A Trace of Hope

CHAPTER FIVE

When Ray walked into the conference room three hours later, Keri still didn’t have leverage. But she did think she had a better sense of who Jackson Cave was.

“Lovely to see you, Detective Sands,” Mags said when he entered bearing submarine sandwiches and iced coffees.

“Good to see you too, Red,” he said as he tossed the sandwiches on the table.

“Well, I do declare,” she replied huffily.

Keri wasn’t sure when Ray had started calling Margaret Merrywether “Red” but she got a kick out of it. And despite her reaction now, Keri was pretty sure Mags didn’t mind either.

“I brought the guy’s financials and property records,” Ray said. “But I don’t think they’re going to be the answer. I reviewed them with Edgerton and he couldn’t find anything hinky. But for a guy with that kind of money and power, that alone is actually kind of hinky.”

“I agree,” Keri said. “But hinky isn’t enough to act on.”

“He wanted to bring in Patterson but I told him to hold off for now.”

Detective Garrett Patterson went by the nickname “Grunt Work,” and for good reason. He was the second best tech guy in the unit behind Edgerton, and while he lacked Edgerton’s intuitive gifts for finding unseen connections within complex information, he had another skill. He loved to pore over the minutiae of records to find that small but crucial detail that others missed.

“That was the right call,” Keri said after a moment. “He might uncover something with the property records. But I worry that he couldn’t help but tell Hillman or accidentally cast too wide a net and set off warning lights. I don’t want to involve him unless we have no other choice.”

“It may come to that,” Ray said. “That is, unless you’ve cracked the Cave code in the last few hours.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Keri admitted. “But we have uncovered some surprising stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for starters,” Mags piped in, “Jackson Cave wasn’t always a complete asshole.”

“That is a surprise,” Ray said, unwrapping a sandwich and taking a big bite. “How so?”

“He used to work in the D.A.’s office,” Mags replied.

“He was a prosecutor?” Ray asked, nearly choking on his food. “The defender of rapists and child molesters?”

“It was a long time ago,” Keri said. “He joined the D.A. right out of law school at USC – worked there for two years.”

“Couldn’t hack it?” Ray wondered.

“Actually, his conviction rate was pretty amazing. He apparently didn’t like to plead down often so he took most cases to trial. He got nineteen convictions and two hung juries. Not one acquittal.”

“That is good,” Ray acknowledged. “So why did he switch teams?”

“That took some digging,” Keri said. “It was actually Mags who figured it out. You want to explain?”

“It would be my great pleasure,” she said, looking up from the sea of pages in front of her. “I suppose a lifetime of doing tedious research pays off from time to time. Jackson Cave had a half-brother named Coy Trembley. They had different fathers but grew up together. Coy was three years older than Jackson.”

“Was Coy a lawyer too?” Ray asked.

“Hardly,” Mags said. “Coy was in trouble with the law throughout his teens and twenties – mostly petty stuff. But when he was thirty-one, he was arrested for sexual assault. Basically he was accused of forcing himself on a nine-year-old girl who lived down the street.”

“And Cave defended him?”

“Not officially. But he took a nine-month leave of absence from the prosecutor’s office right after the arrest. He wasn’t Trembley’s attorney of record and his name isn’t on any of the legal documents filed with the court in the case.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Ray said.

“You hear correctly, dear,” Mags declared. “

But

 for tax purposes, his declared job during that time was ‘legal consultant.’ And I’ve compared the language in the briefs in Trembley’s case. Some of the phrasing and logic are very similar to more recent Cave cases. I think it’s fair to assume he was secretly assisting his brother.”

“How’d he do?” Ray asked.

“Quite well. Coy Trembley’s case ended in a hung jury. Prosecutors were debating whether to retry him when the little girl’s father showed up at Trembley’s apartment and shot him five times, including once in the face. He didn’t make it.”

“Jeez,” Ray muttered.

“Yeah,” Keri agreed. “It was around that time that Cave gave his notice to the D.A.’s office. He was off the grid for three months after that. Then he suddenly reemerged with a new firm that dealt mostly with corporate clients. But he also did a little white collar defense stuff and increasingly as the years went by, pro-bono work for folks like his half brother.”

“Wait,” Ray demanded incredulously. “Am I supposed to believe this guy became a defense lawyer to honor the memory of his dead brother or something, to defend the rights of the morally grotesque?”

Keri shook her head.

