The Executioner

Hundred and Thirteen

By the time they got back to their office, Hopkins had already covered a new corkboard with photographs.

‘I scanned all the pictures Peter Elder highlighted in the Compton High yearbook and left copies on both of your desks.’ He nodded towards two piles of photographs on both detectives’ desks and chuckled at their surprise. ‘Don’t be alarmed – that’s the whole lot.’ He fumbled for his notes. ‘Out of those, three have passed away, seven aren’t US residents anymore, three are serving time, six are in the military and stationed somewhere else and five are either confined to wheelchairs or have some debilitating physical condition.’ Hopkins pointed to the new corkboard. ‘These are the ones we must concentrate on. Twenty-one in total.’

‘Fuck!’ Garcia looked surprised. ‘How many people did they bully?’

‘A hell of a lot,’ Hopkins confirmed.

The first picture on the board was of James Reed.

‘No feedback from anyone yet on Reed’s car being sighted?’ Hunter asked.

‘Not yet, but I did get more information on our first victim, Gregory Carlson, aka Strutter.’

‘I’m listening,’ Hunter said while his eyes studied the new photo board. Typical yearbook portraits – dated haircuts, fake smiles and acne-covered cheeks. All of the kids would be in their forties now.

Hopkins cleared his throat. ‘Apparently, Greg was a bona fide badass. He dropped out of high school in Rancho Dominguez before completing his freshman year and disappeared under the radar for several years. No job, no social security contribution, nothing. Quite a violent person too. Looks like he beat up every girlfriend he ever had. He was arrested several times, the charges ranging from violent assault to possession of illegal substances. Greg wasn’t a dealer, though. He never made money out of drugs. Instead, he became a technology crook, creating internet companies and conning people out of their cash. Allegedly, he was also involved in several email scams. Due to his background, the LAPD is treating his death as revenge kill. They think Greg finally conned the wrong person out of his money.’ Hopkins flipped a page on his report. ‘Strangely, it looks like he was a good father.’

‘He had a son?’ Garcia questioned.

Hopkins shook his head and faced him. ‘A daughter, Beth, whom he visited four times a week. She suffers from multiple sclerosis. Her mother left as soon as Beth started showing symptoms of the disease. Her present location is unknown.’ He handed Garcia his report.

Hunter kept his attention on the photos.

‘A preliminary list with all their names and locations is on your desk, on top of the photographs,’ Hopkins confirmed. ‘We’ve got addresses, but we haven’t had time to establish the whereabouts of these twenty-one for the past three weeks yet.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Let’s each pick seven and see what we can come up with in the next hour.’