“There’s no way we can indict any of these guys,” Gary said, his voice weary, tinged with frustration. “Judge Kerry said the statute of limitations for all this stuff ended five years ago.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“I wish I was.” Gary sounded disgusted. “In 1994 a landmark law which allowed child molesters to be criminally prosecuted for up to a year after the assault was reported, even if the crime occurred years ago, was drafted into state law. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled that retroactively applying the law to child molesters for whom the statute of limitations had expired before the law went into effect in 1994 was unconstitutional. Because the statute of limitations is generally six years, child molestation that occurred prior to 1988 could no longer be prosecuted under the California law. We’re facing a similiar statute on the alleged drug trafficking.”
“Shit,” Tom groaned.
“Unless we can prove that these guys are involved in similar activity now—"
“That’ll take weeks of investigation and you know it!” Tom had thundered.
“I know.” Gary said. Tom had never heard him sound so frustrated. “And it pisses me the fuck off. We don’t have enough to present to my FBI contact, and we’re both officially off this case anyway, so we wouldn’t have the time or the resources to pursue it.”
“I ran into James Whitsett today,” Tom said.
This had perked up Gary Little’s interest and Tom told him what happened. When he was finished Gary sounded grave. “Manning tipped him off and he went to scope out Hernandez’s place for something. I think you’re right, Tom—this Hernandez guy knows more than what he’s told you. Why else would Whitsett have shown up there?”
“I don’t know,” Tom had said, sipping his scotch. “I’ve been trying to make the connection myself and I can’t think of anything.”
“There’s absolutely no ties with Hernandez and Raul Valesquez or his family.”
“None.”
“What about James? Do you think he suspected Raul murdered his kid?”
“It’s possible,” Tom sighed. “Danny could have told James the truth years ago, although I doubt it. He was pretty damn scared of Raul.”
“Do you think Danny Hernandez knew what was going on at the Valesquez house? Like maybe Bobby had an idea and mentioned something to Danny? Maybe Raul found out and, you know, killed him?”
Tom nodded. Gary had a point. “It’s possible, but I don’t know. Danny still sounded traumatized by what he saw when Raul killed Bobby.”
“What about that other kid that was with them that day? What was his name?”
“Jerry Valdez,” Tom said, mentally making a note to focus on that tomorrow. “I keep forgetting about that guy. He’s the only kid in the neighborhood we never did get to question during our investigation.”
“Has Danny seen him lately?” Gary asked.
An idea began to take form in Tom’s mind. “He claims he hasn’t seen Valdez in over twenty years, but now I’m not so sure. I told you that I felt Danny hasn’t been completely truthful with me on everything, right?”
Gary Little caught on immediately. “You think he’s withholding information on Valdez?”
“Why not?” It made sense now, although Tom still didn’t understand why Danny would be deliberately withholding information on Jerry Valdez.
“What for? Sounds like this Valdez kid was a much as victim as Danny and Bobby were that day.”
“He was,” Tom said, thinking back on Danny’s story now, turning it over in his mind. “And as far as I know, Jerry didn’t associate with the Valesquez family at all.”
“Sounds like something that needs to be pursued,” Gary suggested.
“I’m on it.”
When Tom got off the phone with Gary, he retrieved Robert Valesquez’s phone number from his notes and gave him a ring.
“’lo?” The voice that answered was adult, female, and tired.
“Robert Valesquez, please?”
“Who is it?”
“Detective Tom Jensen. I spoke with him this afternoon.”
There was shuffling in the background, then silence. A moment later Robert came on the line, awake and alert. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry I woke your wife up,” Tom said. “But something just occurred to me. Did you know Jerry Valdez?”
“Jerry Valdez?”
“Would’ve been about your age and lived within a few blocks of you in Gardena.”
“Oh, yeah. He lived on Atkinson. Surfer dude, long black hair.”
“Did he ever come around the house?”
Robert’s voice grew suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“Was he a friend of Raul’s? Rudy’s even?”
“No.” Robert paused. “I don’t think so. I mean...there were a lot of guys that came in and out of the house.”
“Kids ever buy dope there?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“Older teenagers?”
“Yeah. I guess so. Like I said, I tried to stay away from the house a lot during that time.”
“Was Jerry Valdez ever at the house even once during this time? I know this is asking a lot of you, but...anything you can remember...if you saw Jerry hanging around with David Bartell or Louie McWiggin, even your brother—“
“I really don’t think I ever saw Jerry at the house except maybe one time.”
“When?” Tom pounced quickly.
“Shit, I don’t know, man!” Robert sounded flustered; Tom could tell he was trying hard to remember.
“Was it in late 1976 or sometime in 1977?” Tom asked.
“I—yeah, I guess it could have been,” Robert said. “In fact...” He paused briefly. “In fact...yeah, I think it was. I would’ve been...a junior in high school and Jerry was...a sophomore I think. Yeah, I really think I do remember him coming around the house with another kid to buy dope from somebody.”
“Do you know who this other kid was?”
“Some stoner,” Robert said quickly. “I don’t remember his name.”
“Did he go to Gardena High?”
“Yeah.”
“If you saw his picture in a yearbook would that help?”
