Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (28 page)

I spent the first part of my weekend at my mom’s cousin’s house in Laguna Beach. Some of that time was spent walking on the beach and thinking about Reginald Dunbar. I didn’t know how quickly Cynthia McFadden would act on tracking down his victims, but hoped it was soon. I was not only concerned about Dunbar making good on the rumors to transfer me to the cold case unit, but I also wanted justice for his victims. There was no greater betrayal than someone in authority abusing his power and not upholding the laws he was sworn to enforce.

On Sunday morning I got up early and made the drive up Pacific Coast Highway. I decided to keep a low profile while looking for our suspect at the flea market, so I dropped Bernie off at my brother’s house. I had coffee with Robin and told him about Lindsay being in the witness protection program. He was upset at the news, and it took me some time to console him and help him understand that it was the best thing for my sister.

The late August morning was clear and warm as I made the drive to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. Even if we didn’t find the Slayer, I was looking forward to maybe finding a couple treasures of my own at the flea market and spending a relaxing day with Ross Adams.

I texted Ross when I got to the entrance and was surprised when I heard his voice behind me. “I haven’t seen this many people in one place in years.”

We exchanged hellos and made our way toward the gate. “Maybe you should get out of Taft more often.”

He was full of boyish enthusiasm. “Do you think people really make a living selling stuff at places like this?”

I smiled. “Maybe we’ll find a blacksmith and can ask him.”

After paying and making our way inside, Ross bought us each a cup of coffee. We took seats at an outdoor table, where he showed me a DMV printout of Wade Compton. Our suspect was a big man, over six feet tall and a little on the heavy side, with a bushy beard. I wasn’t sure what a blacksmith was supposed to look like, but Compton definitely looked like he could swing a hammer, pound metal, and not even break a sweat.

“What about his wife?” I asked. “I forget her name.”

“Susan. No license or record of her anywhere in the system.”

I sipped my coffee, my gaze drifting off toward the crowd of buyers. I looked back at Ross. “I guess we concentrate on our blacksmith then.”

We spent the next hour wandering through hundreds of vendor sites, not only looking for Wade Compton, but also occasionally finding an item of interest. We were in a booth where they were selling artwork when Ross surprised me by telling me he was an artist.

“I work in watercolors most of the time. It’s a hobby that keeps me out of trouble, not that there’s much trouble to get into in Taft.”

“I’d like to see some of your work one of these days.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m just an amateur.” He smiled. “I guess I’m afraid you’d laugh at my paintings.”

“Even if they’re terrible, I promise I’ll be polite, lie, and say that I like them.”

His green eyes twinkled. “Thanks, I think.”

I laughed, deciding I liked his easygoing, unpretentious manner. “I’m just kidding. I’m sure your work isn’t...” My smile grew wider. “...
that
terrible.”

We shared some more laughs, and he asked me about my hobbies as we made our way through the crowd.

“Let’s see,” I said. “I have a couple friends named Natalie and Mo. My hobby involves trying to keep them out of trouble. They’re...” I was lost for words for a moment. “I’m not sure how to describe them.”

I saw that his gaze had drifted away and looked in that direction. “What is it?”

“Big guy with a beard, about four booths up from us. Not sure if it’s our guy.”

It took me a moment, but I found the subject he was looking at. He was less physically imposing than the impression I’d gotten from Compton’s DMV photo, but he did fit the general characteristics of our suspect. “Let’s stroll over that way. Keep a low profile.”

We were about ten yards from the booth where, we now saw, there were several items for sale, including some hammers and knives that looked like they could have been forged in a homemade furnace. I then saw there was a hook with a wooden handle, at the same time Compton apparently saw us.

“He’s on the move, trying to get lost in the crowd,” Ross said. “I think he just made us.”

It was my experience that suspects who either had a lot of prior contacts with the police, or were paranoid about being caught, were often tuned into the presence of law enforcement, even when they were in plain clothes. The subject we were now pursuing apparently fit one of those categories.