“I don’t know, Ray,” she said. “Cave almost never spoke about his brother over the years. But when he did, he always maintained that Coy was falsely accused. He was pretty adamant about it. I think it’s possible that he started his practice with noble intentions.”

“Okay. Let’s say I give him the benefit of the doubt on that. What the hell happened to him then?”

Mags picked up from there.

“Well, it’s pretty clear that the guilt of most of his early pro-bono clients was highly dubious. Some of them seem to have just been picked out of lineups or pulled off the street. Occasionally he got them off; usually he didn’t. Meanwhile, he was going around making speeches at civil liberties conferences – good speeches actually, very passionate. There was even talk that he might run for office someday.”

“Sounds like an American success story so far,” Ray said.

“It was,” Keri agreed. “That is, until about ten years ago. That’s when he took on the case of a guy who didn’t fit the profile. He was a serial child abductor who apparently did it professionally. And he paid Cave handsomely to represent him.”

“Why did he all of a sudden take on that case?” Ray asked.

“Not a hundred percent clear,” Keri said. “His corporate work hadn’t really taken off yet. So it could have been a financial decision. Maybe he didn’t view this guy as being as objectionable as others. The charges against him were for abduction for hire, not assault or molestation. The guy basically kidnapped kids and sold them to the highest bidder. He was, to use a generous description, a ‘professional.’ Whatever the reason, Cave took this guy on, got him acquitted, and then the floodgates opened. He started taking all manner of similar clients, many of whom were less…professional.”

“Around the same time,” Mags added,” the corporate work picked up. He moved from a storefront in Echo Park to the downtown high-rise office he has now. And he’s never looked back.”

“I don’t know,” Ray said skeptically. “It’s hard to see the through line from civil libertarian fighting for the least among us to remorseless legal shark representing pedophiles and possibly coordinating a child sex slave ring. I feel like we’re missing a piece.”

“Well, you’re a detective, Raymond,” said Mags snarkily. “By all means, detect.”

Ray opened his mouth, about to fire back, before realizing that he was being teased. All three of them laughed, glad for the chance to break the tension they hadn’t realized had been building up. Keri jumped back in.

“It has to be related to that serial abductor he represented. That’s when everything changed. We should look into that more.”

“What do you have on him?” Ray asked.

“His case just kind of dead ends,” Mags said, frustrated. “Cave represented the man, got him off, and then that guy dropped off the radar. We haven’t been able to find anything on him since.”

“What was the man’s name?” Ray asked.

“John Johnson,” Mags answered.

“That sounds familiar,” Ray muttered.

“Really?” Keri said, surprised. “Because there’s almost nothing on him. It looks like it was a false identity. There’s no record of him existing after he was acquitted. It’s like he left that courtroom and then completely disappeared.”

“Still, the name rings a bell,” Ray said. “I think it was before you joined the force. Did you try pulling up a mug shot?”

“I started to,” Keri said. “There are seventy-four John Johnsons in the database who had mug shots taken the month of his arrest. I didn’t have a chance to go through them all.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead,” Keri said, punching up the screen and sliding her laptop over to him. She could tell he was on to something but didn’t want to say it out loud yet in case he was wrong. As he scrolled through the images, he spoke almost absent-mindedly.

“You both said it was like he dropped off the radar, like he’d disappeared, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Keri said, watching him closely, feeling her breathing quicken.

“Almost like…a ghost?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she repeated.

He stopped scrolling and stared at an image on the screen before looking up at Keri.

“I think that’s because he is a ghost; or more accurately, ‘The Ghost.’”

Ray turned the screen so that Keri could see the mug shot. As she stared at the image of the man who first sent Jackson Cave down his dark path, a cold shiver went down her spine.

She knew him.

CHAPTER SIX

Keri tried to control her emotions as a shot of adrenaline coursed through her system, making her entire body tingle.

She recognized the man staring back at her. But she didn’t know him as John Johnson. When they’d met, he’d gone by the name Thomas Anderson, but everybody referred to him as The Ghost.

They’d spoken only twice, each time at the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown Los Angeles, where he was currently being incarcerated for crimes not unlike those John Johnson had been acquitted of.

“Who is it, Keri?” Mags asked, half concerned, half annoyed by the long silence.

Keri realized she had been mutely staring at the mug shot for the last few seconds.

“Sorry,” she replied, shaking herself back into the moment. “His name is Thomas Anderson. He’s being held at county lockup for the abduction and sale of children, mostly to out-of-state families who didn’t meet adoption qualifications. I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me that Johnson and Anderson could be the same guy.”

