Nine

45

LASD Homicide Bureau

Commerce, California

Thursday, May 22, 3:51 P.M.

Alex Brandon watched the viewers’ faces. He had already seen the tape of Knox’s torture and didn’t want to watch it any more often than he would have to-that would be often enough.

The room was silent. He glanced at Ciara-she had walked in during one of the worst portions. He thought she looked a little pale.

Maybe that was from coping with Laney’s troubles this morning, though. He had managed to get enough information out of Ciara to learn that Laney had indeed suffered another seizure and was now hospitalized. When Alex asked Ciara if she wanted to be with her sister instead of at work, she said, “I’ve done all I can for her. Now I’m desperate for distraction.”

He was sure a tape of two men torturing a third was not what she had in mind.

“If any of you want to watch the rest of this,” he said, pressing the stop button, “I’ll make sure you can do so. We don’t know who the torturers are, but neither are similar in stature to either Morgan Addison or Frederick Whitfield IV. So we’ve got two other individuals involved in these killings, and maybe more.”

“That should work in our favor,” Lieutenant Hogan said. “More people involved, more likely that one of them will talk to someone, or confess.”

Silence. Alex, too, was unconvinced that any of the Exterminators would talk.

“We’ve got tattoo specialists who will be comparing the number five on Mr. Majors-or, I should say, Knox-to the work of local tattoo artists and others we have on file. I should mention that there is a possibility he was not killed here in the U.S., however.”

FBI Agent Hayden Moore, who had watched the torture of Knox without so much as wincing, sat up at that. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve had a forensic entomologist look at the grasshoppers that were lodged in Mr. Knox’s mouth and nose. He wants more time to study them, but he is almost positive that they are…” He looked helplessly at the crime lab’s representative to the task force.

“Melanoplus femurrubrum,” he supplied.

“Thanks. It’s a small, red-legged grasshopper found in parts of the Midwest and in Mexico. The grasshoppers found on Knox were roasted and coated in what we are fairly sure is chili powder. That makes Mexico more likely. The entomologist said that in Oaxaca these are commonly caught in communal fields and prepared fresh to be sold in the city each day. A local delicacy called chapulínes. But these must have been caught last summer or fall and kept for some reason-perhaps for this.”

“So someone in Oaxaca was saving grasshoppers, hoping for this creep to show up again?” Ciara asked.

“Maybe ‘expecting’ would be a better word,” Agent Moore said. “We know from the snuff films that several of Knox’s victims were Hispanic. His wife said he had traveled to Mexico, Peru, and Brazil.”

“We’re asking Mexican authorities to help us to discover if anyone matching Knox’s description was in Oaxaca,” Alex said. “Do you have identifications on any of the boys who were his victims?”

“A few,” Moore said. “We’re still working on most of them. I’ll try to find out if any members of the known victims’ families have traveled to Mexico lately. I’ll also ask if the team that has been working on the snuff film cases has any more specific records of Knox’s travel.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

“When will we have the results of these DNA tests?” the captain asked.

“Our backlog is six months,” the crime lab representative said, to a chorus of groans. “We’ve moved this work up to the front of the list, but it will probably be at least a week before we have anything for you.”

Nelson hesitated only slightly before asking, “Could the FBI lab get them to us any faster?”

Agent Moore gave him a brittle smile. “No, the test itself takes a certain amount of time.”

Nelson turned back to Alex. “What about the situation in Palmdale?”

“We’ve got preliminary identification on the two victims,” Alex said. He gave them what little information the detectives had been able to gather at the scene. “I haven’t been out there personally yet, but we’ve got a good team there. We’ve got a warrant on the phone records, just as we do from Del Aire. And we’re hoping to discover whether or not the bullets match either of the guns from Mulholland.”

“And we’re almost sure we can rule out suicides on Mulholland?” Nelson asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Agent Moore’s cell phone went off. He answered it. “Just a minute,” he said to the caller. “Let me get out of earshot.” He walked out of the room.

“They want to know if you want them to overnight the FBI etiquette manual to you,” Ciara said as the door shut behind him, causing the others to laugh. She got another laugh when she asked Alex in an overly polite manner if she might be excused.

“Alex, what’s the plan now?” the captain asked when she had left.

