People expect monsters and ogres but sometimes you just get terrifyingly ordinary.
Chapter 40
As we finished our drinks, the door swung open and five detectives filed in looking stunned.
Ten eyes shot to Flick’s face.
Petra, Raul, Alicia, Moe, and Sean continued to stare as they settled at the long tables.
Raul was the first to speak. “He drives a five-year-old Beemer that doesn’t show up on our citation list from that night. Neither does his name so maybe he’s the one who cut the chain. Or he found somewhere else to park.”
Petra continued to study the image. “He looks like what he is, a grad student.”
Moe said, “Majors in math, minors in evil.”
Alicia turned to me. “You figured this out last night?”
“Hopefully.”
“Hopefully? Sounds like a definite.” She turned to Milo for confirmation.
He stepped up to the board. “It’s looking promising, here’s what we know so far.”
His lecture was brief and informative, and left five pairs of eyes active and bright. If he’d been a professor at Oberlin or some similar place, five stars from the undergrads.
“Questions?”
Moe said, “Just the obvious one: What’s the plan?”
Milo said, “There are two things we need to do simultaneously. Priority one is keeping a close eye on Mr. Flick with the dual purpose of making sure he doesn’t shoot anyone else and learning as much as we can about him to build up the evidence.”
Alicia said, “Are we sure he soloed?”
“We’re not sure of anything, so exactly, checking out if he has pals is essential. Which will hopefully also come up on his phone. My gut, though — and Alex’s — is that Flick has been soloing. Guy’s a serious marksman, wouldn’t need to hire out.”
He told them about the target pistols.
Raul whistled. “Looked into a Hammerli. Two thousand bucks.”
Sean said, “Explains the precision of the neck wounds.”
Milo said, “He’s gotta be practicing somewhere. If we get lucky, he’ll bring the rifle to a range and we can photograph him with it and, more important, get hold of some bullets. Either way, we can’t ever lose sight of him. Mr. Nguyen has dropped his usual tight-sphincter objections and authorized subpoenas on Flick’s phone and finances. But he won’t go along with taps and I don’t want to breach Flick’s residence yet because if we don’t find anything and he’s alerted, we could be in big trouble. So for the time being, I want a combo of stationary and mobile surveillance with shorter shifts and plenty of task-switching to avoid boredom and fatigue. Questions?”
Head shakes.
He said, “Okay, the second priority is learning if any of the parents did hire Flick for more than coaching their little geniuses or is Alex’s instinct right and we’re talking a self-justifying shooter.”
Sean said, “Why do you feel that way, Doc?”
I said, “It’s hard for me to imagine an easy transition from tutoring math to murder for hire. How would Flick approach the families? With the exception of Gerald Boykins, none of them have criminal records and Boykins’s arrests were nonviolent and years ago. As Milo pointed out before you guys came in, even hinting about a paid hit ran the risk of horrifying at least one of them and getting ratted on. And Flick’s risk-averse. Thinks, plans, takes his time.”
“Foreplay,” said Alicia.
Smiles from the others.
Alicia said, “So to speak.”
I said, “That’s actually a great choice of words. Given the time lag between the victims’ perceived offenses and the shootings, it’s clear that for him the planning process is as satisfying as the outcome. Maybe more so. If he was the Ohio shooter, he began killing in adolescence and may have incorporated hunting humans into his fantasy life. And that’s likely to have included a sexual element.”
Petra said, “Just another serial killer.”
“One who requires justification.”
“So do guys who murder prostitutes.”
I said, “Good point, it’s always about ego. In any event, he found his pattern early and sticks with it.”
Alicia said, “If it ain’t broke.”
Milo said, “We’ll fine-tooth as far back as we can for any interesting calls and texts and for money transfers that go beyond what he gets for tutoring. Which according to his website is a hundred and eighty an hour. If any of the family members come up dirty, we’ll refocus on them. Now, let’s talk division of labor.”
Chapter 41
Milo’s initial plan had been for three 8-hour surveillance shifts, two detectives per shift in separate cars with radio contact. All of the D’s preferred twelve hours and he said, “Fine.”
Moe and Alicia took the night shift because neither minded being up late. Petra and Raul began with days, Milo and Sean were on schedule for the following night.
I left them to their preparation and went home.
That didn’t mean I put the case aside.
Cameron Flick listed himself as a doctoral candidate in math at the U. I pulled up the department’s website, which obligingly included a list of graduate students.
Surprisingly long list: a hundred sixty-two names, some for terminal master’s degrees, some for doctorates. None of them Flick’s.
Had his enrollment been a total lie from the beginning or had he been asked to leave? I had no contacts at Math but I did know someone married to a possible source: a geology prof named Llewelyn Greenberg who taught at the old school crosstown where I had a faculty appointment.
I generally avoid faculty functions but Llewelyn and I had sat together at a Kappa Alpha Phi dinner where a student I’d mentored had merited membership in that graduate honor society. Sitting next to Llewelyn was a pleasant, quiet woman he’d introduced as “my considerably better half, Karen’s an expert in topology over in the New World.”
She’d blushed and spent the evening silently doodling formulas on her napkin, then running over to Llewelyn’s, and finally to mine. Thanking me with a sweet smile.
Llewelyn was a bit more outgoing but not by much and by the end of the evening, they both looked exhausted.
More introverts. They don’t make a lot of noise but they often create wonders.
I looked up Llewelyn’s wife. Karen Salzman-Greenberg, Cratchett-Fillmore Professor of Mathematics.
I reached Llewelyn in his office and made my request. No need to explain because, as I’d expected, no curiosity on his part. That likely made asking for confidentiality unnecessary. But you have to be careful.
Llewelyn said, “Of course,” as if I’d stated the obvious, hung up and called me back two hours later.
“That person was there but no longer as of two years and slightly over five months ago.”
He recited the date.
I said, “Any idea why?”
“The usual,” he said. “Floundering. Couldn’t come up with anything original.”
I thanked him and thought about a grad student, taken with his own brilliance, tossed from academia like a piece of detritus.
Shattered. Then angry. A few months later, he deals with it in a tried-and-true manner.
Go get the rifle.
I moved on to an image search on Cameron Flick and pulled up five photos of a smiling tutor next to even more broadly beaming high school seniors, each holding up a college acceptance letter.
Plugging in Flick’s address on South Ogden Drive revealed a nondescript, off-white one-story bungalow, tagged by a real estate site at twelve hundred thirty-three square feet on an eighth-acre lot. Four years ago, the property had sold for just over a million and a half dollars. L.A. real estate psychosis.