"I wouldn't care if no one came. Just as long as you're there."
"And Hannah."
"And Hannah," he agreed as he turned Josie into him and kissed her again.
Josie put her arms behind his neck and kissed him back. When they parted she closed the book, marking the page with the invitation that simply read:
You are invited to a wedding.
***
It was four in the afternoon when Mike Montoya and Wendy Sterling looked up.
Theirs had been an impressive effort of police work. Not only had their station pulled together, the sheriff himself had been in contact, pledging resources as needed. They didn't need them. In the last twelve hours physical evidence was logged in, packed up, and on its way to the lab for analysis. The coroner had taken possession of two bodies, the surviving victim had not died as had been expected, and the kid – the pivotal kid – was in bad shape but would get better. Once that happened, the dominoes would fall.
Mike had started a white board, dissecting it into thirds, one section dedicated to each of the victims. Their names were printed in Mike's neat hand and encased in near perfect circles. Greg Oi was assigned the red marker, Jak Duka blue, and, lastly, green for Rosa Zuni, aka Billy Zuni's – what? – aka patient in ICU at Torrance Memorial Hospital. Straight lines radiated from each circle and at the end of those radiating lines were short perpendicular ones. What they knew to date had been filled in.
Age:
Greg Oi – 59
Jak Duka – 33
Rosa Zuni – 18-25 (?)
Occupation:
Greg Oi – businessman/philanthropist
Jak Duka – Fed Ex delivery/union daily
Rosa Zuni – Dancer/stripper/prostitute/mistress ???
Residence:
Greg Oi – Rolling Hills
Jak Duka – San Pedro
Rosa Zuni – Hermosa Beach
Addresses, contact numbers, and next of kin were noted where applicable.
Everything about Rosa, save for her name and occupation, was a question mark. No identification had been found in the house or in her purse. There was no car in the garage or on the street registered to her address. There was no computer, but they had found a cell phone. Wendy was on top of getting a subpoena for Rosa Zuni's call records. The tech guys would drill down for any other data. Right now, though, the lack of identification was, in and of itself, a clue that Mike believed to be critical.
Then there was the fourth name in a black circle:
Billy Zuni. Age: 17.
Occupation: Student, kid, screw up, surfer, murderer (?).
Missing: Gun. Knife. Identification for Rosa Zuni. Time charts for each victim: last seen, last heard from. Motive. Connections.
Finished with the board by two, Wendy and Mike spent the next couple of hours making phone calls, and setting up appointments, asking questions when they reached a person who might have immediate information. Mostly they got responses of shock and dismay, exhortations to find the bastard who did this, and prayers that the woman would survive. They were putting the finishing touches on their schedules for the next day when Mike's phone rang. He identified himself, listened and spoke to Wendy who was looking at him expectantly as he hung up.
"Torrance PD was called on a vandalism complaint. They thought we might be interested."
"And why would that be?"
"Someone took a can of spray paint to Greg Oi's private office." Mike sat down again. "And they left an effigy of Oi with a knife through its heart."
"Now that is a bit of acting out by the union boys." Wendy pointed her pencil at Mike. "You've got an appointment over there tomorrow. Bring back pictures."
Wendy gathered her papers, tapped the edge of the pile on the desk to arrange them neatly and stood up.
"Let's go see Carl Newton. Lucky guy. He's going to be prosecuting the biggest murder case the South Bay has ever seen."
Mike stood and put on his jacket.
"Right now, it's an investigation. It's going to be a while before we have anyone he can prosecute."
"Michael, Michael," Wendy said as she breezed past him. "We've got bodies. We've got a whacked out kid. When are you ever going to realize that the glass is half full, not half empty and the one filling this glass up is Billy Zuni?"
CHAPTER 8
1996
Teuta labored, but only briefly. Her labor was so brief in fact that Teuta's husband did not arrive in time to see the baby born. Everyone in attendance at the birth praised God for this good sign. The baby would grow to be a gentle soul who would want no one to suffer.
