by M. Z. Kelly
“I slay the dragons,” he said as my phone buzzed.
I listened for a moment as Molly Wingate came on the line. I wrote down the information she’d given me, ended the call, and said, “I think I know who our dragon is and where he’s living.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I threw the car into gear, hit the gas, and said to Dawson, “According to the county recorder’s office, Ellian Ian Lofton, Junior, was born to a Carrie Ann Hurst September 3rd, 1986. Both parents are deceased. Junior attended UCLA where he majored in art history. When he was twenty-seven he began using his middle name and his mother’s maiden name.” I turned to Dawson, the pitch in my voice rising. “I talked to him a few weeks ago. Ian Hurst is the minister of the Universal Light Church.”
Dawson’s forehead creased as we drove to Hurst’s last known address in Westwood. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He tugged on an earlobe. “Robert Lofton is a Mentally Disorder Sex Offender. Daddy Sicko puts wigs on his sons and paints their faces when he molests them, and eventually ends up in Bratton State Hospital. One of his those sons, Ellian, eventually has a kid born out of wedlock. The hospital records show that junior was also molested by grandpa.”
“And probably by his own father, given the family dynamics,” I said.
Dawson went on. “So junior grows up, uses his middle name and mama’s maiden name, and eventually becomes a minister.”
“At the same church that Joanne Vreeland attended.”
Dawson said what I was already thinking. “What if Ellian Junior or Ian Hurst also made that trip with daddy to Rome in summer of 2004? Since he was Ellian Lofton’s kid, maybe daddy paid his own way and he wasn’t listed on the school roster.”
“And suppose he, just like his daddy, began hitting on the kids during the trip. That could be how he met Jason McCray and maybe eventually became involved with James aka Loretta Martin.” Dawson turned to me as I added, “And just maybe Hurst and Loretta have been working together all these years.”
“They’re partners who carefully map out and execute their crimes. Each has a role. The one who is the leader is controlling, manipulative, and domineering.”
“The alpha-dog.”
“Yeah. And the follower is submissive and vulnerable, he’s acting out his own sick desires, but also those of the leader who is sadistic and has his own psychopathic agenda.”
Dawson regarded me for a long moment, smiling but not saying anything. “What?” I asked.
“Okay, I’m convinced. I’m getting you your own talk show.”
“Funny,” I said as we pulled to the curb in an upscale neighborhood in Westwood. “It’s a Saturday, there’s no church today. Let’s go talk to the psycho.”
Ian Hurst’s house was a two story, located mid-block in a row of houses that were well kept. There was a white picket fence around the front yard. The residence reminded me of one those TV shows about a happy middle class family where everyone’s problems are a laugh a minute, thanks to canned laughter and light-hearted plot lines. If Ian Hurst was the man we suspected him of being, there was nothing light-hearted going on behind the walls of his house.
After a couple of tries there was no answer at the locked front door. We decided to go around to the backyard but found the sliding patio door was also locked.
“Maybe he’s inside hiding and not…” I looked over and saw that Dawson had a brick in his hand. Seconds later the brick went flying into the slider, shattering it. “You really don’t believe in warrants, do you?”
“I think I heard someone screaming,” Dawson lied. “Exigent circumstances.”
We did a room to room search of the house but came up empty. If Ian Hurst was a serial killer in league with James aka Loretta Martin there was nothing here to indicate that. The home was clean and well kept. Then I had a thought.
“Shoes,” I said to Dawson as we stood in the living room.
He looked down at his black oxfords. “What can I say, they’re comfortable.”
“No. I’m talking about the designer shoes, the Andre Magradi’s. They’ve continued to be ordered under Ellian Lofton’s name and delivered to a mail drop here in Hollywood. Maybe he’s been using his birth name when he places the orders.”
We went back upstairs to the master suite. When I opened the closet door I found a half dozen empty boxes for the designer shoes on the floor. I held one of the boxes up to Dawson. “If the shoe fits…”
Dawson was saying something about human excrement as I jostled the box and realized it wasn’t empty. I opened it and found several photographs. I went over and dumped the contents onto the bed.
After a quick review we found that the photographs were of a young Ian Hurst, taken several years ago. There was a young woman in several of the photographs with Hurst. Dawson summarized what we were both seeing.
“Portraits of a young Ellian Lofton, aka Ian Hurst, in love with Loretta Martin.”
Dawson was right. Hurst and Martin both had adoring smiles. They were posing in that way you often see engaged couples hamming it up for the camera.
Another thought then occurred to me. It caused a deep shudder to move through my body as I turned back to the closet. I picked up two of the remaining shoe boxes, a sense of dread overwhelming me when I realized they also had something inside. I found that the boxes were heavier than the others as I carried them over to the bed.
I looked over at Dawson. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” I nodded my head toward the boxes. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
The big FBI agent took one of the boxes, removed the lid, and reached inside. He held up a glass jar. The sun, filtering in from the bedroom window, illuminated what was floating in the container.
I took a step back, my stomach twisting into knots as Dawson made the announcement. “It’s the victims’ eyes.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“LOOK AT YOURSELF,” Ellian bellows. “YOU ARE DEFORMED…UGLY…VILE.”
