Lisa stepped back and said, “NO, NO…that will just make things worse. I will go home right now.” Lisa started for the door when a police officer walked up with a pair of black sweatpants, a black hooded sweatshirt, and a knife. Estelle was standing at the front door where Lisa had just walked out, and one of the officers told Lisa to stay right where she was. She was dressed in a sheer nightgown that came up very, very high above her knees. Through the bright lights, Estelle could see that Lisa was nude under the nightgown. She looked at Lisa and said, “You’re telling me that your ‘husband’ let a fine piece of ass like you out with basically nothing on?” Lisa didn’t respond as one of the officers approached her with the sweats and the pen knife in her gloved hand.
The officer asked, “Do you recognize these, Ms. Farmer?” There was a moment of hesitation, and she said, “Yes. Those are mine. Where did you find them?” “In the bushes where you were hiding. Can you explain why they are in the bushes and not on you?” Lisa tried to explain, but she couldn’t tell a good story. The officer looked at Estelle and said, “We’ve had a rash of break-ins in the area. I’m afraid Ms. Farmer is going to have to come with us.” She handcuffed Lisa again and read her her rights as she put her into the back of the cruiser. Lisa called out to Estelle, who just glared at her from her front porch with her arms crossed.
Chapter Ten
“That son of a bitch did it to me again.”
Arnest was asleep when his cell phone started ringing. He sat up on the edge of his bed and answered in a deep sleepy voice, “Hello?” Lisa Farmer was on the other end of the line, and he listened to her story. She finally said, “You are my one phone call.” “I understand. Let me speak to one of the officers.” She handed the phone to the booking officer.
“Sergeant Phillips.” “Good morning, Sergeant. I see that my niece is giving you a bit of trouble this evening.” “She is in lock up here at West Valley Police Station.” “Can I post bond for her?” “We don’t know what we have yet, sir, so there will be no bond tonight. You will have to wait until she is arraigned tomorrow in Van Nuys at the court house.” “I understand. Do you know what time that might be?” “The sheriff’s department will pick her up at six a.m. with the rest of the folks we are holding, then it’s first come first serve from there. If you want to know more, you should arrive at the court house at eight a.m. Go to the criminal court building, and they will know where she is and what judge is going to hear her case.” “Thank you, Officer. Good night.” Arnest could hear Lisa screaming in the background as the phone went dead.
He hung up then hit speed dial. A sleepy voice answered, “Yes.” “We have a problem.” “What kind of problem?” “Lisa Farmer has been arrested and is in jail.” The voice on the other end of the line rose two octaves, “WHAT? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” “I don’t know. She will have a hearing in the morning. I will be there, and if we can get her bond I will bond her out.” “Call Howard Cohen. He is our attorney. Tell him what the situation is with Lisa. He will defend her and get her out of jail in the morning.” “Okay. Good night.”
Arnest hung up the phone, laid back down in bed, and whispered to himself, “Keep your mouth shut, child. Keep your mouth shut.”
Judge Larry Robinson had no sooner arrived in his chambers than he had a message from Howard Cohen requesting a meeting. Not one of the most compassionate judges, Robinson believed in the old saying, “spare the rod, spoil the child,” and if he had it his way, it would be used in the literal sense. His bailiff brought him a cup of coffee and a newspaper. “Let me know when Howard Cohen calls.” “He’s already here, sir. He’s sitting in the gallery and asked me to let him know when you came in.” Robinson laughed and said, “Well, who the hell is he hot to trot to get out of jail?” He told the bailiff to see him in as he sipped his coffee and read the front page.
There was a knock on Robinson’s door, and he bellowed, “Enter, Howard.” The door opened, and in walked Howard Cohen. “Howard, there are only two reasons you come to see me before I take the bench. Either you want a favor, or you want a favor. So who do you represent, and what do you want?” Howard pointed at the leather chair in front of Larry’s desk, and he nodded for Howard to sit. “Larry, I have a young girl who was arrested last night in a case of mistaken identity.” “Oh?” Larry said, sitting back and sipping his coffee. “Yes, your honor, and I wanted to make sure that she makes bond.” Larry put his cup down on his desk and said, “Howard, you and I have known each other all of our adult lives. You also know damn well that it is incredibly inappropriate for you to enter my chambers and ask me for bond before I have even heard the charges in a matter.”
