by Bill Bernico
I walked back over to the chairs in the waiting room, summoning Eric and Elliott to join me. We all sat on the chairs, pulling them into somewhat of a circle.
“We can’t let it be known that Dean’s alive,” I said. “Dean was found at the exact coordinates where we predicted the sixth murder would take place. We have to let the killer think he succeeded with his sixth victim. Then maybe he’ll play out his hand and we can catch the son-of-a-bitch.”
“I agree,” Eric said. “I’ll release a statement to the press that Dean was killed, but I’ll let Helen know what we’re doing so she doesn’t inadvertently try to explain to anyone who might call her and give our plan away.”
“Are you thinking that now that he has the entire smiley face pattern complete that he might send a message to the media or something?” Elliott said.
“We’re at a dead end if he doesn’t,” Eric said. “That inquiry to the advertising company netted us nothing. Turns out that the guy who commissioned that billboard did it for his wife. I guess he met her years ago purely by accident when they bumped into each other on the street and they were both wearing a little yellow smiley face button. He put the billboard up for their twentieth anniversary.”
“So we’re back to the theory that the killer may only have been inspired by seeing that billboard,” I said, “which leaves us nowhere.”
“I’ll have a dozen men on this before the night is out,” Eric said. “This is getting top priority. Dean was one of us and he still has a lot of friends in the department.”
Eric met with the chief of staff and had Dean moved to a private room under a different name. He also met with the press to announce the death of former L.A. Police Lieutenant, Dean Hollister. It made the eleven o’clock news that night.
Helen remained in Dean’s private room at his bedside. The hospital had a second bed rolled into the room for her and brought meals for both of them for them next few days. On the third day after the shooting Eric and I were able to visit Dean. Elliott had to return to his office and his business.
The head of Dean’s bed had been cranked up somewhat before Eric and I entered the room. Helen was sitting at his side, feeding him with a spoon and wiping his chin. She looked up and smiled when she saw us.
“How’s he doing this morning, Helen?” I said.
Dean’s eyes shifted to the left and he looked right at me. “Why don’t you just ask me yourself?” he said.
“How are you feeling, buddy?” I said. “You look like shit.”
“Still the smooth talker, aren’t you?” Dean said. He glanced at Eric. “Any leads on whoever shot me?”
Eric shook his head. “Nothing yet, I’m sorry to say,” Eric said. “We were hoping you could shed a little light on it for us. What can you tell us about it?”
“Not much,” Dean said. “He shot me from behind. I never saw anyone. I was down and out before I knew what hit me.”
“Did you hear anything before you were hit?” I said. “I mean like the shot or footsteps or anything.”
“He had to have had a suppressor on his gun,” Dean said. “All I can remember hearing was a wispy sound like a bullet coming through a silencer and then nothing.”
“Did you get any feeling at all about how close he might have been to you?” Eric said.
Dean shook his head. “No,” he said. “No footsteps, no rustling, nothing. He must have been quite a distance away at the time. Did they find the bullet?”
Eric pulled a small plastic evidence bag with a slug in it from his pocket and held it up for Dean to see. “Rifle,” he said. “More specifically, it’s a .308, most likely fired from an M-21 sniper rifle. This guy could have been a hundred yards away at the time. The only thing we can think of that might have thrown off his shot just enough to keep from killing you is that he might have been distracted by the mini surveillance copter flying circles around the area.”
“If Elliott hadn’t decided to quit hovering and circle the neighborhood,” I said, “the killer might have been able to get off a successful shot.”
“You be sure and thank him for me,” Dean said. “So, what do we do next?”
“We?” Eric and Helen said, almost in unison. Helen kept talking. “We are not doing anything else,” she said. “We are going home and living out the rest of our lives in peace and safety. We, more specifically, you, are out of the police and investigation business for good. Do you hear me, Dean Hollister?”
Dean looked at me somewhat sheepishly. “Correction,” he said. “What are you going to do next?”
Helen let out a deep breath and squeezed Dean’s hand.
“We’re checking on the sales of M-21 rifles as well as .308 ammunition,” Eric said. “Those rifles were used in Viet Nam and some of our boys may have brought that rifle home with them. If that’s the case, we’re probably looking for some old guy, like your age.”
“Old guy?” Dean said, gesturing toward me with his chin. “Clay’s older than I am.”
“Fourteen months,” I said.
“Regardless,” Eric said, “if it’s not some Viet Nam era soldier turned whacko, it might be a relative or it could just be someone who found the rifle at a gun show. We’re checking out all possibilities. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”
“I can still help from here,” Dean said, and then quickly looked at Helen. “I don’t have to physically be out there with them. But I have so much knowledge and experience; it would be criminal for them not to take advantage of it. I still want to do my part to catch this guy, but I’ll just phone it in from now on.”
Helen gently nodded. “But that’s it,” she said.
