by Ana Valen
“The threats were bad. I’ll admit that. But they don’t rise to investigative levels. And don’t forget, we’re criminal defense attorneys. We’re not exactly the police department’s best friends.”
She considered this. “Alright. Maybe your employers weren’t behind this. Maybe it was a robbery, or random act of violence, or teenage thrill kill. Either way, I need to find out what happened.” She started for the door.
“Claire,” he called out. “Claire!”
She wheeled towards him.
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you think? I’m going to work with the cops. I need to know what they know.”
He stayed quiet.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You still don’t want to cooperate with the authorities?”
“I would be more comfortable observing them from a distance.”
“So would I. But I need to find out where their investigation is headed. If that means working with them, then that’s what I’ll do.”
She continued to the door, opened it, and stepped back into the chilly night air.
Chapter 2
Detective Stacy Raven drove northbound on the 405 freeway. She piloted a blacked-out Crown Victoria, while her partner and supervisor, Detective David Adams, rode shotgun. As she cruised along, Adams silently looked ahead. More than likely, he was mentally preparing himself for this investigation—an exercise that surely included going over their procedural guidelines. After all, his mantra was by the book.
She exited the freeway and started up the winding road. She knew about this hiking trail, as she had run the path multiple times. But like most people, she stayed away after dark. Not only did junkies abound, animals lurked through the hills.
She slowed before entering the hiking trail’s parking lot. Patrols cars were stopped by the entrance, lights flashing.
“I’m familiar with this place,” she told Adams.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve gone running here a few times.”
She turned into the parking lot.
“Isn’t it far for you?” he asked. “And I’m sure they have running trails in the Valley.”
“They do. But I come here to get away from the trendy people.”
“We’re next to Beverly Hills, Brentwood, and Santa Monica. You come here to get away from trendy people?”
“You obviously haven’t spent much time in the Valley.”
“Nope. When I’m off work, I go straight to Simi.”
She smirked. He would live in Simi Valley—the notorious cop haven of Ventura County. That place was also conservative. Perfect for Adams.
She parked and shut off the engine. She and Adams climbed out, opened their rear doors, and grabbed their suit jackets. Adams always went with the FBI look. She was more CSI Miami. She adjusted her top over the Glock 19 on her hip. Adams adjusted his jacket over the .45 caliber 1911 in his shoulder holster. She cracked another smile. This guy was a caricature.
They started for the dirt path that led to the trail. While walking, they encountered a steady stream of officers and crime scene technicians. They also came upon a uniformed officer, one standing outside of the dirt path with a clipboard in hand.
“Are you the detectives?” the rookie asked, looking about lower twenties.
“Damn, boot,” she called out. “What do you—”
“That’s correct,” Adams interjected. “Homicide Detectives David Adams and Stacy Raven.”
The rookie scribbled their names onto his clipboard. “Thank you, detectives.” He looked up. “Please proceed.” He lifted a line of yellow police tape.
“Thank you,” Adams replied.
Adams ducked his six-foot, two-inch frame underneath the tape. Raven didn’t need to duck. Her five-foot, eight-inch height did just fine. While passing, she patted the officer’s exposed ribs.
“You’re doing a bang up job,” she told him. “Keep serving and protecting.”
The rookie pursed his lips and lowered the tape.
Adams gave her a look. He then faced forward and started up the dirt path.
“What?” she asked, walking beside him. “You never got shit when you were new?”
“Yeah. And it didn’t help.”
“It’s not supposed to help. It’s supposed to build character.”
“We don’t need characters on the force. We need professionals. And hazing isn’t professional. It’s the equivalent of rolling up towels and smacking asses.”
She arched her brow. Wow. Adams actually said a bad word.
“Just so you know,” she went on, “I don’t haze newbies. But I do keep things light. That’s good for comradery. And in our line of work, comradery is—”
“Let’s get focused, Raven.”
She took a small breath. “Roger that.”
Having reached the actual crime scene, they pulled latex gloves. As she slipped hers on, she took stock of the surrounding activity. Uniformed officers stood guard, while crime scene technicians processed evidence. There were also a few crime scene photographers snapping photos. And of course, there was the body.
The victim lay on his back with his arms at his side. His mouth was parted and he looked up with empty eyes. As always, her morbid side wondered what it was like transitioning from life to death. Someday, she would find out. Until then, she would seek justice for those who crossed over at the hands of others.
“Jim,” Adams called out, “what do we have?”
Jim Curry, one of the seasoned crime scene technicians, knelt by the victim while jotting notes on his clipboard. “Detectives,” he half-mindedly said. “What we have is a robbery. Or at least that’s what it seems like.” He stood and looked down at the victim. “Meet Jessie Jacobson. According to his driver’s license, he was a resident of Santa Monica. He left this world thanks to nine gunshots… probably. It’s hard to tell given the blood and damage.” He looked away and pointed with his pen. “Shell casings indicate two shooting locations. We have two shells over there, and seven by the victim.”