“Cave deals with a lot of abductors, Keri,” Ray said. “There’s no reason you should have made that connection.”

“How do you know him?” Mags asked.

“I stumbled across him last year when I was looking through case files about abductors. At one point, I thought he might have taken Evie. I went to Twin Towers to interview him and it became clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t the guy. He even gave me a few leads that helped me ultimately hunt down the Collector. And now that I think about it, he’s the first person who mentioned Jackson Cave to me – he said Cave was his lawyer.”

“You’d never heard of Cave before that?” Mags asked.

“No, I’d heard of him. He’s notorious to Missing Person cops. But I’d never met one of his clients or had reason to think about him as anything other than a generalized scumbag until Anderson made me more aware of him. Until I met Thomas Anderson, Jackson Cave was never on my radar.”

“And you don’t think that’s a coincidence?” Mags asked.

“With Anderson, I’m not sure anything is a coincidence. Isn’t it strange that he gets off scot-free as ‘John Johnson’ but then gets arrested doing the same abduction thing using his real identity, Thomas Anderson? Why didn’t he use a fake identity again? I mean, the guy was a librarian for over thirty years. He basically ruined his life by using his real name.”

“Maybe he thought Cave could get him off a second time?” Ray suggested.

“But here’s the thing,” Keri said. “Even though Cave was technically his defense attorney, at his last trial, the one at which he was convicted, Anderson defended himself. And supposedly, he was great. Word was he was so convincing that if the case wasn’t iron-clad, he would have gotten off.”

“If this guy was such a genius,” Mags countered, “how was the case against him so strong in the first place?”

“I asked him the same thing,” Keri replied. “And he agreed with me that it was odd that someone as clever and meticulous as him would get caught like that. He didn’t come right out and say it but he essentially hinted that he meant to get convicted.”

“But why on God’s green earth!” Mags asked.

“That is an excellent question, Margaret,” Keri said, closing the laptop. “And it’s one I intend to address with Mr. Anderson right now.”

*

Keri parked her car in the massive structure across from the Twin Towers and made her way to the elevator. Sometimes if she had to visit in the day, the massive county lockup facility was so busy that she had to go all the way to the uncovered tenth floor of the structure to find a parking spot. But it was almost 8 p.m. and she found a spot on the second floor.

As she crossed the street, she went over her plan. Technically, because of her suspension and the IA investigation, she didn’t have authorization to meet with a prisoner in an interrogation room. But that wasn’t common knowledge yet. She was hoping her familiarity with the prison staff would allow her to bluff her way through.

Ray had offered to come along to smooth her path. But she worried that would lead to questions, potentially getting him in trouble. Even if it didn’t, he might be required to sit in on the interview with Anderson. Keri knew the guy wouldn’t open up under those circumstances.

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

“How’s it going, Detective Locke?” Security Officer Beamon asked as she approached the lobby metal detector. “I’m surprised to see you up and moving after the run-in with that psycho earlier this week.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keri agreed, deciding to use her earlier confrontation to her advantage, “me too, Freddie. Looks like I was in a prize fight, right? I’m actually still officially on leave until I’m in better shape. But I was getting a little stir-crazy around the apartment so I thought I’d check on an old case. It’s informal so I didn’t even bring the gun and shield. Still cool if I interview someone even if I’m off the clock?”

“Of course, Detective. I just wish you’d take it a little easy. But I know you won’t. Sign in. Get your visitor badge and head to the interrogation level. You know the drill.”

Keri did know the drill and fifteen minutes later she was seated in an interrogation room, waiting for the arrival of inmate #2427609, or Thomas “The Ghost” Anderson. The guard had warned her that they were getting ready for lights out and it might take a little extra time to collect him. She tried to stay cool as she waited but knew it was a losing battle.

Anderson always seemed to get under her skin, as if he was secretly peeling back her scalp to reveal her brain and read her thoughts. Oftentimes, she felt like she was a kitten and he was holding one of those laser pen lights, sending her scampering in random directions at his whim.

And yet, it was his information that sent her down a road that had gotten her closer to finding Evie than anything else had. Was that by design or just luck? He’d never given her any indication that their meetings were anything other than happenstance. But if he was that far ahead of the game, why would he?

