‘Helping hands?’
‘Oh, it gets worse. According to this, those hands might just belong to the children in the fateful school bus accident years ago that left the driver and all the children dead. Now the children try to prevent another accident.’
‘Okay. So, Dylan met the mysterious Erica at a spot where the ghosts of dead children push cars uphill? I can’t help thinking he was asking for trouble.’
‘Well he sure found it. Let’s get over there. But we still need to get Geisler to rip up this computer. If Hansen’s been on dating sites then we need to know everything we can.’
‘Well, maybe we’ll find some of it at Gravity Hill. With the rest of the ghosts.’
*
It was twilight when they reached the bend on Loma Alta that the locals called Gravity. The gloom was settling over the San Gabriels but they could still see the road sloping away from them, down the hill to one of only two houses in sight, the other just peeking out from raised land to their right.
Salgado pulled into the side of the road and looked downhill at the house, a modest beige adobe topped by wooden panelling on the extension above. He looked much longer than he needed to.
‘I’ve been doing some googling of my own,’ he told her. ‘It’s said that if you sprinkle baby powder on the car’s bumper before you park here, not only will you get pushed up the hill, but the powder will reveal tiny fingerprints where the kids have put their hands. Apparently, hundreds of people have reported exactly this phenomenon.’
O’Neill sighed. ‘I don’t doubt it. The powder would reveal prints that were already there, just the same way fingerprint powder does.’
‘You know how to take the fun out of everything, don’t you?’
‘It’s a gift.’
She watched Salgado stare at the road until impatience got the better of her. ‘Oh for God’s sake, just get it over with.’
‘What?’ Salgado protested innocence.
‘I know you too well. Get the car in neutral and see what it does. I know you’re desperate to try it.’
He grinned. ‘We kind of have to, right?’
‘You do. Like I said, just get on with it.’
Salgado rolled down the window. ‘I want to hear if there’s anything going on. The buzz of a magnetic field. The chatter of ghostly schoolkids.’
She ignored him so he slipped the shift into neutral and released the brake. Nothing happened for a moment or two, then they began to move. Slowly. Uphill.
Salgado grinned wildly and O’Neill shook her head in despair. They rolled ‘up’ the hill far enough that she was able to take in the view on the other side of the fence that ran the side of the road to their left.
‘Stop the car.’
‘You don’t think this is cool?’
‘Stop the car, asshole. There’s a white Nissan parked over there. It looks like a Sentra to me.’
‘Shit.’ Salgado stopped the fooling immediately. He slid the car into drive, made for the other side of the road and parked on the gravel shoulder. He was out of the car in seconds, vaulting over the fence despite its barbed-wire topping.
He was back just a few minutes later. ‘It’s Hansen’s. Licence plate matches. It’s locked, no obvious sign of anything suspicious. I’ve called it in, so we can get it opened up.’
‘Well, at least we know we’re in the right place. We know Garland took him from here. We just need to know where the hell he took him.’
She sighed heavily and looked down – or up – the hill again, where the beige adobe stood. ‘Let’s go knock on the door. They’ve got to be our best chance of someone having seen something.’
The door was answered on the third knock and a tall, grey-haired man in his mid-fifties opened up, a friendly crossbreed dog weaving around his knees. The man’s face was tanned and weather-lined but his eyes were startlingly bright blue against the leathery skin. They both sensed an instant weariness of strangers arriving on his doorstep.
‘Can I help you?’
O’Neill held up her badge and saw the look on the man’s face change, brows furrowing into a crease of worry.
‘Detectives O’Neill and Salgado. LAPD. We’re working in the area and wanted to ask householders a few questions, Mr . . .’
‘Lohmann. Tommy Lohmann. What’s happened?’
‘There’s a car parked up the hill a way, on the other side of the fence. White Nissan. Have you seen it?’
Lohmann nodded. ‘Been there for nearly a week. I’ve been minded to call the cops but it’s not in anyone’s way so I haven’t. Should I have?’