“I know, I know, but I’m telling you this young lady is engaged to Erick Walton.” Larry took his cup back into his hands and asked, “Junior or senior?” Howard frowned. “She’s seventeen, almost eighteen, Larry. It’s junior for crying out loud.”
“What’s her name?” “Lisa Farmer.” Larry called out for his bailiff and asked for the Farmer file. He and Howard made small talk until the bailiff returned. He read the file and asked, “Howard, do you know what’s in this police report?” Howard nodded, and Larry read out loud, “Suspect was found in a nightgown with no undergarments. She admitted to also owning a discarded black hooded sweatshirt and black sweatpants as well as a pen knife, which she had thrown into the bushes prior to her arrest.”
“What the hell was this kid doing at two a.m. dressed in black and then undressing and claiming she was going to her friend’s house?” “It’s a complicated situation. She said that she and Erick had a fight, and she needed a place to stay, and this was the only friend she had.”
Larry looked up the rest of Lisa’s rap sheet and said, “This girl has been in and out of jail over the past several years for prostitution, drugs, and petty theft. Come on. Who the hell is paying you to defend this girl?” “I’m not at liberty to release that information, your honor. Attorney client privilege.” Larry put down the file and asked, “So she’s been saved by Erick, and daddy is stepping in to help him out because his kid is broke and trying to get his new church up and running?” Howard looked on and said, “You know I can’t answer that question, Larry. I’m asking you to cut the girl a break. She’s been clean and off the streets for over six months. It was a love spat, and I’m afraid if you deny her bond or set a high bond and make this more traumatic than it already has been, she could end up back on the streets or worse.” “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter, Howard. Someone wants this girl out, and I don’t think that junior knows she’s here.”
Howard stood up and said, “I’m leaving it in your hands, Larry. You have the power to help a kid who made a mistake go back to her life with a good Christian man, or you can undermine her entire life.” Larry yelled at Howard as he walked out the chamber’s door, “Oh no, you son of a bitch. You’re not laying the guilt trip on me here. Your client got herself into this mess, not me. I have to uphold the rule of law, you asshole!”
The door to the judge’s chamber shut, and Larry looked at the case file and said, “Well, fuck me…that son of a bitch did it to me again.”
Jim O’Brian was at his Van Nuys station for an early morning meeting. He wanted his men to be extra diligent when on the streets in the wake of the LAPD killings that cost Special Agent Steve Hoffman his life. He had wrapped up the meeting in roll call and walked over to talk to Larry Robinson.
He walked into the court room, and Larry was already on the bench, so he walked up to the front of the gallery, so he was in Larry’s line of sight and sat down. In the past, Larry had used him and others as a weapon to scare the crap out of kids and young adults who broke the law. He watched as the defendants were brought in and recognized Lisa Farmer from the memorial service right away. He waved over the bailiff and asked, “Isn’t that Lisa Farmer?” The bailiff nodded, and Jim asked, “What the fuck?” He was about to respond when Larry slammed down his gavel, looking straight at Jim
and said, “This court will come to order, bailiff. Call the first case.”
“People versus Lisa Farmer. Breaking and entering, possession of a concealed weapon, and evading police.” Larry called out, “How does the defendant plead?” “Not guilty!” Jim recognized the voice right away. He looked over to see Howard Cohen sitting in the defense chair. Jim looked on at Lisa with confusion as Larry read her the riot act and then set bond at $500, and Howard walked out to pay the clerk and bond her out. Larry finished the docket by nine thirty, and he called for a half hour recess, and Jim was right on his heels as he headed into his chambers.
