Into the Dark

by Rick Mofina

  “What’s this? What do you guys want?”

  “We want you to tell us where Amber is, Eric,” Tanner said.

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you argued with her?” Zurn said. “Slapped the bitch around, to help her understand that she belonged to you?”

  “You’re very possessive of her,” Tanner said. “In one of her complaints she said you told her that you ‘owned her.’ Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘she’s mine now’?”

  Larch shook his head.

  “You were trying to pound sense into her, weren’t you?” Zurn said.

  “But she refused to listen to reason,” Tanner said. “Maybe things got out of hand? Maybe you went a little too far because you loved her a little too much. You didn’t mean to hurt her. You didn’t mean for this to happen. Things got out of control. Maybe she came at you?”

  “Did she come at you?” Zurn asked.

  Larch shook his head.

  Tanner stood and leaned into Larch’s space.

  “Just like with the others, right, Eric? You tried to make them understand but things went too far. It’s something inside you that you can’t control, a pressure, a force or sickness that just takes over and makes you do these things. You’re a slave to it, a victim, too, but part of you likes it, likes the power. Then you feel bad, you didn’t mean for all this to happen.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” Tanner said. “Eric, you don’t have to live the lie any longer, you don’t have to carry it around alone. Tell us about it. Unburden yourself. Let us get you the help you need.”

  Larch swallowed.

  “We know you had your truck serviced in Sacramento a few days ago. We checked the odometer and did the calculations. You’ve done a lot of driving since you returned to L.A. Have you been up to Camarillo, Eric?”

  “No, I never went there.”

  Tanner didn’t answer. He sat down, letting silence mix with the tension, waiting before proceeding.

  “You know, at this moment,” Tanner said, “we’re executing warrants on your Jeep, on your motel room, on your apartment in Long Beach, your brother’s home in Sacramento and his office.”

  Larch looked at him.

  “That’s right. Sooner or later we’ll get to the truth.”

  “I got nothing to hide.”

  “We’re going to find out, but it would be better if you cooperated now.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Tanner slid a pad and pen to Larch then went to a file for a page with printed text.

  “Would you copy these sentences, print them in block letters for us?”

  Larch’s face whitened as he stared at the passage of text.

  THANK YOU FOR THE RECENT INTEREST IN MY WORK. IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME AND I WAS BEGINNING TO THINK THAT THE BRILLIANT MINDS OF L.A. LAW ENFORCEMENT WOULD NEVER APPRECIATE THE MEANING OF THE BEAUTFUL GIFT I’D LEFT THEM.

  “What’s this? I don’t know if I should do this,” Larch said.

  “Thought you said you got nothing to hide. Was that a lie?” Zurn asked.

  “No.”

  “Then do it.”

  Larch picked up the pen, turned it over several times, then carefully started printing the sentences in block letters.

  57

  Commerce, California

  “Pay attention to this guy.” Detective Terry Metcalf, with the task force, pointed to a figure in surveillance camera footage on the big flat screen in the boardroom.

  The heavyset subject was wearing a large navy hoodie, bulky gray sweatpants and sneakers. The subject approached 5900 Wilshire and deposited an envelope in the mail slot. An enlargement showed details on the envelope matching the one that the reporter had received.

  “This person delivered the death-doll letter to the L.A. bureau of the AllNews Press Agency wire service. Note the clothing, the body shape and gait. Now watch.”

  Tanner and Zurn, along with other task force members, studied the footage. The investigation was moving fast. They’d found upon their return to the homicide bureau in Commerce from interviewing Eric Larch, that some of the results from leads, search warrants and analysis of evidence had been completed.

  Metcalf clicked his remote control and new footage appeared, showing a heavyset person in a large navy hoodie, gray sweatpants and sneakers.

  “This footage was taken from cameras at a gas station near Claire Bowen’s medical building at Huntington Drive and Garfield Avenue in San Marino. Our subject is walking in one direction down the street in front of the gas station and less than thirty minutes later he’s walking by in the opposite direction. This was recorded within the time frame of the burglary. Note the clothing is identical to the Wilshire images, leading us to conclude that it’s the same person,” Metcalf said. “But after executing warrants on all locations tied to Eric Larch, we found none of the clothing items.”

  “He coulda tossed them,” a detective said. “Also our guy here also coulda bulked up for the cameras.”

  “That’s right, so while it’s the same person in the footage, we are inconclusive on whether it’s Larch.”

  Tanner flipped through his notes.

  “The time on the gas station footage could rule out Larch. I have him in Sacramento for that date and that time frame, but we need to confirm that. Our information’s been wrong before.”

  “That doesn’t rule him out for Amber,” Metcalf said.

  “It doesn’t rule him out for anything. It means that we need to triple-check everything. We have a lot of other areas we’re looking at. Thanks, Terry.”

  Returning to his desk, Tanner stopped to drink from a water fountain. The political heat to advance the investigation was intensifying from politicians downtown and in the Capitol. There was pressure from the department brass to issue a press release on Eric Larch’s arrest before the LAPD did it for them.

  Tanner resumed working at his desk for less than five minutes when his cell phone rang.

  “Tanner?”

