“I see,” Getty said calmly, as Silverman took a practice swing. “And how did you respond?”
“I told her the allegation was absurd,” Silverman replied, as the swing completed itself. “And Veronica told Lee to take a hike.”
“This feels like the opening move in a game of political chess,” Getty said. “I’ll bet Corso is behind it.”
“Maybe,” Silverman allowed. “But maybe not. If Corso had something solid, he’d send cops to arrest us and issue a press release ten minutes later.”
Getty knew there was some truth in that. But she also knew that such things can be complicated. Perhaps Corso knew something, or thought he knew something, but the DA was hesitant. If so, the police chief might be trying to spook Silverman and her as well.
Silverman’s club made a whirring sound as it cut through the air. That was followed by a loud thwack as the driver came into contact with the ball and sent it sailing down the course. It looked like a good shot at first. Then a sea breeze hit the ball, and everything changed. Silverman swore as the white dot vanished into the trees. Was that a bad omen? Getty feared it was.
• • •
After returning to LA from Camp Pendleton, Lee had gone to see Jenkins, played the Camacho tape for him, and requested permission for a raid. Following a talk with Corso, Jenkins said, “Yes,” and Operation Mole Hole was born. That was about 8:00 P.M. The next five hours had been spent creating a plan and going over logistics. Then Lee went home to grab four hours of sleep before returning to the office at seven o’clock.
So despite the fact that it was Saturday, more than half of the S.I.S. detectives were in the office. And for good reason. Maybe the whack job living under the cemetery in Compton was the Bonebreaker, and maybe he wasn’t. But the possibility was enough to justify a maximum effort. And as the lead detective on the case, Lee was scheduled to give the other participants a briefing at nine.
That was pressure enough . . . But Lee was dealing with feelings of guilt as well. Because when she checked voice mail the night before there had been a message from Kane. “Hi, hon . . . Sorry I missed you. Take care out there. Click.” It was all very casual, intentionally so, and made her feel terrible. But she couldn’t provide the moral support Kane needed until the raid was over. Would he understand?
The question went unanswered as Lee gathered her presentation materials and made her way down the central corridor to the largest conference room the Street Services Garage had. It was already half-full, and more people continued to arrive as she prepared to speak. The crowd included patrol officers from the Compton area, the SWAT team, and a delegation from Technical Services.
Chief Corso, Deputy Chief Jenkins, and Lieutenant Wolfe were among the last people to take their seats. A sure sign that they’d been in a meeting of their own minutes earlier. About what? About whether this is the real deal, Lee thought to herself. And how to harvest the credit if there is any—and how to avoid being blamed if something goes wrong. Was that fair? No, probably not. And what difference did it make? None, insofar as she was concerned. Nailing the Bonebreaker would be its own reward.
Jenkins stood and turned to look at the audience. “Okay, people . . . You know why we’re here. Detective Lee is going to brief you on what we know, what we don’t know, and the way this raid will go down. So listen up. And remember,” Jenkins added, “Operation Mole Hole is top secret. This suspect may or may not be the Bonebreaker. But, if he is, we know he monitors the news . . . That means the slightest leak could be disastrous.” Jenkins turned back to Lee. “Okay, Cassandra . . . Take it away.”
Lee nodded. “Like the chief said . . . You know why we’re here—and you’ve heard the Camacho tape. So I’m going to get into the operational stuff right off the top.
“Rather than go after this guy during the day, we’re going to hit him just after dark. And, rather than drop the whole department on his ass, we’re going to enter the cemetery quietly. So quietly that people in the surrounding homes won’t be aware of us.
“There are a number of reasons for choosing this approach, the first of which is that if the bastard realizes that we’re in the area, he might be able to escape via a system of tunnels that the ’tec troopers fell into.”
Lee eyed the faces in the front row and saw Prospo wink at her. “Additionally,” Lee said, “the LAPD isn’t that popular in Compton and never has been. So a full-on invasion could trigger civilian unrest and produce all sorts of unintended consequences. That makes stealth all the more important.
