Expert Witness (23 page)

“Is there a roommate? A girlfriend?” Liz again.

Levinsky barked a laugh. “Women aren’t his favorite people.”

“Then he’s in touch with his feminine side,” Liz drawled. “A set of high end kitchen towels? A spoon rest?”

“His mother,” Arnson replied. They all looked at him. “That would be my guess. He borrowed her car a couple times. She gave him money. I talked to her yesterday. She doesn’t know where he is.”

“What did the car look like?” Archer asked.

“Big. Blue. It’s an old Buick. A real classic,” Arnson answered just as his eyes went to the bedroom door. A uniformed cop was waiting for a break in the conversation.

“I’m almost done here,” he announced.

“Let’s have you take a look before we close up.” Levinsky and Arnson stepped back so Liz and Archer could go first.

“We’ve got a possible red mid-size seen in Hermosa. That is what we’re looking for,” Liz said and Arnson followed up with some small talk. Then they were in the bedroom.

A mattress and box springs were pushed up against the wall and into a corner. There was a small window sans shades or curtains. Clothes were draped over a chair with a fraying rattan seat. On the far wall was an old bureau and over that, thumb-tacked to a wall that could really use a scrubbing, was a big desk calendar. Neatly tacked to the calendar and taped to the wall were pictures, newspaper clippings and a book cover. A police photographer was snapping his last, for-good-measure shots and moved aside when Archer walked toward the calendar.

“Don’t touch . . . “ Levinsky began but a look from Archer silenced him. Liz followed up with a glance that said ‘you asked for it’ as she joined Archer.

In the old newspaper clippings, Daniel Young’s quotes were highlighted in yellow marker, and Josie’s picture was circled. There was a picture of Hernandez sitting in court looking over his shoulder. Archer looked closer. Hernandez cleaned up good. Archer never would have guessed this was the guy in the booking photo.  Xavier Hernandez looked white, not Hispanic. His skin was pale, his features delicate.  His eyes were keen but soft. He was one of those guys who could have been fifteen or twenty-five depending on who was looking. Two teenage girls wouldn’t have seen beyond those pretty eyes.

Archer moved on.

There were pictures of Josie on the beach, taken within the last few months. Archer recognized the bikini she was wearing because he’d been with her when she bought it at a shop on Pier Plaza. They'd ended up at the tapas place for dinner. This guy had been stalking her even then. How could they have missed a guy like Hernandez pointing a camera at them? One of them might, but not both.

There was a picture of Erika Gardener in a torn t-shirt and cut-offs kneeling next to tomato plants that had been planted in beds that ran parallel to the driveway. He couldn’t tell for certain if it was her place, but he’d have to assume. There was a basket by her side and a car parked to her left. Archer could only see a little bit of the bumper.  Hernandez had tacked a dried Hydrangea on the wall. Archer tried to remember if he had seen purple ones in Erika’s yard.

“She’s wearing an engagement ring,” Archer muttered to Liz.

There was a picture of Daniel getting into his car. No, that was wrong. Daniel Young was holding the door for someone. Archer didn’t recognize the place, but Young looked happy. Whoever was holding the camera brought out his good side. The car was a red Toyota. Archer had seen a red Toyota in the parking lot of Young’s building. The fishmonger at Quality Seafood thought the car he had seen was red.  There was a torn piece of grocery bag with Daniel’s name scrawled on it and an address that Archer assumed was Young’s.  And there was something going on in the living room.

All heads turned at the sound of scuffling. Since those heads belonged to cops, they did what came naturally. Levinsky was the first at the doorway, Archer had his revolver at the ready, and Arnson flanked Liz who stepped back to get a bead through the men’s bodies into the living room. When she did, she was eye-to-eye with a shoulder cam.

Levinsky was the first to react.

“Oh boy.” He rolled his eyes, looked over his shoulder at Arnson and lamented. “It’s Smith.” He turned back to the guy with the camera. “Smith, get out of here.”

The camera lowered revealing a guy in his thirties with the reddest hair Liz had ever seen. He was grinning ear-to-ear and freckled from brow to chin.

“Come on Levinsky. Give me something. It took me forever to find you.”

“Smith, you gotta stop following us.”

“Nope, you and Arnson get the best stuff. Besides, the guy outside,” Smith looked over his shoulder just in time to see Daniel come in. “Him! He told me this is Xavier Hernandez’s place. You think people have forgotten about him, but they haven’t. Come on. Give me something I can sell to the networks, or something really good for YouTube. I gotta make a living Levinsky.”

“I told him not to go in the house!” Daniel skirted around the freelancer to stand with the cops.

“Who are you?” Arnson asked.

“Dr. Daniel Young. I testified in the Hernandez trial.”

Liz turned into Arnson, “We brought him. Just in case he could help out if you had Hernandez.”

“Jesus, what a circus. Amateurs,” Levinsky lamented and Liz colored.

The camera was up on Smith’s shoulder again. The little red light was on and Smith was yapping.

“Levinsky, why is a bad guy like Hernandez out of jail? And where is he? Has the LAPD lost a murderer? A child killer?”

“Get that out of my face.” Levinsky whacked at the camera and Smith laughed. Here was a man who loved his job.

“Dr. Young says Hernandez is suspected of kidnapping two women. Are we going to see a repeat of what happened in the desert? Are you looking for bodies?”

Now Levinsky wasn’t the only one tired of Smith. Archer elbowed through the cops and advanced on Smith who backed up with the camera going. Archer was quick but he knew there was going to be some good footage of him looking like a crazy man. He didn’t care. One big hand went over the lens and another yanked the camera right off Smith’s shoulder.

“Police harassment,” Smith howled. “You better not break that. I’ll sue the department. I’ll. . .”

