The Executioner

Eighty-Nine

The address they had for Patricia Reed, Father Fabian’s old algebra 2 teacher, was in Pomona, the fifth-largest city in Los Angeles County and home to the famous California State Polytechnic University (Cal Poly). In stop-and-go traffic, the drive from Gardena Senior High took them an hour and a half.

Minnequa Drive was a quiet street about ten minutes away from Cal Poly, and they had no problem finding the building they were looking for. Modern in style and set back from the street, the large two-story house was fronted by several perfectly trimmed hedges, a small patch of grass to the left and a two-car garage to the right. A black Dodge Journey was parked in the lavish black-and-white-checked paved driveway.

‘Wow, this is quite a nice retirement home,’ Garcia said, parking on the street in front of the house. ‘Nice ride too.’

They climbed the railed granite steps that led to the front door and rang the bell. After a few moments it was answered by a diminutive, wiry Mexican woman in her thirties dressed in a uniform like a hotel maid’s. Her black hair was bundled tightly under a hairnet.

‘Good morning,’ Hunter said with a pleasant smile, quickly returning his badge to his pocket. He knew from experience that many private house workers in LA were illegal immigrants. A police badge only causes them to panic. ‘We’re looking for Mrs. Reed.’

‘Mista Reed?’ the maid replied in heavy accented English, returning the smile.

‘No, no. Mrs. Reed. Patricia Reed.’

‘Ah. No hay. No Mrs. Reed.’

‘What do you mean, no Mrs. Reed? She isn’t home?’

‘No. Ella se ha ido para siempre.’

Hunter frowned. ‘She’s gone forever?’

‘What’s the problem, Emilia?’ A man in his early forties dressed in a gray pinstripe wool suit with a light blue tab-collar shirt and a blue-on-blue striped tie appeared at the end of the entrance hall. He was tall, well built and movie-star handsome, with dark blue eyes and a strong, squared jaw.

The maid turned to face him. ‘Creo que estos señores están en busca de su madre, Mr. Reed.’

‘Esta bien, Emilia, tranquilo. I’ll talk to them.’ He motioned her to go back to her duties.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. I’m James Reed,’ the man said as he got to the door. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I understand by what Emilia said that Patricia Reed is your mother?’ Hunter asked in a polite tone.

‘I thought you said you didn’t understand Spanish,’ Garcia said under his breath.

‘Patricia Reed was my mother. She passed away five months ago.’

‘We’re sorry to hear that. We didn’t know.’

‘What’s this about, gentlemen?’

Hunter and Garcia introduced themselves, going over the customary badge-displaying ritual.

‘We were hoping to ask her a few questions about one of her old students from Compton High,’ Hunter said.

A look of interest came over Reed’s face. ‘What year are you talking about?’

‘1984, 1985?’

‘I was a student at Compton High in ’84. It was my freshman year. I graduated in 1987.’

‘Really?’ Hunter’s interest grew. ‘Would you mind looking at some pictures for us? Maybe you might remember them.’

Reed checked his watch and screwed up his face. ‘I’m a professor at Cal Poly. I’m due in class soon. I’ve got only about an hour before I have to leave. Could you come back later this evening, maybe?’

‘It shouldn’t take more than ten, fifteen minutes max,’ Hunter pressed.

‘I’ve got some papers I still have to go over. I have very little time.’

‘It’s very important, Mr. Reed,’ Hunter stated.

Reed studied both men before relenting. ‘Please come in,’ he said, showing them inside.