“I guess so, but I only saw these guys once or twice at the house,” Robert said. “After that...I didn’t see them. I was gone, you know?”
Tom’s mind was spinning. “Who would they have bought drugs from?”
“There was a guy named Benny Mendoza who was one of my mom’s boyfriends.” Robert said, coughing. “Customer is more like it. He sold grass. They probably would have copped from him. Benny sold a lot of grass to high school kids.”
Tom jotted down Mendoza’s name. “Would this Benny Mendoza have supplied Raul and his friends with pot?”
“Sure. Other stuff too, probably.”
“Were any of the big players around when Benny was at the house?”
“Oh yeah.”
Tom nodded, jotting this down. “What about other kids in the neighborhood? They come to the house to buy drugs?”
“Yeah, there were others. I don’t remember their names though.”
“Do you know whatever happened to Jerry Valdez?”
“No.”
“What about Danny Hernandez? Does that name ring a bell?”
“No.”
“What about Bobby Whitsett?”
“He was that kid who had that accident before Raul died, right?”
“That’s right,” Tom said.
“I don’t remember him much.”
“Danny would have been with him if you’d seen Bobby,” Tom said.
Robert’s voice bore a hint of recognition now. “Okay, I think I remember now. Bobby was kind of a nice-looking kid, had long brown hair...Danny had dark hair and was kind of...ordinary looking. They were always on skateboards and...I think Danny had a paper route or something.”
“That’s him,” Tom said.
“He was never at the house. Neither of them were.”
>
“Did Raul know them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you know Raul used to pick on them a lot?”
A sigh from Robert. “It doesn’t surprise me, especially after what I’ve heard.”
Tom debated on whether to surprise Robert with what Danny Hernandez told him about Raul being responsible for Bobby Whitsett’s death and decided to take the plunge; if anything, it might spark some other memories. “I questioned Danny pretty thoroughly during the re-opening of the case,” he said. “One of the things he told me...you’re probably not going to like it.”
“After what I’ve heard the last few days, I’m prepared for anything,” Robert said, his voice weary.
“Danny claims Raul pushed Bobby Whitsett off that embankment into the sewer.” He waited for a gasp of surprise but there was none. He continued. “He said Jerry was with them that day. It was the three of them, skating an underground sewer pipe and Raul followed them there. He said Raul was friendly with them until they were on their way home when he suddenly pushed Bobby over the embankment.” He told Robert a simplified version of Danny’s story, trying to listen for any sounds of disbelief from the other end. “I believe him,” he continued. “He’s still traumatized by the incident. He and Jerry lied to the police because he believed Raul’s claims that he’d killed the Sanders family in Torrance and that he was responsible for the murders of those other two kids. He was practically crying when he told me.”
“I’m sure you checked this all out,” Robert said slowly, no sense of disbelief in his voice. “I vaguely remember some family getting killed, but not some kids. Mr. Grecko also told me about your suspicions that Raul may have killed some people.”
“I looked into it,” Tom said. “Sanders family, nice normal middle-suburban family of four. Somebody broke into their home that summer and knifed them all. No sign of robbery. The killer got into the house through a rear window. There were no suspects. The two kids, Jessica Sampson and Teddy Etchison, were killed about a few weeks apart. In both cases they disappeared from where they were playing near their homes. One was found in a garbage dumpster behind the Kinney Shoe Store on Crenshaw, the other one was found in Alondra Park.”
“And Danny claims Raul killed them?”
“That’s what he says.”
“You believe him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Robert didn’t say anything for a long time. Tom played him out for a moment, doodling in his notepad, waiting for a response. Finally Robert sighed. “I...I suppose I should say that I’m surprised but...I mean...Bill Grecko told me a few days ago that you were investigating whether Raul may have killed somebody. I didn’t want to believe it. That was the last thing I wanted to believe. Now...I think I do. Raul was...a very disturbed kid. Hearing this...well, shit, if it’s true it makes me wonder.”
“Makes you wonder what, Robert?”
Robert sighed again. “I don’t know.”
Did I just jar some long-buried memory? Tom wondered. He decided to shift gears. “When we had our phone conference with Bartell, you told us James Whitsett was one of the major players in this little sin ring. If you barely knew who Bobby was, how did you know his father?”
“He was a deacon at St. Mark’s,” Robert said. “Unlike my mother, I went to church. I’d see the family there. I put two and two together.”
“How well do you think Raul knew James?”
“I don’t think he knew him well at all,” Robert admitted. “Probably as much as I did. Just saw him as another asshole taking advantage of—" Robert stopped in mid-sentence. “Hey...you think James—?”
“Killed your brother? I don’t know, Robert. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“You think he killed Raul? You think Danny told him what happened and he, like, killed Raul in revenge or some shit?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said, gripping the receiver. “I doubt it, because the physical evidence shows your brother was raped before he was killed. I don’t know enough about James Whitsett to finger him as a pedophile, but I want to keep all my options open.” He wondered now if Bobby ever revealed he’d been abused by his father to Danny.
Robert’s voice sounded on edge. “Shit, I wish I was out there, man. Now you got me thinking.”
