An apartment in Lakeside was Sammy's last known address and apparently where he was living when he was killed. When JP arrived at the apartment, a man in his thirties with no shirt was standing out front, smoking a cigarette.
"I'm JP Torn, a private investigator. I'm looking into the death of Sammy Everton. Did you know him?"
"Yeah, man. He was my roommate."
"Sorry about your loss. Was he a good friend of yours?"
"Not really. I met him through another guy. We lived together for a few months was all. I didn't even know he was dead, man, until the cops came around asking about him."
"I understand he wasn't reported missing. Why didn't you report it?"
"Because I thought he just left." He took a drag on his cigarette. "We had an argument that day about the rent. He gave me a couple of hundred dollars when he first came and then nothin' after that. I told him he had to get out. I thought he did."
"Didn't he have any belongings here?"
"Not much. He was on the streets before he came here. All he left was an old bag with a blanket and a shirt."
"Is it still here?"
"No, the cops asked for it too, but I threw it all out a couple of months ago."
JP removed a photo of Glen Irving and showed it to the roommate. "Ever see this guy before?"
He shook his head. "Nope, only when the cops showed me his picture."
JP was not surprised that the cops were asking about Irving. They knew as well as he did that somehow these cases were connected. Even if it was a copycat killer, it had to be someone with an inside track.
"Did Sammy ever have any friends over?"
"No. Not a one."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Did he hang out anywhere special? Anything like that?"
"Not really." The roommate dropped the lit cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it. "I was working some of that time. He was usually here when I got home. He went out sometimes at night and didn't always come back. Sometimes he'd be gone a couple of days, but I never knew where he went. He didn't say and I didn't ask."
***
Sabre and JP had a working dinner that evening. JP was almost finished with his food, but Sabre had been picking at hers. Her mind kept going to Tray and how he must be suffering in that camp.
JP handed her his reports on Everton. "They seemed like real nice people. All that money couldn't help them raise a son to be a law-abiding citizen."
"It happens in the best of families. I think most people do the best job they can and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t." Sabre tapped the folder JP had given her on the table. "What else is in here?"
"A lot of dead ends. I haven't found any connection between Everton and Irving, except that both molested your clients. You're the only common denominator we have."
"Maybe that's it," Sabre said.
"You are the connection?"
"Not me specifically. Maybe it was some program that both Everton and Irving attended or something."
"But neither of them were court-ordered into any programs by the juvenile court because they weren't the parents of the kids who were molested. They were just ordered to stay away."
“What, then, do Tray and Oscar have in common?"
"I haven't found any relatives on either side who are connected in any way. If the mothers of these boys were in the same programs, it would’ve been at different times, but I can check to see if they even attended the same ones. It's a long shot, but worth checking out."
Sabre raised her hand and shook her finger at JP. "I know of one connection between Tray and Oscar. You know the group home that Oscar is in, Mary Ellen Wilson Group Home?"
"Yes, but Tray was never there, was he?"
"Yes, he was. It was for a very short time, only a couple of months, but it's a place to start."
"I'll get on it first thing in the morning."
Sabre pushed her half-empty plate back. JP had already finished his.
"You ready?" she asked.
Before she could stand up, her phone rang. She answered it and her face lost color as she listened to the caller. She said, "Thank you," and hung up.
"What's wrong?"
"They've arrested Oscar for the murder of Sammy Everton."
Chapter 43
Sabre placed her bar card and her driver's license down on the desk at San Diego Juvenile Hall Otay Mesa. "Attorney Sabre Brown to see Oscar Hazleton, please."
The clerk checked her IDs, glanced at something on the computer, and then handed the cards back to Sabre. "You know the way?"
"Yes, thank you."
Without saying anything else, the clerk hit the button that opened the door. Sabre walked down the long hallway. This facility was newer than the one at Meadowlark, where most of her clients had been housed, but other than that, it wasn't much different. There were lots of locked doors, bare walls, and windows with bars lining the corridors.
She couldn't believe she had another client arrested for murder. Tray Copley's image kept popping into her head. He was such a sweet young man and she still believed he was innocent. The system had failed him. She had failed him. Now she was confronted with another sexual abuse victim who may be in the same predicament. It was times like this that she wasn't sure she could continue on this career path.
She waited nearly ten minutes before they brought Oscar out. His shoulders slumped as he walked down the hall toward her. As he approached, he stuck out his jaw defiantly, and spit the words out of his mouth. "I didn’t kill anyone. What the f…!”
Sabre interrupted him. "Stop. Watch your language. We’ll talk in the interview room."
He gave her a scorching look and ground out the words between clenched teeth. "I didn't kill that ass...."
"Oscar, please. We'll talk in a minute."
The guard who had brought him opened the door to the interview room and led Oscar inside. Sabre followed. The guard turned to Sabre. "I'll be right out there if you need me."
"Thank you," Sabre said.
The guard shut the door.
"I didn't do anything." Oscar still spoke in a defiant voice.
"Okay, but why did you run when the police came?"
"Because they started talking about that goof. I hate him."
