by M. Z. Kelly
It was common for offenders in California to only serve half their sentences, due to overcrowding and statutes that gave them credit for prison work and staying out of trouble while incarcerated.
“That’s what you get with a broken system,” Olivia said, looking at Jenny and Molly. “Osgood’s family, friends, his scum-sucking associates?”
“Parents are divorced, no siblings,” Molly said. “Mom lives in Reseda and works as a waitress. There was a co-offender in a case that didn’t stick, back in 2004, a guy named Jessie Martin. He also lives in the valley and is currently on probation for a sexual battery. He’s probably worth talking to.”
Olivia agreed with her, summarizing how she wanted us to proceed. “Let’s get with mom, Jessie Martin, and canvass the neighbors and businesses near Osgood’s apartment. Work the local sex registrants, get with Metro on the active circuits, see if we can ID the other victims, and also check with CCU on Weber’s phone. The mayor’s going to make a plea to the public for help today. The press is on fire. Miles is under pressure. We’ll be adding personnel to assist. Let’s not waste any time on this.”
We all rose and started to leave when Olivia said, “Hold on. Kate has some information on the Bratton case. By the way, it’s been reassigned to Section One.”
Everyone took their seats again as I took a moment and filled them in on what Mo had told me about Laura Bratton possibly working for the CIA. “It could be there’s some past issue she had while working for the government that’s at play, so we’re hoping to go back to Laura Bratton today. I don’t know for sure if the information is accurate, but I think it’s worth checking out.”
Darby looked at Olivia. “Just so you know, her friends are flakes, and she shares confidential information with them.”
“The information was volunteered, and I didn’t share anything,” I said.
“You can’t keep your mouth...”
“STOP.” Olivia’s dark eyes seemed to hold Darby frozen in a spell. “Final warning. You will never again disparage a fellow detective in my presence. Do I make myself clear?”
Darby nodded, his gaze moving off and his cheeks flushing.
Olivia turned to me and Leo. “If possible, I want you two to carve out a couple of hours late this afternoon to go back to Bratton. I’ll go with you. My personal opinion about the case is that Carmen Todd was set up. I think there are other players.”
“I’d like to tag along,” Charlie said. “I’ve got an investment in the outcome.”
“You can ride with me,” Olivia said before looking around the table. “Let’s move on everything. The clock is ticking.”
FORTY-ONE
Leo and I were assigned to talk to Darrell Osgood’s mother and track down his former associate, Jessie Martin. As he drove Bernie and me to Reseda, Leo talked about our new lieutenant. “I get the feeling Olivia Quest is a woman on a mission.”
I told him what she’d said about her grandfather this morning. “I think she’s genuinely trying to make a difference and cares about the work. I can’t ask for anything more than that.”
“Agreed. I also get a feeling Darby is going away. It’s just a matter of time.”
“That’s what happens when you can’t keep your big mouth shut.” I changed the topic, asking if he’d heard from Pearl or his sister.
“Nothing. It’s pretty frustrating.”
“Tell me about it. I filled Joe Dawson in on Pearl’s phone message. He’s going to follow up with his boss.” I glanced at him. “Joe thinks the Brazil connection could mean Ryland was involved in the drug trade. If you’ll remember, it’s where Ryan Cooper raised my sister.”
“That might explain his wealth and influence.” Leo met my eyes again for a moment. “Let me run a scenario past you. Remember that section of Pearl’s phone message where it faded?”
I chuckled. “Which time?”
We were in heavy traffic, and Leo didn’t look at me as he spoke. “Pearl came back on the line at one point and said something about everything that happened being a...he said what sounded like t-r-o, then everything faded out again.”
“Yes, I’ve been wondering about that.”
He glanced at me. “What if he was saying Trojan?”
“I’m not following you.”
“Maybe he was trying to tell us that what happened was like a Trojan horse.”
“Meaning?”
“You remember the tale from the Trojan War about the Greeks constructing a huge wooden horse and hiding an army inside.”
“Of course, but I’m still not sure what you’re getting at.”
“We know that Collin Russell and Harlan Ryland were embezzling funds from Wallace Studios shortly before your father and Jean Winslow were murdered. Maybe there was a larger picture that your dad put together. It could be the scheme wasn’t so much about embezzlement as it was about using Wallace and other studios in Hollywood to distribute drugs brought in from South America.” He looked at me. “Maybe it’s a stretch, but it could be that the studios were the Trojan Horse, a funnel to create tremendous wealth by bringing drugs into the country.”
I exhaled. “I suppose it’s possible. Everyone knows that drugs and the entertainment industry have gone hand in hand for years.” I took a moment, mulling over what he’d said. “And Jean Winslow?”
Traffic slowed and he looked over at me again. “Maybe she wasn’t what your dad and everyone else wanted to believe.”
“You think she could have been in on the scheme.”
He shrugged. “We know that drugs change people. It could be that Winslow knew what was happening. She might have been an addict who used her influence to help bring the drugs into the studios and kept quiet about what was happening.”
“One of the soldiers in Ryland’s Trojan Horse.”
