The Executioner

Hundred and Ten

Hardgrave and Mortimer Law Firm occupied the third, fourth and fifth floor of the large, all tinted-window modern office building on the corner of Sixth and Broadway in Santa Monica. Hunter had called from the car just to make sure Kelly Sanchez was in her office and not in court this afternoon.

At the reception, a young and immensely attractive red-haired woman told them that without an appointment it was very doubtful Mrs. Sanchez would be able to see them today, but the magic of Hunter’s detective badge created a last-minute opening in her schedule.

They still had to wait a few minutes before the receptionist was given the all clear to guide them inside. They tailed her down a corridor where photographs and framed newspaper articles hung on the walls, passing a display case filled with golf trophies and into a second corridor. Kelly Sanchez’s office was the second to last on the right. The red-haired receptionist knocked gently and waited precisely three seconds before opening the door and showing them into a spacious and luxurious office. Delicate furniture, oil paintings on the walls, a broad window behind an imposing Victorian mahogany desk and an entire wall covered in books. An office certainly decorated to impress clients.

Kelly Sanchez came to meet them at the door. A statuesque black woman in her late thirties with lush, straight shoulder-length hair and razor-sharp hazel eyes. They shook hands and Kelly scrutinized their credentials before offering them a seat.

‘How can I assist you, gentlemen?’ she asked, taking her place behind her desk.

Without giving too much away, Hunter explained the purpose of their unannounced visit.

‘James Reed? Wow, that’s a blast from the past.’

‘You were neighbors, is that correct?’

Kelly nodded skeptically. ‘Many years ago.’

‘Do you remember a boy they used to call Strutter and the group of kids he used to hang out with?’

Kelly’s sweet demeanor hardened, and she leaned back on her chair, clinically studying both detectives. ‘Yes, I remember them.’

‘Did you or your brother know any of them? Did you know their names?’

She shook her head. ‘The only name that was ever mentioned was Strutter’s, and that’s a nickname. I knew who they were if I saw them on the street. Every time I did I went the other way.’

‘In Strutter’s gang there was a girl they called Lipz and a skinny boy they called JayJay. Did you know them at all?’ Garcia pressed.

She frowned. ‘I just told you I didn’t know any of them.’ Her stare moved from Garcia to Hunter. ‘What’s this really about, detective? James was never part of that gang.’

‘Yes, we know. Were you and your brother friends with James Reed? Did you know him well?’

‘We were friends, but I wouldn’t say we knew him well.’

‘Do you remember if he got along with Strutter and his gang?’

Kelly chuckled. ‘Nobody got along with Strutter’s gang. In fact, everyone did their best to avoid them.’

‘Including James?’

‘Especially James, but it was harder for him.’

‘How’s that?’ His leather seat squeaked as Hunter leaned forward.

Kelly gave them a subtle shrug. ‘James went to Compton High. His mother was a teacher there, and I think some of Strutter’s gang members were students of hers. James paid the bill every time they got bad grades or detentions in her class.’

‘Or suspensions,’ Garcia noted quietly.

‘Strutter’s gang sought him out. He got more heat than most.’

‘How about you and your brother?’

‘We went to a different school, Centennial High. None of Strutter’s gang were students there. It was easier for us to avoid them.’ Kelly rested her elbow on the arm of her luxurious leather chair and her chin on her closed fist. ‘We got pushed around every now and then, but nothing extreme, mainly just name-calling.’

‘And that wasn’t the kind of pushed around James got?’ Garcia asked.

She shook her head. ‘James was very timid, very insecure. I’m not sure if that was the reason or if it was because his mother was a teacher, but Strutter’s gang made his life hell.’ Kelly tucked her hair behind her ears. Her eyes moved slightly up and to the right. ‘James used to have this little white dog. It was very cute and tiny and it was always running around, full of energy. Even my mom liked that dog, and she definitely wasn’t a dog person.’ Her expression saddened at the memory. ‘The dog went missing one day and James went absolutely nuts. He probably knocked on every door in our neighborhood, but no one had seen it. I don’t think he got any sleep that night. I’m not sure of all the details, but the next morning a cardboard box was left at his door. Inside was the little dog. Its head was missing.’

Garcia shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Hunter, who kept a steady face.

‘James buried its body in the park. He cried for weeks.’

The room fell silent for a long moment. ‘James blamed Strutter’s gang.’ Hunter concluded.

Kelly nodded. ‘Poor little Numberz,’ she said sadly.

‘What did you say?’ Hunter frowned.

‘James’s tiny white dog.’ She nodded. ‘It was called Numberz, with a “z” at the end.’