James nodded. “Lots of companies in Los Angeles moved down there in the late seventies and early eighties. I remember that. I was at Wachovia at the time and we almost moved down there right before Bobby died.”
Danny felt awkward; the mention of his old friend had startled him and he sipped his beer, not knowing where to steer the conversation now. He was just about ask James another question when Tom Jensen suddenly emerged in the doorway to his apartment.
Tom looked startled to see James standing just inside the apartment. “Sorry,” he said, his eyes darting to Danny’s. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Danny didn’t know how to respond to Tom’s sudden presence. “I didn’t know you were coming over,” he said.
“Listen, I can see you’re busy,” James said, making a move to step around Tom Jensen. “Next time I’m in the area I can stop by.”
“Sure,” Danny said, regaining his composure. He looked at Tom. “Come on in.” He motioned to James. “He’s an old friend...Bobby Whitsett’s dad.”
Tom Jensen looked surprised. He looked at James Whitsett. “Mr. Whitsett, nice to meet you.” They shook hands quickly. “Tom Jensen, Gardena P.D.”
“Good to meet you,” James said, nodding at Tom in acknowledgement. He still bore that pleasant look.
“I’m especially glad to have run into you,” Tom Jensen said to James Whitsett. “I’ve got you on my list of people I need to talk to.”
James looked confused and Danny’s breath froze as the exchange continued. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” James said, his smile dwindling slightly.
“The Raul Valesquez case,” Tom said. “Surely you remember it? It was re-opened a few weeks ago, and I’ve been tracking down people who lived in the immediate area at the time and questioning them. Danny here mentioned a few incidents that happened to him and your son, Bobby, when they were kids that involved Raul, and I thought I’d ask a you a few questions to see if you remember anything Bobby may have told you about them. It’s nothing major, just trying to get a grasp on the kind of kid Raul was.”
At first James looked uneasy, but when Tom explained himself further he relaxed. He set his beer down on the counter. “Sure. Be glad to help. What do you want to know?”
Tom glanced at Danny. “How about if I see you later today? I have a follow up with you I’d like to talk about. James and I can talk outside.”
Danny shrugged. “Sure.” There was something in Tom’s eyes that told him there was more to his visit than just wanting to ask him more questions, and he could tell that Tom was genuinely surprised to see James Whitsett in his living room. “I’ll be here.”
“Good.” Tom turned to James and gestured to the front door. “I appreciate this, Mr. Whitsett.”
“No problem,” James said, as the two men headed toward the door. James turned to Danny on the way out and smiled broadly. “Nice seeing you again, Danny! You have a lovely family.”
“Thanks. It was great seeing you again too, Mr. Whitsett,” Danny said.
When they were gone, Danny stood at the kitchen counter, his head buzzing. He sipped his beer, still trying to puzzle over what just happened.
Let’s see...the father of an old friend just appears out of the blue, then Tom drops by unexpectedly, and when he finds out who James is he not only looks as surprised as shit, he tells James he wants to talk to him about an investigation that is by all rights as dead as Douglas Archer.
What the fuck just happened?
The thought of calling Jerry Valdez again flashed in his mind but he quickly dismissed it. He couldn’t continue relying on Jerry. He had the feeling Jerry was becoming annoyed with him anyway, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Danny understood that, but he’d reminded Jerry that despite his feelings, they needed each other until this blew over. Still, it might be good to sleep on this and maybe contact Jerry in a few days just to let him know what happened. It couldn’t hurt.
The door to the second bedroom opened and Chris and Tina peered out, their wide eyes hopeful. “Are we still going to the park?”
Danny tossed back the rest of his beer and set the empty can on the kitchen counter. “You bet!” he said.
Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the thought of James Whitsett’s sudden reappearance this afternoon out of his mind as he played with his kids in the park.
KAREN HAD TAKEN the kids home three hours ago and Danny was well on his way to getting buzzed when there was a knock on his apartment door.