He would be, they said, a good boy.
2013
"Well, this is interesting," Carl Newton deadpanned.
Mike was thinking that if the man's energy were a color it would be grey. Not dark and ominous, not dove soft, but ill-defined like a gathering gloom that could turn into a storm as easily as it could pass by without being noticed. Mike had worked with Carl Newton before and found him extremely competent but unsettling and uninspired. He had once run for District Attorney, but he did not stir the voters' imaginations. If he had ever stirred a woman's, there was no evidence of it. No wedding ring, no personal pictures, not anything that hinted at a relationship.
Mike couldn't tell if the man still harbored political ambitions, nor could he tell if Carl Newton was satisfied with his lot in life. The detective could only hope Newton had the grit to see this one through. A crime of such passion demanded an equally passionate response. Bottom line, it was a surprise the D.A. had assigned Carl Newton.
"Yes. Interesting and complex, Michael. A double homicide." The deputy D.A. said this as if he was having a hard time choosing between the plain or sesame seed bagel.
"Potentially a triple. The female victim is touch and go," Wendy added.
"That will be a first here." Carl voiced the obvious. "I assume you're not ruling out a sex crime or a pact of some sort."
"All scenarios are on the table," Mike said.
"What have the neighbors to say? Were they aware of unusual activity at that house?"
"We haven't had much luck on the canvass yet," Wendy answered. "There's construction on one side of the house. We'll track down the owners and get put onto the contractor to see if he knows anything. An old lady, Mrs. Yount, lives on the other side. She wears a hearing aid, goes to bed by eight, and uses special earphones to hear the television. She has no idea if she was asleep or awake when all this happened."
Mike took up the thread.
"Given the storm, and the closed bathroom window, the female victim's voice wouldn't have carried. Mrs. Yount did indicate she heard booms, but believed it was the thunder."
"And the neighbors across the way?"
Carl Newton did not take notes, but he had a pen cradled in his curled fingers as if it were too heavy to lift. The thought that he was channeling Eeyore crossed Mike Montoya's mind, but only briefly. He tried never to be unprofessional, even within the privacy of his own thoughts so he answered the question.
"Directly across the street is a house in foreclosure and it's empty. There is another one that has been sold but not vacated. The owners went to a movie and came home late. They didn't see anything suspicious."
"What time did they come back?" Carl asked.
"Between ten thirty and eleven. The bodies were discovered at two in the morning, and we're waiting for a time of death from the coroner," Mike answered. "There's also a rental. They have a Westco Security sign, but that address isn't hooked into their system.
"We are covering the most obvious bases: sexual predators within a certain radius of the house, known gang members, drug activity. We'll see if anything pops up in our data bases," Wendy offered. "No drugs or paraphernalia were found in the house. I doubt that's going to be a thread, but we are asking for toxicology on all victims and that includes the boy."
"He's an interesting twist." Newton's lips moved
but nothing else. His arms still rested on the arms of his chair, he had not shifted his body, or even inclined his head. Mike's own fingers twitched as if that would inspire Newton. It did not. "What are you thinking about him? He knows the home and the habits of the mother."
"The relationship isn't confirmed yet," Mike reminded him causing Newton's eyes to spark and focus more keenly on the detective.
"What relationship do you think exists?"
"I don't know. I don't want to speculate," Mike answered. Wendy moved, uncomfortable with the passive confrontation.
"Then she is who we believe she is until proven otherwise, detective." Newton countered. "We will at least stipulate that she is guardian to the boy. You said that he asked for her."
"A witness said he called for his mother," Wendy interjected, but Mike edited her.
"The boy didn't call for her. He said the word, mom. The witness couldn't be sure what he was implying, and I agree it was open to interpretation."
"Well, then, that's where we start. Close to home," Newton lectured. "Perhaps he didn't like her line of work. Perhaps the boy didn't like the woman's clients if that is what the men in her house were. Perhaps he was angry because she tried to impose rules he didn't like. Perhaps he is an addict. There are infinite possibilities when it comes to the boy."