“Last, but not least, it would be next to impossible to launch a high-profile raid without the media’s getting wind of it. And that takes us back to my first point. If the perp knows we’re coming, he’ll run. Any questions or comments so far?” There weren’t any.
“Okay,” Lee said as she pointed a remote at the wall screen, and an aerial shot of the graveyard appeared. “Here’s the plan. What you’re looking at is a mutant-only graveyard, which is bordered by South Central Avenue to the west, the Glenn Anderson Freeway to the north, and South Wilmington to the east. It ends down here.” At that point, Lee’s laser pointer drew a line under the Imperial Highway.
“Now here’s how the cemetery came into being. Shortly after the plague was released, this area of Compton was taken over by the city, condemned, and bulldozed to make way for a quarantine camp. Why this area, you ask? Because the people who lived here were poor, a lot of them were too sick to fight back, and city officials were scared shitless. So scared they were willing to do just about anything.” Lee looked around to see if any members of the audience would challenge her. None did.
Lee picked up where she’d left off. “As conditions grew worse, the authorities began to call it a ‘holding area.’ Then it became a ‘relocation center.’ And finally, as hundreds of people died, it became a cemetery.”
Lee could see the sadness in the faces arrayed in front of her. Every single one of them had lost relatives to the plague, and the graveyard was a reminder of that. “I couldn’t find any records covering how the area was razed,” she told them. “But here’s my theory: City officials were in a hurry, as were the people operating the bulldozers and hauling the rubble away. The result was a sloppy job. As buildings were leveled, some of the basements were filled in, and some weren’t. That meant there are cavities in the rubble—and large storm drains that were left in place. If my hypothesis is correct, the perp discovered one or more of those spaces, moved in, and made a lot of improvements. That would account for what Camacho saw underground.”
“It would also account for the room full of bones,” Detective Dooly volunteered. “Maybe they belong to skeletons he came across while digging.”
“That’s possible,” Lee agreed. “Because even though the Bonebreaker murdered nine cops, that isn’t enough people to fill a room with bones, especially given his propensity to dump some of the remains next to the Hollywood Freeway. Assuming the suspect is the Bonebreaker, which may or may not be the case.” All of them knew that some of her father’s body parts had been disposed of in that manner, and some of them looked down.
“Based on what Camacho told us,” Lee continued, “we figure that Ruiz fell into a tunnel right about here.” As she pointed, the red dot wobbled over a single point on the map. “So we are going to enter from over here, using an old RV for transportation, and a stepladder to get over the fence quickly. Once the team is inside, the RV will depart.
“From there it will be a short trip to the entry point, where a two-man pick-and-shovel team will go to work while Lieutenant Ferris and three members of the SWAT team provide security. Once the tunnel is breached, the SWAT team will drop in, followed by Detective Prospo and me. At that point, the pick-and-shovel team will switch to a security role. Milo, tell them what you came up with.”
“We know this guy has power,” Prospo said, as he came to his feet. “Because the tunnels were lit when Camacho was down there. P
lus, if this is the Bonebreaker’s hideout, we know he watches TV. So I told the power company to look for a tap, and they found one. They’ll cut it when Lee gives the order.”
Lee nodded as Prospo sat down. “And, since we’ll be using night-vision gear, we’ll be able to see. That could give us an edge.”
“But what if the perp detects the break-in,” a detective wanted to know. “He could pop up anywhere.”
“That’s a good point,” Lee replied. “The plan is to throw a cordon of unmarked cars and vans all around the cemetery while an infrared-equipped drone circles overhead. If the bastard surfaces, there’s a good chance that you folks will be able to nab him. And remember . . . Even if the perp isn’t the Bonebreaker, he’s a killer. So be careful.”
There was more, much more, including the need to brief the team regarding communications, emergency medical, and the possibility that the tunnels would be booby-trapped. A member of the bomb squad handled that part of the presentation for her.