Loretta falls to the ground, begins rocking, and begs him to stop. “Please…I can’t listen…” The sorrow and pain of his life returns, as his tormentor’s disapproval continues.
Ellian finally comes over to him, bends down. “Did you really believe that you could finish this by yourself, without my help?”
“No…I was…I was confused.” His body continues to rock as deep racking sobs crash through him in waves. “I’m s…sorry.”
“Get up,” Ellian demands, at the same time glancing over at the girl tied in the chair who is now wide awake. “Time is growing short and there’s a lot to be done.”
While he tries to regain some composure, Ellian walks over to the girl. His head turns from side to side, his brown eyes studying Sarah Meyer’s face. His gaze slides down, taking in her naked body.
“Please, help me,” Sarah begs.
Ellian nods. “Yes. We’re going to help you.” He turns to his apprentice, his voice growing strident again. “Put something on and then get your paints.” He then turns back to Sarah. “This one, more than all the others, must be perfect.”
“What…what…are you going to do?” Sarah asks. Her body shakes beneath the harsh light, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Ellian removes a handkerchief from his pocket and blots her tears. “You mustn’t cry. If you do we will be forced to put you to sleep again. Our canvass must be unblemished.”
Sarah tries to compose herself. “I don’t understand?”
Ellian leans closer to her, his voice just above a whisper now. “We are going to transform you into a work of art. You are the final piece, the crowning jewel in a timeless portrait that will be talked about for centuries to come.” He smiles. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see the masterpiece you will become because…we’re going to remove your eyes.”
Loretta comes over and sees the horror in Sarah’s face. The tears come again as the girl pleads, “I’ll do anything, please.”
Ellian looks over at Loretta. “She will need to be asle
ep during the transformation. It’s a shame but there’s really no other choice.” He bends over to Sarah again. “Sleep well my darling. Tonight you will be famous.”
Loretta finds the syringe, plunges it into Sarah’s arm. In seconds she is unconscious.
“Now,” Ellian says coming over to Loretta. “I want you to do your best work. And before you begin, I want you to make yourself look decent for a change.” Loretta looks away, not meeting his eyes. Ellian reaches over, grabbing him by the hair and twisting his head until their eyes meet. “When you’re finished, after you’re transformed, then it will be the girl’s turn.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
After calling in our discovery at Ian Hurst’s house, the other members of the taskforce and the SID technicians arrived. We briefed them on what we’d found in the residence and left. When we got to Hollywood I turned off the freeway and told Dawson that I needed to take a few minutes and stop by my house.
“You want me to wait?” he asked, when we pulled into my driveway. It was almost dark now, the streetlights coming on. “If you want I can stick around, shoot the bad guys.”
“I’ll be fine.” I tossed him the car keys. “See you downtown in about an hour.”
No sooner had Dawson pulled out of the driveway than I heard screaming. I turned, my hand gripping the gun in my purse, but then saw it was Tex running from the front door to the street. Seconds later Mo pushed through the doorway and chased after him, two hundred pounds of angry ex-pimp.
“Come back here you ugly little schmuck,” Mo yelled.
Tex made it to a car that had pulled up to the curb at the same time Nana came out of the house with her shotgun. I went over and wrestled the weapon away from her before she could fire it as the car sped away with Tex.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, looking from Nana to Mo.
“That nympho nerd just dumped baby sis,” Mo said. “He’s leaving her at the altar.”
“What?”
“He took off with that Jezebel who put on his bachelor party,” Nana said.
I looked at them both. “George? He left Natalie for that…”
“Yeah,” Mo said. “His brain’s so big it musta cut off the circulation to his pecker.”
After we all went into the house I found Natalie in the family room talking to a man. Bernie apparently had missed me or maybe he was just desperate to get away from my roommates. He came over, jumped up on me, and began licking my face.
“This is Dudley,” Natalie said, introducing their class instructor, after Bernie settled down.
The profiler turned professor who shook my hand was handsome with sandy hair and even features. His eyes were blue, deeply set and inquisitive. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Wainwright said.
I said hello and then turned to Natalie. “I don’t understand. You do know that Tex just…”
“Not to worry,” Natalie said. “I’d had it with that little lump of codswallop. I was planning on calling the whole thing off anyway.” She motioned to Wainwright. “Me and Dudley are gonna have dinner tonight.”
“Guess the grass don’t grow under her feet,” Mo said, coming over to us, still breathless from the chase.
“Is your father still alive?” Nana asked Wainwright after coming over to him. “If he is, maybe the four of us could double date.”
“Fraid not,” the profiler said with a bemused look on his face.
Nana cursed her fate and told us she was going upstairs to check on Elvis.
“I told Dudley all about your father’s killer and that Artist case you’ve been working,” Natalie said. “Dud’s got a couple of theories.”
Wainwright looked at me. “Only if you’re interested in my opinion.”
I sighed, brushed a hand through Bernie’s fur. “I’ve only got a minute but sure.”
“I don’t want to alarm you,” Wainwright said. “But I believe Ryan Cooper is peaking.”
“You mean like a peeping tom?” Natalie asked.
