whom had tentatively been identified as the girls from the Garrett Ranch where we’d earlier discovered the three bodies. There was nothing in the DVD’s to identify their killers or the new location where the victims were being held. All the techies could tell from the videos was that the house was also in a rural area surrounded by woods.
Caldwell had slipped away on his motorcycle from Sloan and the island patrol units. His mother had given us some local spots where she said he hung out, including a bar called The Sunset. She said that his motorcycle club, The League, frequented the establishment so we sent an unmarked car to watch the place.
I was exhausted from the week’s events and had no desire to attend the policeman’s ball set for tonight, but I’d made a promise and felt compelled to go. Just before leaving to get ready for the event, Buck and I stopped by the station and met with Sloan to recap what we knew. The lieutenant was already dressed in black tie for the affair and looked about as comfortable as a teenage boy getting ready for his first dance.
“You two better hit the showers when we’re done here,” Sloan said. “The ball starts at eight and all the top brass will be there.”
“I’ll just wash behind my ears and throw on a new pair of pants,” Buck said. He turned to me raising his brows.
“I’m not sure you’ll recognize me in my costume,” I said, cursing under my breath that I’d let my friends talk me into dressing up for the event. He and Sloan gave it their best try but I refused to tell them what I was wearing.
“So let’s recap what we know,” Sloan said, getting back to business. “That idiot reporter Feckle has the media so stirred up about our case that I wouldn’t be surprised if the sheriff calls the feds in.”
I let Buck take the lead in recapping what we knew. “Let’s start with the Blue Hoods. We know that the sex club, or whatever you want to call it, goes back several years, at least to the time Clay Aster and Harvey Brill were involved. We also know from what Carly Lucia told us that she was kidnapped and tortured by Brill and some others, but was lucky enough to fall into favor with Brill and escape whatever fate the other women suffered back then. Brill made Lucia his personal sex slave and eventually sent her to school to become a secretary for him and Aster.”
“A couple of years ago, Angela Mae Waters came to the island for a little weekend getaway,” I said, picking up the story. “Angela was kidnapped and then tortured, probably by Aster and Brill, before either being released or escaping back to the mainland.
“The attorneys were no doubt afraid Waters would talk about what happened, so they set up Collin Ray Hopkins to take the fall for her murder. Hopkins might have been chosen because Jackson Caldwell had rented an apartment with him for a few weeks. He likely told Aster, who’d represented him and his motorcycle buddies on several cases, that his roommate was perfect for the frame. Hopkins also had a prior for sexual assault, so he looked like he’d come right out of central casting to play the part of a killer.”
Buck took over again, “So it’s likely that Brill met Hopkins in a bar, got his fingerprint on a business card where Angela worked, and planted the evidence in her purse. Angela was then murdered, her cause of death the same as our recent victims. Aster then manipulated his way into becoming Hopkins’ attorney. He put on a half-hearted
defense and his defendant ended up on death row for the killing.”
“Which brings us to recent events,” Sloan said.
I nodded. “The Blue Hoods are still operating. Before his death, Harvey Brill, and maybe Clay Aster, was paying Derek Hall and at least one other person to go out and find girls for the sex games.
“But Jackson Caldwell, and possibly whoever else is involved, began to worry Clay Aster. The attorney put in a new alarm system in his office, got a gun, and he gave his legal assistant, Hal Quinton, some evidence to be released if he was harmed. As we know, Aster had good reason to worry because both he and Brill were murdered.”
“So at this point all we know is that Jackson Caldwell is probably one of the guys in the Blue Hoods, and he’s working with someone else,” Sloan said, summarizing where we stood. “We’ve got a BOLO out on him and are set up outside the bar where he’s been known to hang out. It’s a small island. He’s got to surface sooner or later.”
“Let’s hope it’s sooner,” I said, at the same time glancing at the clock on the wall. I turned to Buck. “I’ve got to go slip into a costume and become a character from a 1970’s television drama and you’d better go wash behind your ears. See you both later tonight.”
***
A couple of hours later my friends and I pulled up in front of Clowney’s Funeral Home. I felt like a complete idiot in my costume and for a moment contemplated going inside the parlor, finding a coffin, and climbing in.
“I must say that you’re looking divine tonight, Angels,” Peter Roth said, sliding into the backseat of the limo we’d rented for the ride to the policeman’s ball.
“You don’t scrub up too bad yourself,” Bosley,” Mo said. My friend was dressed as an extra-large, African-American version of the actress Kate Jackson from the TV show Charlie’s Angels. Mo went on, “Nobody’d know you sleep in a coffin and put underwear on dead women.”
Roth smiled in his roguish way and adjusted his bowtie, maybe trying to imitate the character, Bosley, from the TV show. “Just so you know I also have a reputation for removing women’s underwear while they’re still living.” His leer slid over to Natalie and me.