“You listen to her, Dean,” I said. “Helen knows what’s best for you. You should be thankful you have someone who cares so much about you.”
“That just what you need, Clay,” Dean said. “Someone like Helen to watch out for you.”
I ignored Dean’s remark and said, “So, you just take it easy now. Eric and I have to get back to work.”
“Smooth,” Dean said, “how you segued out of that one.”
I waved at Dean as Eric and I left the room. Eric drove back to the precinct while I returned to my former office to fill Elliott in on our progress. I promised Eric I’d meet up with him later today. Elliott and Gloria were in the office when I got there.
“How’s the jaw?” I said to Gloria as I entered.
She rubbed her cheek. “Much better,” she said. “Am I glad to be done with that.”
“What was it?” I said.
“Impacted molar,” she said. “They had to dig it out. It broke off at the gum line. I can’t imagine how people stood it back in the old days before Novocain came along.”
I turned to Elliott. “Dean says to thank you,” I told my son.
“For what?” Elliott said.
“For circling the neighborhood with your mini copter,” I said. “Eric figures that the shooter must have been distracted by the copter circling overhead and that’s why his shot didn’t kill Dean. He just told me to tell you that he’s grateful to you.”
“Glad I could help,” Elliott said. “How’s he doing today?”
“Much better,” I said. “But he’s out of the picture. Helen put her foot down but said she’d allow him to help us by phone only.”
“Good for her,” Gloria said. “There’s no reason Dean should have to take any more unnecessary chances at his age.” She caught herself immediately and looked up at me. “No offense, Clay.”
I waved her off. “None taken,” I said.
“So what’s our next move?” Elliott said.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Eric’s looking into the sales of M-21s and .308 ammo. He’s also going to check with gun shows.”
“And what does he want us to do?” Elliott said.
Before we left the hospital,” I said, “I told him that we’d check databases and see if we could come up with any Viet Nam vets who might have been snipers during the war and who might have
brought their rifles home with them.”
“I’ll take the vets,” Gloria said. “I know someone at the Veteran’s Administration who could be helpful.”
“I can check with a guy I know at Edwards Air Force Base,” Elliott said. “I know that the M-21 was developed at Fort Benning, Georgia, but I’m not flying to Georgia just to find out information that my guy at Edwards might be able to tell me. I can drive to Edwards in less than an hour and a half.” Elliott checked his watch. “I can be back here by three or so.”
“And I’m going to join Eric and see if we can’t narrow these searches down a little,” I said. “Let’s stay in contact by phone if any of us finds out anything that we can use. I’ll catch you both later. Watch your backs.”
I drove back to the twelfth precinct and caught up with Eric, who was studying the map on his office wall. “How’s it looking?” I said as I stepped up to the map.
“Have you ever know one of these smiley faces to have a nose?” Eric said.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Eric said. “I wouldn’t want to overlook the possibility of a seventh victim in the even our guy decides that his smiley face needed a nose.”
“No,” I said. “This guy’s been too precise, too accurate so far. His locations were chosen with military accuracy, down to the degrees. And anyone who’s ever seen an accurate smiley face would know that it’s just two eyes and a smile on a yellow dot. I think you can forget about any nose locations.”
“You’re probably right,” Eric said. “What about Elliott and Gloria? What are they working on?”
I filled Eric in on their plans and told him we’d all keep each other in the loop.
“Great,” Eric said. “Let’s go. I have something else I want to check on.”
“And what’s that?” I said.
“Something’s been bugging me about the murder scene over near Silver Lake,” Eric said, “I want to have another look at that underground garage where we found Kilgallen’s body. You remember, over on Mariposa near Santa Monica.”
“I remember the place,” I said. “What’s not tracking right about it?”
“I got to thinking,” Eric said, “that our guy couldn’t be sure that there’d be someone in the garage when he got there, or that the garage door would even be open. I want to know how he got in.”
“Good question,” I said. “Suppose we go and have another look and talk to a few more residents and neighbors.”
“That’s just what I had in mind,” Eric said.
Eric parked in front of the apartment building and we got out to study the surroundings. The overhead garage door was closed so we went inside to see the building manager, a man named Fred Lawson. We found him on the first floor in the front.
“Can I help you?” Lawson said when he opened the door.
Eric showed his badge. “I’d like to have another look at the garage, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I’d like you to open the overhead door.”
“Sure,” Lawson said. “Just let me grab my remote and I’ll be right with you.”
Lawson led us down a flight of stairs to the underground parking area. With a push of his remote button, the overhead door slid up, letting in the light from outside. There was still a small red-tape X on the floor to mark the GPS coordinates that we’d figured out according to the location on the map. The X was located just inside the door to the right. Eric looked down at the mark and made a note in his notebook.
“What is it about this that’s got you troubled?” I said.
Eric scratched his head. “If he was counting on these exact coordinates,” he said, “he’d have had to wait outside someplace nearby to keep any eye on the door. And when it opened, he’d have had to rush over here and catch someone coming out or going in and what are the odds that Patrick Kilgallen would have been standing right there?”