‘Well, it might have helped. Did you see the person who’d been driving it?’
The man made an apologetic face. ‘Not really. I think I saw him but didn’t pay much attention. We get so many people up here trying out the hill that it gets to be a pain in the ass pretty quickly. I did see the car he got into, though.’
Salgado and O’Neill flinched in unison.
‘I was taking Madden here for a walk and saw someone walk from the direction of where the Nissan is parked and get into a cherry-red Toyota SUV. I guess I knew there was something weird about it because they didn’t try to roll up the hill. The car kinda rocked for a bit then drove away again. It was only the next day I saw the Nissan but didn’t give it too much thought. Sorry if I should have.’
Ethan Garland drove a cherry-red Toyota 4Runner.
‘Which way did the car leave, Mr Lohmann? Up hill . . .’ Salgado tried to be clearer. ‘Past your house or away from it?’
‘Past my place.’
‘Where would he likely be heading if he went that way?’
‘Pretty much anywhere. You’d head that way to get onto Lake Avenue then south to Pasadena and from there to LA. If you knew the area and were heading to San Bernardino or Ontario maybe, you’d go the other way. LA most likely, I’d say.’
LA. Big place. Big haystack.
CHAPTER 36
‘Elvis has entered the building.’
The forensic tech’s cheery greeting did not meet the mood within the office on West 1st Street. Instead, he was met with stony-faced silence by the two detectives to whom he’d promised news. He’d called ahead to say he had more DNA results and they were more than anxious to hear them. His face fell at their lack of reaction.
‘Should I have brought doughnuts? Is that where I’ve gone wrong?’
O’Neill jumped in before Salgado could, eager not to let it dissolve into anything that slowed them down.
‘We’re just up against the clock here, Elvis. What have you got for us?’
The crime scene tech heard the tone, businesslike and urgent, and shrugged. ‘I get it. We’re all on the clock on this one. Okay, I have the remaining DNA results from the body parts in Garland’s cellar. And I have positive IDs on three of the four. The first is one you’re expecting.’
Salgado’s excitement got the better of him. ‘Adrian Mercado?
Elvis nodded. ‘Yes. The ear proved a match to the DNA sample you got from his father. No question it’s his.’
The detectives nodded at each other, soberly. They’d been sure, but now they knew.
‘Okay, good.’ O’Neill spoke for them both. ‘What else have you got?’
Elvis whistled out air and the nervousness of his action scared them.
‘Plenty. The nose is a match to a Brad Stiepermann.’
‘I know that name. Tell me why.’
‘His body was found in the old Griffith Park Zoo three years ago. It was thought he’d slipped and cracked his head on a rock. Wasn’t found for days.’
‘And by that time the local wildlife had feasted on him. Half eaten, wasn’t he?’
Elvis nodded. ‘More than half, according to the report I read today. His skull was largely intact, so they were able to make the diagnosis on the fall, but much of his face had been eaten by coyote or mountain lion or whatever. No surprise then that they didn’t think much of a missing nose.’
‘Sweet J
esus.’ Salgado shook his head. ‘Was there any other DNA recovered from the scene?’
‘Yep, some. From Stiepermann’s clothing. As far as I can see nothing much was ever done with it because they thought it was an accidental death, but at least someone had the sense to keep it just in case. I ran it against Garland’s DNA and we scored. It’s a partial match, maybe not enough for court but enough to let us know it was him.’
‘Son of a bitch. I say we pull him from the morgue, put some make-up on him, stick him in a suit and put the sick fuck on trial anyway.’
‘Oh, we will,’ O’Neill assured him. ‘Just without the corpse. What else do you have, Elvis?’
‘I have a match to the thumb. You ready for this? Ava Houseman.’
‘No fucking way.’
‘Way.’
‘Ava Houseman? But her father is doing life for that. Elvis, if you’re shitting me, I’ll kick your ass from here to the Hollywood Bowl.’
