by M. Z. Kelly
“Clueless. Her background working for the company was wiped when she resigned. There’s nothing that ties what happened to Agrasom.”
Linville turned back to her subordinate. “Let’s continue to monitor things. I want to be immediately informed if we get any indication Laura Bratton is talking about her past.”
“Of course. What about the monetary demands?”
“The board isn’t prepared to pay, despite what happened, unless...” Her gaze went back out the window. “We just have to see how things play out.”
After Ramsey left her office, Monica Linville opened her desk drawer and removed a TracFone, knowing that the cell phone couldn’t be traced back to her. After two rings, she heard a woman’s voice on the line.
“We’ve got a big problem,” Monica Linville said.
ELEVEN
Bernie and I were a few minutes late for work the next morning because I hit the snooze alarm after spending a sleepless night thinking about my family issues and my sister. Charlie was already at his desk, wearing a dark suit, a neatly pressed shirt, and with his hair combed. I was used to my partner looking like he’d slept in his clothes and was surprised by his appearance.
“I decided it’s time I upped my game,” Charlie explained after I complimented him.
“How did things go with Claudia last night?”
“I think she’s looking for something I can’t give her.”
I was afraid to ask what that was and kept quiet.
Charlie went on anyway. “She wants a long-term relationship.”
“And you’re not interested in that?”
“You know me. Most days it’s a full time job just taking care of myself. How was your night?”
“Nothing exceptional, other than an exploding Twerk.” I took a couple minutes and told him about Tex and Howie’s invention.
“A Twerk, huh? I suppose there are...”
“Asshole!” a woman’s voice shrieked, cutting Charlie’s words off.
We both turned in time to see Jessica Barlow headed our way. I whispered, “I hope you’re wearing a flak vest.”
He sighed. “This could get ugly.”
I’d never thought of Jessica as being an attractive woman, but the screaming banshee that stood in front of us gave ugly a new meaning. While Jessica was my age, she’d put on a good twenty pounds since her breakup with my partner, and had on enough makeup to supply the cast of a Broadway production. Her hair was now bleached blonde and, not to be catty, but the term bimbo came to mind as she berated both of us.
Charlie and I spent the next ten minutes listening to Jessica Barlow explain to everyone within earshot that we were both contemptible, despicable human beings, who should be banished to an asteroid.
When she was finished, Charlie tried to make nice. “Okay, you’ve had your say, Jessica. Let’s just call it even.”
“Even!” she screamed. “I’ll show you even.”
A roundhouse punch followed that luckily only nicked Charlie’s chin. A couple detectives came over and restrained Jessica, leading her away as she broke down sobbing.
After she was gone, I said to my partner, “I guess they should call you heartbreaker.”
He sighed. “Next time I lose my mind and get involved with someone like her, do me a favor and shoot me.”
“Winkler and Sexton, in my office,” Lieutenant Grundy called. “Now.”
“I think we just got sent to the principal’s office,” I said, as we made the death march to Grundy’s office.
Once we were in his office, we saw that Leo, Darby, and our crime analysts were already there. Grundy took a seat and said to Charlie, “What the hell was that all about?”
My partner shrugged, his facial expression giving nothing up. “Jessica and me just have some history.”
“He dumped her at the altar,” Darby said. “She had every right to be upset.”
Charlie fixed his eyes on him. “Next time I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you. Stay out of my business.”
“You’re a fuck-up, Winkler. Everyone knows it.”
“STOP!” The lieutenant’s voice was almost as loud as Jessica’s had been. “Another word that’s not work related and I’m gonna make good on my promise of writing paper.”
There was some grumbling, but both men kept quiet.
“Let’s go over our case,” Grundy said. He looked at Leo and me. “I understand you interviewed the mother.”
Leo summarized our interview, then mentioned what Amy had told us about a woman using an anesthetic to put her to sleep. “The girl claims she didn’t see what happened in the house.”
“We got the test results back on Amy this morning,” Selfie said. “Chloroform was used to put her to sleep.”
“Did that come up during the first murder?” Grundy asked.
“They must have missed it,” Molly said, shaking her head. “They did a tox-screen, but it was negative. The child was much younger on that occasion and never mentioned a woman being involved.”
Grundy looked back at Leo and me. “What about the listening devices found in the house?”
“I think Bratton was genuinely surprised when we told her about them,” I said. “She did mention that her husband has a partner in his law firm, Jason Taylor. We’re going to talk to him today.”
Grundy looked at our crime analysts. “What do we know about the law practice?”
Selfie, who had red hair this morning and a matching blouse, answered. “The firm was established about a decade ago. It’s big on the entertainment scene. They rep a lot of stars that get into trouble. Taylor’s the public face of the firm with the media.”
“They recently represented Brett Denver when he was arrested on some drug charges after a standoff with the police,” Molly added, looking at me.
She suddenly had my attention. “Denver is associating with Harlee Ryland and the Tauists. Is there any indication the law firm is involved with Ryland or her cult?”
Molly shook her head. “Not that we’re aware of, but we can do some more checking.”
