Mary walked her daughter into the front room and sat her down in the recliner. Dean sat back down on the couch. Mary sat on the arm of the recliner and waited for Sandy to stop crying and begin her explanation.
“I got off the bus at the regular stop,” Sandy explained, looking at her mother. “You know the railroad tracks two blocks from here?”
Mary nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Two blocks down from here. What about them?”
“Well,” Sandy said, “I walked through the railroad tunnel on my way home and when I got to the other side, there was this guy and he had a knife, a big knife.” Sandy buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Mary patted Sandy’s shoulder and handed her a handkerchief. “What about this man?” Mary said.
Sandy patted her eyes dry and continued. “He put his arm around me and held that big knife at my side and told me not to scream or do anything. He told me there were three other guys waiting on the other side of the tracks and that I could either go with him or I’d have to go with them.”
“Can you describe this man?” Dean said. “Would you know him again if you saw him?”
“I think so,” Sandy said, wiping her eyes again.
“What happened then?” Dean said.
Sandy hesitated and then said, “He walked me to his car and made me get in. Then he drove up into Griffith Park and stopped in one of the picnic areas. There was no one else around.” Sandy looked up at her mother. “Do I have to go on?”
“The more we know about what happened,” Dean said, “The easier it will be to catch him and put him away so he won’t do this to any other young girls. We need as much information as you can remember, Sandy.”
Sandy grabbed her mother by the neck and pulled her head close to her mouth, whispering into her mother’s ear.
“Why don’t you go into the kitchen and get yourself something to drink?” Mary told Sandy. “I need to talk to Lieutenant Hollister for a minute.”
Sandy left the room and Mary sat next to Dean on the couch. In a low voice she told Dean that Sandy had described the man using his hunting knife to cut off Sandy’s dress. Then he had cut off her bra and panties and had molested her there in the park. Sandy finished by telling her mother that after all that, the man dropped her off in town again, on Los Feliz, near where it turns into Western Avenue.
From past experience with these kinds of cases, it sounded just a little suspicious and Dean needed to ask Sandy more questions. He asked Mary to call Sandy back into the room. Sandy took her seat on the recliner again, a glass of water in her hand.
“Sandy,” Dean said calmly, “I need a few more details for my report. Do you think you can remember a few more details for me?”
“What kind of details?” Sandy said warily.
“Details like what kind of car it was,” Dean said. “Do you have any idea what make or model the car was? Was there anything about the interior that you’d be sure to remember? Anything you can tell me will help us find this guy. Think.”
“Well,” Sandy said, “I’m pretty sure it was a Buick. I saw the letters on the hood when he walked me around to the side door and pushed me in. And there was a pair of those fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror. I remember thinking how dirty they were. The inside door handle on my side was broken off. There was just a shiny stub where the handle should be.”
“That’s good,” Dean said, writing these descriptions down in my notebook. “Go on. What else do you remember about the car?”
“Well,” she said, “When he stopped for gas, he put it in the driver’s side of the car. I remember him driving up on the right side of the pump. Does that help?”
“Every little bit helps,” Dean said. “Do you remember anything else?”
Sandy got a far away look in her eyes and then blinked. “Yes,” she said. “There was a hole in the dash, a round hole. You know, like maybe there was a clock in there at one time, only now it was empty, just the hole.”
“Sandy,” Dean said. “I know you’ve been through a lot recently, but do you think we could drive back to the places you mentioned so I can have a look for myself?”
Sandy turned toward her mother. Mary nodded.
“Will you come along, too?” Sandy said to her mother.
“Of course,” Mary said. “We’ll all go.”
“And one more thing I think I should mention,” Dean said. “When we’re done revisiting these places, I think I should take you and your mother to the hospital. It’s very important that a doctor collects any evidence that may have been left behind. It could make the difference between a conviction and this guy walking free. Will you do that, Sandy?”
Sandy nodded weakly. “Okay,” she said.
Before we left, Mary went into Sandy’s room and picked out a change of clothes for her. Dean took Sandy and her mother for a ride and she was able to locate the place where she had been abducted. She lead Dean to the gas station where they stopped, and finally directed Dean to the very spot in Griffith Park where the molestation took place. Immediately afterwards, Dean drove the two of them to the hospital and summoned a doctor and a nurse. Dean showed them his badge and explained the situation, telling them to collect and label whatever they found. They collected slide samples, hair samples, saliva samples and took Sandy’s clothes, replacing them with a hospital gown.
After the examination, Sandy dressed in the extra clothes Mary had brought along. Dean drove the two women home again and told Mary that he’d get on this right away and that he’d keep her informed if we caught the guy. She thanked Dean and he left, driving back to the precinct. With Sandy’s descriptions of the car’s interior, exterior and which side the gas filler was on, we were able to narrow the search down to a specific model, within two model years.
Dean cruised the immediate neighborhood for several hours, coming up empty in his search for the Buick. At nine-thirty Dean called it quits for the day and drove home. He’d turn the cruiser back in to the garage tomorrow.
The following day Dean drove back to the police garage and checked the cruiser back in. When he got to his office I was standing there chatting with his secretary, Abbie.