"I would say he's at the top of the food chain," Wendy quipped, shrugging when Mike shot her a cautionary look. In the next minute she doubled down but did it deferentially. "Not that it's my call. Statistically, though, you can't ignore the fact that most homicides are committed by a person known to the victim."
"But in this case there are three victims," Mike reminded her. "I would suggest that our universe might be a little broader than Billy Zuni."
"Of course," Wendy agreed, cognizant of the fact that she had overstepped her bounds.
"I have a hearing on another matter," Carl said. "Can you do broad strokes?"
Wendy began, "We confirmed six vehicles on the street at midnight. We have general descriptions, and we've impounded the two belonging to the victims. Of the remaining four, one was directly under the streetlight in front of Mrs. Yount's place. She gets upset when people park in front of her place and walk down to the beach so she took particular note of it when she went to the bathroom. She believed it to be a green Toyota sedan. She didn't get a license plate but noted that the bumper on the back was crumpled and it was missing a hubcap on the right front."
"Did the boy have a car or access to one?" Carl finally moved, raising his right hand and pointing at Wendy.
"No. A vehicle in the driveway is disabled." Wendy checked her notes. "It was last registered in 2001 to Mr. George Lynch. I'm running him down. We found no keys."
"Has the old woman any opinions on the family, Mike?"
"She said they were quiet. They showed no interest in being neighborly. We spoke to the boy's school. He wasn't the best student. He has a juvenile record but all minor offenses," Wendy said. "We've got the hospital on speed dial. Soon as he's awake and able to talk to us, we'll be on it."
"Gut reaction?" Newton asked.
"None regarding motive or perp. Priority is to work on connecting the victims," Mike answered.
"So, you're not keen about putting the boy on the pedestal?" Newton's hand dropped to the arm of his chair. He was twirling his pen, buying into the scenario he was imagining.
"Of course he is prime, but there won't be a direct physical link and juries like their forensics." Mike reminded Newton that he was only working in the best interest of the prosecutor. "The boy was in the ocean for an indeterminate amount of time and was in the hospital by the time the bodies were discovered. His clothes were in shreds; evidence on his person was nonexistent. What we need is for him to talk to us."
"That's very fair, but your experience must tell you he is the one to sit on. Mine certainly does. I'm assuming there is evidence of him at the scene."
Mike took a deep breath. They were wasting time. The deputy had a fascination with Billy when they were a million miles from having anything he could use to file.
"It was Billy's home. There will be evidence of him, but none of it will help your case," Mike reminded Newton.
"In the hands of an exceptional prosecutor anything can be made to be sustainable evidence." Newton winked at no one in particular. "You bring me what you have, and I'll sort it out for you. Don't disappoint by being a bleeding heart or a prude, Michael."
Carl Newton finally moved as if he meant it. His hands went to the edge of the desk and he pushed his chair back as he droned on.
"You've done a fine job in a short time. Don't let the grass grow. I want to fill the press in, not the other way around. Have you spoken to the press yet?"
Wendy shook her head as Mike answered: "The sheriff planned a press conference for tomorrow."
"Is there any need for guards at the hospital?" Carl asked.
"I don't see any overt threat to the woman or the boy at this time," Mike answered.
"That ignores the possibility we've been speaking of. That the boy might be a threat to the woman," Carl reminded him.
"He isn't ambulatory. He suffered head injuries. It will probably be a few days before he's even sitting up," Michael assured the prosecutor.
"The young heal quickly," Newton warned, equally quick to assure Mike that he was wrong.
"Hospital security and staff have been advised of the circumstances. I think we're good," Mike answered, annoyed to be pushed so hard in a direction that was not yet warranted.
"I would hate to see you compromised." Before Mike could point out that it would be the caution of his investigation that would dictate the outcome of Newton's prosecution, the lawyer covered yet another base for the detective. "Have either of you contacted Social Services?"
