by Jon Mills
She snorted and pushed out of the vehicle into a crowd pressing up against uniformed officers. Microphones were jabbed forward, and cameras flashed.
“Ma’am, stay back.”
A familiar face shot into view from her left side nearly taking her eye out with a microphone. It was Freddy Garbrant. A sleazy journalist for the San Francisco Examiner. He was notorious for headlines that twisted the truth and painted the department as a bunch of bungling idiots. The only idiot was him.
“Detective Hudson, good to see you again, do you think I could get a moment of your time?”
“I’m a little busy right now.”
“Some are saying this resembles the Zodiac Killer’s first murder, any comment on the video that was uploaded online?”
“What video?” Romero interjected.
Hudson squeezed her eyes tight and groaned. It didn’t help that Romero walked right into that one.
“I knew it. You guys don’t even know yet, do you?”
“We just arrived.”
“And no one brought you up to speed?”
“Well if you would get out of the way, perhaps we could do our job.”
“Right,” he said backing up fast while continuing to pepper her with questions. “Some are saying the Zodiac is back. Can you comment?”
“If he is, he must be around here with his walker, why don’t you go look for him and stop bugging us?” Romero said putting his arm out and pushing him off to one side.
Freddy grumbled. “You know, showing a little respect goes a long way.”
Romero turned and flashed him the bird. “How’s that?”
“Really, Romero? That’s what he wants. You’re just adding fuel to the fire.”
He sniffed hard and spat a wad of phlegm. “Guy riles me up. One of these days I’m gonna knock him on his ass.”
“How we doing, Charley?”
An officer fell in line. Charley Whitaker was closing in on thirty, African American, short, overweight and his hat always looked like it barely fit. Despite his lack of athleticism, he was still one of the best officers in the department. The guy had a crazy knack for remembering faces, dates, times, anything that was put in front of him. He’d only been with the department two years and rumors were already circulating that he would make detective after three years on patrol.
“They’re like a wild pack of wolves.” He blew out his cheeks looking red in the face as he tried to get them behind the tape. He turned towards Romero. “Hey Romero, is that a new suit?”
“See, I told you, Hudson.”
“Oh yeah, all the ladies love you,” she said ducking under the tape as Charley held it up.
“What’s she’s on about?” Charley asked.
Romero shrugged. “She’s just jealous.”
Hudson snorted. “Anyway, what we got?”
She could see in the distance a four-door, silver Chevy Malibu with doors open, and two victims covered up with white sheets.
“A white male and female, late teens. The car belongs to the kid. No witnesses so far. A jogger was out here this morning around five and said she saw the two victims and called it in on her cell. Three shots were fired, one into the top of the vehicle, another through the back window causing it to shatter and the third shot was into the male’s head. Looks like execution style. Seven more shots were fired at the girl as she tried to run, two of them missed but the other five hit her. Looks as if he moved her body from over there to where it is now. Staging, from what I can tell. No money was taken. Keys are still in the ignition. The vehicle was found still running. We got zero tire tracks, and no weapon found.”
There were several officers combing the area looking for anything that might have been tossed nearby. It was always the same heading into a homicide. It was a chaotic scene that she had to rein in fast before everyone and their uncle tainted it.
“Were you the first on scene?”
“No, Sanchez was.”
“Find him, Charley, I want to speak to him. Oh, and what about the ME?”
“He’s been notified, he’s on his way.”
She shook her head. No wonder the media thought they were a bunch of bumbling fools. How the hell had they got wind of this before them? She turned and shouted back to him. “Charley, what about this video? The media mentioned something about it?”
Charley jogged back. “Seems whoever did this, filmed the entire murder using some kind of body cam and then uploaded it to multiple video sites online, along with distributing it to every media outlet in the Bay Area. I believe Sanchez has a copy of it.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene. Romero was crouched down lifting a sheet and looking at the first victim.
“Such a good-looking girl, what a shame.”
Hudson took out her phone and took snapshots as she walked around the vehicle. She tried envisioning what had occurred, how it had gone down. She smiled as she came around to the front where a group of officers were discussing statements they’d taken from the public.
“Hey guys.”
“Morning, Hudson.”
“You seen Sanchez?”
They looked off towards the crowd. “Saw him in the crowd a few minutes ago, not sure where he is now.”
She gave a nod and continued taking a few more snapshots. When she made it over to the second victim’s body, Romero was shaking his head. “Point blank straight behind the ear.” He got up and looked off towards the girl. “This is textbook. Look at the way the bodies are lined up.” He motioned towards the car. “Then we have the shot to the top of the vehicle, the one through the back window and the positioning of the bodies. Remind you of anything?”
She nodded. “The first confirmed murder by the Zodiac back in 1968.”
“What goes through some wacko’s head to reenact one of his murders, film and upload it online?”
“Someone looking for attention,” Hudson said crouching down and taking a look at the kid. “Anyone ID the victims yet?” she asked then turned and shouted over to one of the other cops. “Matt. We got an ID on these kids?”