Pearl nodded. “I think there could have been a lot of soldiers. Maybe Ryland’s wealth wasn’t so much about the cult he formed, as it was about creating a drug empire.”
My gaze drifted to the hazy skyline. “Maybe. I guess the only way we’ll know for sure is if we hear from Pearl.”
Darrell Osgood’s mother lived in an apartment building near Sherman Way. The area had lots of graffiti and gang activity. After knocking on her door and not getting an answer, a neighbor told us she worked at a Denny’s Restaurant down the street. We found Ella May Osgood waiting tables there.
“What’d my boy do now?” Osgood asked when she looked up and saw us coming her way. She’d made us as cops, without asking for ID’s.
“Is there some place we can talk privately?” I asked.
She called over to another waitress. “Gloria, I’m on break.” She waved a hand. “Follow me.”
We met in a breakroom in the back of the restaurant. Our suspect’s mother was around fifty, heavyset, and had the beat down expression of someone who had given up on the world.
“Just so you know, I don’t have much contact with Darrell. Whenever he comes around, he wants money.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Leo asked.
She scratched her graying, dark hair. “About a month ago. He was talkin’ crazy.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about making a big score, but he needed money to get started. I told him I was broke.”
“Did he give you any idea what this big score was about?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Probably dope or girls. That’s all he cares about.”
“What about girlfriends?”
“He’s always had lots of different girls, but I don’t know who he’s hooking up with now.”
“Tell us about his friends. We know he used to associate with a guy named Jessie Martin.”
She scoffed. “Haven’t seen Jessie in years. I think he’s a dealer. Don’t know about anyone else.”
“Do you know if Darrell has any place he hangs out, maybe a bar or a club?”
She took a moment, before saying, “He smokes those crazy cigarettes.”
“You mean he’s vaping?” Leo said.
She nodded. “He said something about a place that’s near where he lives. Maybe you can find him there.” Her dark eyes regarded us. “What’s he done?”
I decided to give her just the barest of details. “We think he may have contacted an underage girl on the Internet and taken her.”
“Oh, God.” She hung her head. “I swear to God, I don’t know what made him the way he is. I’m sorry.”
Osgood broke down crying, and we said we would be in touch. After leaving the restaurant, I asked Leo, “Do you think Valerie Weber was his big score?”
“Probably her and the other girls. I hate to say it, but we could be too late. They may have already been sold.”
I let Bernie sniff around some flowers for a moment. “I don’t think Osgood’s bright enough to pull off multiple kidnappings on his own. He has to be working with someone.”
“Martin?”
I sighed. “It seems like our only other lead.”
We were headed for the car when I got a call from Molly. “Jenny and I just talked to Roland Peters with CCU. Osgood and Weber were definitely in contact for the past month. Osgood told her he was a seventeen-year-old high student named Adrian. She was in love with him.”
FORTY-TWO
Leo and I decided to wait on tracking down Jessie Martin and headed downtown to the Computer Crimes Unit. We met with Roland Peters in the same lab where we’d talked to Gary Dawkins about the Bratton case a few days earlier.
Peters, a slender detective in his thirties, told us what he’d found on Valerie Weber’s phone. “The girl began using FTF a couple of months ago. The communication with Darrell Osgood, who she knew as Adrian, started about three weeks ago. The messages become increasingly more personal until Osgood, as Adrian, said he was in love with her, and the girl reciprocated. The last text she sent was around ten, the night of the bombings in Los Angeles. Osgood told her the world was falling apart and he would protect her. They exchanged messages, arranging to meet at the park down the street from her house a little after midnight. That was the last communication between them.”
“We’ve heard the app they used doesn’t require any identifiers from users,” Leo said.
“The program is supposed to require users be over the age of thirteen and to secure permission from their parents if they’re a minor. Kids just type in a false name and birthdate and they’re good to go.”
“What about parties on the other end? Any way to trace them?”
“We’ve been working through the Justice Department since the app was developed by a Canadian company. FTF has provided them with Osgood’s sent and received messages.” Peters took a breath and turned to his computer screen. “This is what we found.”
Leo and I spent the next few minutes watching as Peters scrolled through multiple messages Osgood, as Adrian, had exchanged with several young girls. I recognized the names of the victims we’d identified from the photographs in Osgood’s apartment. The other names mentioned would likely help us identify the other girls.
After scrolling through multiple messages, Peters said, “There’s a lot more here, but I think you get the picture. Osgood’s a sexual predator who’s been at work for weeks, arranging meetings with different underage girls.”
“Anything in his messages about what he does with his victims?” Leo asked.
“This is where things get even more interesting.” Peters turned back to his computer, worked the keyboard, and we saw messages Osgood, now using the name Mark, had exchanged with someone who called himself Mr. Walker. Peters explained what we were seeing. “As you can see, this Walker guy is the buyer for the girls. It looks like Osgood makes about a grand per delivery.”
It was horrifying to watch Osgood, and the man he called Mr. Walker, talking about the victims, and what Osgood had described as their physical attributes as he tried to negotiate a higher price.
