Burning Proof Page 7

  “Whoa.” Luke and Woody spoke at the same time.

  “Yeah, it was rough. I knew the kid, met him in country. Anyway, Faye—that’s her name, Faye Fallon—blogs about crime and cold cases in the Lancaster/Palmdale area. She sent me a case she’s profiled a couple of times, and I wanted you to take a look. There is a bit of urgency because with this case, there’s a statute of limitations in play.”

  “It’s not a homicide case?” Luke asked.

  “No. It might have been. Ten years ago the victim, sixteen years old at the time, accepted a ride from a stranger. He sexually assaulted her, tied her up, threw her into the trunk of his car, and drove her out to the middle of nowhere. This is out near Mojave. She managed to escape, and the sicko was never caught. The ten-year anniversary was a couple of months ago. Because the victim was under eighteen at the time of the crime, the statute of limitations won’t expire until she turns twenty-eight, in a little under two years. . . . Anyway, I’d consider it a favor to me if you would talk to Faye, see if you can help. She can pay you.”

  “Sure,” Luke said quickly, touched by the story and curious. He looked at Woody, who nodded.

  “Great. I’ll give Faye your number. And I’ll try to help if I can, but no guarantees.”

  After Orson left Luke and Woody in the coffee shop, Woody opened the briefcase he’d brought with him. The booth where they sat was private and quiet, and Luke felt okay to continue the meeting here.

  He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been waiting to study everything Asa was hiding in that safe.”

  “Hope you’re not disappointed. I’ve glanced over things and I’ve seen only theories, no proof or facts. I did see one tidbit that’s new. Something Asa sat on. I could slap him. It’s something that should have been investigated years ago.”

  “I’ll take everything with a grain of salt.”

  Woody placed the pages on the table: a file on Simon Morgan, two reports about old hit-and-run accidents, a folder of Asa’s notes, and a file of assorted news clippings. Some of the newspaper clippings were old and yellowed, the edges frayed. They were mostly about the Triple Seven, but he did see one concerning a hit-and-run.

  “You’ve looked through everything?”

  “Pretty much. Some stuff more in depth than other stuff.” He tapped one of the hit-and-runs. “For example, remember the theory that George Sanders floated, alleging that Buck and Rollins stole a car as kids and hit and killed a guy?”

  Luke nodded. He hadn’t been there when Abby and Bill interrogated Sanders about Buck Morgan and Lowell Rollins’s relationship, but he’d heard about it later. Sanders claimed Lowell was driving that night, and he and Buck swore they’d never reveal the truth. Years later, when the Triple Seven partnership was on the rocks and Lowell was ready to throw his hat in the political ring, Patricia Morgan threatened to go public with his secret. Gavin Kent was supposedly sent in to clean up the mess.

  “I thought that was all hearsay. I mean, how reliable was Sanders?”

  Woody made a face. “Normally, I would trust him as far as I could throw him. But apparently Asa heard that rumor a long time before Sanders spilled his guts.”

  “From who?”

  Woody shook his head. “He doesn’t say. But he pulled this report trying to prove it.” He held up a report Luke could see was dated from around that time. Luke took it and skimmed the narrative. A man walking his dog had been struck and killed. There was a Post-it note in the center, the message faded a bit but the words still readable: Impossible to prove.

  “I agree with him,” Woody said. “There would be no way to prove Rollins did the hit-and-run even if this were the right one. Besides, I don’t want to waste time on this.”

  “I agree,” Luke said. “It sounds like a rabbit trail, a distraction.”

  He took the report from Luke and moved it to the side. Luke considered that Sanders killed himself so there was no way to pin him down about what exactly he heard and from whom. The whole story was odd.

  “Now, as far as the Triple Seven murders go, I read his notes a couple of times. Asa had a theory.” Woody held his hands up. “It’s just a theory—repeating, he has no proof, but he was closer to things at the time than I was. I’d just gotten married, my second one, so I missed a lot of stuff he saw.”

