Witness for the Defense (29 page)

“The box of perfume proves Jared attacked Danny,” I said thinking out loud. “And that invoice shows he was in Boonville the same day that other boy was kidnapped. I can’t believe what this means.” Avery started to say something, but I cut him off.

“It means the boy is most likely dead, and Jared is responsible.”

“I’m afraid so, ” Avery said.

I walked to Avery’s liquor cabinet and poured myself a scotch to the top of the glass. “Jared’s not just a damn child molester, he’s likely a murderer, too.” I took a gulp and turned to Avery, holding up the half full glass.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Have all you want.”

I drained the rest of it. “This is just great. I’m going to get a murderer off.”

“There’s something else,” Avery said, and nodded at my empty glass. “Have some more. You’re going to need it.”

I promptly poured myself another. “I’m listening. It can’t get much worse.”

“It may not stop with the Boonville boy.”

I suddenly felt sick. I had a horrible feeling about what he was going to tell me.

“Jared was in Fresno for at least a year before he arrived here. After the invoice confirmed what I’d suspected, I drove straight to Fresno.”

I hung my head. “Please don’t tell me there have been others.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter, but it took me less than an hour at the Fresno library to find out that two children had turned up missing the same year Jared lived there.”

I started to sway; my legs felt weak and rubbery.

Avery shook his head. “The two children were boys. I’m afraid Jared is a very sick person.”

“But he can’t be…. I’m not buying any of it.”

Sarah walked behind me and began kneading my shoulders.

“There’s no way,” I said. I grabbed at a straw. One thing I was sure of. I spun on Avery. “McBean planted that damn candy. I’m sure of it.”

“He probably did. But that doesn’t mean Jared’s innocent,” Sarah said softly. “McBean had a hunch, but knew he had a weak case. He had to make sure his prime suspect wouldn’t get away with it.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. I gulped the rest of the scotch in one breath. Alcohol was flooding my system. My shoulders seemed to melt as the fiery liquid made its way through my bloodstream. I was hoping I’d pass out. Maybe when I awoke, everything Avery had said would be nothing more than a bad dream.

“And I suppose,” I mumbled disconsolately, “that those boys were around ten years of age?”

“One was only seven.”

I made a beeline for the toilet. The scotch didn’t taste nearly as good coming up as it had going down.

Half conscious, I was slumped on the cold linoleum floor when Sarah walked in, followed by her father. Dazed, I held my hand out. As they pulled me up, everything began to spin violently. I quickly jerked away and dove for the toilet again.

When I was done retching, Sarah placed a cold, wet towel behind my neck, and I laid back on the cool floor and closed my eyes.

“I know somebody who might be able to help,” I heard Avery say. “I’ll try and set something up.”

“I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this, Hunter,” Sarah gently wiped my forehead. “You sure got the short end of the stick on our deal. Bobby Miles is an angel compared to Jared.”

With everything that had happened I’d almost forgotten. Bobby Miles was dead.

“Was an angel,” I mumbled.

Chapter 31

San Luis Obispo Correctional Facility is nestled between miles upon miles of grazing pasture off Highway 227 between San Luis Obispo and Morro Bay From the highway it looks more like a country club than a place where some of California’s most violent offenders will be housed for the remainder of their lives.

Avery and I sat in a ten-by-ten room, surrounded on three sides by floor-to-ceiling bars. The late-afternoon sun was shining through a small, wire-mesh window located halfway up the only concrete wall, creating a checkered effect throughout the room. The pungent smell of manure from cattle grazing beyond the prison walls pervaded the air.

“The Colony,” as it’s referred to, is segmented according to the security classification of each inmate. We were in G Section, where an exclusive group of offenders were segregated from the general population, not because of the risk to other inmates’ safety, but their own. It housed most of the convicted government, judicial, and law enforcement officials, along with a smattering of high-profile murderers that the general population of inmates would love to get at.

We’d been waiting more than twenty minutes for a half-hour interview with an inmate named Roger Ruby, who for more than ten years had been the West Coast’s head of the FBI’s Serial Killer Crime Unit. The last five he’d been eating, sleeping, and showering within a few feet of the scum he’d devoted his career to locking up.