“Keep thinking and please keep the lines of communication open,” Tom said. “As soon as I learn anything, I’ll give you a call.”
That phone call was two hours ago.
And Tom Jensen had done a lot of thinking.
It all made perfect sense. As Tom thought about it, dwelled on it, imagined what it was like in that house, pictured the scenarios, he could see how it all fit together. James Whitsett and Father Clavell got together with some of the local figures in law enforcement about the Valesquez house, a sore spot in the neighborhood for years. Maybe James had been a customer of Eva’s; whatever the reason, they realized that with Chief Manning’s assistance, a lot of money could be made through the house: drug trafficking, prostitution, renting the various rooms out to whoever wanted them for whatever purpose. Various pockets were lined from the profits. They didn’t care what went on, so long as Eva was always tanked and willing to comply and keep her mouth shut, and as long as everybody else kept quiet too. Because the atmosphere there was so chaotic, it proved to be the perfect breeding ground for every known form of vice. And Raul Valesquez, already disturbed from years of neglect and abuse, was forced into child prostitution along with his friends and quickly spiraled into homicidal mania. Jensen saw his record—from his first arrest at the age of seven for breaking storefront windows, to his last one three months before his death for disorderly conduct—and could see very well how the local law enforcement officials at the time could have been instructed or intimidated to look the other way when it concerned that kid; because if any higher government agent were to look into the Valesquez house, their little operation might be exposed. And Raul, already heading down the path of murder and violence, began his killing spree by murdering those two kids, then that family. Then he killed Bobby Whitsett and threatened Danny Hernandez and Jerry Valdez. Tom Jensen could see how they could have been intimidated into keeping quiet. He believed it was very possible that they’d have kept quiet, for the most part, about that horrible event up until recently. Except...
Suppose at some point in the weeks following Bobby’s murder, James Whitsett asked Danny what really happened? Suppose he appealed to him, grieving father to a boy who looked up to him as his own father?
And suppose Danny had told him?
It all made sense. It was perfect. The last anybody remembered seeing Raul Valesquez was the afternoon of August 27 when he left his home. Nobody saw where he went, nobody saw him enter a vehicle. Given the nature of what went on at the house, Tom wondered if he was molested prior to his departure by one of the predatory pedophiles that hung out there, then bolted outside, high on drugs, his mind tormented—only to meet up with James Whitsett who was waiting for him in a parked car not too far away.
The more Tom Jensen thought about it, the more it made sense. Raul would have gotten into James Whitsett’s car easily. James would have tempted him into the vehicle with something—a promise to treat him better maybe, get the perverts off his back. Raul would have gotten in and Tom could picture James driving off with the troubled boy, taking him to a secret skateboard spot he could have heard about from his son or Danny, a spot he knew would provide privacy, all to beat and kill Raul Valesquez.
Tom Jensen sat in his cramped living room, the scenario swirling in his mind. It would explain why Raul played friendly with Danny and Jerry that day. He’d wanted to kill Bobby. Why he did it in front of two witnesses who very well could have had him arrested was something he still had to puzzle out. Had Raul been trying to intimidate them further? Did he recognize Jerry Valdez from the few trips the teenager made to the house to buy drugs? If so, was his brazen murder of Bobby Whitsett also a warning to Jerry?
Tom didn’
t know. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces were falling into place.
Seventeen
WHEN THE PHONE rang in Tom Jensen’s apartment the following morning, it jolted him awake. He reached for the phone on the nightstand blindly, barely noticing the digital numerals of the clock next to the phone. “Yeah?”
“Tom, it’s Gary.” Gary’s voice sounded grave.
Tom was awake instantly. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Gary? What’s up?”
“I’ve got bad news, man.” Now the sound of Gary’s voice was spiking in Tom’s heart; he could barely make out the slight tremor in it. “Franklin was murdered sometime early this morning.”
“What?”
“I’m still learning shit myself,” Gary continued. “He was found early this morning by a neighbor in his condominium complex. Gunshot wound to the head. Nobody heard a thing.”
“When? I don’t—" I don’t believe it, he wanted to say as he sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair. The enormity of the shock was so great it was numbing. He knew he should react emotionally in some way, but right now he was just too stunned to do anything except simply listen to what Gary Little had to say.
“Neighbor found him around three a.m,” Gary said. “They haven’t been able to establish a time of death yet. Ballistics are still working on identifying the weapon, and they haven’t found the spent casing.”
“Who else knows?” Tom said, not knowing what else to say.
“I called William Grecko,” Gary said. “He told me Robert called him around the same time Franklin was found murdered to tell him he chased an intruder off his property, that he shot at him. He got a partial description of the car and he’s in hiding with his family now.”
“What about Bartell?”
“I called your buddy Miles at LAPD and had him get Bartell to another location,” Gary said. “We’re good on that.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Tom said, the enormity of hearing that Franklin Navarro was dead slamming into him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, still reeling from the shock.
“Getz called me this morning to express his condolences and he gave me some other news that isn’t so hot,” Gary said again. “The case is officially closed. We’ve all been reassigned as of today. And ... he still seemed pretty pissed about what happened in the meeting yesterday.”
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