  “Spill it. I’m ready to listen to anything.”

  “Okay. He believed Kent was the killer. But he recognized that Kent could not have acted on his own. Gavin was always more brawn than brains. So Asa’s search was to figure out who helped.” Woody pulled out a page with some names written on it and handed it to Luke.

  Luke read the names and stared at Woody. “Seriously?”

  Woody nodded. “He believed some cops helped. He cross-referenced work schedules for that day. He also verified that Kent took off five consecutive sick days after the fire. Claimed he hurt himself water-skiing.”

  “That punk Sanders said Buck Morgan shot Kent, put some buckshot in his leg,” Luke mused. “He would have had to take time off work. But these other names . . .” Luke read them out loud. “Alyssa Rollins, Kelsey Cox, Graham Sophist, Terry Jackson? I don’t know those last two.”

  “They’re both dead. Sophist was a friend of Kent’s. He was on the PD for a couple of years. Got fired for lying. He died about five years ago, heart attack. Jackson was another bad cop. He was under suspension when he died in a small plane crash. They were both tight with Kent at the time, so that’s why they’re on the list. But Asa admits in his notes that there is no evidence they were connected in any way to the Triple Seven case.”

  “But Kelsey and Alyssa? He really thought that Alyssa Rollins was a cold-blooded killer?”

  “Well, back in the day, she was nobody’s favorite. She was a snob. Rollins inherited old money, but that didn’t change him; he was one of the guys. Buck mentioned that to me once.”

  “You and Buck were tight?”

  “We were friends, poker buddies. He and Patricia popped meals for cops. From time to time, he’d sit down and shoot the breeze with us. Asa was still in patrol and my partner then, and the three of us hit it off. Buck was good people. I kinda believe that part of Sanders’s story, that Buck and Patricia wanted to buy Rollins out.”

  “Did Asa find proof that the partnership was floundering?”

  “Solid proof, no. Asa says that according to Buck, when Rollins married Alyssa, he stopped being one of the guys. Alyssa felt he was destined for greatness, and she wanted him to behave according to his station in life. That station didn’t include palling around with Buck anymore.”

  “Sounds like she would have wanted to get rid of the restaurant.”

  “The restaurant was a means to an end. This was before social media. People read about happenings at the restaurant in the daily newspaper. Rollins liked seeing his name mentioned often in a positive light. I think dissolving the partnership was a negative to Alyssa, at least at that time. I’m sure that as Rollins climbed the political ladder, there may have been a point where she would not have cared.”

  “Just not at the beginning,” Luke said, beginning to see a picture in his mind’s eye of a calculating and manipulative woman in Alyssa Rollins. “And Cox?”

  Woody sighed and rubbed his chin. “Well, Cox and Kent were engaged. And Cox has had her issues. But I find it hard to believe that she would cover up a triple murder.”

  “I see here—” Luke pointed to the paper—“Asa’s cross-reference that Cox was assigned to the Belmont Shore area that day. The Morgan house burned right after the restaurant; she’d have been at one of the fires.”

  “Right, but I bet the records of exactly where she was aren’t that easy to find. Now everything is computerized, and cars have GPS. Back then it wasn’t so. She could have said she was one place and been on the other side of the city. No way to know for sure.”

  “She works for Rollins now.”

  “Yep, that she does. And that brings up the second hit-and-run report.” Woody tapped anot
her file, this one documenting the death of Louis Rollins, Lowell’s brother.

  “Asa was working the night Louis was killed,” Woody continued. “He told me about the crash back then. He thought it was intentional; he didn’t think it was an accident.”

  “He believed Louis was killed to shut him up,” Luke said after reading Asa’s notes.

  “Apparently Asa thought so, yes. He even thought Kent was the one who ran poor Louis down.”

  Luke set the notes aside to think for a minute. Most of this, except for the names, they already knew because of allegations George Sanders and Gavin Kent had made several months ago.