Larry turned around to see Jim standing in the doorway and asked, “Have I thrown you in jail for contempt recently?” “Naw…shit…it’s been at least…fuck…three years?” “Two years, six months. What do you want, Jim?” “What’s up with the Farmer case?” Larry had taken off his robe and hung it on the coat tree next to his desk and sat down asking, “Why do you care? Do you know her?” “No…not exactly, but she’s a part of a new church that Little Erick started after he broke away from his father about a year ago.” “So I’ve heard. Have you talked to Big Erick?” “No…I was supposed to meet with him yesterday, but I ended up in Corcoran all day.”
“What the fuck were you doing up there?” “The FBI was interviewing Bruno Richards.” Larry got a serious look on his face. “Really? Who was doing the interview and why?” “John Swenson from the LA office. He was trying to see if he could get a beat on the child killings. Richards still has so many nutty ass followers he thought he might get something out of him.” “And…did he?” “No…” “Have you read the paper today, Jim?” He shook his head, and Larry handed it to him. The headline read, ‘Bruno Richards, Critical Condition in Corcoran Hospital, Ailment Unknown.’
Jim pulled a cigarette out of his top left pocket along with his Zippo and lit up, saying, “Hmm…that’s strange. He was fine when we left him.” Larry bummed a smoke off Jim and said, “Yeah, sure he was.” Jim asked, “So what’s the deal with Farmer? You going to press this with the DA?” “I don’t think there’s anything to press. The kid got in a fight with junior, who she’s supposedly engaged to, and ended up at the wrong old friend’s house.” Jim had the smoke hanging out of his mouth and asked, “Can I see the jacket on her?” Larry handed it to him, and he read it over. Jim had one eye closed, and the smoke from the cigarette wafted up his face. “Hey…can I take this with me?” Larry nodded, exhaling the smoke from his lungs just as his phone buzzed, letting him know his recess was almost up.
“So, is it the Farmer thing that brought you to my courtroom?” “No…I was giving a safety lecture to my men at the station here and just wanted to stop by and say hi.” Larry let out a laugh as he stubbed out the smoke. “Well, that’s a line of bullshit if I ever heard one.” Jim stubbed out his smoke and said, “Yeah, I hate your ass. We’re having an interdepartmental fundraiser and cookout in memory of Charlie. All of the donations are going to his favorite charity.” Larry laughed as he was putting on his robe and said, “I thought Charlie was his favorite charity.” “So did I, but it turns out that he was deeply involved with a homeless shelter and food pantry for underprivileged and starving children and families out in Arleta. I guess that’s where he grew up.”
Jim handed Larry a flyer, and he said he would be there. The two men shook hands, and as Jim went to walk out Larry said, “You know…for all the grief that racist son of a bitch gave me over the years I actually miss him.” Jim nodded without saying a word and walked out the door.
Sara and Karen were in a meeting when Sara’s phone buzzed, and she was told that Pastor Erick Walton was there to see her. Karen looked at her and said, “What’s a pastor doing here?” “He’s an old friend, that’s all. I won’t be but a moment.” Sara got up and walked out into the outer office where Erick was sitting. Erick Walton Sr. was an imposing figure. At six feet six inches, he was taller than John but not nearly as handsome. Seeing him brought back a flood of good and bad memories for her, and he could see it on her face.
His face was gaunt, and he was much thinner than the last time she had seen him. He stood up, Sara walked over, and he grabbed her and gave her a hug. She hugged him back and asked, “Pastor, what brings you to my office?” “I need to talk to you. It has nothing to do with religion or the church. It’s personal and medical.” “Sure. I have one of my closest residents in my office with me. Do you mind if she sits in while we talk? I mean, if it’s medically related, it might be good to have a second set of ears. She’s young, but she is hands down the best ER doctor in this hospital…next to me, of course.” “Sure, sure. I can use all the eyes and ears I can get.” Sara walked into her office, and Karen stood up as if to leave, but Sara asked her to stay. After some introductions, Erick explained his situation.