“No.” Wainwright spelled the word out for her. “Criminals typically operate in a wave pattern, engaging in conduct that consists of crests and valleys. Cooper’s conduct indicates he’s reaching a peak again.” He levelled his blue eyes on me. “I would be extremely careful, if I were you.”
“I think Cooper’s been peaking for the past several days,” I said. “But thanks for the warning.” I started for the bedroom to shower and change, with Bernie following, when he said, “I also have a theory about The Artist if you’d like to hear it.”
I turned, dragging a hand through my limp, uneven hair. “I’m sorry but I have to change and get going.”
I began walking away again when Natalie called me back. “I think you should at least listen to what Dud has to say. He’s a whiz when it comes to psycho killers.”
I sighed, turning back to them again as Bernie pushed his muzzle against my hand. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I believe The Artist is acting in concert with another party,” Wainwright said. “You don’t typically see a pattern that’s continued for over a decade involving multiple homicides in multiple cities without someone else being complicit, either working in tandem with the perpetrator or helping facilitate the crimes.”
What he had to say was both interesting and accurate, given what we’d recently learned, but I didn’t have time for more theories. “Thanks, we’ll give that some consideration,” I said, heading for the bedroom.
After a quick shower and change I made a decision about something that had been on my mind all day. I didn’t care what the FBI protocol called for, I wanted Bernie at my side. My big dog had lots of experience dealing with very bad people in difficult situations and there was no way I was leaving him home.
We were headed to FBI headquarters when Jack called. I still felt guilty about the way I’d handled things the last time we were together and agreed to stop off at his apartment for a couple of minutes.
“I’ve missed you,” Jack said, holding me in his arms after answering the door. We exchanged kisses while Bernie whined and did a tail wag.
“Me too,” I said when we parted. “And I’m sorry about stomping off the other day. I wasn’t in a good place.”
“No need to apologize. It’s been a tough time for everyone.”
We went into the kitchen where he made me a cup of tea. I gave Bernie a couple of treats as we chatted about my case for a minute. I told him what we’d learned about The Artist, explaining how Ian Hurst was the minister at the church that the first and current victim had attended. “We’re speculating that James Martin aka Loretta might have made contact with both Jason McCray and the first victim during the school trip to Rome several years ago. We think he’s been working with the son of the music teacher all these years. It now looks like we’re looking for two people with only a few hours left.”
“I saw on TV they’ve got some footage of a car in downtown Los Angeles. They think it could be related to the missing girl. It just came on.”
“What?” I said, going over to the TV with Jack and Bernie following.
As I hit the remote button, Jack said, “I just assumed you already knew about it.”
In a moment we were watching a news channel showing a man getting out of a white van parked on a street in downtown Los Angeles. A reporter explained what we were seeing.
“This security camera footage was just brought to our attention by the owner of a liquor store in the area,” the reporter said. “The owner became suspicious when he happened to glance up the street and see a white van stopped at the curb. As you can see the footage is grainy, but it clearly shows a man dressed as a city maintenance worker stopping and getting out of the vehicle. He then removes a bundle from the van, something apparently wrapped in a dark material, maybe plastic. We’ve checked with the city and they advised us there were no workers in that area early this morning during the time the footage was shot. The video is being turned over to law enforcement officials as I speak.”
�
�I’ve got to go,” I said, turning away from the television, and gathering up Bernie’s leash.
Jack followed as I headed for the door, saying, “We’ve got a lead on Cooper.” I turned back to him at the door as he went on. “He’s been living with a guy named Jerry Dodd who works over at Northridge studios. Dodd admitted that he’s been helping Cooper out, allowing him to stay at his place in exchange for paying off some drug debts. After a pretty intense go around last night he admitted that Cooper’s suffering from a shoulder wound after your confrontation.” Jack released a breath. “He also said that he’s coming after you again.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“We think he’s going to make another attempt soon, Kate.”
“I’ll watch my back,” I said, turning to the door again with Bernie.
Jack took my arm. “I think we’re getting closer to finding him. I don’t suppose there’s any way I can talk you into lying low until…”
“Not going to happen.”
He then kissed me, holding onto me for a long moment. “Just be careful then. I love you.”
I met his smoky brown eyes, turned my head against his chest, and said, “I love you too. I’ll be careful, I promise. See you soon.”
As Bernie and I left Jack’s apartment my phone rang. It was Glenwood Convalescent Hospital. “This is Diana Taylor,” I heard a pleasant, professional voice saying. “I’m calling about your mother.”
I stopped on the sidewalk, unable to catch my breath. The street was deserted and silent. I felt my heart beating like a drum in my chest, almost loud enough to hear. “What’s the matter?”
The voice that came back on the line softened, at the same time breaking both the silence and my heart. “I’m sorry to inform you that your mother passed away last night.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
A moonless damp night had fallen by the time we secured the perimeter in the area where the white van had been parked and completed our search. After a long cry, I’d tried to put my mother’s death out of my mind during the search. I also tried to console myself with the thought that at least she was no longer suffering and in a vegetative state. That’s what I told myself, anyway. I wasn’t sure I believed it.