According to Avery, for more than three years, Ruby and his unit had been investigating the rape and partial dismemberment of coeds up and down northern California. During that time, twenty-eight young women fell victim to the massacre. Frustrated that he couldn’t figure out who was responsible before more were killed, every time a new victim was found, Ruby would blame himself.

In 1989, Cynthia Ellington—number twenty-nine—was murdered. This time the killer—a white male, medium build, in his late twenties—was caught in the act by a passerby and fled before he could dismember any of Ellington’s body. At her funeral, just before the casket was closed for the last time, the mortician noticed that a locket which her mother had lovingly placed around her daughter’s neck was missing. He scanned the mortuary’s video security system and caught on tape, removing the locket, a young male matching the exact description of Ellington’s murderer. Ruby’s unit was notified and within an hour the person on the tape was identified as William Conners. The FBI obtained not only an arrest warrant for Conners, but also a warrant to search his house. In a freezer in the garage were over fifty body parts—hands, feet, breasts, and one head. In Conners’s bedroom, Ruby found a shoe box full of souvenirs he’d taken from each of his victims, including Ellington’s locket. When Ruby placed Conners under arrest, the young man wouldn’t stop laughing and Ruby snapped. He shot Conners once through the head.

Even with the Bureau standing behind their number one man, Ruby was charged with murder. Judge Avery Harris had presided over the three-week trial, which eventually resulted in Ruby’s manslaughter conviction.

Both Avery and I were standing in front of the window when the large metal door swung open. A man in his fifties walked in.

“You’ve got thirty minutes,” the guard said and shut the door with a loud bang.

The man stood just inside the door, glancing back and forth between the two of us.

Avery walked toward him. “Hello, Roger.”

The man stood for a moment, eyeing Avery’s extended hand. A smile slowly crossed his face, and they embraced like best of friends. “It’s been, what, a year?” Ruby said as they parted. “Why so long?”

“Sorry, but with the farm and all…”

“I’ve been pretty busy, too,” he said, and they smiled.

Ruby turned to me. “Who’s he?”

“Hunter Dobbs,” I said, and he walked past me like I wasn’t even there.

“He’s an attorney,” Avery said.

Ruby grunted something unintelligible as he stared out the window.

“I need to discuss a case I’m handling.”

Another grunt.

“Hunter could really use your help.”

Ruby shook his head as he gazed outside the window. “Would you look at that guy?”

We stepped next to Ruby and looked out at dozens of small green buildings, each surrounded by a ten-foot, chain-link fence with accordion barbed wire running along the top. The only movement was that of a bearded, middle-aged man walking inside the nearest enclosure. He wasn’t taller than Ruby. But rather than Ruby’s overgrown, military-style buzz cut, the guy’s hair was long and straggly. An ex-hippie for sure.

“It’s really ironic,” Ruby said as the man paced nervously. “Who’d have thought I’d have to live close to someone like that.”

“Who is he?” I asked, not having the foggiest.

Avery gave me a you-should-know-better look.

“Charles Manson,” Ruby said flatly.

“That’s Manson?” I said, like a teen at a rock concert.

Manson jerked his head to see who’d screamed. Seeing no one, he walked to the other side of the building out of sight.

“Charlie to me.” Ruby chuckled and winked at Avery. “After all, we’re neighbors.” He then placed his arm around Avery’s shoulder. “So you need my help?”

Avery grinned sheepishly.

“I believe I needed yours at one time,” Ruby said in a serious tone. “Just in case you’ve forgotten.”

“There was nothing I could have done.”

“Take it easy,” he said. “Let me have a little fun. It’s not often I get the chance to give someone a hard time.”

“Will you help?” I pushed, knowing we only had a few minutes.

“As long as it’s for the judge,” Ruby said and walked to a table standing in the middle of the room. “Pull up a chair and tell me what’s so important.”

We both sat across from Ruby as Avery explained everything we knew about Reineer and the dead or missing children.