  He pointed to the real unknown. “What about the file on Simon Morgan? What does Abby’s uncle have to do with all of this?”

  “That’s what Asa sat on. According to him, someone saw Buck Morgan after the Triple Seven fire. Simon Morgan’s old girlfriend.”

  “What?” Luke felt his face flush. This was new—way new. “Smoking, meet gun.”

  Woody nodded. “It took some digging, and like everything else it’s all hearsay, but Asa at one time was looking for an old girlfriend of Simon’s.” He pointed to a name in the margin. “Lucy Harper. Asa heard a rumor on the streets about what she’d seen, that she might have talked to Buck the night after the fire. Asa even took a trip to the prison and asked Simon about her.”

  “No way. Even Abby didn’t know this.”

  “No one knew it. Asa did it on the down low when he first went to homicide. At that time, Simon was in a prison up north. Asa said Simon played dumb. He thought the con was lying.”

  Luke had to digest this. “Why on earth would he sit on this?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Have you told Abby?”

  “No. I don’t think I should tell her anything until she’s settled her mind over this shooting.”

  “Yeah, this might blow her up. Is Lucy Harper still in Long Beach?”

  “Asa looked for her, didn’t find her. Maybe this is a missing person case you should take on, pro bono.”

  “Maybe,” Luke said, but inside, he wondered if he could do such a thing and keep it from Abby.

  CHAPTER

  -16-

  GIL BARONE WAS CAREFUL. His image was important to him, and he didn’t want to do anything that would tarnish it or lead people to the truth his carefully constructed facade concealed.

  Because he was so careful, he was sitting here in a business center banquet hall being honored, praised, and considered completely moral and upstanding.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  He smiled with his mouth, but his heart held a sewer of mocking gibes for the people presenting him with the Chamber of Commerce award for business citizenship.

  “Mr. Barone is always available to help.” Mrs. Waters, head of the Tehachapi Business Bureau, droned on and on. “His expertise with computers has saved us many, many times.”

  Stroking his beard and offering a humble nod, Gil smothered a smile as a thought came to him. Wish the old bat would stroke out right here and now. That would make this trip worth it.

  “We’re so happy that he is such a responsive and caring member of our business community.”

  When she finished speaking, she beamed at him as he propelled his wheelchair over to accept the plaque. The room applauded, and he looked over the hall filled with business owners and leaders in the community. It was hard not to smirk.

  He’d fully Haskellized them all. That’s what he called it. Led them to believe he was one thing when in reality he was another, like the character Eddie Haskell in that nearly forgotten corny television show Leave It to Beaver. He was their war-injured techy hero here in town, and fully twisted and depraved in private at home.

  After the award was presented and the speeches mercifully ended, Gil’s right-hand man, Bart Meechum, grabbed the plaque as Gil released his chair brakes and wheeled toward the door. He kept his fake smile in place until after his chair was safely inside the van and the door was closed. He made the transition to the driver’s seat before he broke out laughing, pleased with himself over how he’d successfully and consistently fooled the most distinguished businesspeople in Tehachapi.

  Bart was a few seconds behind him, laughing hysterically as he hopped into the passenger seat. They shared a high five, and then Gil started up the van and headed home. After a long day of boring speeches and working hard to be on his best behavior, Gil needed to unwind with a beer and some special movies he and Bart had on tap.

  “Life is good.” Bart grinned.

  Gil agreed as he made the turn onto Tucker that began his drive home. “For us,” he said, “at the top of the food chain.”

  His house sat up on a ridge, overlooking the entire town of Tehachapi. The high desert town known for two things, the Tehachapi Pass Wind Farm and a train loop, was not where Barone ever thought he’d be living. But his father’s death and gift of a house and money changed his perspective.