  “Mark Harding. Got a minute?”

  “Not really. What’s up?”

  “I’m hearing from some police sources that you’ve made an arrest.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m hearing you arrested the Dark Wind Killer.”

  “I can’t discuss anything.”

  “You’re not denying it.”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “We have an agreement and I’ve kept up my end.”

  “Listen, we’ve got a lot on the go right now. Keep in touch.”

  After the call, Tanner exhaled, knowing they were running out of time. Larch was charged with his bail violation, but unless they had a good case to show he was behind Amber’s disappearance they wouldn’t be able to hold him long, and they wouldn’t be able to keep his arrest under wraps much longer.

  We’ve got a ton of suspicion, but no hard evidence, Tanner thought as he resumed work, going back to a key piece of holdback evidence. A report had come in from the lab that morning confirming that Amber Pratt’s bloodied fingerprint was on the tag affixed to the death doll the killer had placed in Camarillo.

  Every initial indication pointed to Eric Larch as the suspect in Amber’s disappearance and the murders of five other women. There were so many factors that pointed to him. He’d lived in L.A. at the time of the murders. He was obsessed with infamous killers. He had a history of violence toward women. He fantasized about fame, power and control.

  So much about him fit.

  But it didn’t fit well, Tanner told himself.

  “Joe, the blood analysis from Eric Larch’s vehicle just came in.”

  Detective Metcalf passed him the report. It showed the blood on the rear and in the interior of Larch’s Jeep was A positive. Larch was A positive. Amber Pratt, from the medical report filed with the court in the assault, was O positive.

  It was not Amber’s blood in Larch’s vehicle, but it was
her blood with the death doll the killer left in Camarillo.

  “All right, thanks.” Zurn had finished a call. “That was the FBI. They said that a preliminary analysis of Larch’s handwriting sample, or printing in this case, strongly indicates that he’s not the author of the Dark Wind Killer notes sent to our reporter friend.”

  Waves of doubt about Larch swept over him.

  So, back to square one.

  This Dark Wind Killer is playing us, but my gut tells me the answer is in our hands. It’s in here somewhere, he thought.

  Tanner took a deep breath, let it out slowly and surveyed the files on his desk. Time was hammering against them. His focus flicked to the L.A. Times clipping Zurn had set at the edge of his desk earlier.

  Nearly buried by other files, a corner of it reached out as if pleading for his attention.

  Tanner reached for it.

  He studied the headline Miracle Rescue in Fiery Freeway Crash. The news picture of a car in flames and a small picture of Robert at the hospital with the caption Hero Pilot Robert Bowen Saved Mother and Baby.

  Pilot, Tanner thought.

  Why was that familiar?

  Pilot.

  Tanner blinked at all of the cold case files as understanding began dawning on him. His heart began beating a little faster. At first he was mistrustful of what was emerging.

  Is it a reflexive reaction to Larch being ruled out?

  Am I that desperate?

  Tanner studied the clipping, rubbing his chin.

  The facts: in the last six months of their lives all of the women had traveled, but he had not pursued that angle, until now. He began flipping through the cold case notes he’d made on each victim.

  Leeza Meadows had flown to Boston to visit a friend in college.

  Esther Fatima Lopez had gone to Las Vegas and Atlantic City to work.

  Fay Lynne Millwood-she’d gone to Denver for a conference.

  Bonnie Bradford had gone to New York to talk to a literary agent.

  Monique Wilson had visited Chicago, Houston and Philadelphia.

  But here it is, the remark Wilson’s sister had made back in 2005.

  Monique had flown so often she got to know some of the airline crews.

  That meant she’d used the same airline.

  What airline? Did they all use that airline?

  Tanner checked the older reports on the files.

  StarBest Airline.

  What about Bonnie Bradford?

  StarBest Airline.

  Fay Lynne?

  StarBest Airline.

  Esther?

  StarBest Airline.

  Leeza?

  StarBest Airline.

  Was this it? Was this the common factor?

  Tanner’s keyboard clicked as he typed rapidly, consulting the files and compiling a list of flight numbers and dates for each of the women. As soon as he was finished, he’d send it to FBI Special Agent Brad Knox with an urgent request to work with TSA and the airline to obtain flight crew manifests for those dates.

  As he typed, Robert Bowen’s photo stared back at him.

  58

  Los Angeles, California

  Julie Glidden got back to Los Angelessooner than she’d expected.

  She’d been in San Diego working on a fraudulent compensationclaim, but the case was now miles behind her.

  For much of her trip, she’d focused on Claire.

  Driving north along the 5, Julie had listened to radio newsreports of Amber Pratt’s disappearance and its link to the Dark Wind Killer. Butpolice still hadn’t found Amber and there were no updates on whether they’darrested her husband. And now, on top of Amber’s tragic situation, Julie’sdigging into Robert’s past was becoming more disturbing.

  As a private investigator she knew that it was not uncommon forpeople to change their names. The story was always in the reason.

  Why did Leon change his?

  Where was his wife, Cynthia, and was hestill in love with her?

  While Milt Thorsen kept investigating in Canada, Julie had onlymanaged a superficial search of Leon’s background in the U.S. But the fact that“ Robert” had never told Claire about his past troubled Julie.