“My guess is that our killer found him hanging around someplace close and killed him where he stood,” I said. “He probably dragged the body over here and dropped him.”
“And that means that someone outside must have seen something,” Eric said. “Let’s check that apartment building across the street and see if anyone saw anything that day.”
“I’ll start on the second floor,” I said. “You’ll probably want to check with the manager.”
We crossed the street and entered the two-story apartment building. Eric stopped at the manager’s door while I took the elevator to the second floor and started knocking on doors. No one answered the first two doors that I tried. The third door was answered by a woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, who would only talk to me with the chain lock engaged on her door. She kept to herself and I sensed that there was nothing she’d be able to tell me about any activity across the street from her. I thanked her for her time and moved on to the next door on this floor.
At door number four I was greeted by an elderly man who answered the door in his wheelchair. Without any hesitation whatever, he swung the door wide and invited me inside. I thanked him and walked over to the window that faced the street. I looked back at the old man and said, “Quite a view you have here.”
“Yes it is,” the man said.
I stepped closer to him and extended my hand. “My name is Clay Cooper,” I said. “I’m here with Lieutenant Eric Anderson of the L.A.P.D. He’s talking with the manager right now.”
“Henry Slater,” the man said. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“Have you heard about the man who was found in that garage across the street recently?” I said.
“That poor Mr. Kilgallen,” Slater said. “Yes, I heard. Tragic, wasn’t it? Any idea who did it?”
“That’s what we’re looking into,” I said. “I was wondering if maybe you might have seen anything from your window that day.”
“Seen anything?” Slater said. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Anything unusual, out of the ordinary. Did you maybe see anyone who didn’t belong in this neighborhood? Anything you can tell me might help, no matter how unimportant it might seem to you.”
“Let me think,” Slater said. “That would have been Wednesday, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Around noon or a little before.”
“Wednesday,” Slater said. “Let me see. I remember now. I had a doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty that day. It didn’t take that long and the cab probably dropped me off back here again around eleven-thirty, quarter to twelve. I don’t remember seeing anything unusual, though. But then again I wasn’t really looking for anything. You sure about that time?”
“Give or take half an hour,” I said. “Hot weather can accelerate decomposition, affecting a time of death estimate. And it was pretty hot that day.”
“Even if I’d been right on the street when it happened,” Slater said, “I couldn’t have identified anyone even if they’d been standing right next to me. The doctor put some drops in my eyes and they were dilated pretty far. I had some dark glasses on as well. I wish I could have been more helpful.”
I made a note of the time that the cab dropped Henry Slater at his front door and slipped the notepad back into my pocket. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Slater,” I said, heading for the door. Before I left, I handed him one of my cards and asked him to call if he thought of anything else. He said he would, but I wasn’t holding out too much hope for him.
There was one more door on this floor. It was the apartment closest to the corner and would have had views of both streets from there. I rang the bell and waited. A woman in her late sixties opened the door a few inches and asked what I wanted.
I held up my I.D. and badge. “My name is Clay Cooper,” I said. “I’m looking into the shooting that happened across the street recently. I was wondering if I might talk to you about it.”
“I didn’t see anything,” she said. “I don’t know anything and I’d like you to just leave me alone.” Without further ado, sh
e closed the door and I could hear several locks engaging.
I took the elevator back down to the first floor. Eric was just coming out of the manager’s office when I stepped out of the elevator. We met at the front door and paused.
“Anything?” I said.
“Nothing,” Eric said. “If this guy knows anything, he’s not saying.”
“You get the feeling he’s holding back?” I said.
“Call it a hunch,” Eric said, “but I think he knows more than he’s letting on. He seemed evasive and vague and he got nervous when I started asking him about the garage across the street.”
“Why don’t you take him in and sweat him for a while?” I said.
“What good would that do?” Eric said. “Without something to go on, he’d just walk and then if he is involved, he’ll just lay low and we’ll get nothing. No, I think it’s better if we just keep an eye on him for a while and see what happens. How’d you do with the people on the second floor?”
I gave Eric the results of my inquiries. “Nothing solid,” I said. “But I’d like to check with the cab company. They let one of the residents off pretty close to the time of the murder. The old man’s eyes were dilated at the time, so he’s not going to be any help, but maybe the cabbie saw something when he dropped the old guy off.”
“Well, it’s something, anyway,” Eric said. “But rather than stop in at the cab company, why don’t we just call for a cab and tell them we want the same driver who was here that day?”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and dialing the cab company. I told them what I wanted and they put me on hold for a moment. When they came back on the line, the dispatcher told me that the driver I was looking for was delivering another fare at the moment. I told him I was in no hurry but that I wanted the same driver as before. I gave him the address of the apartment building we’d just come out of and told him I’d wait.