“What about the autopsy?” Grundy asked.
We told him what little Mumford had told us about the use of propofol on the victims. I then mentioned what Brie had said. “Propofol is very fast acting, but Brie thinks the victims would have been restrained prior to the administration of the drug. At least two parties would likely have been involved, so it’s possible the woman Amy saw helped someone else after she was put under.”
“Did the autopsy show any signs of cuts or bruises, indicating restraints were used?”
“Mumford didn’t say, but we can try to go back to him today,” Leo said.
“Asshole,” Grundy said, referencing Mumford. “Do we know where someone would acquire the drug or the chloroform?”
“They would have to come from a hospital or surgical setting,” I said, “meaning the drugs were either stolen, or our suspects have some relationship with a medical facility.”
“Let’s follow up on that angle today, along with talking to Taylor, and also seeing what else we can get out of the idiot coroner.”
“I think we should get a shrink involved,” Charlie said.
“What?
“A psychiatrist would...”
“Maybe Winkler needs therapy,” Darby interrupted.
Grundy’s eyes fixed on him. “Not another word.” He looked back at Charlie. “Go on.”
“The kid likely knows or saw something more than she’s told us or remembers. I want to talk to psychological services about helping us out.”
Grundy shrugged. “Nothing to lose. Go ahead.” He took a moment, probably to sift through what we’d talked about. He then looked at Selfie and Molly. “What do we know about the Bratton woman?”
Molly had the bio. “She was born in Phoenix, went to school there. She had a couple of secretary jobs before going to work as a teacher for about five years and then marrying Lee Bratton. She’s been a full-time homemaker for the past few year
s.”
Grundy looked at Leo and me. “You believe her when she claims to have no clue about the earlier crime and this one?”
Leo answered. “She seemed credible on the surface, but...” He looked at me. “It would be worth taking another crack at her.”
“Agreed.” I’d been looking at my phone and added, “I just got a text from Computer Crimes. They’ve got some preliminary findings on the electronic devices found in the home. We can go by there this morning.”
***
After our meeting ended, there was lots of discussion and thinly veiled hostility between Charlie and Darby. Leo ultimately convinced his partner to go by the Coroner’s office and see if they could get anything more out of Earl Mumford, while Charlie and I went to the Computer Crimes Unit. We agree to meet up at Jason Taylor’s law office in Santa Monica afterward.
As Charlie and I drove to the CCU in downtown Los Angeles, I mentioned his issues with Darby. “You two going to come to blows?”
He shrugged. “Time will tell, but it’s not my priority.”
I glanced over at him as I drove, seeing his serious expression. “What gives?”
He took a moment before answering. “This case is...” He looked at me and took a breath. “I want to do right by the victims. It might be the last big case I ever work.”
I sensed a change in my partner. He seemed more like the committed, hard-working detective I’d known a couple years earlier. “What are your thoughts on getting psych services involved?”
“You ever heard of forensic memory?”
“The theory that the memories of traumatic events are suppressed, but still present and accessible.”
“Yeah, maybe they can talk to the kid, see if there’s something else she remembers.” He looked at me. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
“The Behavioral Sciences Unit is downtown. Let’s stop by there when we’re finished with the computer geeks.”
After weaving our way through stop-and-go traffic, we met with Gary Dawkins, an analyst in the Computer Crimes Unit. He showed us to his lab, where he had the array of listening devices we’d found in the Bratton home on a table in front of him.
“There were a total of seven devices found in almost every room of the house,” Dawkins told us. He was a pudgy guy, probably in his mid-thirties, with long hair. The term nerd came to mind as he continued. “They’re miniature cameras that use Wi-Fi to connect to the Internet. We also took a look at a phone we found in the daughter’s bedroom. Did you find any other phones in the house?”
I shook my head. “If there were others, we can only assume they were taken during the crime.”
“So, who was on the other end?” Charlie asked. “Who was watching and listening to everything?”
“This is where things get interesting,” Dawkins said. “As you both probably know, cell phones are really supercomputers, and everything is hackable. We used a software program that looks for malware and discovered that the Brattons’ household was served by a ghost Wi-Fi network.”
Charlie glanced at me, looked back at Dawkins. “What do you mean by ghost?”
“A secondary shadow network was spoofing the real thing. All the Brattons’ email, texts, credit cards, and bank accounts were accessible to whoever was watching the family.”
“Can we trace this ghost network or the surveillance cameras back to an IP address?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no. The address goes through multiple servers, some overseas. It’s impossible to know where the address originated or the involved parties.”
“So, we’ve got a ghost network and an invisible watcher,” Charlie said, summarizing what Dawkins had said.
Dawkins nodded. “What about the wife’s phone? If we can examine her phone, maybe we can get something more.”
“We’re going to talk to her again today,” Charlie said, looking at me. “We’ll ask her if we can take a look at it.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that there’s a high degree of sophistication about what was set in place. Whoever was watching the family had a lot of technical expertise. This wasn’t your average stalker.”