“Elliott,” Dean said. “What brings you here this morning?”
“I’m trying to convince Abbie to run away with me,” I said, still sitting with one leg up on Abbie’s desk. “If you’d been a minute later getting to work, we’d be gone and you’d be interviewing for a new secretary.” I winked at Abbie and she smiled back.
“Well, when you two are finished planning your futures, I’d like to see you in my office, if you have a minute,” Dean said to me.
I could tell by the look on Dean’s face that this morning was no time for levity. “Sure,” I said, and followed him into his office.
“Close the door, would you, Elliott?” Dean said.
“Sounds serious,” I said. “What’s wrong? Is Helen all right?”
“My wife’s fine,” Dean said. “It’s something I’m working on for the captain.”
“Can you tell me about it?” I said. “Is there something I can help with on this case?”
Dean explained about this personal favor for the captain and what he’d done up to this point. He described the Buick to me and the other things Sandy had remembered seeing during her ordeal.
“Sounds like a unique car,” I said. “How many Buicks like that can there be in the city?”
“That’s where I could use some help,” Dean said. “The captain’s got me doing this on the QT because he’s a friend of the family and they’d like it kept quiet for the girl’s sake.” Dean saw the look I was giving him. “I know,” Dean said. “Everything says we should do this by the book and put out an APB on this guy, but I guess the captain figures that would draw too much attention to the girl and her family. I don’t know what he expects me to do if and when I catch the guy, but I’m not going to second guess him on this one.”
“You can worry about that later,” I reminded him. “Right now we need t
o catch this predator and put him away.”
“That’s where I could use you,” Dean said. “I scoured the immediate neighborhood last night and came up empty. I was hoping you could help me widen the search a little. We could cover twice as much area if you’d help me on this.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just let me call Gloria at the office and let her know I won’t be in for a while and I can get out there right away.”
“Thanks, Elliott,” Dean said. “I really appreciate it.”
“I’ll check back with you from time to time while I’m cruising,” I said. “Do you have your cell phone on?”
Dean fished his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “It’s on,” he said, and snapped it closed again.
“And you call me if you turn up anything,” I said, and left the office. I slid behind the wheel of my car and remembered the area that Dean told me he’d already covered. I decided I’d start from the opposite end at Griffith Park and work my way back toward the girl’s house. Maybe this guy has used the park before because he’s familiar with the area. It was worth a shot.
There was no Buick in Griffith Park itself. I was heading west on Los Feliz when I spotted a Buick at the curb. It looked similar to the one Dean had described. I pulled up alongside it and leaned over my seat to get a look at the interior. There was no hole, round or otherwise in the dash. I moved on toward Western Avenue. I drove south, past Hollywood Boulevard toward Sunset. I figured I’d take Western down to Melrose and then double back on the secondary streets. I did this for forty-five minutes and had crossed over Hollywood Boulevard for the forth time this morning.
I was driving south on Kingsley Drive when I saw a Buick fitting the Dean’s description parked on the street. I drove past it a little and then turned back to check it. I stopped and backed up, looked into the car and spotted the hole in the dashboard. This was the car, all right. No doubt about it. The dirty fuzzy dice were still hanging from the mirror as well. I drove forward to the first open parking spot and pulled my car in. I turned off the engine and grabbed my cell phone. I got Dean on the second ring.
“Elliott?” Dean said.
“Dean,” I said. “I found it.”
“Where are you?” Dean said.
I looked up at the street signs on the corner and said, “Corner of Kingsley and Fountain. The car’s here now, so you’d better get over here right away. I’ll keep an eye on it until you get here.”
“I’m on my way,” Dean said. “I’m near Lexington and Sycamore. Give me ten minutes.”
Dean made it in eight minutes and parked directly across the street from my car. He walked over and leaned down at my window. “That it?” he said, gesturing toward the Buick behind us. It was parked in front of a house where a lady stood on the porch sweeping.
“That’s it,” I said.
“Let’s go,” Dean said.
We walked up to the car, made a note of the license number and then turned to the lady on the porch.
Dean showed the woman his badge and I.D. and then said, “Police officer, ma’am. Can you tell me who owns that Buick parked at the curb?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “That belongs to my husband’s bookkeeper.”
“And where is your husband’s office?” Dean said.
“He’s a building contractor, the woman explained. “His office is in the basement around the back. She pointed with the broom handle.
“Would you take us there?” Dean said.
“Follow me,” the woman said, and led us to the back door leading to the basement. Her husband was sitting at his desk and another man was sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk. I looked at him. He was a very handsome young man, maybe middle twenties, black suit, red tie, black horn-rimmed glasses, very professional looking, very articulate. My first thought was that this couldn’t be the guy. He didn’t fit the mental profile I’d created of a man who would do something like this. But then again, Ted Bundy didn’t look like a serial killer, either, so you never knew.
Dean asked the man to identify himself.
“Martin Bowman,” the man answered. “Why?”
“Are you the owner of that Buick parked out at the curb?” Dean said.
“Yes,” Bowman said. “That’s my car.”
“Can I talk to you outside for minute?” Dean said, showing Bowman his badge.