Raven noted the yellow triangles by the casings. “Where’s the robbery angle coming from?”
“The victim’s wallet.” Curry pointed back towards the body. “It’s there alongside the victim, and all the cash is gone. Same with the credit cards. Someone rifled through it and got the goods.”
Adams placed his hands on his hips and scanned the area. “Alright, Curry. Thanks for that.”
“You bet. I’m going to check in with my team.” Curry eased away.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“What do you think?”
“The robbery angle makes sense, but something isn’t right.”
“How so?”
“The victim. He seems out of place here. I mean, who comes to a hiking trail wearing a suit?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I’m betting this was staged. I’m betting someone lured him here and took him out.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s first consider the options. What other possibilities might account for this?”
She curled her lips. “Maybe some prostitute brought him up here. Then while she got to work, her accomplice jumped out and ended him.”
He shrugged. “Not bad.”
“Yeah. But I like my original theory.”
“Why?”
“Because a prostitute wouldn’t bring him all the way up here. She would lure him into some dark alley. No, I’m betting this guy was familiar with this place, same with the perp.”
“Perhaps. But like I’ve said before, let’s keep generating probable scenarios and systematically rule them out.”
She nodded. She then approached the victim and knelt. She reached out and felt his left pocket, her fingers finding his car keys. They would come in handy, but not now. She reached for his right pocket and found what she wanted.
She pulled the victim’s cell phone and hit the start button. “Damn.”
“Loc
ked?” Adams asked.
“Yeah. It requires facial recognition. Good thing we have the face nice and handy.” She moved the screen towards the victim.
“Negative,” Adams called out. “Search warrant.”
She twisted towards her partner. “Are you serious? A search warrant is one-hundred percent guaranteed. So why bother going through the process?”
“So you want to skip it?”
“Yeah. That’ll save us an hour of work, and two day’s wait. Actually, it’ll save me an hour of work.”
“If we start cutting corners, this will come back to haunt us. I have a sky-high conviction rate because I don’t cut corners. I create solid cases that defense attorneys can’t poke holes in.”
She grinned. “I’ll keep quiet if you do.”
He stared at her.
“That was a joke.” She got to her feet. “Just a joke.” She looked to a technician walking by. “Hey.”
The technician stopped and faced her.
“Bag this and inventory it. But make sure you follow procedures. We don’t want defense attorneys poking holes in our boat.”
The technician frowned slightly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do exactly that.” He took the phone, pulled out an evidence bag, and dropped the phone inside. He scribbled onto the bag while walking away.
She turned to Adams. He gave her another look.
“Alright,” she said. “I apologize for that. And you’re right. We should follow the rules. That’ll make for an airtight case. And I don’t mind writing the warrant because—”
“We need to split up. I’ll stick with the victim. You scour the surrounding area.”
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled a pencil flashlight, and activated the device. While running the beam over the victim, she stood there watching him.
Scour the surrounding area? That’s why they had low-level technicians.
Deciding not to argue, she turned and eased towards a rest spot. From there, she would carve a wide circle and work her way back to the victim. To start, she also pulled her pencil light, activated it, and shuttled the beam across the dirt.
Over the next few hours, everyone meticulously combed the hillside. Every so often, an officer or technician would call her over to view a missing shoe, an empty bottle, some drug paraphernalia—all sorts of urban detritus that worked its way up here. She catalogued the salient objects, but didn’t spend much time on them. More than anything, she wanted to feel the situation.
All homicides were stories. And like stories, there were two elements—details and overarching themes. The details were important, but first, she needed the big picture. So far, the emerging picture strengthened her gut instinct. This was a targeted killing, not a robbery.
She walked to a clearing and looked towards the city. After a moment, footsteps padded behind her.
“You might be onto something,” Adams said.
She kept her eyes on the ocean of lights. “How is that?”
“The victim’s death is all wrong. If the perp wanted his money, why shoot him so many times? Just pop him once in the head and be done with it.”
That was a good point. But she wouldn’t admit this, not with Adam’s rebuff still needling her side.
“Crime of passion?” she asked.
“Maybe. But crimes of passion are usually clear-cut.”
“Like a wife killing her cheating husband while he’s in bed with his new lover?”
“Exactly. In this instance, the passion doesn’t stick out. Anyway, what did you find while sweeping the area?”
“Not much. Some crack pipes here and there. Some discarded workout items. All of them are ancient.” She nodded towards the body, which the coroner was now bagging. “The crime scene is relegated to that area. And that’s good.”
“Why?”
“Because the parking lot is the only way to access that area. And while doing my sweep, I noticed some parking lot security cameras.”
