Chapter 29
Chapter
29
I walked into the meeting a few minutes late.
Same room, same whiteboards, different atmosphere.
The first time the aura had been anxiety tempered by the excitement of taking on a new case. Today the room felt deprived of air and the detectives looked dejected.
That included Buck Buxby, who looked surprised to be there. Probably invited as a courtesy. Or Milo hoping some old memory from the Parmenter case might surface.
Two long tables were occupied by him, Alicia, Moe, Petra, and Raul. Two empty seats: mine and Sean Binchy’s.
Milo looked at his Timex. Made a call. “Voicemail. Anyone seen Sean?”
Alicia said, “Not since yesterday.”
Moe Reed nodded assent.
Buck Buxby said, “Hey, maybe he solved the whole darn thing and is writing his report.”
The attempt at humor was met by sad smiles. Buxby flushed and looked down at the table.
Milo said, “Your mouth to God’s ears, Buck.” Throwing the old D a lifeline. He makes cracks about me never taking off my therapist hat but he sells himself short in that department.
Another glance at his watch. “Okay, let’s start. Obviously, I’d love to report progress but we’ll have to settle for pooling data. Petra?”
She said, “We pulled thirty-nine traffic tickets—mostly parking—within a mile of O’Brien’s murder scene that night. Eight offenders had felony records. I’ve spent the last few days tracing each of them and conducting face-to-faces. Unfortunately they could all account for their whereabouts during the murder.”
Buxby said, “Watching a Disney show at the Pantages?”
Petra said, “Actually one of them was, Buck, with two grandkids. Former armed robber turned gramps. My best candidate, a manslaughter parolee, was getting soused at Café Berlin and his presence is backed up by CCTV. The same goes for the remaining seven. That leaves me with thirty-one citizens I’ll need to talk to. Now that Raul’s free, we’ll split that lovely task.”
Raul said, “I’m free because all the pay parking lot stuff zeroed out, the only exception being one place where the chain was cut. But of course, there’s no surveillance there so no idea what that means. I did go back and search for anything that might be evidentiary. Unfortunately, the area was cleaned and cleared.”
Alicia said, “Sympathies, guys. What about Mr. Hoodie?”
“One additional sighting,” said Raul. “The informant would be in a position to actually observe something—he sleeps in several alleys pretty close to the crime scene. But he’s also homeless and conspicuously psychotic.”
I said, “Despite that, did he have any details to add?”
“Sorry, Doc, no. Just a pedestrian in a hoodie, no idea if he was carrying anything.”
Petra said, “On the one hand, there’s consistency to the sightings. On the other, there’s no shortage of guys in hoodies in Hollywood after dark. We also went over O’Brien’s apartment for the second time and found a big stash of GHB under his bed that we missed. So doping and exploiting women was a thing for him. Which is backed up by Milo’s interview of his former roommate.”
Milo summed up the talk with Martin Kehoe.
Moe said, “Other victims, other potential avengers.”
Petra said, “Unfortunately. They’ve got to be out there but we haven’t found them and despite Marissa’s death being on social media, there’s been no tide of me-too.”
Alicia frowned. “Same old story, too ashamed to come forward.”
Petra nodded. “No doubt. But even if victims do surface, someone who paid to have O’Brien murdered isn’t going to be one of them.”
Milo had listened to all that without a glance at me.
By the way, Alex knows of another victim.
Friendship.
He returned his attention to the boards. “Which brings us back to the one decent suspect we do have. A gentleman who knew both Parmenter and O’Brien.”
He tapped Gerald Boykins’s photo. Did the same to an image that had been added next to it. Kiki Boykins in a smiling party shot taken from her Instagram.
“His wife?” said Moe.
“Yup, calls herself Kiki.”
“Why’re you considering her now, L.T.?”
Milo tapped a third shot. Keisha Boykins, smiling prettily. This time, he looked at me.
I said, “You all know that Parmenter laid down a vulgar rap focused on Keisha. We’ve since learned she’s an only child with some sort of chronic illness that keeps her out of school. That could kick up the parental protectiveness level so we need to look at both parents. Operating individually or in concert. And given the fact that O’Brien worked for Gerald Boykins, we can’t eliminate the possibility that he wasn’t just fired, he was taken care of permanently because of something to do with Keisha. Real or imagined. The wrong comment, the wrong look.”
Petra said, “The serpent can’t control its nature plus Mommy and Daddy are already primed after Parmenter, so they’re looking for problems.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And ready to use the same shooter because he’d done a clean job on Parmenter.”
Buck Buxby said, “You finally find a good plumber, keep calling him.”
Moe said, “On the other hand, like we said, O’Brien could be the result of another pissed-off family.”
No tell, from Milo.
Moe said, “Wide, wide world of suspects.”
Milo said, “If the Boykinses are behind one or two hits, there’s someone we need to look at as the shooter. Private guard who was there the day Alex and I visited them. Guy named Walt Swanson, used to work at Pacific Division.”
He looked at Buxby.
The old D said, “Sorry, never get that close to the beach.”
Moe said, “Why’s he on the radar?”
Milo said, “He really isn’t. But turns out he no longer works for the Boykinses or the private security firm they got him from. It’s possible Gerald got pissed off because Swanson opened the gate for us easily so he canned him. On the other hand.”
Alicia said, “Guy did two freelances for the Boykinses then you show up asking questions and it’s time to make himself scarce. Anything scary in his background?”