He groaned as he got to his feet. It was almost nine p.m. and he didn’t have to report to his shift tomorrow at WalMart until noon. No reason why he couldn’t get shit-faced. He had plenty of beer. What else was it going to do in his refrigerator? Take up space?
He’d been lounging on his sofa drinking beer and mindlessly watching TV, thinking about seeing Mr. Whitsett and Tom Jensen and what happened all those years ago and not liking it. It was all making him nervous. Twice he’d picked up the phone to call Tom Jensen on his cell but he always put the phone down. Tom would call; he was sure he would. Now as he padded across to the living room to see who was at the door, he hoped it was who he thought it was and not James Whitsett.
Tom Jensen looked at him with a troubled gaze as Danny opened the door. “We need to talk,” he said.
Danny offered Tom a beer, which Tom waved away. “I’m too wired to drink. But I need you to stop drinking because I need you sober enough to hear what I have to say. You listening?”
Danny became sober instantly at the tone of Tom’s voice, and the first thought that snaked into his brain said, He knows! Jesus Christ he knows!
“First, let me start with what happened yesterday and this morning,” Tom Jensen began. “Douglas Archer was found dead. Suicide. You know all that from last night, when I called you. You also know the Gardena Police Department wants to close the investigation. In fact, they have closed it officially, but the task-force director has already contacted the FBI and we’re working on keeping it open. I don’t want to bore you with legal protocol because time’s short, but you have to hear at least the bare bones of this and I need to be sure you’re ready to hear it. Some of it—no, all of it, is going to be ugly. I mean, really ugly.” He paused. “Some of it has to do with Bobby Whitsett’s father.”
Danny’s breath froze. “He killed Raul Valesquez!”
“No,” Tom said, fixing Danny with that cop glare, penetrating. “He didn’t. At least I don’t think he did. In fact, I sincerely doubt it. But James Whitsett has a part in this and it isn’t going to be pretty. I think you’d better sit down.”
Danny drifted to the sofa and turned off the television with a flick of the remote. Tom sank into the old tattered chair that Danny had set in the corner and listened as Tom told him all of it.
Everything.
About David Bartell and how he’d tracked him down and got David to talk; about his partner, Franklin, calling to tell him Doug Archer was found dead; about he and Franklin examining the body quickly, noting the way it was positioned and doubting that it would have been in that position had Doug shot himself; about Getz’s angry refusal to consider their findings; about the task-force meeting this morning in which Getz announced that with the recent suicide of Douglas Archer and his written confession to the crime, the case of Raul Valesquez’s murder was now closed; about Tom and Franklin’s hasty plan the evening before to contact Doug Archer’s lawyer and spill the beans on what they suspected, and their subsequent meeting with him this afternoon along with David Bartell; about Bartell and Robert Valesquez spinning a web of horror and atrocities that occurred at the Valesquez house, right under the nose of the community.
Danny listened with growing shock. “There was a ring of six or seven guys that ran this thing,” Tom said. “Chief Manning, Alex Dunning, the former Mayor of Gardena, a couple of councilmen, a priest, a couple of cops. They supplied Eva with as much alcohol and drugs as she wanted, and she continued to sell her body to whomever she wanted and they looked the
other way. She had connections with other prostitutes, and in exchange for protecting them, these guys took sexual favors. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, though. There were pedophiles that Eva sold drugs to that expressed interest in Raul and—"
“She sold him?” Danny whispered, his stomach clenching. “She sold her own kid?”
Tom fidgeted. “I’m not entirely certain on this, but I don’t think she outright sold him. I think he was sold by the guys that ran this thing and she either didn’t know about it or was too fucked up or too scared to care.”
“So she sold him?”