Ross and I moved quickly past the booth where the man we suspected was Wade Compton had been working and pushed our way through the crowd. I had our subject in sight when he turned and met my eyes. That apparently confirmed what he’d already suspected: that we were cops. He took off running, knocking people out of the way as he went.

We were now in full pursuit, announcing ourselves as law enforcement officers, and weaving our way through the crowd. We were in a heavily congested area of the flea market, not too far from the entrance, when we lost sight of him. We found a security guard and went over, showing him the DMV printout of Compton.

“I think I saw him jogging that way,” the guard said, pointing to the entrance. “He seemed like he was in a hurry to leave, but I didn’t think anything about it.”

Ross and I made our way over to the entrance. We stopped there, surveying the crowd and the parking lot beyond.

“I think he’s gone,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“He could be in his car by now,” Ross agreed. He glanced back toward the flea market. “Maybe he wasn’t alone.”

“The wife?”

He nodded. “She might have helped set things up and is still around.”

“Let’s go back and take a look. In the meantime, I’ll call it in, see if we can get a BOLO out.”

After making the call and finding our way back inside the flea market, we cautiously made our way back to the booth where Compton had been working. I took a closer look at the items for sale. The hook I’d seen earlier looked almost identical to the one we’d found near the Taft murder scene. I was now almost certain Compton was the Slayer.

Ross and I looked up as a woman entered the booth. She was munching on a pretzel, but didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge us. I went over and asked her about one of the items that was for sale.

“Don’t know how much it is,” she said, with her mouth full. She was a wiry woman, probably in her late thirties, with stringy brown hair. I could smell her rotting teeth from where I stood and knew she was probably a meth user. “You’ll have to ask my husband.”

“You mean Wade?”

She looked at me for the first time, before her gaze drifted off to the crowd. “Yeah, he should be around here somewhere.”

I glanced at Ross, who came over and said to her, “Are you Susan Compton?”

The woman hesitated, her features hardening. “What...why are you asking?”

I took a step closer to her as Ross showed her his credentials and took her by the arm. “You need to come with us.”

Ross and I were able to work with security staff to use one of their trailers near the entrance to the venue to interview the woman who we had confirmed was Susan Compton. I had initially expected some resistance and anger from her, but Compton was subdued and seemed resigned to us questioning her.

After some preliminaries, I got down to the issues at hand. “We need to talk to your husband. Do you know where he is?”

She hugged her sides, but didn’t answer or look at me.

“You need to answer my questions,” I said. “Where can we find your husband?”

She released a heavy breath. “Probably in the RV.”

“Where is the RV?”

“Not sure. We stay at campgrounds, different places.”

After attempting to get information about the RV and not getting much back, I played a hunch.

“He hits you, doesn’t he?”

She sniffed and fidgeted. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“My guess is he hits you a lot, probably every day.”

Her eyes were brimming with tears. “What’s going to happen to me?”

I leaned in closer to her. “You know about the women, don’t you? The ones he takes.”

Her watery eyes found me before she looked away. “He makes me go with him. It’s not my idea.”

“How many girls has he taken?” Ross asked her.

There was more nervous energy, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “I’m not sure...I lost count.”

I leaned closer to her again. “Listen to me, Susan. We need to stop what’s been happening. Only you can help us do that. Where do you think Wade might be staying?”

She dragged a hand through her stringy hair. Her breath was so bad from tooth decay that I had to hold my own breath. “I don’t know. Maybe...he might have gone back to Acton. There’s an old house there, and...” She brushed the tears off her cheeks. “...there’s a girl. She’s in the basement.”

Acton was a rural area, about an hour north of Hollywood, consisting of small ranches and homes spread out across the rolling semi-arid landscape. It was mid-afternoon by the time we found the dirt road about a mile off a main highway. Susan Compton had told us there was an abandoned home that she and her husband sometimes stayed in at the end of the road.

“How far?” I asked Compton, looking over my shoulder into the rear passenger seat. We were in Ross’s SUV, bouncing along the rutted road. The day was warm, and I worried about the trail of dust we kicked up as we went.