Lee was exhausted by the time the briefing came to an end and went looking for a place to take a nap. Thanks to the fact that it was Saturday, a few offices were temporarily vacant, and that included the one belonging to the head of HR. Lee entered the woman’s office, killed the lights, and went to sleep on the floor.
Three hours had passed by the time she woke up, feeling stiff and groggy. After a trip to the ladies’ room, it was time to buy a couple of tacos off the food truck parked outside, and return to work. She had lots of e-mails waiting, including one from Keyes marked “Urgent.” It took all of Lee’s willpower to ignore it, and by doing so, to ignore Kane’s predicament as well. But that’s what Lee had to do to focus in on all of the mission-related inquiries awaiting her attention. The clock was ticking down toward 8:00 P.M. and the time when the various teams would depart for Compton.
So Lee put her head down and went to work. And it seemed like no more than fifteen minutes had passed when Prospo appeared at her desk. She had never seen him dressed in tactical gear before and couldn’t help but grin. The helmet, heavily loaded vest, and submachine gun made the portly detective look like a parody of an LAPD SWAT officer. “That’s a scary outfit, Milo . . . The Bonebreaker will shit his pants if he sees you.”
“Very funny,” Prospo responded sourly. “Grab your stuff and let’s go. The SWAT team is in the RV, and Ferris is getting antsy.”
Lee glanced at her watch. It was 7:45. There were plenty of things Lee wanted to check on one more time—but that wasn’t going to happen. So she put the vest on, hung her ID around her neck, and checked to make sure that both pistols were loaded. Not that she expected to need them given all of the firepower the SWAT team was bringing along. Then, with the helmet tucked under one arm, she followed Prospo outside.
Jenkins was waiting next to the old RV. He was smiling, but Lee could see the concern in his eyes. “Good hunting, Cassandra . . . Give me a holler when it’s over.”
“Will do,” Lee answered. “Let’s hope that it’s who we think it is.” And with that, she boarded the RV. The interior lights were on as the vehicle got under way, but all the curtains were closed. That meant people couldn’t see in—but it also meant that Lee couldn’t look out.
Conversation, such as it was, consisted of a competition to see which SWAT team member could produce the most impressive belch. Lee knew it was a way to manage stress, and when she made eye contact with Ferris, he winked as if to say that some things are best ignored.
Lee took the opportunity to put her helmet on and let her head rest against the plastic paneling. She could hear occasional bursts of conversation over her radio as various units began to converge on the cemetery. Thanks to Lee’s visor, no one could see her face, and she was glad. The e-mail from Keyes was very much on her mind. Urgent good, or urgent bad?
Forget that, Lee told herself. You have a job to do. Concentrate on that.
Sure, the other part of her said. That’s what Dad did. And how did that work out?
Ferris interrupted her chain of thought. “Okay everybody, cut the bullshit . . . We’re almost there. Remember, speed is everything. Get over the fence, take cover, and wait for orders. Sound off.”
Lee listened as each member of the team said his name, thereby confirming that the com network was still intact. Once the SWAT team was finished, and the “diggers” were accounted for, Lee spoke up. Prospo went last, and Ferris turned the lights off.
Lee felt the RV come to a stop. At that point, the driver was supposed to get out and circle the vehicle while pretending to check the tires. Then, assuming the area was clear, he would remove the stepladder stored under the RV and put it in place against the fence.
Meanwhile, the drone was circling above, and if a threat was detected, the vehicle’s operator would notify the team. But there weren’t any alerts. And the driver was able to place the ladder without spotting any witnesses. Once he opened the door, Ferris and his team went outside and crossed the fence seconds later.
The pick-and-shovel men went next, followed by the detectives. Even though the ladder made it easy to climb up, it was necessary to jump down. Prospo hit hard and fell. He swore but was back on his feet seconds later.
As soon as Lee crossed the fence, the driver snatched the ladder away and returned to the RV. The boxy vehicle was in motion sixty seconds later. Lee checked her watch and saw that the whole sequence had taken just under the five minutes. Not bad. She opened her mike, knowing that everyone including Jenkins could hear her. “This is One-Eight . . . We’re on-site. Over.”