Tom barreled on, ignoring Danny’s question. “Raul wasn’t the only child involved. Louie McWiggin and David Bartell were abused, too. There were addicts who would bring their kids over while on a run to score dope, and some of them were so strung out and desperate for a high they’d sell their kids. It was an open market of every illicit activity you could think of—drug trafficking, prostitution of all kinds. It didn’t matter what you wanted, they rented you a room by the half hour and they skimmed off the top of whatever money was made in whatever activities went down, whether from gambling, drugs, or prostitution. It didn’t matter, they always made money. There were some people who were into some heavy S&M who showed up for the explicit purpose of having one or the other beaten in one of the back bedrooms because they felt safer doing it there than at their own house. Some people, basically pedophiles, brought kids over to beat and abuse. There were people that were into paraphilia—bloodletting—that used the house as a meeting place. David told me he stumbled on a guy who’d just cut some girl’s throat in the bathroom and was drinking the blood that poured out of the wound and she was still alive—”
“Stop it!” Danny put his hands over his ears, his stomach churning. He couldn’t bear hearing any more.
Tom continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “That freaked him out, and he went back into the living room. Thirty minutes later the couple came out. The girl was pale, her throat was bandaged, and they were both bloodstained. There was other stuff too...stuff too horrible to go into right now.” Tom looked disturbed. “I don’t know exactly how long it went on, but by my estimate it was well over a year. Robert wasn’t aware of what was going on. He suspected drugs were being sold out of the house and he knew his mom was prostituting herself. He didn’t know the house was being used as a hub for every form of vice known to man.”
Danny closed his eyes, the revulsion washing over him. It all made perfect sense now; the way Raul and Rudy were raised, the rage Raul felt, how fucked up he was...no wonder he was a raving psycho.
“We’re still looking into all the allegations, but I can guarantee that heads are going to roll,” Tom said. “James Whitsett was a smug bastard. Guy had Teflon coated to his skin. Claimed to not know a goddamn thing about what I was talking about.”
Danny shook his head. “Bobby’s dad couldn’t have been involved in it.”
“He was,” Tom said sternly. “Bartell fingered him by name. Robert verified it by saying he’d seen him at the house a few times. He was one of the major players.”
“That’s bullshit!” Danny hissed, feeling himself get upset. “He was Bobby’s dad! He was like...he was like a father to me!”
Tom Jensen’s blue eyes conveyed the weariness and sorrow that was tinged in his voice. “I’m sorry, Danny, but I’ve got two pretty reliable witnesses who say he may have been a part of it. We can debate his involvement for the next year if you want to, but I didn’t come here for a debate. I originally dropped by to give you an update on what happened today, but when I saw James Whitsett I was surprised. I mean, really surprised. I knew I had to question him even if I knew he was going to lie to me, which he did.”
“How do you know he was lying to you?” Danny asked. He could not accept what Tom Jensen was telling him.
“His answers to my questions were too vague,” Tom explained. “He claimed to not have known Eva Valesquez, Father James Clavell, or Alan Manning. Robert Valesquez said James was a deacon at St. Mark’s church where Father Clavell served in the parish, and that he taught Catechism there. In fact, Father Clavell hired James as a Catechism teacher.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Danny said.
Tom frowned. “Maybe it doesn’t. I admit it’s shaky. James evaded my questions the way Bill Clinton lied about getting a blow job. I couldn’t hold him for anything, which upsets me even more, but I’m going to build a case. I can promise you that, Danny.”
“So you think he didn’t kill Raul,” Danny said, suddenly standing up. He needed a beer and he walked to the kitchen and grabbed one, unheeding to Tom’s advice to abstain from drinking. “If that’s the case, why are you dredging this stuff up now?”
Tom followed him to the kitchen and his scowl was dark, his eyes menacing and angry. “Because those men allowed freaks to molest and abuse children! Because they didn’t care who got hurt! They let junkies hang out at that house and shoot up and develop nasty habits, and they let people get diseases, and they let people use people who were weaker than them. And they did it under the guise of law and order and religion and God knows what else!” Tom’s voice was tinged with righteous anger and the level of it stunned Danny. He froze, heart racing. “And I still think you aren’t being entirely truthful with me, Danny. I know you’re holding something back. I could tell when I first questioned you and I’ve been playing it out all this time in the hopes you’ll reveal it to me but you haven’t. Oh, you’ve told me stuff, more than you’ve probably ever told anyone before, but it isn’t all of it, is it?”