“Maybe a mile.”

“Will Wade be able to see us coming?”

“Maybe.” She rubbed a hand over her slick face. “Depends on whether or not he’s busy.”

“You mean with the girl?”

She nodded, looked away.

“How long?” Her gaze came back over to me. “When did he take her?”

She shrugged. “A couple of weeks, I think. I haven’t seen her since...since he took her.”

“Why is that?” Ross asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“It’s none of my business. I just watch my shows and stay out of the way.”

I resisted the urge to grab her by the throat and scream that she was just as guilty as her husband. We still needed her cooperation, so I pushed down my anger.

The road continued to twist and turn until we finally saw the small house a couple hundred yards ahead of us. The area was deserted, with no other dwellings in sight.

“Pull over, and let’s walk the rest of the way,” I said to Ross.

He pulled to the side of the sandy roadway. I then opened the passenger door and handcuffed our passenger, fixing one end of the cuffs to a clip in the ceiling made to secure a car seat.

“Why are you handcuffing me?” Compton asked.

“For your own safety. Stay put and keep your mouth shut until we return.”

We started to move away from the car when Compton called over to us. “He’s not what you think.”

I walked back over to her. “What do you mean?”

“Wade...he...he’s different, kind of like he’s possessed.”

“Possessed.” I looked at Ross, back at her. “What does that mean?”

She shrugged, looked away. “You’ll see.”

As we walked up the road and got a better view of the small house, Ross said to me. “The place looks like it’s been abandoned for years.”

“Maybe not.” I pointed out the older model motorhome coming into view. It was parked behind the house, partially concealed.

“Looks like our lucky day,” Ross said, pulling his service revolver out of its holster.

I did the same, then said, “I’m going to call it in.”

After calling the sheriff’s department and explaining our situation, I went back over to Ross. “They only have two units in the area. It’s probably going to be close to an hour before anyone gets here.”

He cut his eyes to the house. “The girl...we can’t wait.”

I looked back at the small house. “Let’s go.”

We made our way up the dirt driveway, then went around to the back of the house. There was a patio door, where we were able to see inside.

“Don’t see anyone,” I whispered.

Ross tried the door and found it was unlocked. He met my eyes. “Ready?”

I nodded, my weapon at the ready as I followed him inside. We quickly cleared the house, finding it empty, except for some beer cans on the kitchen counter.

I picked up one of the unopened cans. “It’s still cold. He has to be here.”

“Let’s check the basement.”

We found the basement door adjacent to a laundry room off the kitchen. It creaked open, and I hit the light switch for the stairway.

“Broken or burned out,” I said to Ross, when the light didn’t come on. “You have a flashlight?”

He removed a small penlight from his pocket. “It’s not the greatest, but will have to do.”

I turned back to the stairs, calling out to our suspect. “Wade Compton. This is the police. We need you to come out with your hands up.”

We waited several seconds, not getting any response. I repeated the command, but got nothing back.

“Since you’ve got the light, I’ll let you go first,” I said, wishing Bernie was with me. “I’ve got your back.”

The stairway was small, and creaked as we made our way down. Ross’s flashlight was only able to illuminate a small area in front of us, making it impossible to see into the deeper recesses of the basement.

When we got downstairs, we found the area was damp, and held the furnace and water heater for the house. We were making our way past the furnace when we heard someone crying.

“It sounds like it’s coming from another room,” Ross said.

In a moment we realized there was a second room, off the main basement, with the door closed.

We stopped there and listened, again hearing the crying.

Ross had his body positioned at the side of the doorway as he held his hand on the knob. He looked at me. “Ready?”

I had my gun aimed at the door and nodded. It creaked open, and we heard the crying sounds, louder now. Ross swung his light up and moved it across the room. It illuminated something that, at first, I had trouble comprehending. Then he swept the area again, the light washing over the image of a girl. She was naked and affixed to a wooden pillory, like the victim I’d found in Runyon Canyon.

She cried out, “Help me.”