The Porn Star Murders Page 3

  Kathleen paused. “Jon, this is a little awkward for me, considering we haven’t talked in a few years. But I have a favor to ask you.”

  “What?”

  “Do you have time this afternoon to stop by my office? I’d like to ask you in person.”

  “That important, huh?”

  “I think so.”

  “What time?”

  “How about one?”

  “That should be fine. I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  Stanton hung up and got onto I-405, heading north to the first address on his list. He thought about Ackerman and her favor. She had asked him for favors before when he was a detective; usually minor things. But once Stanton thought she had crossed the line.

  A young girl and her friend, both sixteen, had gone to a fraternity party at USD. When they got there, they realized they were the only two females at the entire party. They were plied with alcohol and when they were too drunk to run, the men pinned them to the couches in the living room and gang raped them for over three hours before throwing them out and making them drive home.

  The girls crashed their car five minutes from the fraternity into a telephone pole. The responding officers noticed the blood stains on the front of their shorts and had the acumen to call the Special Victims detectives.

  Seven of the eight men were charged with aggravated rape, forcible sodomy, assault, kidnapping, and several other misdemeanor charges. The eighth one was charged only with providing alcohol to a minor, punishable by a six-hundred-dollar fine.

  Stanton was furious. The girls’ statements said that all eight men engaged in the rape, and the SANE nurse—the forensic nurse that specializes in the collection of evidence in sexual assault cases—and the crime lab had submitted in their report that they collected eight separate semen samples between the two girls. The lead prosecutor on the case was Kathleen and Stanton stormed into her office, demanding to know why the last one had been given only a fine and a misdemeanor.

  Kathleen had explained that some of the men confessed to the rape but stated that the last boy—Andrew Short—had not participated. That he had gone to bed during the rapes.

  Stanton remembered when the boys had admitted that to him and Sherman during the investigation, but some of the men didn’t recall that. In fact, several of them said that Andrew had participated.

  When Stanton objected and demanded he be charged as well, Kathleen politely reminded him the final charging decision was hers. It wasn’t until nine months later, when Andrew Short sexually assaulted a twelve-year-old girl in a mall bathroom, that the media—and Stanton—discovered that Andrew Short was the adopted son of Scott Kerr, chair of the California Democratic Party and one of then District Attorney Paul Kruger’s biggest donors.

  Stanton complained to IAD, and had one phone conversation with Kathleen. Paul Kruger wouldn’t see him. He thought about going higher up with the complaint but the chief of police had stepped in and resolved the issue. Andrew Short was entering a plea deal with a six to life prison sentence. What more did Stanton want?

  “What I want,” he’d told the chief, “is for that little girl not to have gone through this.”

  The chief had sympathized but told him there was nothing he could do. Stanton never worked with Kathleen again and soon transferred out of Special Victims and back into homicide.

  But Stanton never held a grudge. Grudges, he thought, only hurt the person having them, not the object of their hatred. He had forgiven her and moved on and they had worked several cases after that. Besides, she was probably ordered to do it and had little control over the situation. Paul Kruger was the one in charge, until being brought up on bribery charges by the FBI and resigning in disgrace.

  Stanton rolled down his window and the warm air cleared his head. An accident had occurred up ahead and the traffic came to a dead stop. By the time he arrived at the address in Lakeside, it was nearly noon. He went to the door and knocked. Nobody was home. He left a note stating that he needed to speak with them. Whenever possible, he preferred showing up unannounced so people couldn’t prepare themselves for questioning, but this would have to do.

  He got into his car, flipped back around, and headed toward the District Attorney’s Office.

  The building was gray and at least twenty stories but appeared like something from a century ago. The current DA was a woman that had risen through the ranks with sheer grit, and one of the platforms she ran on was cost cutting and no frills. She had even taken out the water coolers; employees were expected to bring in their own bottles of water.

  Stanton parked in a pay lot across the street and went in. He asked the security guard for Kathleen Ackerman and he said she was in Special Prosecutions on the fifth floor.

  Special Prosecutions dealt with cases that had been flagged as potentially causing problems. In these cases the defendant or victim was typically related to a high-ranking police officer or one of the prosecutors or any politician. The cases would be handled with more care and discretion. Cases that received media attention were immediately transferred to Special Prosecutions also. For a prosecutor, the SP unit was the best place to be: you received the lightest caseload and the most media exposure.

  Stanton stepped off the elevator and let the receptionist know he was there for Kathleen. When Stanton was led to the corner office with the plush leather furniture, he saw two men waiting for him with Kathleen sitting behind her desk.

  One of the men was Danny Childs, the other he had never met.

  “Jon,” Kathleen said, “so glad you came. Please have a seat.”

  Stanton glanced at Childs but didn’t say anything as he sat down. He had a feeling he knew what he was about to be put through.

  “Jon, this is Kyle Bonnie. He’s been informed that Philip Oster wants to make a confession and show us where the bodies are buried for several of his victims.” She paused. “His daughter was one of them.”