  If he’d deceived her on his name, whatelse was he hiding from her?

  It was early evening, but traffic flowed smoothly as Julie madeher way downtown. Her agency was in L.A.’s Bunker Hill district in athirty-five-floor postmodern skyscraper. She parked in the building’s near-emptyunderground lot and took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor where her smalloffice was slivered between a global accounting corporation and a law firm.

  As the elevator rose, Julie texted Claire.

  Again.

  I’mback-will be working @ office for a few hrs. I could come over after or meetyou? Anything to help.

  love and prayers,

  J.

  She waited for a response. Claire’s reply was usuallyinstantaneous but nothing came, as was the case earlier when Julie had textedher before she’d left San Diego.

  Claire had a lot to deal with. Julie’s heart went out to her.In pursuing the truth about Robert and his first wife, Julie was fearful of whatmore Milt Thorsen might uncover.

  How much more bad news could Claireendure?

  Stepping from the elevator, Julie went to her office, unlockedthe door and entered. Everyone had gone for the day. She glanced at the time,growing a little uneasy that she hadn’t heard anything from Claire.

  Julie was also expecting an update from Milt in Canada. Thelast time he’d contacted her, he said he had a lead on more information on thehistory of Leon Elliott and his wife.

  Julie got a bottle of juice from the fridge in the kitchen,along with some cheese and crackers. She went to her desk and began fine-tuningher report from San Diego, then moved on to catching up on work she’d missedwhile away. It took close to an hour to get through her emails. She’d finishedresponding to the last, an invitation to address a security conference, when anew email from Milt Thorsen arrived, along with several attachments.

  Julie opened it.

  Milt had more on Robert’s life in Canada.

  Julie held her breath as she burned through Milt’s coveringemail.

  Leon and Cynthia Elliott had embarked alone on a full day hikealong the Iceline in Yoho National Park in British Columbia. Parts of the trailwere steep with the hazard of fallen trees where trail ridges ascended over ariver gorge. Leon Elliott stated to investigators that he was off the trail,making a small day camp for their lunch, when Cynthia walked off out of hissight to take in the view over the trail edge. At that point Elliott heard ascream. Cynthia had lost her footing and fallen into the gorge.

  Milt’s information went on to say that her body was recoveredby park wardens later. An autopsy showed her injuries were consistent with afall and being battered amid the rocks on the fast-flowing mountain river.

  Officially, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and MedicalExaminer attributed her death to a wilderness accident. But as Julie continuedreading, her jaw dropped, tears filled her eyes and she covered her face withher hands. She skipped along passages listing the impressive scope and findingsof Milt Thorsen’s work. Records attached…led to law enforcement familiarwith…a former Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer… Arising from his owninvestigation of the subject, provided further insight about Leon RichardElliott and his wife, Cynthia…

  Julie began printing off pages, reading as fast as she could,the words blurring by.

  …No record of divorce, no separation…former Mountie indicatesthat according to a friend, to whom Cynthia had confided, there was stress inthe marriage which led to Cynthia contemplating divorce…the Mountie pressedLeon Elliott on the matter and he made a bizarre revelation…

  Elliott claimed that months before his wife’s death, he’d beenapproached by an international drug cartel to make an illegal delivery flight.Elliott refused and suspected the drug dealers had followed him and his wifeinto the mountains, and that they killed Cynthia to send h
im a message. Elliottstated that he was too frightened to report it to authorities. When pressed,Elliott could not provide the Mountie with any information, a name, number,contact, or phone record, to support his cartel claim…

  The Mountie discounted Elliott’s drug-flight-wife-death storyand had discussions with the prosecutor on possible charges against Elliott forhis wife’s death. The prosecutor said there was no solid evidence to support thecharges. The case was closed.

  In his covering letter, Milt wrote that upon obtaining this newinformation, he made a number of urgent calls to his trusted sources, includingthose with U.S. national security, as well as those with Canadian and U.S.aviation security, to confidentially enquire about the link between Leon RichardElliott and Robert Bowen.

  Milt learned that Elliott had managed to persuade federalofficials, some of whom were friends, of the real possibility that drug dealersmay have been behind his wife’s death. As a result, Elliott was successful inhaving his federal friends arrange for his professional flight records as apilot-in fact his whole life, Social Security Number, everything-changedsmoothly to his new name without raising any red flags. They helped erase, ornearly erase, his previous identity.

  Oh my God, Julie thought, she wasright to check on Robert. I’m so sorry, Claire, I shouldhave done a background check when you were first seeing him. I always got aweird vibe from him. How did I let this get by? At least you’re notpregnant. God, please don’t bepregnant.

  Julie sent Milt an email thanking him, then collected thedocuments.

  Robert’s first wife died under suspiciouscircumstances, yet he wants Claire to believe he was divorced. The man’s aliar. Or worse.

  Julie took a deep breath.

  She had to get to Claire now, give her the facts and let hermake a decision on what to do about what they now knew about “Robert.”

  Julie reached for her phone and started texting.

  Claire,please answer. I know it’s a bad time but just received new disturbing dataon Robert. Important I see you to discuss.