“I’m not a cop,” Archer growled, stopping only when he had backed Smith to the door. Smith looked around Archer and back to Levinsky and Arnson. Both shrugged.

“He’s not,” said Arnson confirmed.

“Hey,” Archer hollered. “You want the camera or not?”

Smith’s head whipped around in time to see Archer dangling the shoulder cam from three fingers.  He dashed for it and grabbed it just as Archer was about to let go.

“Not funny, man. Everybody’s gotta make a living,” he complained.

“You’re not going to do it here,” Archer said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Smith grumbled. “The local news will go for some of this stuff. I think there will be a lot of people interested to know you guys lost Hernandez.” Smith raised his voice on the last for the benefit of the LAPD. If they were worried, they didn’t show it.

“Get out of here, Smith,” Levinsky called. “And you better tell whoever is feeding you info regarding our whereabouts that I’m going to find them and write ‘em up.”

If Archer could have kicked the redhead’s butt on the way out, he would have. Instead, he just stood in the doorway to make sure the guy left as directed. When he returned to the others, Arnson was giving Levinsky the game plan.

 “We’ll talk to the public affairs officer when we get back this afternoon and let him know what’s going on. Nobody’s going to run that mess.”

“Maybe not, but the networks aren’t going to ignore the lead. Reporters will be nosing around for a bigger story soon,” Liz suggested.

“They’ll probably have it.”

Everyone turned at the sound of Daniel Young’s voice. Their attention trained on Smith, they hadn’t noticed the psychiatrist move into the bedroom.  He was standing in front of the bulletin board with his arms by his sides and his shoulders back. His eyes slid over to the cover of Reverend Wilson’s book.
His gaze moved
from the bold foiled title, to the picture of Janey, and finally to the calendar. 

“What are you talking about?” Archer asked.

“How long has Ms. Bates been gone to the best of your knowledge?” Daniel answered Archer’s questions with one of his own.

“Best guess is two days,” Archer answered.

“Janey and Susie were held, tortured, and then killed on the fifth day. We don’t have long to find Ms. Bates and Ms. Gardener.  And that, Archer, is more than my expert opinion.”

He turned his head, looked Archer in the eye, pivoted and walked out of the room. If Archer didn’t know better he would have thought he saw a spring in the man’s step.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:

An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

It took Josie a minute to realize the stealthy sounds outside the wall weren’t a figment of her imagination. The two women had passed the day in silence. Erika’s fear was catching and Josie had been infected. So when she heard noises, she got up, wanting to be facing the door when the man came for them.

Her still-bound hands hit the concrete block. Her head spun and she steadied herself as best she could.  She wilted, caught herself and pressed up against the concrete. Erika saw what she was doing. Josie put a finger to her lips. Then Erika heard it, too. She crawled toward Josie, threw her back up against the wall, and flattened herself against the concrete. It was late afternoon and murky inside the hut, but both hoped that their positioning and the light would keep them hidden.

“It’s him,” Erika whispered. “Xavier.”

Josie didn’t move. She strained to hear despite the pounding of her heart. It was the wrong time. He came early in the morning or late at night. He didn’t come now, not in late afternoon. Her lips, dry and cracked, burned as she formed the words:

“No, it’s not.”

Xavier Hernandez’s Place, Los Angeles

Archer didn’t take his frustration out on Daniel. Instead, he stood apart and watched everyone leave the house.

Daniel looked like he was trying to hold himself together. Testifying in court, talking to Hernandez in the controlled environment, writing his reports, making his pronouncements to reporters on the courthouse steps was antiseptic and powerful for the free man. Now the bad guy was free, and he was after people who’d done him wrong. Josie still didn’t make sense, but Archer learned a long time ago that there wasn’t much sense in crime. Daniel Young was learning that, too.

Levinsky came out with the uniformed cop and packed evidence bags in the back of the unmarked unit.  Arnson and Liz walked across the yard where they huddled with Daniel Young. Arnson and Young were doing the talking. Liz listened.

Archer raised his head. The sun was a bright, shimmering ball of light. It was another scorcher. He looked back again, but Liz wasn’t done. He wanted to be gone. There was nothing to be had here. Archer was almost ready to call a halt to the chitchat when something caught his attention.

An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

Slowly, Josie pushed herself off the ground, and with hope came strength. Caution was thrown to the wind and she called out:

“Hey. In here! We’re in here! Help us.”

Erika sat up. She got to her knees, tilting forward, straining to hear exclamations of shock from whoever was out there. Instead, they heard the leaves rustle as someone inched toward the bunker. A branch cracked under that person’s feet. It sounded like a bomb going off.  That was when all hell broke loose. Josie couldn’t tell how many people crashed through the trees and ran through the leaves. Laughing and whooping, the people on the outside found all this fantastically funny. 

“Hey, you shit heads. . . wait. . .  “ It was a girl’s voice that rang out. Not exactly the kind of girl you’d want to bring home to mom, but it didn’t matter. Josie didn’t want to marry her, she wanted her to stay put.

“There’s a reward,” Josie screamed and in return she heard nothing.

Xavier Hernandez’s House, Los Angeles

Behind her dark glasses, Liz Driscoll’s eyes followed Archer.

“Detective Driscoll? Are you listening?” Liz turned her attention back to Daniel Young. He was a pushy guy.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“His family,” Daniel said. “Xavier’s mother was Caucasian and a citizen, his father was an illegal who took off soon after Hernandez was born. The mother controlled everything in his life because she recognized early on he was trouble.”

“If she was that controlling, how come he was out on that highway alone?”

Young shook his head. “Little boys grow up and want some space. They came to an agreement. He could go anywhere he wanted as long as she knew where he was.  Once he checked in, she turned her back and never asked what he was doing. What Hernandez came to realize was that his mother was wary of him; I don’t think she was afraid but she knew enough not to push.”