“The first thing I need to understand,” he said, as soon as Avery finished, “is why a defense attorney should care.”

I paused for a moment, not sure I understood myself. “I have to know what kind of person I represent.”

Ruby gave me a quizzical look.

“Maybe,” I went on, “if I know he’s responsible for what we suspect, I’ll be able to talk him into taking some kind of deal. That way he’ll be off the streets for a while. Or maybe I’ll be able to talk him into getting some help.”

“If he is a true serial killer, you won’t talk him into any damn deal. And as far as getting him some help…” Ruby said, and laughed at just the thought of it. “Christ, you’re not dealing with someone who is strung out on speed and just needs some counseling to kick a bad habit. Look,” he said, leaning toward me, “I’m not buying whatever it is you’re selling.”

I looked to Avery for help.

“Just answer a few questions, Roger.” Avery nodded at me. “He won’t use any of it to help get his client off.”

Ruby slumped back in his chair and gazed at the shiny enamel ceiling. He was obviously battling with the thought that he could be helping a defense attorney set some maniac free.

“All right,” he finally said, sitting up straight. “But I might not be able to give you anything useful.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

He smiled at me for the first time, then his expression turned thoughtful. “The only thing you really know about this character’s M.O. is that he stalks his intended victim beforehand?”

“And then somehow entices or forces them into his vehicle.”

“And you were with him in ‘Nam?” he said, turning to Avery.

“For six months. I was his platoon leader.”

“Do you know anything at all about his family?”

“He’s an only child, and his father was either killed, or left when he was very young. I’m not sure Reineer even knew him.”

“Does that mean something?” I asked. “Because both the boy from Boonville and Danny Barton have only one parent that cares for them.”

Ruby paused, thinking. “Nah,” he said, “half the kids nowadays have only one parent at home.

That’s probably just a coincidence. But tell me more about Reineer’s childhood—school, friends, relatives, etc.”

Avery stroked his beard as he tried to remember. “He had a lot of problems with his mother. She was very domineering—controlled everything he did. I remember he hated her but other than that…”

“Is she alive?” Ruby asked.

Avery hesitated. “He did tell me he hadn’t seen her for over ten years. Something about her disappearing late one night and he hadn’t heard from her since.”

“Another missing person,” I remarked. “I wonder how much he had to do with that.”

“Probably his first victim,” Avery added.

“I doubt it,” Ruby said. “He would have killed others before he ever got up enough courage to do her in. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the reason he went off the deep end in the first place.”

“Then you think he may be a serial killer?” I asked.

Ruby saw how concerned we were. “You have to understand that I normally don’t know who the suspect is. That’s what I have to find out from all the clues I’m given. I almost always have a body, a crime scene, and everything I need to know about the victim’s habits. After carefully studying each, I can usually come pretty close to formulating an accurate profile of the killer. But that process sometimes takes weeks, months, even years.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” I remarked. “The trial will be over in a few days.”

Ruby frowned. “I want to help, but except for an unsuccessful attack somewhere in a forest and some kid who, after he played marbles, jumps into a Blazer, you can’t provide me with anything. No method of killing, no body, no weapon, no souvenirs from a victim, nothing.”

It was unlikely that even with additional time there would be much more I could give him. There were no bodies, no weapons…Then it hit me. “What were you saying about souvenirs?”

Ruby gave me a confused look.

“You said if there were souvenirs, it would help. What did you mean by that?”

“Only that it’s very common for serial killers to take something from their victims.”

“But why?”

“So they have something to remind them of the excitement and stimulation they receive during the kill. It helps them relive the event and gives them the courage to do it again.”

Avery looked as horrified as I must have.

“It appears there’s something we failed to mention that may be significant,” I said. “Reineer has a necklace with what I thought was just a bunch of his personal junk attached to it. Stuff I assumed he’d collected since he was a kid.”

Ruby looked at me with dawning interest. “There’s a good chance each item on that necklace belonged to one of his victims.”

“But there are at least a dozen. Does that mean he may have killed that many?”

“I’d bet on it.”

My mind was spinning so fast I could hardly talk.