‘I’m not shitting you, man. The match is a sure thing. That thumb is from Ava Houseman, one hundred per cent. And we already knew she’d lost it.’
Ava Houseman’s death had made headlines across the country. She was young, just nineteen, pretty and had made herself into a celebrity among the YouTube crowd, picking up a small fortune in endorsements and advertising. She’d been known as Sizta A to her subscribers and had added a ghost-written book deal and a fashion line to her endless collection of talents, making her the face of young American vloggers from her home in Silverlake. Until she was found dead at Angels Point in Elysian Park with both her hands cut off and her tongue severed and placed beside her head.
O’Neill puffed. ‘Going to be a lot of people not very happy with us, Salgado.’
‘Not yet, they ain’t. Nothing to be gained by opening this can until we’ve found Dylan Hansen. Everything else can wait. Agreed? We keep as much of this under wraps for now as we can?’
‘Agreed. We’ve got enough to deal with without cops and prosecutors jumping on our asses. Elvis, you with us?’ He shrugged and wrestled with it. ‘Well, I got a duty to report substantive developments to the investigating detectives. And I’d say this is pretty damn substantive. But I can run some more tests. Make absolutely sure that I have matches on every item then maybe crosscheck them against some missing persons. That could take some time.’
‘Thanks, Elvis. Appreciated.’
‘It’s cool. Pay me in doughnuts. Anyway, I still have Garland’s other trophy to get a score on. The scalp. That’s going to slow me down a bit.’
‘What do you have on that?’
Elvis could only shrug apologetically. ‘We got nothing. There have been nearly three hundred homicides in LA this year and this isn’t a match to any of them. There were two hundred fifty-nine murders in 2018 and two hundred eighty-two the year before that. It’s none of them, either. So, most likely, it’s someone on the missing list or the unreported missing. Some of the missing we have familial DNA samples and some we don’t. It’s going to take a long time to get around them all. Meantime, there’s a body out there somewhere. Finding it is down to you guys.’
*
Elvis left the building and O’Neill closed the door, leaving just her and Salgado to soak in the consequences of the DNA results he’d delivered.
For a couple of minutes, neither of them said a word. They took it in turns to pace around the room, exhaling noisily and scratching at their heads. Twice, Salgado stopped as if to speak then continued his silent deliberations.
Finally, it was O’Neill who spoke first. Although only just.
‘Okay,’ she breathed out hard. ‘We are going to have to speak to Marianne Ziegler again.’
CHAPTER 37
Igloo. Messages. Vikki, 32.
Hi Ryan, how’s you tonight?
Delivered, 21.34
Read, 21.38
Hey Vikki. I’m good thanks. All the better for hearing from you. How are you?
Great ta. Good to see you online.
You too. How was the rest of your day?
Good ta. I wasn’t working so all was good. Nice to have the day to myself for a change.
You need lots of change in a bank though, right?
PMSL. Idiot. How many bank jokes have you got up your sleeve because I think I’ve heard them all lol
Credit where credit is due, it wasn’t that bad.
Groan!!! So are you glad not to be in school?
Yes and no. I love my job. Especially when they actually learn stuff.
Nice. Must be so rewarding when they do.
It really is. I joke about it but truth is that’s why I do it. It feels like you’re really making a difference and the kids are better off for it.
You’re such a nice guy. What is it the Americans say? Thank you for your service!
Ha. Well thanks for your thanks. You ever want kids of your own one day, Vikki?
Maybe . . . You?
Yeah, definitely. With the right person and all that. Not that I’m pushing for that, don’t get me wrong. We’d need to start with a coffee first lol
Are you suggesting a date Mr Schoolteacher?
I might be. What if I did?
You took me a bit by surprise. We’ve only chatted a couple of times. I’m not saying no, but . . .
Sorry. Didn’t mean to pressure you. I’ve just really enjoyed chatting to you and . . . well . . . I think you’re gorgeous and really easy to talk to.
