Expert Witness (31 page)

“Paul Rothskill? The young man who went for help that day? Josie Bates got him on the stand and pointed out to the jury that he was a convicted sex offender. In reality, he was a young man serving his church, and trying to help the teenagers in his charge. She painted him with the ugliest of brushes. She ruined his life.”

“Was he a pervert?” Archer demanded.

“When he was eighteen he had sex with his sixteen-year-old girlfriend. Her parents brought charges. Josie Bates smeared Janey Wilson with her diary and with the fact that she had traveled to Mexico with a young man who had sex with an underaged girl. Josie Bates drove Isaiah Wilson to near madness. Josie Bates made Susie Atkins look like a little whore.” Daniel paused, seemingly surprised at the passion in his story. He pulled back; he twisted his neck. He calmed himself and lowered his voice. “You know, now that I think of it, she and Xavier were well matched. They looked for weakness, and when they had the opportunity they exploited it. There is some skill in that; there is something to be admired about that ability. I suppose, though, someone is just better than she is at it now. Somebody smarter found her weak spot.”

“Xavier.” Archer said.

Daniel blinked.

“Xavier, of course. But as you and Detective Driscoll speculated, there may be someone else. It could be anyone. In truth, I just don’t think there are a lot of people who love Ms. Bates the way you do.”

With that, Daniel left Archer sitting in Josie’s bedroom. He was too tired to move, too worried to know which way to turn. Then he heard the doorbell ring, his name called out, and he was re-energized. By the time he got to the living room, Daniel Young was gone and Liz Driscoll was waiting, grinning like a fool.

“Let’s go, cowboy!”

CHAPTER THIRTY- FIVE:

An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

Josie broke off the edge of the energy bar and held it out to Erika, but the other woman’s eyes were glued to their tiny window on the world. The sun was starting to go down. The heat had settled beside them like the fat relative at a small Thanksgiving table.

“Erika!” Josie picked up the blonde’s hand and put the piece of food into it.

Erika put it in her mouth while Josie rewrapped the oatmeal bar carefully, intent on preserving any fingerprints that might be on the plastic coated paper. That would make two pieces of evidence if they were lucky. When she was done, she leaned back against the wall and nibbled at her own little chunk.

“He’s coming tonight,” Erika said.

“Yeah?” Josie said.

“He is,” Erika insisted. “Tonight is going to be different. I think it’s getting close to the end. I think this was all some kind of joke or a test or something.”

She pulled her eyes away from the small hole in the wall. Her skin had a pink tinge, the color of the sunset. She smiled at Josie as she scooted back to rest against the opposite wall. Josie smiled back. She couldn’t take her eyes off Erika Gardener whose own were bright with excitement.

“You know, we might be on television or something. Like a reality show.”

Josie nodded.  

This was not good.

Sepulveda Boulevard, Torrance

“Arnson called. Him and Levinsky are stuck at a triple homicide, so he thought we could check this out and let him know what we find.”

Liz’s eyes darted left and right to monitor the traffic. She wanted to get where they were going, and she wanted to get there fast. There was only one problem. No one got anywhere fast once you got out of the beach areas.

“Don’t get your hopes up. We may not find anything,” Archer warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But it could be something. Hell’s bells, I didn’t even think about asking if Hernandez was monitored. It’s amazing what they can do with those things. They’ve got GPS technology on those ankle bracelets.”

“But why didn’t Cuwin Martin tell Arnson and Levinsky that Hernandez was wearing a GPS when they first caught the case?” Archer asked.

“Because it wasn’t him who spilled the beans.  Cuwin’s supervisor took his files because he’s been out on sick leave.”

“More like putting his head in the sand,” Archer countered.

“Either way, he wasn’t exactly doing a bang up job on the follow-up of Hernandez.  The darn monitor went off like Fourth of July fireworks in the last month. Hernandez wasn’t staying put, but the monitors only reported his movement half the time and half of that time Cuwin blew it off. He put most of the reports in the round file, if you know what I mean.  He’s a lazy son of a bitch,” Liz decided. “Anyway, Levinsky is going to run down the movement in 90036 zip to see if Hernandez was anywhere near Erika Gardener’s place. It made sense to send the South Bay tracking our way. So, we’re going to check out this place in El Segundo because the GPS put him there within the last week.”

“How is Hagarty hanging?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Archer.” She put a skinny finger to her lips and then laughed from her belly.

“Just watch your butt so nothing comes around to bite it,” he warned.

“I could get down with that depending on who’s doing the biting,” Liz quipped as she slid her eyes his way.  Archer couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way Liz Driscoll could look enticing, but he admired her for working with what she had. He would truly hate to see her go down. Liz Driscoll was one of the good people,
and it was clear she was sticking out her neck for him, not Josie.  

“What did they tell you?” Archer asked as they came to a stoplight.

“Hernandez was on the Westside, he’s been down here and around Hollywood. I’d bet you anything he was in the hills. That means he has transportation and mom’s car is out. He didn’t have money for his own. Even if he did, nobody was going to insure him.” The light changed. She hit the gas. “Anyway, that’s how he got the photographs.”

“He took them with a car?”

“Funny.” She grimaced. “I tell you shit’s going to hit the fan if we don’t find those ladies alive. Parole is already in helluva of lot trouble these days-”

Archer only half listened to Liz’s litany of screw ups by the parole board and their minions. Liz didn’t have a clue her off-handed comment was anything personal and he couldn’t blame her. Archer had been where she was, wanting a break, a big case, a spotlight bust. Still, in her excitement, she was losing sight of the human element, and that meant Liz Driscoll might make decisions that weren’t in the best interest of the victims. It wasn’t for him to point this out because he walked the other side of the road: the victims were all he cared about and that made for its own slippery slope.