The door opened and he stepped through it, looking much as she remembered. Anderson, in his mid-fifties, was on the shorter side, about five foot eight, with a square, well-built frame that suggested he used the prison gym regularly. The manacles on his muscled forearms looked tight. Still, he appeared leaner than she remembered, as if he’d missed a few meals.

His thick hair was parted neatly but much to her surprise, it was no longer the jet black she remembered. Now it was mostly a salt-and-pepper combination. At the edges of his prison jumpsuit, she could still see portions of the multiple tattoos that lined the right side of his body all the way up his neck. His left side was still unblemished.

As he was directed to the metal chair across the table from her, his gray eyes never left her. She knew he was taking her in, studying her, sizing her up, trying to learn as much as he could about her situation before she said a word.

After he was seated, the guard took a position by the door.

“We’re fine, Officer…Kiley,” Keri said, squinting at his nametag.

“Procedure, ma’am,” the guard said brusquely.

She glanced over at him. He was new…and young. She doubted he was on the take yet but she couldn’t afford for anyone, corrupt or clean, to hear this conversation. Anderson smiled slightly at her, knowing what was coming. This would probably be entertaining for him.

She stood up and stared at the guard until he sensed her eyes on him and looked over.

“First of all, it’s not ma’am. It’s Detective Locke. Second, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your procedure, newbie. I want to talk to this inmate in private. If you can’t accommodate that, then I need to talk to

you

 in private and it’s not going to be a comfortable chat.”

“But…” Kiley started to stammer as he shifted from foot to foot.

“But nothing, Officer. You have two choices here. You can let me speak to this inmate privately. Or we can have that chat! Which is it gonna be?”

“Maybe I should get my superviso – ”

“That’s not on the list of choices, Officer. You know what? I’m deciding for you. Let’s step outside so I can chat you up a little. You’d think taking down a religious zealot pedophile would give me a pass for the rest of the week but I guess now I have to instruct a corrections officer as well.”

She reached for the door handle and started to pull when Officer Kiley finally lost what was left of his nerve. She was impressed at how long he’d lasted.

“Never mind, Detective,” he said hastily. “I’ll wait outside. Just please use caution. This prisoner has a history of violent incidents.”

“Of course I will,” Keri said, her voice now all buttered honey. “Thank you for being so accommodating. I’ll try to keep it brief.”

He stepped out and shut the door and Keri returned to her seat, filled with a confidence and energy that had been lacking only thirty seconds earlier.

“That was fun,” Anderson said mildly.

“I’m sure,” Keri replied. “You can bet I expect some valuable information in return for providing you with such quality entertainment.”

“Detective Locke,” Anderson said in a tone of mocked indignation, “you offend my delicate sensibilities. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other and yet your first instinct upon seeing me is to demand information? No hello? No how are you?”

“Hello,” Keri said. “I’d ask how you are, but it’s clear you’re not great. You’ve lost weight. The hair has gone gray. The skin near your eyes has gotten saggy. Are you ill? Or is something weighing on your conscience?”

“Both actually,” he admitted. “You see, the boys in here have been treating me a little rough lately. I’m no longer in the popular crowd. So I have my dinner ‘borrowed’ occasionally. I get an unrequested rib massage now and then. Also, I have a touch of the cancer.”

“I didn’t know,” Keri said quietly, genuinely taken aback. All the physical signs of wasting away made more sense now.

“How could you?” he asked. “I didn’t advertise it. I might have told you at my parole hearing in November but you weren’t there. I didn’t get it, by the way. Not your fault though. Your letter was lovely, thank you very much.”

Keri had written a letter on Anderson’s behalf after he’d helped her before. She didn’t advocate for his release but she had been generous in her description of his assistance to the force.

“You weren’t surprised you didn’t get it, I gather?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s hard not to hope. It was my last real chance to get out of here before the sickness takes me. I had dreams of wandering on a beach in Zihuatanejo. Alas, it’s not to be. But enough small talk, Detective. Let’s get down to why you’re really here. And remember, the walls have ears.”

“Okay,” she started, then leaned in and whispered, “do you know about tomorrow night?”

Anderson nodded. Keri felt a surge of hope rise in her chest.

“Do you know where it’s happening?”

He shook his head.

“I can’t help you with the where,” he whispered back. “But I might be able to help you with the why.”

“What good will that do me?’ she demanded bitterly.

“Knowing why might help you find out where.”

“Let me ask you a different why,” she said, realizing her anger was getting the best of her but unable to contain it.

“All right.”