“Is there a way the company can provide the IP address for either Osgood or the guy he calls Mr. Walker?” I asked.
“Nothing on Walker because the IP he used is routed through multiple sites, some of them overseas. We did get a couple of local IP addresses for Osgood. In addition to his apartment, he’s been using an Internet café a couple of blocks over from where he lives.”
“Why would he use the café?”
Peters shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I know the place. They have coffee and donuts and an assortment of low life that hangs out there. It might be he was scoring dope while sending messages. If he’s smart, he’ll move on and change locations, but he could think he’s safe because the app gives him complete anonymity. It might be worth setting up on the café.”
***
Leo and I met Olivia for lunch at a sandwich shop before heading to Metro Division. We told her what Roland Peters had said. “I think it’s worth watching the Internet café,” I said. “There’s also a vape shop just down the block where Mom said her son sometimes hangs out.”
“I’ll put someone on both places, twenty-four seven,” Olivia said.
“How’s the mayor and his wife coping?” Leo asked.
“Weber gave a brief press conference this morning, pleading for anyone with information to come forward. His wife is...” She rattled the ice in her cup. “Let’s just say she’s not coping very well.”
“I can’t blame her. I think there’s a chance we could be behind the eight ball on this.”
“Did you talk to Jessie Martin?”
I answered. “We thought we’d head over there after lunch, then meet you in Malibu.”
“I’ll go with you to talk to Metro. Maybe they can give us some info on the local sex trade.”
As we walked to our cars, I asked Olivia if Charlie and Darby had turned up anything.
“I plan to stop by and see them when we’re done with Metro, providing they haven’t shot one another in an alley somewhere.”
The department’s Metro Division included a K-9 platoon that Bernie and I regularly visited and participated in their training. I stopped by and said hello to the platoon’s lieutenant before we met with Captain Frawley, the head of the division’s human trafficking unit.
Olivia took a few minutes, outlining our cases, Darrell Osgood’s involvement, and the messaging service he used to recruit Valerie Weber and other victims.
“We’ve seen the app used before,” Frawley said. The captain was a big man, with red hair cut close to his scalp. “Your suspect is likely selling to any one of a half dozen rings that are running girls on the circuit between here, Vegas, and Northern California.”
“Is there anyone you’re actively tracking that we could lean on?” Olivia asked. “We’re up against the clock on this.”
Frawley called one of his detectives over. “This is Jim Barnes,” he said, by way of introduction. He looked at his detective. “They’re working the Weber case. Any idea who might be on the receiving end? The girl would have been handed off just over twenty-four hours ago.”
Barnes was probably in his late twenties. I’d seen the type before, a go-getter, likely working his first detective assignment. “If I had to take a guess, it would be either Jepson’s or Reese’s crew. They’re actively trolling and using free agents.”
Frawley explained the references. “Wade Jepson works out of Compton, a bad dude that we’ve had trouble making anything stick to. Reese is Stacy Reese, she’s a former working girl who became an entrepreneur, started her own circuit, using both locals and illegals from China.”
The captain said to Barnes, “Any idea where we can find either of them?”
“We heard Jepson is up north, but Reese is in the area. Last we heard, she might be staying at the Iron Horse.”
“It’s an apartment building over in Pacoima,” Frawley explained. “Lots of drugs, gangs, and dope are run in and out of the place.”
“What’s the best way to see if she’s there?” Olivia asked.
Frawley looked at his detective, raised
his brows.
“Set up a perimeter,” Barnes said, “then knock on the front door with a cannon.”
Olivia rose. “Let’s gather the cavalry and go say hello to Ms. Reese.”
FORTY-THREE
We put off talking to Jessie Martin or going by to see Laura Bratton, because it took us most of the afternoon to get a warrant and gather personnel to go to the Iron Horse. Pacoima was about forty minutes from Hollywood, a transitional area between the San Fernando Valley and Los Angeles. The city had a history of violence between the police and locals, something Olivia said she wanted to try and avoid as we staged at a local park a couple miles from the apartment building.
“Once we have personnel in place,” Olivia told the gathering of about twenty officers, “I want to make a plea to talk to Reese. We’ll see how it plays. If there’s resistance, we need to be ready to make entry by force, but let’s try not to escalate things unless it’s necessary.”
After some more discussion about tactics and trying to keep a low profile, Bernie and I rode with Olivia to the Iron Horse. We were all wearing helmets and flak vests. Even Bernie had on a Kevlar vest as we pulled to the curb and waited for the other officers to take up their positions.
“Let’s rock and roll,” Olivia said, as we left the car and made our way up to the iron fence that surrounded the apartment complex.
We were met by a half dozen local residents at a locked gate in front of the ramshackle complex. This wasn’t the neighborhood welcome wagon. I had the impression they were assigned to work the security detail for the building.
A big guy with enough tats to make his artist a small fortune greeted us. “Y’all are welcome to take your business down the street,” the man said. “It’s probably not safe for you here.”
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” Olivia said. “We just need to come inside, take a look around, then we’ll leave quietly. We aren’t interested in your dope, your guns, or any trouble.”