Bowman never asked why Dean wanted to talk to him about or what the matter was. He simply said, “Okay,” just as calmly as if he were agreeing to a refill of his coffee cup.
We walked Bowman outside and Dean stopped him on the sidewalk leading to the front of the house. “We’d like to talk to you downtown.”
Bowman agreed and Dean called for another squad to meet us at the location. One of the responding officers drove Bowman’s car down to the police station. Dean told Bowman to turn around and put his hands behind his back. Bowman did as he was told without a fuss. Dean snapped his cuffs on Bowman’s wrists and helped him sit in the back seat of his car. Dean drove him back to the station, while I followed them in my car.
When we got to the station, Dean led Bowman to an interrogation room, removed the cuffs and re-cuffed one hand to the metal table. “I’ll be right back,” Dean told Bowman. “Just relax.”
Dean made a call to Mary Stoltz and asked her to bring Sandy in for a lineup identification. Mary agreed and arrived at the station twenty minutes later with her daughter. When they got there, Dean asked them both to come with him to the police garage and take a look at the Buick we’d impounded. Sandy took a quick look at the exterior and then leaned down at the passenger side front window. She straightened up quickly once she saw the round hole in the dashboard and the dirty fuzzy dice dangling from the rear view mirror.
She looked at Dean and nodded. “This is the car, I’m sure.” Sandy returned to her mother’s side.
Dean placed his hand on Sandy’s shoulder and softly said, “Sandy, I know this may be a little difficult, but I’d like you to look at several men in a lineup and tell me if you see the man who took you.”
Sandy recoiled and grabbed her mother’s arm.
“It’s all right, Sandy,” Dean said. “They’ll be standing behind a one-way mirror. You can see them, but they won’t be able to see you. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. What do you say? Will you do this for me?”
Sandy looked up at her mother. Mary nodded and Sandy turned back to Dean. “Okay,” she said.
Dean had Sandy and Mary wait in the lobby while he rounded up six other men for the lineup. Some of the men were police officers in civilian clothes and two of the men were other prisoners recently brought it for other offences. Once all seven men were standing on the other side of the one-way glass, Dean called Sandy and her mother into the darkened room to have a look.
“Take your time,” Dean said. “Have a good look at…”
Dean hadn’t even finished his sentence when Sandy pointed to Bowman and said, “That’s him. That’s the man who grabbed me.” She stepped back and held on to her mother’s arm again.
“Are you sure?” Dean said. “No possibility you could be mistaken?”
“No, he’s definitely the one,” Sand said.
Dean led Mary and Sandy out of the room and back to the lobby and asked them to wait.
Dean and I took Bowman into the interrogation room and told him that he had been positively identified.
Bowman said nothing, but instead just sat calmly looking into the large mirror on the wall. I stood in the corner of the room while Dean sat across from Bowman. Dean asked the usual question and got the usual answers. It turned out that Bowman was married and had children of his own. Dean also found out that Bowman had made other abduction attempts in the Hollywood area as well as in Burbank and Pasadena. Bowman stated that in all three cities, he would be walking down the sidewalk and if a woman walked past, he would reach out and grab her by the breast. He told Dean it was an impulse that he couldn’t control.
Bowman
admitted that during one attempt to grab a girl at knifepoint, that her boyfriend pulled the girl behind him, shielded her and wouldn’t let Bowman take her. The boyfriend said, “You’re going to have to kill me first,” so Bowman left without taking this girl.
I had question of my own that I wanted to ask Bowman. I stepped up to the table and tapped Dean on the shoulder. “May I?” I said, gesturing toward Bowman.
Dean got out of the chair and took a break while I sat opposite the prisoner. “I’m curious,” I said. “You’re a married man with kids of your own. Didn’t you stop to think how the girls’ parents would feel? Didn’t you think how you’d feel if someone took your daughter and did what you did to this girl? Don’t you have a conscience?”
Bowman removed his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and set them on the table. He looked into my eyes and blinked. “Usually, when I take my glasses off,” Bowman said, “I can’t see a thing. But sometimes when I would be driving around to my clients, all of a sudden I would start to get this terrible headache. At those times, when I’d take my glasses off, I could I could see just as clear as ever without the glasses. I didn’t need them. Those would be the times when these urges to attack women would come up on me. I tried to resist the urges when that happened, but eventually the urge would win and I would attempt to abduct someone or try to grab or molest someone.”
“Can you see fine without your glasses now?” I said.
“Perfectly,” Bowman said, turning to look at Dean, who was standing in the corner.
“And are those urges coming back to you as we speak?” I said.
Dean left his position in the corner and stepped up to the table. He looked at Bowman and asked, “Well?”
Bowman just smiled like the Mona Lisa and looked away from us. Dean tapped my shoulder and tossed his head toward the door. I followed him out of the interrogation room.
“Sounds like some sort of a brain tumor, from what he’s describing,” Dean said. “He’ll probably beat this rap with a good attorney and a doctor’s report.”
I nodded. “But from what he’s describing, it sounds like the tumor is already pretty far along,” I said. “He might beat the rap, but I don’t think he’ll last long enough to appreciate what little life he probably has left.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 164