"Why did you call him a goof?" Sabre asked.
"Because he is."
"What do you mean by goof?"
"What do you want me to call him?" He wiggled uncomfortably in the small quarters.
"I'm just asking why you chose that word." She spoke calmly. "Do you know what it means?"
"Someone creepy. I don't know. I wanted to call him something else, but I keep getting in trouble for using those kinds of words."
"Where did you learn that word?"
"I don't know. I just know it."
"Have you ever heard anyone else use that term?"
"I dunno."
"Tell me exactly what you think it means?"
There was silence for a moment and then he spoke. "It's a creep who does stuff—like he did to me." He winced when he said the word he.
Sabre couldn't remember ever hearing Oscar say Everton's name, and he always shuddered when someone else said it. For that reason, Sabre avoided using his name whenever she could, but occasionally she had to for clarification and when she did, she used his last name only in an attempt to make it less personal. The sound of his name made her stomach turn as well.
"I'd like you to do something for me," Sabre said.
"What's that?"
"First of all, don't talk to anyone about this case without me present. No cops or attorneys or inmates. No one."
"Got it," he said, still sounding irritated.
"Please stop using the word goof to describe him. It can only get you in more trouble. I want you out of the habit in case we go to trial."
"Whatever."
"Do you know anything about how Everton was killed?"
"No." He snarled. "Why would I?"
"I kn
ow you're angry, but we need to figure out how to defend you, and right now I'm pretty much in the dark, so you need to calm down and talk to me. I'm on your side."
"I don't know anything about it." His tone was only a little calmer, but he was having a hard time sitting still as usual.
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"I don't know. A year ago. Whenever he was at my house before the social worker picked me up."
"And you haven't seen or heard from him since?"
"No." Again with a sharp tone. "When can I get out of here?"
"I don't know. It's going to be a while, I'm afraid. But I'm investigating and hopefully we can sort this all out." She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.
Chapter 44
Sabre arrived at court early enough to get a good parking spot. She had thirteen cases on her calendar this morning and only eight of them were reviews. In addition, she had Oscar's detention hearing on the Everton murder. She carried an armful of files through the metal detector and placed them on a shelf near the stairs. After sorting through the files and finding the cases for Department Six, she walked to the end of the hallway where Bob was standing.
"Good morning, Bob," Sabre said. "You're early this morning."
"Yeah, we had to meet with Judge Hekman this morning on a case that we're trying to settle."
"This early? Is she here?"
"Not yet, but the clerk said she was on her way."
"I have a horrendous calendar this morning, so you may be waiting for me for a while on our cases."
"I expect this settlement conference is going to take a while anyway," Bob said. "You know Hekman doesn't do anything too quickly."
Attorney Roberto Quiñones walked up to where Sabre and Bob were standing. Roberto was another juvenile court attorney who started in dependency a few years after Sabre did. Now he primarily handled delinquency cases.
"Hi, Roberto," Bob said, looking at his hair. "I think you're getting a little grayer around the edges."
"You should talk. You're way ahead of me."
"Good morning, Q," Sabre said. That's what she affectionately called Roberto. "How's your day going?"
"Always good, but I just got a new case that you might find interesting."
"What's that?"
Just then, a young, attractive social worker walked up and started talking to Bob. He entered the courtroom with her.
"He's such a dog," Roberto said with a snicker.
"He's harmless, all show and no go. What's your case?"
"It's a PC 187. I'm representing a child who was charged with killing his molester. The dead guy, Roy Harris, was found in El Cajon about three miles from Coyote Ridge. Apparently, they found another body as well, but it's been there so long it was nothing but bones. I guess they did a real thorough search after they found those two dead guys a couple of weeks ago. According to the files, you're the attorney of record on the Hazleton case, right?"
"Yes, I have the defendant in a dependency case and I’ll be appointed on the delinquency at the detention hearing this morning."
"And didn't you have one a few years ago with the same M.O.?"
"Yes, I did. Firmstone and I both represented that minor, and we lost. The kid's serving time, but the more bodies that turn up with the strange similarities, the more I think our defendant was innocent."
"And they both had the word GOOF written on their forehead, right?"
"Right. Did your victim have it too?"
"He sure did, and the minor was also a dependent of the court."
"Just like Tray and Oscar," Sabre said. "We need to get together and compare all these cases and see what else they have in common."
"Can you meet this afternoon?"
"I have a trial."
Roberto removed his leather calendar from his pocket. "I can meet tomorrow afternoon about three o'clock."
Sabre checked her phone calendar, and said, "At my office?"
"See you there." Roberto turned to leave.
"Before we meet," Sabre said, "can you check to see if your client was ever in Mary Ellen Wilson Group Home?"
Roberto turned back. "Will do."
"And also, if you have time, can you make a spreadsheet on everyone listed in your dependency and police reports and email it to me? We need to see how these kids are connected."
Bob returned without the social worker just as Roberto said, "I've requested Barlowe's dependency reports from DSS, but I haven't received them yet."
"Not Barlowe Carrasco?" Bob said.