  Stanton felt anger rising inside him. He watched Childs, who wasn’t looking in his direction but out the window.

  “Mr. Bonnie,” Stanton said, “I’m very sorry for your loss. But I can’t help you.” Emma’s comment the night before last had only strengthened his resolve.

  “Detective, I want you to know something: I had lost hope of ever knowing what happened to my daughter. You haven’t lost a child so you don’t understand, but it’s really important to find out what happened. Because you just keep thinking of the worst. Of how much she must’ve suffered. And then the worst part is this glimmer of hope that maybe they’re still alive. That maybe they’re chained up somewhere in some cabin and they’re…and they’re calling out for you.

  “I’m in so much pain I can’t sleep at night. I’ve been on anti-depressants now over a year, ever since Jill was taken from me. Her mother ran out on us when Jill was five so it’s just been us two her entire life.”

  “I understand more than you know, Mr. Bonnie. And I am sorry. But I’m not a detective anymore and I have no desire to be again. It took me a long time to get to where I’m comfortable with that, and I can’t go back.” Stanton rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to be elsewhere.”

  Stanton escaped into the hall before Childs got to him and grabbed his arm. Stanton pushed him away and got in his face.

  “If you ever sandbag me like that again—”

  “I’m sorry, Jon. We didn’t know how else to get you here.”

  “How about treating me with respect. How about calling and asking to meet with a victim’s father like we’re actually friends.”

  “We are friends. And I’m sorry. I can see it was wrong now. I’m sorry. But this case has stuck with me. Of all people, you know what that feels like. You feel like you would do anythin’ to make it go away. I had to try, Jon. We had to try. Kathleen’s been workin’ her ass off on this case. She would never admit it, she’s too tough, but I know it’s gotten under her skin too.”

  “This was the wrong way to do it, Danny. No matter how you did it, my answer still would’ve been no, but at least I could’ve still trusted you.”

  Stanton left and didn’t look back as Danny called his name.

  CHAPTER 6

  Once in the parking lot, Stanton had to walk around to calm down. He kept a little rubber stress ball in his glove box, and he pulled it out, squeezing it as he paced around the lot once. As he headed back to his car, he saw a man approaching. It was Kyle Bonnie.

  “That was wrong, Detective. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do it that way but they said you wouldn’t show up any other way.”

  “It’s all right, I’ll live. And just call me Jon.”

  “Jon, I know you have kids. They told me you did and that you’d understand. But until you lose one of ’em, you can’t understand. It feels like one of my limbs is missing and I keep thinking it’s there. She’d sometimes come and crash with me for a while when she and her boyfriend would get into a fight. In the middle of the night I would hear her call my name. She had nightmares from a sexual assault when she was young. I’d go in and comfort her and she’d say, ‘I’m glad you’re here, Dad.’ That’s all she would say, but that would keep me going. Just that line. I sometimes get up in the middle of the night ’cause I think I hear her and I go to her room. But it’s empty.”

  Bonnie grew emotional and tears began to pour. Stanton stood quietly to let him finish. When he did, Bonnie wiped his tears and pulled out a photo from his wallet. It was of a beautiful woman in her early twenties; blond hair and crystal-blue eyes.

  “That’s my Jill. She was gonna be a runway model but things didn’t work out like that. I know you judge her for being in those movies, but she was young. She asked me if it was okay and I told her that she was an adult and I trusted her to make the
right decision. Maybe if I had put up a fight…I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  “Mr. Bonnie, I—”

  “I know. It’s unfair of me to even ask. But I hope you understand why I had to ask. Thank you for your time, Jon.”

  Bonnie turned and walked away. Stanton watched as he walked in one direction and then realized he was going the wrong way. He turned and went toward a car that was parked at a meter on the street.

  Stanton saw him get into the driver’s seat, and put his head down on the steering wheel. He was there a long time before sitting up, and driving off.

  Stanton walked into Young Hall on the UCLA campus. The drive had been clear and he listened to an album by INXS on the way up. Walking down the long corridor, looking at the fliers up on the walls advertising everything from roommates to laboratory assistant jobs, he felt relaxed. But every once in a while, his stomach knotted and he’d have to push the anxiety out of his mind and think about his boys or the beach or a pleasant book he’d read.

  On the right-hand side of the corridor, he found the classroom he was looking for. It sloped downward to a podium and two massive chalkboards. He guessed there were just over twenty students in the classroom and he was surprised there were even that many. Emma only taught graduate-level courses in quantum theory and thermochemistry. Though it was nearly only a side project, she was revered as one of the top arson investigators in the world. However, she refused to consult on cases anymore. Now she just taught and researched in the laboratory. Calls from police departments and defense attorneys for help in arson cases were left unreturned.

  Stanton stood in the back of the classroom and watched as Emma wrote an equation on the board.