We spent another twenty minutes with Dawkins, who used a lot of technical terms about malware and spoofing, but we didn’t get anything else that was useful. Charlie and I talked about what the Computer Crimes specialist had said as we drove to the department’s Behavioral Science Services.
“Maybe one of Lee Bratton’s celebrity clients was involved,” Charlie suggested. “A celeb would likely have the means to hire someone with the computer knowledge to spy on the family.”
“Maybe.”
When I didn’t go on, he said, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“These crimes aren’t just about snooping on the family. They’re about sending a deadly message that whoever was involved meant business. That means that either Lee or Laura Bratton must have known something that they wanted kept quiet.”
“My money’s on the husband. He had to come into contact with lots of lowlife types.”
“Probably.” I remembered Molly telling us that Laura Bratton had been a teacher. That occupation didn’t make it likely that she’d have any deep dark secrets.
“Unless his wife was involved with someone,” Charlie said, causing my thoughts to surface.
“You think she might have been having an affair that went south, and her lover killed the children and her husband?”
Charlie shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. If she was involved with someone, there’s probably evidence on her phone.”
“Let’s make it a priority to get it to CCU.”
LAPD’s Behavioral Science Services, or BSS, consisted of several psychologists who conducted debriefings for the personnel involved in traumatic situations. They also had experts that responded with SWAT teams to assist in hostage negotiations and with barricaded suspects. I also knew from personal experience that they did mandatory fitness for duty evaluations for officers who had been involved in the use of deadly force.
After explaining our circumstances to an assistant, Charlie and I met with Dr. Melissa Irving, someone who we were told had a lot of experience in dealing with trauma victims. Charlie took a few minutes, filling her in on the details of our case.
“The youngest daughter, Amy, survived the death of her stepsister, Linda, three years ago, and now all of her remaining siblings and her father,” Charlie said. “Other than telling us that a woman was involved, who apparently drugged her, we didn’t get much out of her.”
“My partner thinks there may be some repressed memory of the events,” I said.
Irving took a few minutes, asking for details about the family and Amy Bratton. The psychologist looked to be in her late thirties. She had long dark hair, brown eyes, and flawless skin. I had a thought that she could be a model in another life.
“With your permission, I’d like to talk to the mother first,” Irving said. “I need to know how the events have affected her and then get her permission to talk to her daughter.” She looked at Charlie. “I think you’re right. Providing she wasn’t immediately removed from the home and drugged on both occasions, the child probably witnessed some events that have been repressed. It’s certainly worth talking to her.”
“We’ll talk to her mother this afternoon and make the arrangements,” Charlie said. He looked at me. “We’re interested in moving forward on this ASAP.”
“Agreed,” I said, rising. “We’ll be in touch.”
“How are you dealing with what happened?” Dr. Irving asked.
I saw that Charlie was still seated and sat back down. My partner surprised me by saying, “To be honest, this was as bad as anything I’ve seen in over thirty years of police work.”
“I can only imagine.” The psychologist looked at me. “What about you?”
I chuckled. “Not sleeping so well, but I think that goes with the territory.”
A thin smile played on Irving’s lips. “Why don’t you
both consider spending a session or two with me, talking about what happened. Sometimes it helps just to say aloud what you’re feeling.”
Charlie looked at me, rubbing a hand over his cheek. “We’ll give it some thought and let you know.”
When we were in the car, heading for Santa Monica to meet with Jason Taylor, I asked Charlie about Dr. Irving’s offer of counseling.
Charlie didn’t look at me. “It’s probably not my thing, but you go ahead if you want.”
“It doesn’t hurt to talk about it. You’re right, it was as bad as anything either of us has seen.”
My partner’s gaze came over to me. “We’ll see.”
After stopping for a sandwich, Charlie and I met up with Leo and Darby in a parking garage and walked up the street to the law offices of Bratton and Taylor.
As we walked, Leo told us about their meeting with Earl Mumford. “Didn’t get much, other than him confirming there were some abrasions consistent with the possibility the victims were restrained. He also said, based on lividity, it was likely the victims were murdered elsewhere, maybe in a bedroom, and moved to the dining room table.”
“I still think somebody needs to report that jerk,” Charlie said, his unhappiness with the coroner still evident.
“He’s just another asshole, in a world full of them,” Darby said, glaring at Charlie. “Get over it.”
We stopped in front of the law office, where Charlie popped some gum in his mouth and looked at Darby. “I almost forgot, you are the world’s foremost expert on assholes, since you look at one in the mirror every day.”
Darby started to take a step toward my partner, but Leo came between them. “Let it go, we’re here to talk to the lawyer.”
After announcing ourselves and showing credentials, we spent fifteen minutes waiting for Jason Taylor to finish up with a meeting. The lawyer, who was in his fifties and heavyset, met with us in an oak paneled conference room.
“I can’t begin to tell you how upset I am over what happened to Lee and his children,” Taylor said. “Have you made any arrests?”
“We’re hoping you might help us with that,” Leo said. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm your partner?”