  He’d been living in Northridge when his father died and hadn’t expected anything at all from his father’s estate. Gil’s mother died when he was in his twenties and he and his father, a retired sheriff’s deputy, never got along. Gil hated everything his father stood for, hated being a cop’s kid. So when Dad died and left his only child such a gift, no one was more surprised than Gil. The old man left a paid-off house and a surprisingly comfortable nest egg.

  Gil was happy to take the house and used some of the money to remodel it to suit his needs, even though it meant moving his business and his life from Northridge to what he considered a Podunk, backward town. But he quickly learned that living in Tehachapi, with its population hovering around fifteen thousand people, would allow him to be a big fish in a small pond, something he liked as much as he liked being treated as a war hero.

  Confined to a wheelchair after a drunk driving accident overseas, his story when he set up shop in Tehachapi was that he’d been injured in battle, in Iraq. The rubes never questioned him and treated him like the war hero he claimed he was.

  He figured his father probably thought that since he was paralyzed from the waist down, he couldn’t cause problems or get into trouble, and that was why the estate had been willed to him. Dad had no idea how resourceful Gil was or that he’d meet a person like Bart, a man of like passions, as it were.

  He parked the van in his garage and closed the door behind them. He loved the fact that once the door was closed, his life was perfectly hidden. He could see out, but no one could see in. His house backed to a hillside. There was no chance anyone would sneak up from behind.

  Right now all he wanted was a trip to his man cave, an addition at the back of the garage. There he had his computers set up, his sixty-inch screen, and it was all surrounded by soundproof windowless walls, totally safe from any prying eyes.

  Among other things, Gil was a hacker, and in his world he was the best. While Bart was also good at hacking, and they worked together as a team, Gil had engineered far more serious incursions into computer systems where he had no business than he ever told Bart. With Bart he’d breached a large credit bureau and found a lucrative market to sell the passwords and credit information he’d compromised. For Bart it was all about the money. He went bonkers when he saw the cash they’d netted from that job, cash safely squirreled away in an offshore account. But Gil didn’t care about the money. He hacked because he liked it. He was addicted to the feeling of power it gave him. Even customers of his legitimate computer repair business were not immune to his hacking. He knew everything important, and in some cases illegal, about every one of his clients.

  But while he hacked his clients to learn their business and because of the power he felt that gave him, he never planned on exploiting them, at least not through hacking. Something his father once said, one of the few times he listened to his father, had stuck with him: smart criminals didn’t victimize people in their own backyard. Meaning, as far as Gil was concerned, he’d rip off people far away, never the peop
le in his town. But knowing that he could, anytime he wanted to, gave him a buzz like a drag off a big fat joint.

  He and Bart had a program running that needed to be checked. They were attempting a new data breach. It was challenging and time consuming, but Gil was patient and knew they’d be in sooner or later. Then they had a movie waiting for the big-screen TV.

  When Gil met Bart in an online role-playing game, it was fate. Gil accomplished a great deal from his chair, but with Bart adding legs and more ideas, he accomplished a lot more. Little Bart could pass for one of the geeks on The Big Bang Theory. Small and pasty, horrible with women but a genius with a computer, his harmless appearance, superior computer ability, and complete lack of scruples fit perfectly with Gil.

  When they hacked, they sold off the information to people who wanted to compromise the data. Gil and Bart laughed themselves silly over the investigation into the data breach. They had authorities running all over the world, thinking the breach came from some other nation when it was right under their noses.

  As Gil checked his computer and the software he’d developed to tell him if anyone was even remotely on his trail, he laughed to himself.

  I am the top of the food chain, he thought, and no one will ever be smart enough to stop me.

  CHAPTER

  -17-

  DR. COLLINS WAS HELPFUL. He didn’t blame Abby for not taking his initial advice, and he was glad she planned to go home.

  “Abby, we talked about this. I know you have in you the ability to be resilient, to move past this. It may take time, and that is no reflection on you. You have a strong base of support—your church, your aunt, your friends. You’ve been through significant trauma—I would never minimize that—and being honest about how you feel will go a long way in helping you get through this.”