“There it is.” Liz glanced to her left and eased into the median. She cut her eyes Archer’s way, and her grin faltered as she noted his expression. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” he assured her. “And so are you. Let’s do this.”

“You got it.”

Liz turned away to attend to traffic, but her smile was gone. Archer was right. It was time to get serious.

 They were on the border of Torrance and El Segundo, waiting to make a left that would let them cross the wide and busy highway. The flush at Liz’s jaw, the sparkle in her eye, did not escape Archer’s notice. Pleased with his validation, Liz turned the wheel and the car bounced over the railroad track that still serviced a run from L.A. to Santa Monica. She drove past the big, high gates and finally stopped in front of the office of A1-Storage.

The California Mountains

He loved the wind in his hair. It was a long way to go, but he was taking a leisurely ride this time. He liked that it would be dark by the time he arrived. His presence would be unexpected.  He would surprise them once more. Gaslight them. Why not? Tit-for-tat the way they had done to him all those years ago. He would wake them up and make them play.  Twenty questions was his game. It would be a cross examination combined with a journalist’s interview. He had packed prizes. If they answered his questions correctly, they would each get one.

Maybe.

If they didn’t, well, wouldn’t he just show them that he could play hardball, too.

A-1 Storage, El Segundo

The A-1 Storage facility was deceptive. From the street it looked like a few garages sitting on a patch of land between an abandoned body shop on one side and an empty lot on the other. Now that Archer and Liz were behind the gates, the landscape changed: hundreds of storage units radiated across acres of land. Row upon row of freshly painted, identical steel buildings lined wide, paved lanes. You could get a flatbed back here, and the units were big enough to store a good-sized boat. There was no landscaping, nothing that would entice anyone to waste a minute more here than was necessary.

Liz cut the engine and pulled on the emergency brake. They opened their respective doors simultaneously. It was dusk now and the spotlights atop each unit were lit but ineffectual. When it was dark, the place would look like Stalag 13.

“There’s got to be a hundred of them.”  Liz was looking around even as she came to stand with Archer.

“We only need one to cough something up,” Archer noted, quietly hoping they wouldn’t find two dead bodies.

Liz led the way; Archer was close behind as they walked up the three wooden steps that led to a door marked ‘office’. The ‘office’ was nothing more than a converted storage unit, changing out the rollup to double glass doors. Inside was cool, narrow and basic. There was a desk, a couple of filing cabinets and a guy who looked like he should be selling insurance instead of sitting in a little metal box watching television.

“Hey.” He greeted them without taking his eyes from the screen. “Just a sec. They’re going to have the reveal any minute. You wouldn’t believe what this woman used to look like. She was butt ugly. I mean b-u-t-t ugly. Coyote ugly. Here she comes. Oh, God! She looks worse. What a dog.”

Archer looked at Liz. Liz shrugged just as the man turned an absolutely delighted face their way.  He didn’t seem to mind that they hadn’t uttered a word.

“These make-over shows are incredible.
What Not To Wear
is the best. That Windy person’s show isn’t bad, but this one – what’s her name, the cook lady with the talk show? Come on. Big chic.” He looked at the two as if they should know. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, totally delighted with himself.  “Corrine something.  Yeah. She does the worst ones. Ever watch it?”

Happily he looked from Liz to Archer, but Liz caught his attention when she pulled out her I.D. The guy behind the desk was not really impressed and definitely not nervous.

“Why didn’t you say so?” He grinned wider.

“We wanted you to have your moment,” Liz answered. “You done?”

“Oh yeah. Show’s over. What do you need?”  The man rearranged his face into an expression of concern, but when he furrowed his brow his eyes seemed to cross. Archer thought it looked painful.

“We’re looking for a guy named Xavier Hernandez. Five seven. Good build. Black hair. We had him here about a week ago according to his monitoring. Maybe he rents a unit,” Liz suggested. “Want to see a picture?”

“Nope. I see people who rent these units for like five minutes while they fill out the paperwork. I never see them again after they get their key. I’d be hard pressed to remember what any of them look like.” 

The man rolled his chair away, spun around and landed expertly in front of the smaller filing cabinet. Archer wondered how many hours he had spent perfecting the move between waiting for someone to walk through the door and the next makeover show. He whipped open the drawer. Behind him someone on TV was still gushing and Archer couldn’t resist a look. The guy turned back and caught him in the act.

“A dog, right? Huh? See what I’m sayin’?” The man’s head bobbed up and down.

“I’ve seen better,” Archer admitted and then he stepped forward. “What have you got?”

“I’m really not supposed to show you this without a court order. Privacy stuff and all that.” The man said it like it was no skin off his nose if someone squawked.

“I can get one,” Liz offered, “but this is a life and death thing.  I’d hate to waste any more time than we have to. So, maybe you could just chat with us a little bit. We’ll start by assuming Hernandez rented a unit here because you are holding a file.”

“Yeah, you could assume that. Good customer. He’s been with me since-” The man cracked the lips of the folder like he was peeking at a Christmas present, “-1997.”

Archer and Liz looked at one another.

“Really? Were you here then?” Liz asked.

“Yep.”

“You sure it was him that rented the unit. Not a woman?”

“Nope. It was him. I would have had to see his I.D.,” he assured them. “Unless he was on that chick’s make-over show. Some of those makeovers look like guys when they’re done.” He guffawed, pleased with himself. “I’m tellin’ ya. Know what I mean?”