“Yeah, let me find Sanchez.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Bloody Sanchez was a nightmare — a real cowboy that worked to the beat of his own drum. He’d already been given several warnings for screwing up crime scenes. She thought by now he would have been canned but lo-and-behold, he was still with them.
“Ma’am, you can’t go in there.”
“That’s my boy,” a female’s voice wailed hysterically.
Hudson lowered the sheet and looked off into the distance. An officer had his arm around a middle-aged woman, good looking, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was half the size of the officer yet he was struggling to restrain her.
“Romero, check on Sanchez while I go speak with this lady.”
She got up and headed over to the tape. Tears streamed down her face.
“Tom, I’ll handle this,” she said, slipping under the tape. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Dana Grant. I want to see my kid now.”
“And you will but right now this is an active investigation and we can’t have you going in there and tainting the crime scene.”
“But that’s my boy. That’s my boy!” she yelled, tears streaming off her face.
She took a hold of her by the arms. “Listen. What’s his name?”
It took her a few seconds to comprehend what she was saying before giving a response.
“Jason. Jason Grant.”
Although she wasn’t in the habit of peppering a victim’s parents with questions at the scene of the incident, the sooner they knew what might have led up to this the quicker they could nail the sonofabitch.
“When did you last see him?”
Her eyes were glazed over.
“What?”
“Jason. When did you last see him?”
“Last night. He um...” She shook her head as if trying to get her mind to think straight.
“Look, come w
ith me, I’ll get you a cup of coffee or water.” She didn’t want to go but Hudson eventually convinced her and led her towards a police cruiser.
* * *
The detective opened a rear door and had her take a seat while one of the officers was instructed to get her a drink. With her chin down, Dana pulled out tissues and blew into them. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t get herself to stop crying. Her reaction was moderate compared to when Roger broke the news to her. At first it was disbelief, then shock and she became hysterical, barely able to get up off the ground. Roger tried to get her to stay until police arrived but she had to see for herself. It wouldn’t be real until she saw his body.
“Who would have done this? He was a good kid.”
“That’s what we are going to find out. What can you tell me about last night?”
The detective pulled out a pad of paper and pen.
“He said he was taking Melissa out for dinner and a movie and he would be back late. He’s studying at the university.”
“Melissa?”
“Melissa Gilbert.”
She scribbled the name down.
“Which university?”
“UCSF.”
“That’s where he met her?”
She nodded.
“Do you know if he was planning on meeting up with anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did he mention he might bring her here?”
She shook her head again. Hudson rested an arm on top of the open door.
“Did he mention if he or she had problems with anyone?”
“No. Not at all. Jason got along with everyone. That’s just the kid he was. You know, he… really had turned things around.”
“Turned around? So he’s been in trouble before?”
“For fighting but that was years ago, and we were living elsewhere.”
“What about drug use?”
“Detective. My kid was like any other. He dabbled, but he wasn’t hanging with the wrong crowd. Over the past few years, he’d shown real maturity. Taken steps towards creating a life for himself. Hell, he was taking criminal justice so he could become a cop. That’s why none of this makes sense.”
An officer returned carrying with him a bottle of cold water. Hudson handed it to her, and she unscrewed the top and chugged it back fast as if she was putting out a fire. She gasped and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Hudson gave her a moment. She noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
“Jason’s father, he still in the picture?”
“He’s dead. A long time ago.”
“An accident?”
She paused before replying. “Murdered.”
Hudson tapped the pen against the pad of paper. “And you don’t…”
“Listen…”
“Detective Hudson.”
“… Detective Hudson, I know you are trying to determine if this was an act of vengeance over something Jason or myself was involved in but…” Her head turned staring off into the crowd as if perhaps recalling something of significance.
“What is it, Ms. Grant?”
She swallowed hard. “Nothing. I… look, when I can see Jason?”
“Soon. One last question. How did you hear about your son’s death?”
“The vid—”
Hudson squeezed her eyes tight. “The video, right.”
She was beginning to think she was the only one who hadn’t seen this damn video. Then she realized, Dana had witnessed her own kid’s murder. Oh Jesus, she thought bringing a hand up over the lower half of her face. She turned and asked Tom to stay with her while she went to speak with Sanchez. She needed to see this video even though she didn’t want to. In her line of work, she saw enough dead bodies, and though eventually cops like her became numb to it, it still affected her. Not as bad as it used to, but she wasn’t cold to violent acts.
Romero had found Sanchez. He had a cigarette sticking out the corner of his mouth when she came over. The first thing she did was snatch it out, toss it down and crush it below her boot. He opened his mouth as if to protest but she didn’t give him a chance.
“Next time, there won’t be a warning. You are already skating on thin ice. Now you want to tell me what you touched when you arrived here?”
He got this scowl on his face like he was sucking a sour candy. “I touched nothing. If anything is missing, either the murderer took it, the jogger or one of the media.”