"I did," Mike said as he was about to leave.
"Billy is lawyered up." Wendy added her two cents.
"Really? Who is it?" Newton asked, fairly licking his lips.
"Josie Bates. She's the one who found him in the ocean. She also discovered the bodies and called it in," Mike said.
"So she knew the mother."
Mike shook his head, "No, they'd never met."
"But she's a friend of the boy. That is interesting."
"Her ward goes to school with him. I think we should take this at face value. Hermosa is a small town. She was on the scene, and she's willing to help."
"Don't be naïve, Michael. She's jockeying for position. Move fast on that boy and watch Bates carefully. She's wily."
"You'll know what we have when we have it." Mike's voice was tight but only Wendy noticed.
"Good. Done." Carl dismissed them. "I'll touch base with the District Attorney himself and see if he'd like me to stand in with the sheriff at the press conference. The citizens will want to be assured that this is an isolated incident. Keep on the boy. That's the way to go. If you need help with Bates, call me."
Carl Newton let them go without a thank you or goodbye. Mike was out the door and gone before Wendy was out of her chair. She caught up with him half way down the hall. She moved in tight and nudged him.
"Lighten up, Mike. He was just throwing his weight around."
Mike walked on with measured steps. Wendy matched his gait. She was happy and energized by the case; Mike Montoya was burdened. She tried again to lighten the mood.
"Come on, Newton's a wet blanket, but his instincts are good and his conviction record is great."
Wendy nudged him once more, but Mike moved away.
"Carl Newton is a mortician," Mike snapped. "He's got a couple of bodies and he wants to dress them up to the nines by painting the kid as a sex crazed psycho or something. For God sake, did you see that glint in his eyes? He wants this to be as simple and salacious as possible. If you think that's okay, you should reassign."
Mike quickened his step, leaving Wendy behind.
"Hey!" she hollered, and her voice echo
ed down the empty hall until it whacked Mike on the back of the head.
He pivoted slowly. Wendy looked formidable and gorgeous in her outrage. She opened her mouth to let him have it but changed her mind. Mike Montoya wasn't a goody-two-shoes, he was a guy whose sense of fairness was so deeply imbedded it hurt his soul. Wendy wished he could learn to take things as they came. Sometimes you got what you wanted, sometimes you didn't. She dropped her hands, walked up to him, took a deep breath, and gave him a pat on his shoulder along with the truth:
"This whole thing was friggin' salacious the minute Josie Bates found those bodies and the kid wasn't one of them."
***
Hannah came home an hour after Josie dropped her off. Her shoes dangled from her fingers, and sand clung to her feet. It wasn't long ago that Hannah wouldn't have been caught dead walking alone on the beach. She insisted she felt more comfortable in places where there were nooks and crannies to hide in until she knew where the bad things lived. But time, Josie, and the rhythm of Hermosa changed all that. Now Hannah was a fixture at Burt's by the Beach, her paintings hung in the local gallery, and she walked Max into town. Hannah admired the sunsets and could be found sitting by the water at sunrise when the devils inside her head woke her too early. Josie's house was home, and Josie was glad she was back, but it was Archer who called to her first.
"Hey, brought you a sandwich."
He made room at the table.
"I'll get you something to drink." Josie went into the kitchen. When she returned, Hannah was settled with her elbows planted on top of the table and her sandwich untouched. Josie put a glass of ice tea in front of her. Josie took her own chair. She laced her arms through Archer's and leaned her head on his shoulder.
"You doing okay, Hannah?" Archer asked.
"Tired," Hannah answered.
"I called the school," Josie said.
"Did you tell them everything?"
"The basics," Josie answered.
"I guess it doesn't matter. It's going to be all over the news. That will be bad," Hannah muttered. She looked heartbroken.
"Sometimes it's good. People might rally for Billy," Josie offered even though she knew Hannah wouldn't buy it.
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