Roberto looked at Bob. "Yes, do you know him?"
"He's my client. Has been for about a year. Has something happened to him?"
"I was recently appointed on his delinquency case. He was charged with homicide."
"Same M.O. as Tray and Oscar," Sabre said. "Where is Barlowe living?"
"He was placed with an uncle in La Mesa just a few days ago," Bob said. "Before that he was in Mary Ellen Wilson Group Home."
***
Sabre, Bob, JP, and Roberto sat around a small table in the reception area at Sabre's office. Her building was an old, two-story home that had been converted to offices. This room was once the living room of someone's home. The round conference table and six chairs were in front of a beautiful stone fireplace. Against the wall was a sofa and a small armchair. JP had set up a whiteboard in front of the window for notes. The meeting time had been changed to five o’clock so Bob and JP could join them. Firmstone was invited but he was unable to attend, and it would have been another week before they could all get a block of time together.
JP agreed to take notes on the whiteboard because he was used to diagraming cases and he had the best handwriting. He put the names of the victims—Glen Irving, Sammy Everton, and Roy Harris—in a block under "Dead Guys." He drew three lines from the block to the right. The first he labeled Tray, the second Oscar, and the third Barlowe.
Sabre had her laptop in front of her at her desk. "One thing we know they all have in common is Mary Ellen Wilson Group Home," Sabre said. "JP obtained a list of all employees at Wilson for the past five years."
JP handed them each a copy of the list he had compiled. "Since the boys were there at different times, particularly Tray, I narrowed the list down to only the employees who were there when all three boys resided at the group home. That left us with Jesse Alder, Callum Bridges, Antonio Vargas, Cheryl Scobba, and Isaac Horne." He wrote the names on the whiteboard as he listed them. "If you've been to the group home you probably know Jesse, the manager, and Callum, who is now his assistant. Cheryl is their office manager. According to records, she's been there about ten years."
"She's the blonde woman who’s about fifty-five with arthritis?" Bob asked.
"Yes."
"She's remarkable," Bob said. "She's never let her condition keep her from doing anything. And she's super friendly and helpful."
"Who are Antonio and Isaac?" Roberto asked.
"Antonio is the groundskeeper. He's been there since the group home opened about twenty-five years ago. He lives on-site in one of the cabins. He's sixty-six years old, short, thin, and friendly. The kids all know him and seem to like him." JP wrote their positions next to each of the employee names. "Isaac is in charge of the kitchen and dining area. He's forty-eight years old; is a big guy, tall and overweight; has a mustache, no beard; and wears his hair in a short ponytail. The kids say he's grumpy and yells a lot, mostly because they make a mess in the dining room."
Sabre looked from Bob to Roberto. "I've merged my list and the lists you two gave me with all the family and friends and other people mentioned in the reports into one to see who overlaps. I didn't get much there. The intake social worker, Sharon Wolfe, was on all three cases. Ed Cardenas was on Oscar's and Barlowe's cases, which isn't a surprise because he handles group home placements, but he wasn't working for the county when Tray's case came through. Other than the people at Wilson that JP has already mentioned, there are no others who overlap—except Detec
tive Greg Nelson who came on the scene after the murders." Sabre paused. "Oh, and I'm on two of the cases, representing the minors. And Bob is on both Tray's and Barlowe's dependency cases."
"It sounds like someone at the group home is most likely involved in some way," Roberto said. "It's too big a coincidence that all three of these boys were dependents before the murders and all three became dependents because they were victims of sexual abuse."
JP stopped writing on the whiteboard. "The police are working on a theory that these boys are all involved in some kind of a 'gang' or 'secret organization' where they plot and kill their aggressors."
"Even if that's the case," Roberto said, "someone has to be organizing them. It's been over three years since the first victim and you said Tray is in camp, right?"
"Right," Sabre said.
"Let's assume for a minute that Tray was the ringleader. He couldn't be doing much from where he is."
"Unless Tray just led the way and the others are copycats," JP interjected. "Although, I'd be more inclined to believe someone else is either leading these boys or working on their own and blaming it on the boys."
"I'd have to go with the latter," Sabre said. "These are not gang members; at least Tray and Oscar are not. And Tray is a really well-behaved, loving, young man—or he was before he was imprisoned. I hate to think of what that has done to him. Oscar is a little more troubled, but I don't think he's a killer. What about Barlowe? What's he like?"
Bob spoke up. "He's a decent bloke. He's a people pleaser, afraid to upset anyone or do anything wrong that might get him scolded. He's not very big and looks younger than his thirteen years, but he's a scrapper. He doesn't talk much and keeps a lot inside."
Sabre turned to Roberto. "Has Barlowe told you anything that might indicate he was involved?"
"He denies ever seeing Roy Harris—that's the vic—after he was taken to the receiving home."
"That's the same thing the other boys are claiming,” Sabre said. "Let's look at the dependency cases. How are they alike? For example, my kids were both molested by the mother's boyfriend who was living in the home at the time."
The Advocate's Homicides Page 18