“I really want to thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Dr. Swenson.” “Please, Erick, you were almost my father-in-law. Call me Sara. So what’s up? The only time you go to a doctor, as I recall, is when you’re dying.” There was a moment of silence, and he said, “Well, in fact, that is why I’m here. I was just diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer, and I wanted you to refer me to an oncologist for a second opinion.” Sara said, “Um…yes, yes…Charles Ritter is one of the most prominent oncologists in the country, and I happen to be fortunate enough to have him on staff. Pancreatic cancer is one of his subspecialties. When did you get the diagnosis?”
Erick was composed, sitting next to Karen, and said, “Yesterday…I have been having some health issues over the past few months, and I was diagnosed at UCLA.” Karen asked, “Did the oncologist at UCLA give you treatment options?” “No…he said it was far too advanced for any treatment. He gave me three to six months and advised me to get my affairs in order.” Sara called down to Oncology and was able to get Erick in to see Dr. Ritter right away.
Karen walked him to the elevator and escorted him to Ritter’s office. As the two walked, Erick asked, “I don’t mean to be rude, but how old are you, Dr. Faber?” She laughed. “It’s quite all right. I get asked that question a hundred times a day. I’m on the downhill side of seventeen.” Erick’s eyes got huge. “How long have you been practicing medicine?” “Three years now. I graduated young. Both my parents are physicians.” “Young? I would say it’s remarkable. Where did you go to medical school?” “USC,” Karen said as they exited the elevator, and she pointed to a sign on the wall with an arrow pointing to Oncology.
“I have to tell you, Karen, I’m impressed. And you work for Dr. Swenson?” “Yes…I am finishing up my residency here at Northridge Hospital, and then I’m not sure what I’m going to do as far as practice is concerned.” They turned the corner that led to a long hallway, and Erick said, “This place is like a maze.” “You will get used to it if you come to us for treatment. Many sections of the hospital are still under construction since the fires. When it’s finished, it will be a remarkable facility. Not that it’s not already.”
“So, you are an ER physician?” Erick asked as they walked the hall. “Yes…I’m cross training. I’m both an ER physician and a psychiatrist.” Erick stopped and looked down at her young face and said, “You’re a psychiatrist as well?” She nodded enthusiastically with a big smile on her face and pointed to a door with Dr. Ritter’s name on it. They entered, and Karen announced that they were there. Ritter’s nurse took the two back to his office. Charles wasn’t there, so they had a seat and waited. They chatted politely and quietly until Charles walked in, and Karen made the introductions and excused herself. She went to leave the office when Erick called out and said, “Dr. Faber? Can I see you as a patient about this diagnosis and work through my feelings?”
Charles looked on. He didn’t care for Karen, and she knew it. “Of course, Pastor.” She handed him her business card and said, “Feel free to call me any time, twenty-four hours a day.” And she walked off.
There was a bottle of Island drink
ing water on the edge of John’s desk but no sign of him. Chris Mantel stared into the office but didn’t dare walk in. He was about to leave when John walked up behind him and asked, “So…what have you learned from the files?” He pressed past Chris, grabbed the bottle of water, and sat down. “Well, John, what I can tell you is these are sick ass ritualistic serial killings.” John sighed and said, “Thanks, Chris, that’s just great. You’re not telling me anything that we all don’t already know.”
Chris had a tablet under his arm and said, “Well, there are a few things that jumped out at me when I looked over the case files and crime scene photographs. We have a situation where this group is building an altar for the purpose of a blood sacrifice.” John sat up in his chair and said, “Group?” “Oh yea…this is not some one-off serial killer. This is a full blown religious movement. These sacrifices were well planned, from the choice of the child to the way that it was murdered. This is way more than a one man job. This is a very, very well organized group of people, and they are going to be hard to find.” John sat back in his chair and said, “Go on.”
“I was going over the crime scene photos, and the Psalm that the killers are using. I did a little research and found two similar murder sprees, both here in California. In the first case, it was a group calling itself the ‘Trinity Family of Cleansing.’ In that case, the children who were killed were not strangers. The group was actually impregnating their members through ritualistic brainwashing over the course of months to years. Then, the women in the family, or church, would agree to be surrogate mothers and host the sacrifice in their womb, which the church taught was an honor. In that case, ten children were murdered before the group was caught by the sheriff in Hampon, California.”
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