Danny stammered. He could feel his face grow red. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit! You know goddamn well what I’m talking about!”
“I don’t,” Danny said, trying to act calm, as if he really wasn’t affected by what Tom was saying. He popped open his can of beer. “I’ve told you all I know.”
“I know you weren’t a regular at the Valesquez house,” Tom said, standing at the kitchen counter now. “Hell, you were scared to death of Raul. But something tells me you know more than you’re letting on. Why don’t you just come clean now and tell me everything.”
Danny took a deep breath and turned away so Tom wouldn’t see his face. He didn’t want Tom to see that he was scared to death. “I swear to God I don’t know anything more than what I told you,” he said, forcing his voice to sound steady.
Tom sighed in disgust. “Fine. Whatever.”
Danny composed himself and faced Tom. “You’ve got to know something, Tom. Bobby Whittset was my friend. His dad was like a father to me. My dad ran out on my mom when I was nine. My mom worked a full-time job to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. My sister and I were genuine latch-key kids. Bobby’s dad helped out a lot. He did household chores for us and he watched over Tina and me when we were little; that’s how Bobby and I became friends. When we got older, Mom relied on me to watch after my sister, and I did the best I could. James Whitsett helped out a lot. He’d drop in to make sure we were okay, and the only kid mom ever allowed to be at the house when she was away at work was Bobby because she knew and trusted his parents. James was a friend to my mom. They took turns taking Bobby and me to the mall or to skateparks or wherever. He helped Bobby and me build a ramp, he drove us to baseball games. He was the father I never had. So don’t tell me he could have been involved in hurting other people for profit because I don’t buy that. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? I mean, this group of men...they made money off this, right?”
“That’s what I’m being led to believe,” Tom said.
“A lot of money?”
“I would imagine.”
“Then where would James stash his share? He never acted like he was rolling in dough. And he loved his son. He was torn up when Bobby was killed.”
“You don’t know enough about the criminal mind to make that kind of judgment, Danny,” Tom said. “Trust me, I
know. When you’ve interrogated rapists and murderers with wives and kids of their own, who love them the way you love your own kids and you listen to what they did to their victims, you’ll learn to see the killer inside everybody.”
Danny sipped his beer, his hands trembling. “Bullshit,” he muttered.
But deep down inside Danny felt Tom Jensen was right.
“I gotta go,” Tom said, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ve still got to call Franklin and bring him up to date.” He headed for the front door.
“So what’s going to happen now?”
Tom stopped at the door. “Hopefully, we can keep the case open long enough to get indictments against some of these key players for the prostitution and drug trafficking that went on at the Valesquez house. At least enough to get arrest warrants so we can question these guys in enough detail to get some new leads on Raul’s killer.”
Danny felt a flare of hope glimmer. “You think you can do that?”
“I doubt it, but it’s worth a try,” Tom said. “First we gotta check on the statute of limitations and see if we can make arrests. If we can, we’ll be serving warrants tomorrow.”
Danny said nothing. Tom regarded him for a moment, then headed for the door. “See you later,” he said.
When he was gone, Danny heaved a big sigh and lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs. His legs were trembling so badly he was afraid of falling to the floor in a faint. He sat at the kitchen table for a moment, trying to calm his nerves. When is this nightmare going to end? he thought. When is it going to end?
He had a hard time sleeping that night.
Sixteen
TOM JENSEN WAS pissed.
He sat alone in his two bedroom apartment in Torrance, glass of scotch in hand, staring blindly at the TV.
It was after one a.m.
He couldn’t keep his mind focused on the television program.
All he could think about was the bombshell that landed in his lap two hours ago through a phone call from Gary Little.
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