“We need to look for connections-not just between Addison and Whitfield, but between them and any of the fugitives. So far, we’re having some difficulties-many of the people who knew them are extremely wealthy, and there are a lot of layers of protection around them. Many are being advised by attorneys not to speak to us without an attorney present-”

Someone made a cash register sound.

Alex smiled. “Maybe. But even without their help, we’ve learned that Addison and Whitfield went to the same school. And one member of the fugitives list grew up in Malibu-Gabriel Taggert.”

“That’s the suspect in the killing of that film producer and his family?” Hogan asked.

“Right. I’ve tried contacting the school, but it’s closed for the summer and none of the live-in students are present. Apparently, it’s under new ownership and they’re doing renovations-there are signs of construction work going on, although I didn’t see any crew around when I drove up to the gates today. We’re tracking down the owner of the company that bought it. Once we reach him, we’ll try to talk to faculty and staff who might have known any of those three former students.”

He was interrupted when a sergeant hurried into the room.

“We’re getting reports of a surrender by one of the top ten fugitives. Not sure which one it is, but some lawyer has been calling the media to say he represents one of them and that his client will be giving himself up to the FBI in Long Beach.”

Alex and the captain exchanged a glance.

“Any idea of the exact location?” Alex asked.

“Not yet.”

Alex’s cell phone rang and he answered it.

“Alex? It’s John-”

“John, let me call you right back. All hell is breaking loose.”

He had no sooner hung up, than it rang again.

“I’m following that snake from the FBI,” Ciara said.

“Which one?”

“Moore, of course.”

“Don’t you think he’ll spot you?”

“Doesn’t matter if he does. When I stepped out into the hall, I heard him taking down directions. Something about one of the fugitives giving himself up.”

“My God-” He motioned to Nelson and Hogan, who were about to leave the room. “Where is Agent Moore going?”

“Third and Pine Avenue in Long Beach. I might as well have stayed at home-it’s just a few miles from where I live.”

“So it is Long Beach. We won’t have any jurisdiction there. Hell, I guess all we can do is sit back and watch. You have any idea which fugitive it is?”

“No, didn’t catch any names. I’ll keep you posted, though. I’m hanging up now-I want to make sure there aren’t any last-minute changes in plans.”

Alex told Hogan and Nelson about Ciara’s pursuit of Moore.

“I’d better give the sheriff a call,” Nelson said. “And although they probably heard about this before we did, let’s make sure the Long Beach PD knows about this. Alex, maybe you should go down there, too. If the FBI will let us talk to him, at least we can find out what the lure has been for getting them to California.”

“Both Taggert and Sloan are Californians, both from the L.A. area. May have been here already. In fact-I was going to pursue this earlier, but we’ve had so many scenes to process-let me get to my desk. I’ve got some files there on Taggert and Sloan.”

They followed him out. Along the way, they were stopped by Nelson’s assistant, who said Sheriff Dwyer was calling. The captain left them to take the call.

“So what is it you’re after?” Hogan asked Alex.

“The lawyers. Both Sloan and Taggert have adult criminal records in California. Taggert had a couple of cocaine possession charges. Sloan had a murder conviction before he escaped from prison.”

“He’s the last of that gang that escaped from Lompoc?”

“Yes. There were four of them-Sloan was the leader. They became trusties, learned the routine for outside deliveries, murdered two guards and a truck driver, and escaped. Three were quickly recaptured, but Sloan managed to slip through the net.”

“This is the one with the wife, right?”

“Right. The FBI thinks his wife helped him-she was one of those women who think of a murder trial as a singles bar-sigh over a defendant and start writing love letters to him. The Sloans were married in prison.”

“Since she’s no longer breathing, I guess they needed the old Graybar Hotel for their love nest. Why do these women do it?”

Alex smiled as he looked through the files on his desk. “Because nice guys are so boring.” He found Sloan’s and Taggert’s files. He started with Taggert’s. “Here-I knew I had this somewhere. Taggert used high-priced attorneys-his sister usually posted bail for him, and I imagine she paid the bill for these guys, too.”

He then opened Sloan’s file. “Sloan had a lawyer in Pasadena, but recently hired a new one to handle appeals work-Yes! He’s in Long Beach.”

He picked up the phone and called his partner. “Ciara-Sloan’s lawyer is Desmond Wrait. He’s got offices at One-thirty-three Pine Avenue in Long Beach. Suite six-fifty-six. That may be where Moore is headed.”