Thanks. You’re pretty nice yourself. Very nice, in fact. It’s just, you know, I said. I’m wary on here. You understand?
Of course I do. And you’re quite right. You need to keep yourself safe. But at the same time, life’s short. I know that better than most people and I think we should grab every chance at happiness that we can.
Well, that’s true. Can I ask, what happened? You say you know better than most people that life’s short. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.
Oh it’s okay. I don’t tell most people but I feel I can talk to you. My mother died when I was eight. She killed herself.
Oh my God. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.
It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay obviously but it was a while ago now. And thanks. You just have to get on with life. That’s why I say don’t wait, do the things you want while you can. You never know what’s around the corner.
It must have been awful. I hope you had people looking after you.
My aunt and uncle took me in. I had all sorts, psychologists and social workers. I saw her do it, you see.
You saw her?
Yes. She killed herself in front of me and my little brother.
Oh my God. I’m sorry. You must hate talking about it.
I don’t really talk about it at all. You’re a good listener and I guess that makes it easier. I was always told it was healthier to talk about it and not keep it locked up inside. I think I’ve done okay. I’ve got a good job that I love, feel I’m helping the kids. All I need is a good woman to love lol
Well I’m sure you must have your pick. You’re very handsome. Are your photos recent?
Thank you! They’re from last year. Really glad you like them. You’re so pretty. I had to come over to talk to you when I saw your profile.
I guess that’s something we have in common then lol
We have lots in common, don’t you think? Music, movies, politics, everything really.
Yes, that’s true. It’s amazing.
So . . . what do you think? Carpe diem. Seize the day. You only live once and it really is far too short.
I don’t know. It’s very tempting . . .
Okay, so what would your dream first date be, Vikki? Something traditional like a coffee or dinner and drinks, or meet somewhere interesting, something different?
What kind of something different are you thinking?
Somewhere romantic. Somewhere no one else goes for a first date. Somewhere we can tell our kids about and they’ll go ahhhh lol
Steady on lol. But I like your thinki
ng.
Good. I don’t know, I haven’t thought it through. Oh, I know. Have you ever been to the House for an Art Lover?
Is that the Charles Rennie Mackintosh place?
Yes, the one in Bellahouston Park. It’s fabulous. Have you been?
No, never.
You have to go. It’s full of amazing details, both inside the house and in the gardens. I think you’d love it.
It does sound good.
There’s . . . actually, here’s an idea . . . there’s this fantastic seat on the lawn, made of a living willow. You can’t get much more romantic than that. In Glasgow anyway.
That is pretty damn romantic I must admit.
Meet me there? If we don’t like each other then we can politely say goodbye and nothing lost. Life is short, remember.
Um . . . Um . . . oh damn it, okay! Why not. Life is short. When?
Really? Great! How about tomorrow?
Oh God. Okay. What’s the worst that can happen?
Famous last words lol
CHAPTER 38
Marianne Ziegler looked neither particularly surprised nor pleased to see O’Neill. She also looked like she probably hadn’t slept much since the ghost of Ethan Garland revisited her. Her long auburn hair hung loose, tousled and limp, while dark circles patched her green eyes.
‘Detective O’Neill. No partner with you this time?’
‘Detective Salgado is back in the city. We had to split up to cover everything we needed to do. May I come in, Marianne? There’s some questions I’d like to ask you.’
Garland’s ex-wife nodded wearily, as if incapable of summoning the energy to argue otherwise. She led O’Neill into the small front room, the crowded temple to a hippie nirvana, and offered her a seat. The same calico cat slept in the same armchair and, rather than move it, Ziegler took a spot on the floor, her legs pulled under her. O’Neill sat on the two-seater sofa under the broad blue and cream mandala that dominated the room.
‘How have you been, Marianne? I’m afraid we delivered a bit of a bombshell the last time we were here.’
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