  “So the uncertainty principle tells us that both the position and the momentum cannot simultaneously be measured with complete precision. But we can measure the position of a moving free particle, creating an eigenstate of position with a wave function that is very—”

  She froze when she saw Stanton. A quick smile and she continued.

  Stanton sat down in one of the seats and listened. He had little knowledge of what she was speaking about. He had preferred his literature and art classes to science. Though psychology was the major draw, he had contemplated getting his doctorate in art history, but he wasn’t sure what avenue he could have pursued with that.

  When the class was over and Emma had spoken to a few of the students, Stanton rose and went down to meet her by the podium. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Help me with my laptop.”

  “Your students love you.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I just can. The guy in the glasses and blue shirt looked like he might pass out talking to you, though. I think you’ve got an admirer.”

  Emma chuckled. “He’s a good student. He’s going to make a brilliant chemist one day.”

  They began walking up the steps and Emma reached down and held his hand. It was pleasant, but it had surprised him and he pulled back a little at first. He could tell she had noticed.

  “There’s a great sandwich place near here if you’re hungry,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Stanton watched the students as they walked across the lawn and hurried in between the buildings. They appeared so young; it was difficult for him to believe he had ever been that young. Or that he had thought he actually knew how the world worked at that age. It was fun to think how foolish your professors were and how much more you understood than they did. Learning that you really didn’t know anything was a hard lesson. And once learned, it could never be unlearned.

  Stanton loaded the laptop and Emma’s bag into her backseat. He got in the passenger side as she returned a text and started the car. They pulled away and headed toward Sunset before following the road east toward a string of restaurants.

  “Daniel Childs came to see me the other day,” Stanton said.

  “Really? What for?”

  “An old case of mine that was unsolved. They have someone in custody that confessed to it.”

  “Did he have to come see you in person for that?”

  Stanton was impressed by how perceptive she was. “No. The suspect wants to talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you said no, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” She was silent a moment. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “The father of one of the victims was at a meeting I got duped into going to.”

  “So what?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing I guess. Just the way he asked for help…I’ve never gotten used to how desperate victims’ families can become.”

  “Jon, there’s a whole police force out there that Danny can use. He doesn’t need you. Not anymore. Let them take care of it. How many fathers of victims have you spoken to over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? You can’t stop it. There will always be victims and there will always be families of victims. You can’t help all of them.”

  “I know. That’s why I told him no.”

  Behind the sandwich shop, Emma put the car in park. “You never just pop in to my classes. So what were you looking for? For me to tell you it’s okay? That you should just do this one thing for them and that it’s all right by me? Well it’s not. I don’t want you to do it. They’ve used you so many times and what do you have to show for it other than scars?”

  “I told them no, Emma. There’s no reason to get upset.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just can’t go through that again. What we went through with Stark…I just couldn’t handle it again.”

  Stanton hadn’t heard his name mentioned out loud in over a year and it made him uncomfortable to hear it now. “I think I’d like a vacation. Let’s go on a cruise.”

  “Now you’re talking,” she said, getting out of the car. As they walked into the restaurant, she said, “Where do you want to go?”

  “Europe. I’ve always wanted to see Athens. You ever been?”

  “No, never.”

  After being seated near a window, they ordered and sipped their drinks quietly. Stanton could tell she was thinking about their trip, about the places they would visit and the food they would eat and the cultural landmarks they would see. He tried to think of it too, but his mind wouldn’t let him. He saw a father sitting in his car, thinking about the death of his only child. Images like that would stick with him and he’d try to push them away, but never could.

  “Oh my gosh,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t BS me, Jon. I can see it in your face. You’re going to meet with this psycho.”

  “Emma, I told them no. They won’t contact me again about it.”

  “Let me ask you something; if you don’t do this, are you going to regret it?”

  “No, I won’t regret it. He’s already in custody so there won’t be any more victims.”

  She nodded. “I’m asking you not to do it and I’m trusting that you won’t.”

  “I don’t know what the right thing to do is, but I won’t go anywhere near it, I promise.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Henry Grimes stood up in the courtroom and buttoned the top button on his suit before approaching the jury.

  After a previous six-day trial where they broke for only thirty minutes for lunch every day, every inch of him felt exhausted. But he had no choice: the witness he needed was only available today. He had to go forward with the trial now.

  He was a larger man, over three hundred and thirty pounds, and he had to wipe the sweat from his brow with the pocket square from his two-hundred-dollar suit. He looked down to the worn-out black shoes on his feet and wondered if the jury had noticed. Not that he really cared: all his clients were referrals now and there were better things to spend money on than clothes.

  “When I was fourteen-years-old,” he began, standing no more than five feet from the jurors, “my friend Emilio started slowly robbing a video game store. He would go in with a few other guys from our junior high school and pack up his coat with video games. The other guys would distract the cashier and they’d make off with six- or seven-hundred-bucks’ worth of games. Then they’d go to a used game store down the block and sell them. Pure profit.