“Are you sure about that address? It’s not-”

“The one Moore gave. So watch for a sudden change of direction.”

Everett Corey watched on television as the police in Long Beach did their best to cope with the sudden arrival of a convoy of television trucks and vans, as well as a rapidly increasing number of FBI agents.

He was a little sorry not to be there, but Cameron would handle this perfectly, he knew. He smiled. Cameron was such a funny one-so cold with adults, so protective of children. If it had been up to Everett, they would have stripped both of their prisoners after drugging them, to humiliate them and to make escape less likely-not that it was likely now. But Cameron would not allow it-this is exactly what Cameron’s father used to do to him, so that Cameron would come awake bound with wire and naked before the other abuses began.

Cameron was unhappy about including children in their plans. It had taken a lot of convincing, all Everett’s skills as a manipulator, to get Cameron to see that this was exactly the pressure they needed to bring to bear on Kit Logan and Alex Brandon.

Everett was pleased that they had managed to capture both hostages. They had been forced to bring their friend in on the action, something Cameron had also objected to, but Cameron was mistrustful by nature. Cameron could hardly object to the outcome-it had worked perfectly.

Everett had considered killing both prisoners while Cameron was gone. He recognized this impulse for what it was-at times, Everett felt a temptation to test Cameron, to see how attached Cameron truly was to him. If Everett did the worst thing imaginable, in Cameron’s eyes, would Cameron break away from him? Cameron had a certain dependency on him, but he was something like a pet wolf. Everett would never deceive himself into believing that he had totally tamed Cameron.

Perhaps, he thought, that was why Cameron was alive, and Freddy and Morgan were dead. Neither could have ever presented the challenge Cameron would always be.

He was so absorbed in these thoughts, he nearly missed all the action on television. He knew in advance how most of it would play out, of course.

Of all the fugitives, only Wesley Macon Sloan had been harder to track down than Gabe Taggert. Not long after Sloan had made the FBI list, Everett had contacted Desmond Wrait. Law enforcement officials had already been in touch with him, of course, but although they knew that Wrait would be obliged to encourage his client to surrender, they really couldn’t ask much more of Sloan’s attorney.

Unlike Everett, they couldn’t offer large sums of money, placed in an offshore account, available to Wrait if he would do nothing more than follow a few simple instructions. Instructions that would not in any way leave Wrait vulnerable to charges of any kind-which would, in all probability, enhance his public image. All this, in addition to relieving him of a client who might not treat his lawyer any better than he had treated his wife.

Really, Everett thought, inflation might have upped the price from forty pieces of silver, but there was no shortage of Judases.

Everett was not a fan of the media, but he enjoyed watching the events unfolding now. Security was at its highest near Pine and Third in Long Beach, where the FBI and most of the media expected Wrait to appear. A few sharper reporters kept an eye on Wrait’s offices. But only one television crew-for Channel Three, the station he was watching now-were nearer Long Beach Boulevard and Broadway. Diana Ontora had received a call from Wrait’s secretary, tipping her off to the fact that the first glance anyone might get of the fugitive would be in an alley near that corner, where Sloan would be smuggled out of a nearby building and into a waiting car.

“This is Diana Ontora of Channel Three, bringing you exclusive coverage of Wesley Macon Sloan’s surrender to federal agents…”

• • •

Above the alley, several windows were open on the higher floors of the building just opposite the one Desmond Wrait was leaving now. Wrait talked for a moment with Ontora, then motioned to his client to come out.

Sloan, the most ordinary-looking of men, glanced up nervously at those open windows.

Cameron sighted Wesley Macon Sloan’s left eye through the rifle’s scope and fired.

Now, he thought, your appearance is remarkable.

The Ontora woman was screaming. Cameron quickly fired a couple of shots over the heads of the lawyer and the reporter. That got them to stop looking up. He picked up the shell casings, concealed the weapon under the floorboards, and left. The purchase of the building had been well worth it, he thought. Perhaps someone might someday trace its ownership through several corporations to Everett and Cameron, but he doubted it would lead anyone to suspect him as the sniper.

By the time police and the FBI descended on the place, Cameron was calmly on his way back to Malibu.

If Everett had harmed those children, he thought, he just might give him a remarkable appearance, too.