Chapter 37
THE TENSION GREW with each minute that passed.
Stilwell and Ballard sat in the mobile command post watching the screens on the wall in front of them.
Laffont paced on the carpeted floor behind them.
On the screen a concealed camera focused on Molly Young leaning against the front fender of her new-model Bronco with her arms folded.
It was ten after ten and both her clients, who had paid ninety-nine dollars each to be led through the rugged forest behind her to Switzer Falls, were late.
Thanks to minute-by-minute reports from the SIS team surveilling Kent Middleton, they knew the suspect was on his way.
The tension was about the timing. Young’s website stated there would be only a ten-minute grace period for latecomers.
Be on time or your guide would proceed without you on the nonrefundable tour.
In this case, if two out of two were no-shows, Young would drive off, and all the work that went into the carefully choreographed and expensive operation would be for nothing.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Ballard said.
“She’s getting her keys out,” Laffont said. “We’re going to lose her.”
On the screen, Young had her hand in the front pocket of a backpack propped on the hood of the Bronco. She indeed pulled out what looked like a set of keys.
“Fuck me,” Ballard said. There was a stem mic on the table in front of her. She put her finger on the transmit button at its base.
“Mookie, where are we?” she said.
They were using the names of Dodgers players. The SIS officer in charge of the Middleton surveillance was Mookie. The head of the forest team was Freeman, and Ballard was Ohtani.
“Two minutes out.”
Ballard banged her fist on the table.
Stilwell watched Young reach again into the backpack and pull out a phone.
“She’s calling them,” he said. “We’ll be all right.”
Young unfolded a printout from the backpack and punched in a number she’d read off it. The team had already checked the numbers Middleton had provided by email for Frida Fanning and Marlon Yates, the aliases Middleton had used to set up the hike. They were both burner phones.
Young was waiting in a gravel parking lot in front of the Tujunga gate.
One camera had been mounted inside an animal-proof trash-bin enclosure and was focused on the gate.
A second was atop a light pole at the end of the lot and offered a wide shot of the entire area.
When the cameras were installed, it was unknown where the two subjects of the operation would park and stand.
Camera one showed only the passenger side of the Bronco, so in the command post, they watched the wide shot while listening to the audio from the close shot.
The call clearly went to voicemail, because Young said, “Frida, it’s Molly. I’m at the trailhead and it’s almost ten fifteen. I’ll wait a few more minutes for you, but call me back and tell me if you’re coming.”
After referring to the printout again, Young punched in a second number. This one was answered.
“Marlon, it’s Molly,” Young said. “Where are you?”
They could not hear the other side of the call in the command post.
“Okay,” Young said. “I was about to leave but I’ll wait. Do you know Frida Fanning, the other hiker?”
There was silence while Middleton presumably said he didn’t know Frida.
“Okay, well, hopefully she’s coming,” Young said. “See you soon.”
Young disconnected and put her phone and the printout back into her pack. Something about the action made Stilwell think about Angela Metier and her backpack. The anger he felt about her murder started to well up in him again.
“There he is,” Laffont said.
On the screen, a car was pulling into the lot. The SIS had parked three cars in the lot, staged so that Middleton would know there were other hikers on the trail. This was part of the plan to get Middleton into the control zone before he committed an overt act.
Middleton was driving the rental car he had picked up after getting off the Express ferry the day before.
He parked next to the Bronco and got out.
He slung a backpack over his shoulder as he approached Young.
It was the same one Stilwell had seen with Middleton on the Express and had chosen not to inspect.
“Molly?” Middleton said.
He gestured toward her as if unsure it was her. But the watchers knew, thanks to the keystroke logger, that he had viewed several photos of her on his computer the night before.
“Yes,” Young said. “Marlon?”
“That’s me,” Middleton said.
They shook hands. They still weren’t in the close-in camera’s frame but the audio from it was clear.
“Um, we might have a problem,” Young said. “The other hiker is not here and I can’t get her on the phone.”
“Really?” Middleton said. “And she paid and everything?”