“Why are you helping me at all?” she asked. “Have you been guiding me all along, since I first met you?”

“Here’s what I can tell you, Detective. You know what I did for a living, how I coordinated the theft of children from their families to be given to other families, often for massive fees. It was a very lucrative business. I was able to conduct it from a distance using a false name and live a happy, uncomplicated life.”

“As John Johnson?”

“No, my happy life was as Thomas Anderson, librarian. My alter ego was John Johnson, abduction facilitator. When I was caught, I turned to someone we both know to ensure that John Johnson was exonerated and that Thomas Anderson was never connected to him. This was almost a decade ago. Our friend didn’t want to do it. He said he only represented those mistreated by the system and that I was, and this is funny to think about now, a cancer on that system.”

“That is funny,” Keri agreed, not laughing.

“But as you know, I can be convincing. I persuaded him that I was taking children from wealthy, undeserving families and giving them to loving families without the same resources. Then I offered him an enormous amount of money to get me acquitted. I think he knew I was lying. After all, how could these low-income families afford to pay me? And were the parents who lost their children all really terrible? Our friend is very smart. He had to have known. But it gave him something to hold on to, something to tell himself when he took six figures in cash from me.”

“Six figures?” Keri repeated, disbelieving.

“As I said, it’s a very lucrative business. And that payment was just the first. Over the course of the trial, I paid him about half a million dollars. And with that, he was on his way. After I was acquitted and resumed work under my own name, he even started helping me facilitate the abductions to these ‘more deserving’ families. As long as he could find a way to justify the transactions, he was comfortable with them, even enthusiastic.”

“So you gave him that first bite of forbidden fruit?”

“I did. And he found that he liked the taste. In fact, he discovered that he had a taste for a great many things he hadn’t been aware that he might like.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Keri asked.

“Let’s just say that somewhere along the way, he lost the need to justify the transactions. You know that event tomorrow night?”

“Yes?”

“It was his brainchild,” Anderson said. “Mind you, he doesn’t partake. But he realized there was a market for that sort of thing and for all the smaller, similar festivities throughout the year. He filled that niche. He essentially controls the upscale version of that…market in the Los Angeles area. And to think that before me, he was working out of a one-room office next to a doughnut shop representing illegal immigrants being randomly charged with sex crimes by cops looking to make quotas.”

“So you developed a conscience?” Keri asked through gritted teeth. She was disgusted but she wanted answers and worried that being too overt with that disgust might shut Anderson down. He seemed to sense how she felt but proceeded anyway.

“Not yet. That’s not what did it for me. It happened much later. I saw this story on the local news about a year and a half ago about a female detective and her partner who rescued this little girl who was kidnapped by her babysitter’s boyfriend, a real creep.”

“Carlo Junta,” Keri said automatically.

“Right. Anyway, in the story, they mentioned that this detective was the same woman who had joined the police academy a few years earlier. And they showed a clip from an interview after her academy graduation. She said she’d joined the force because her daughter was abducted. She said that even though she couldn’t save her own daughter, maybe by being a cop, she could help save some other family’s daughter. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yes,” Keri said softly.

“So,” Anderson continued, “because I worked in a library and had access to all kinds of old news footage, I went back and found the story from when this lady’s daughter was abducted and her news conference right afterward when she pleaded for her daughter’s safe return.”

Keri flashed back to the news conference, which was mostly a blur. She remembered speaking into a dozen microphones jammed in her face, begging the man who had snatched her daughter in the middle of a park, who had tossed her in a van like a rag doll, to return her.

She remembered the scream of “Please Mommy, help me” and the bobbing blonde pigtails getting farther away as Evie, only eight at the time, disappeared across the green field. She remembered the bits of gravel that were still embedded in her feet during the news conference, trapped there when she ran barefoot through the parking lot, chasing after the van until it left her in the dust. She remembered it all.

Anderson had stopped talking. She looked at him and saw that his eyes were rimmed with tears, just as hers were. He pressed on.

“After that, I saw another story a few months later where this detective rescued another kid, this time a boy grabbed while he was walking to baseball practice.”

“Jimmy Tensall.”

“And a month later, she found a baby girl that had been snatched right out of a carrier at the supermarket. The woman who stole her had a fake birth certificate made and was planning to fly with the baby to Peru. You caught her at the gate as she was about to board the plane.”

“I remember.”

“That’s when I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. Every transaction reminded me of that news conference where you were begging for yo