“Media?”
“There was a crew from the San Francisco Examiner here when I arrived.”
Freddy Garbrant. She would need an officer to make sure he had taken anything before he left.
“And what about this video?”
“Oh man, I hope you have a strong stomach.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “The video sites have been contacted to take it down but you know how these things work. Once it's up there, copies of copies are made and it's now showing up all over the net. The days of shutting out media are long gone. There are no more gatekeepers for these nutjobs to break through.” He handed off his phone with the video already set up. She hit play and her stomach sank.
Chapter 3
COLORADO
Life between jobs had greatly improved. There was only so much wandering a person could do before they started to lose their mind. With all the money he’d made from taking jobs he’d purchased a property in Colorado. It was his refuge. When he wasn’t tracking someone, he’d retreat to a nest located just a twelve-minute drive from the historic resort town of Telluride. It was home to one of the premier ski resorts in the world — not that he’d had the time to get in any skiing. For the most part he lived in seclusion at the mountain hideaway that spanned 298 acres and provided incredible views of rolling hills and forest trails.
The last owner had trouble selling it because he couldn’t find anyone with enough money to cover the exorbitant asking price, of course there was the fact that it was remote but that suited Jack fine. He wasn’t much of a people person, and armed with that knowledge, he managed to haggle and negotiate down the hefty asking price.
Over the past few years it had become the one thing that felt secure in his life. Every time he returned, whether by private helicopter or by car, he always felt a sense of peace, and detachment from the war that raged inside him. It was like he became a different person. The tension melted away as he took up a slower pace of life.
The Ford pickup truck wound its way up the one mile of private driveway. Jack brought the window down and let the crisp Colorado air fill his lungs. Stretched out either side of the driveway were tall aspen trees, all of which were a spectacular, fiery yellow. At a distance it looked like someone had painted them into the landscape. As Jack got closer to the A-shaped structure made from stone and cedar, a smile flickered on his face. It was a stunning 10,000-square-foot home with four bedrooms and six bathrooms. It had a gym, a library, a recreation room, and a sports court for tennis or basketball, and its own helipad. Sure, he could have bought an inconspicuous little shack that would have cost him a fraction of the price but he’d spent the better half of his life living in squalor.
He parked, got out and stretched his limbs. Jack grabbed the duffel bag from the bed of the truck and went inside. Immediately he was greeted by the sight of warmth. The bleached cedar timbers, dovetail joinery and Colorado stone gave it all the charm that anyone might expect from a fancy lodge in the mountains. He tossed the bag and headed into a top-of-the-line chef’s kitchen and scooped a beer from the fridge. Twisting the cap, he walked over to the living area where he took a seat in a cozy chair and basked in the sight of 14,000-foot peaks and an evergreen forest.
To some the silence would have been agonizing but to him it was bliss.
Being able to turn off the noise and relax had become a blessing.
The seasons were once again changing, and with it the temperatures had dropped. He started a fire and went about taking a hot shower before preparing a meal. He was lookin
g forward to sleeping in a real bed, not one that was flea-ridden. Some of the motels he’d stayed in weren’t exactly ideal but they were perfect for staying low-key.
In the shower, steam fogged up the glass as hot water poured over his body and he watched it spiral down the drain. Regardless of whether or not he agreed with him, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Hanns had said. It bugged him. It wasn’t the act of killing that bothered him but the comparison to someone who took pleasure in it. Killing wasn’t fun, it was a necessity; it came with the territory of what he did and for that he sought no one’s forgiveness; neither did he need to justify it. It was justified in its own way. As he mulled it over, he heard the phone ring. Hold on, he muttered as if they could hear him. Jack slipped on his way out of the shower, grabbed a towel and slid across the tiled floor before snatching up the phone.
It was John Dalton, an old friend from Los Angeles. He headed up a mission that catered to the unfortunate, the down-and-outs and those lost in the world of drug use. It had been a long time since he’d seen him but they spoke regularly.
“Dalton, you think I can call you back?”
“Actually…”
Before he could get the words out, Jack hung up. He towel dried, and slipped into a pair of black jeans and a tight-fitting white V-neck before heading down to the living area and stoking the fire. It didn’t take long for the place to warm up. After collecting his unfinished beer and checking his messages, he called Dalton back.
“You know, Dalton, for a man of the cloth, you—”
Dalton cut him off. “Jack. You sitting down?”
He frowned catching an edge to his voice. “What is it?”
He heard Dalton take a deep breath on the other end. “I received a phone call this morning from a lady going by the name of Dana Grant.”
Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Dana?”
“Apparently, a couple of years back the FBI told her you’d been here. She was trying to find you. Now, don’t worry, I didn’t give her your number because, well… you know…”
“What did you say?”
There was a long pause. Dalton knew all about his relationship with Dana. How he’d met her after getting out of prison, and his last job for the mob. He knew what she’d meant to him — both her and Jason. There was little that Dalton didn’t know.