“Yeah. So let’s give it a few more minutes. But if she doesn’t show, we’ll have to reschedule.”
“Oh, no. I came all the way from Catalina.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry. But it’s sort of a safety thing.”
“Yeah, right, I understand. Can you try calling her again?”
“Good idea.”
On the screen Young turned from Middleton to open her backpack. With her back to him, Middleton himself turned and did a sweep of the parking area.
“Shit,” Stilwell said.
He believed that Middleton might make his move right there. Ballard quickly pressed the radio transmit button.
“Muncy, be ready. This could be it!”
Muncy was the team of four SIS men in two cars parked on a side road less than a minute away; they had timed it during the run-through prep at six that morning.
Ballard and Stilwell watched intently. Laffont leaned in between them to get closer to the screens.
Young turned back to Middleton, holding her phone to her ear.
“She’s not answering,” she said.
Middleton gestured with a raised arm in frustration.
“Frida, you are now a half hour late,” Young said into the phone. “I’m going to have to cancel the hike.”
She disconnected and this time slid the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Middleton, “but we need to cancel. We can reschedule, or I’ll give you your money back. Or I have a sunset hike with a group at four today if you want to join that. It’s only twenty-five dollars, so I’d send you the rest back on Venmo.”
“Ah, no,” Middleton said. “I have something this afternoon. Are you sure we can’t just do it? I mean, I get the safety issue. But I’d stay ten feet away or whatever you wanted.”
Ballard put her finger on the transmit button, ready to give the go order if Middleton made a move.
“I really can’t,” Young said. “It’s a rule I promised my father I would never break. There’ve been girls who’ve disappeared on hikes. In fact, one was found out on Catalina recently. Found dead.”
“I know,” Middleton said. “I was there.”
“What?”
Fear had instantly charged into her voice. On the screen, she took a step back from Middleton. Ballard leaned toward the mic.
Middleton quickly raised his hands in a Stay calm gesture.
“No, I mean I was there when they found her,” he said quickly. “I’m a conservancy ranger. I got called in. Here, I can show you my badge.”
He pulled the backpack off his shoulder as he walked toward the hood of the Bronco.
“I don’t like this,” Ballard said.
Middleton put the backpack on the Bronco’s hood next to Young’s. He unzipped a compartment and reached his hand in.
Ballard pushed the button.
“Muncy, go!” she yelled. “Now! Code three!”
Almost immediately, a piercing chirp from a police siren could be heard on the audio. Middleton stepped back from the Bronco and pivoted toward the parking-lot entrance. A full-throated siren wailed as two black SUVs charged into the lot and across the gravel toward Middleton and Young.
Middleton raised his hands and yelled something, but it was unintelligible with the siren jamming the audio feed.
The unmarked SUVs skidded to a stop and the siren ceased. The four SIS officers, dressed in black raid gear, quickly emerged. Two used their open doors as shields as they aimed weapons at Middleton. The other two rushed him and took him down to the gravel.
Middleton was silent as his hands were cuffed behind his back by one officer while the other searched his pockets.
“What is this?” Young yelled. “What’s going on?”
One of the men pointed toward the trash enclosure.
“Ma’am, stand over there,” he ordered. “An officer will be with you in a moment.”
Young did as she had been told as the cover officers holstered their weapons and approached the others. More SIS vehicles from the surveillance crew entered the lot. Ballard leaned down to the mic.
“Check his backpack,” she said.
One man went to the backpack. He had the microphone stem from an earpiece and gave a running inventory as he put the contents of the pack on the hood of the Bronco.
“We’ve got one thermos,” he said. “One wrapped sandwich. A second wrapped sandwich. One thirty-five-millimeter camera. A folded space blanket. Two—no, three PowerBars.”
They could hear the zippers as the officer went through the other compartments of the pack and repeatedly said, “Nothing,” until he opened an internal pocket.
“One conservancy ranger badge. That’s it.”
Stilwell was stunned.
“I’m going over there,” he said.
“I’ll drive,” Ballard said.