Adams nodded. “That is good. The cameras should’ve captured the shooter.”
“So are we pulling the footage?”
“Yeah. And in the meanwhile, we’ll visit everyone in the victim’s life.”
“We should start with the sister—the one that the two uniform’s spoke with.”
“I agree. But not tonight. We’ll do that tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
The following morning, Claire drove southbound on Ohio. She reached the LAPD’s West LA station, which was only fifteen minutes away from her house.
She slowed and looked for parking. There wasn’t anything at the station, but across the street was a public parking lot. She pulled into the lot, parked her TLX, and shut off the engine. After climbing out, she walked back to the street and checked for traffic. With no cars coming, she cut across the divide.
She approached the station and pulled open its peculiar orangey door. Inside, she found a moderately sized reception area and a small crowd of people. She cut through the gathering and stopped at the reception desk.
“Excuse me?” she called out.
A young male officer looked up from his screen. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
“Good morning. I was here to see the detectives on a murder case. Unfortunately, I don’t know their names.”
“Do you know the name of the victim?”
“Yes. It’s my brother, Jessie Jacobson.”
The officer gave a remorseful smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me check with our homicide unit.”
“Thank you.”
He stood from his chair and headed deeper into the building. While waiting, she looked around.
The crowd consisted of officers and members of the community. The community members included a mother and her rebellious teenage son, an angry Beverly Hills type woman, and a clean-cut teenager destined to become a cop. Clearly, the police not only protected the community, but also acted as dispute resolvers, counselors, and whipping boys. Their dedication was admirable, but still, she didn’t like them. Probably because for her, they always served as impediments.
“Ms. Jacobson?” said a male voice.
She turned and spotted two people approaching, one male and one female. Both were Caucasian and in their late twenties or early thirties. As they adjusted their suit jackets, they flashed glimpses of their weaponry. The female carried a pistol on her hip, while the male carried a pistol in a shoulder holster.
“Yes,” she responded. “I’m Claire Jacobson.”
The male extended his hand. “My name is Detective David Adams.”
She reached out and shook.
Adams released her palm and looked to the female. “This is my partner, Detective Stacy Raven.”
They likewise shook.
“We were supposed to contact you,” Raven said, still gripping her palm. “Not the other way around.”
Claire let go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to delay things.”
“That’s quite alright,” Adams followed. “But in the future, could we dictate when we meet? That way, our meetings won’t conflict with other arrangements.”
“Like with the coroner’s office,” Raven added.
“Who I called just now,” Adams added, “and who said they can receive us.”
Adams was undoubtedly the more genial partner.
“That’s fine,” Claire told them both. “From now on, you can schedule the meetings.”
“Great,” Adams replied. “And please don’t think we’re being demanding. We just don’t want to waste anyone’s time, especially yours.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She glanced at Raven who stood there assessing. She looked back to Adams. “Will we be going now?”
“Yes.” He gestured towards the door. “After you.”
She exited with the detectives right behind. Outside of the station, Adams took the lead and brought them to the street.
“If you don’t mind,” he called out, checking for traffic, “we can take our vehicle.”
> “I don’t mind at all.”
“Great.”
They crossed the street and approached what seemed like the police motor pool. The motor pool was situated directly adjacent from the public parking lot. Once inside, they walked along a fleet of cruisers, some marked and some unmarked. They approached one of the unmarked vehicles, a blacked-out Crown Victoria.
Adams stopped by the passenger side. Raven headed for the driver position. Raven unlocked the vehicle, and Adams opened the back door for her.
“Thank you,” Claire said. She entered the back seat and pulled the door shut.
Adams and Raven climbed aboard, and Raven fired up the engine. Raven backed up, eased towards the exit, and got on the road.
“How far is the coroner’s office?” Claire asked.
“Not too far,” Adams said. “It’s at UCLA, so we should get there in about ten minutes.”
She nodded.
Raven glanced in the rearview. “Were you and your brother close?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You seem pretty calm. In these situations, family members are usually more distraught.”
Claire looked to Adams. He remained facing forward. “I was very close to my brother,” she told Raven. “He was my only remaining family member. Both of our parents died a while back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Raven said. “By the way, what did you end up doing last night?”
“Are you asking for my alibi?”
Raven smirked. “No. I’m just wondering what you did after those officers updated you.”
Claire hesitated. “I watched Downton Abbey.”
Raven stopped at a red light and again looked into the rearview. “What did you have for dinner?”
Claire cleared her throat. “Pizza.”
Raven faced forward. “I see. So after hearing that your only remaining family member was dead, you ate pizza while watching Downton Abbey. Got it.”
“I told the officers I was available if they needed me. They said that wasn’t necessary.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“While the officers were there,” Adams said, “did they mention the services we provide to victims?”