Their com-net transmissions were scrambled, but anything that can be scrambled can be unscrambled, so every member of the team had been given a unique mission-only call sign along with orders to avoid using names. “This is One-One,” Ferris said. “Follow me.”
With the rest of the team in tow, Ferris led them through a maze of markers to the spot where the Aztec soldiers had fallen into the tunnel. Then, as the diggers went to work, the SWAT team set up a security perimeter to protect them.
Lee looked up but couldn’t see the drone against the black sky. So she focused her attention on the diggers and hoped they were in the right spot. What if they weren’t? What if they dug four or five holes without success? You’ll look stupid, Lee thought to herself. But what’s worse is that the perp might get away.
Lee bit her lower lip as dirt flew. Then a thud was heard. A coffin perhaps? Or the roof of the tunnel? Which, in the wake of the cave-in, had probably been repaired.
Lee couldn’t see into the hole, but she heard the whine of a battery-powered drill as the diggers began to bore holes through a section of wood. That was followed by a buzzing sound as a power saw connected the holes. Lee feared that the entire city of Los Angeles could hear the noise but knew that was silly. Then the saw stopped, and she watched as a piece of plywood was removed. “This is One-One,” Ferris announced, “phase one is complete. We’re starting phase two.”
Lee felt a profound sense of relief. The tunnel was there! But that emotion was followed by a stab of fear. What if the complex was booby-trapped? Or what if the perp shot the first person in? A demolitions expert lowered himself into the hole with extreme care. Lee’s heart thumped in her chest as seconds turned into minutes without receiving any report. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, One-Four’s voice was heard. “Four here . . . The lights are on, there’s no sign of the perp so far, and this area is clear of traps. Over.”
Lee didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it go. A clean entry . . . Or that’s the way it seemed, anyway. Maybe the suspect was snug in his bed. That would be perfect. Now it was her turn to speak. “This is One-Eight . . . Members of team one will activate their night-vision gear. Members of team three will cut the power. Over.”
“This is One-Four . . . The power is out.”
“Roger that,” Lee replied. “Thanks, team three. One-One, over
to you.”
“This is One-One,” Ferris said. “We’re going in.” The demolitions expert had gone in first, so Ferris was the second person to drop through the hole. The rest of his team followed. If the perp was up, and watching TV or something, he would notice the outage. Would that spook him? Maybe, and maybe not. How reliable could an illegal tap be? Maybe he was used to outages; if so, he might assume everything was okay. Or maybe he was a paranoid son of a bitch . . . In that case, they’d be up against a man who was armed, dangerous, and prowling tunnels he knew by heart. Not a pleasant prospect, even with their night-vision gear to rely on.
Lee watched Prospo’s ghostly green image drop out of sight, gave him a moment to get clear, and followed. The earth swallowed her up.
• • •
The living-room lights were turned down, and the Bonebreaker was seated in Dr. Penn’s favorite chair, watching a documentary about serial killers. California boasted forty-six in all. But it soon became apparent that the show’s producers were determined to focus on those having the highest body counts.
That meant they spent lots of time on people like Lonnie “The Grim Sleeper” Franklin, who had thirteen confirmed kills; Charles Hatcher, who had sixteen to his credit; and “Score-Card Killer” Randy Craft, who claimed sixteen victims by 1983. Then there was Richard “The Night Stalker” Ramirez, who was “credited” with capping fourteen citizens before being arrested in 1985, and the underappreciated Tommy Lynn Sells, “the Coast to Coast Killer.” The authorities had reason to believe that the drifter had been responsible for up to fifty murders, but they’d only been able to confirm thirteen of them prior to his execution in 2014.
But in spite of the fact that the Bonebreaker only had nine kills, soon to be ten, he’d been included in the documentary. More than that, it looked as if they were going to end the program on him! A signal honor in the Bonebreaker’s opinion, and one that stemmed from the fact that while his competitors had higher body counts, he was the only killer who specialized in killing cops. And who remained on the loose.
Graveyard Page 17