“Nope, spotless record when he was on the job. Alex did me a favor this morning and took a look at his place of residence. Simi Valley, low-key, but he does have a sick wife so theoretically that could exert financial pressure.”
Alicia said, “Are we going to start watching him?”
“Don’t see that as high priority unless we get something else on him. First thing is to learn if he was fired or quit, but Pacific Security isn’t being helpful.”
Buck Buxby cleared his throat.
Milo said, “What is it, Buck?”
“I might have an in, there. Nothing high-level but a—someone—a person I used to know, worked there, maybe still does. Which office did you call?”
“Their main one, North Hollywood.”
“Oh,” said Buxby. “She—the person—is in the Orange County office, Buena Park. That’s how I met her, there was this gang case, Mexican Mafia shooting up the competition across both counties, one of them actually had a job at a warehouse and Pacific had security footage there so I—” Another flush. “Sorry. TMI, like the kids say. Anyway, I could call, see if she can find out.”
Milo said, “That would be great.”
“Want me to do it right now?”
“Why don’t you wait until we’ve gotten through everything.” Another look at the Timex and Binchy’s empty seat. “Try Sean, Moses.”
Reed made the call, shook his head. “Voicemail.”
“Weird,” said Alicia. “He’s so into punctual.”
Milo frowned. “Okay, onward. Buck, thanks for looking into Swanson. If you learn he was fired due to a complaint by the Boykinses, he’s probably not involved. If he suddenly quit, it gets more interesting. What’s the surveillance situation at his home, Alex?”
I said, “Not ideal. Quiet street in Simi.”
Buxby said, “Used to live there. Nice if you want to hang a flag, which I do, but yeah, too quiet, couldn’t sleep.”
Milo smiled, turned serious. “Okay, that’s about it. Any questions about anything?”
I turned to Moe. “Milo said you’d found a couple of .308 shootings.”
“I did but nothing thrilling, Doc. Both in Ohio, and a long time ago. Also, more like hunting accidents than planned-out homicides. They were filed as undetermined by the coroner but the police report says likely accidental.”
“Were they neck shots?”
“Nope,” he said. “That would’ve gotten my attention. One was to the back, pierced the spine, the other was in the brain stem.”
“Same rifle for both?”
“That would’ve also been nice, so I tried to find out but couldn’t. We’re talking small-town and no one who’s still around at local law enforcement remembers anything about either case. I tried their coroner, who turns out to be a mortician who bought the business two years ago from another mortician who’d died. No record of the bullets being preserved.”
Buck Buxby muttered, “Welcome to Mayberry.”
I said, “Where were the shootings?”
Everyone looked at me. Why’s he so interested.
Then they smiled knowingly. That’s Doc, being meticulous.
Moe pulled out his pad and flipped. “One was in a place called Shelter Lake, Ohio, the other in a tinier hamlet called Vantage.”
“Morticians,” said Alicia.
“Yup, the few times they need a pathologist they bring one in.”
I said, “How far apart are the locales?”
Milo had already worked his phone. “Twenty-six miles.”
I said, “Don’t want to keep anyone here but at some point I wouldn’t mind details.”
Milo said, “This point, we’re not speeding off anywhere. Moses?”
Reed paged some more. “The first place was Vantage, sixteen years ago, victim was a Caucasian male, forty-six years old, named Leonard Wiebelhaus, no criminal connections, worked at a tire shop. He was out shooting ring-necked pheasants in a wooded area when he got nailed. The second occurred six years later, similar terrain, victim was a Rainer Steckel, fifty-six, Caucasian male, school custodian, again no record. He was hunting deer and not wearing a proper orange vest.”
Alicia said, “Honestly, Doc, don’t see anything in common other than two middle-aged white guys. Which is your basic hunter demographic.”
Buxby said, “And six years in between ain’t exactly serial killer stuff.”
I said, “The cases may not be relevant but I think anything remotely similar needs to be looked at. I’m wondering if our guy convinced himself he’s a savior righting wrongs and that delusion began early. I’d especially be interested in the first victim—Wiebelhaus—because if his murder was a maiden voyage, the shooter could’ve been motivated by personal anger. If we’re talking someone who’s now in his thirties or forties, he’d started out as a teenager or in his early twenties. Both are peaks for criminality. And the six years between victims could be due to military service, which would fit a marksman.”
Alicia said, “Joins the service, works on his shooting, and gets rewarded for it.”
I said, “This is purely theoretical but I can see a discharged-with-personality issues deciding to turn his skills into a part-time career. Part-time, at this point, because as far as we know he hasn’t shot enough people to make a steady living.”
Petra said, “Unless he’s pulled off other hits with different weapons.”
“That’s a possibility.”
Milo said, “If not, we’re talking a day job that he augments and you know where that leads me.”
She said, “Back to Swanson.”
Buxby said, “Just what we need, a bad cop.”
“When you talk to your source, Buck, try to find out if Swanson has any roots in Ohio.”
Milo said, “Moe, try to dig a little deeper into those shootings. Not the locals, but maybe newspaper articles.”
“Will do, L.T. Anything else?”
Milo turned to Petra. “You want help on those citizen parking tickets?”
“If you’ve got the time, that would be great.”
“My time is yours, stick around and we’ll divide the chores. Meanwhile if there’s nothing else—”
The door swung open and Sean Binchy ran in.
None of his usual aw-shucks amiability. Wide-eyed, one hand clutching his phone tight enough to whiten the skin but turn his freckles darker, he raced to the empty chair but remained on his feet.
“We just got another one.”