The Poet (1995)

  The last stop on our list was a street-front shop called Data Imaging Answers on Pico, two blocks from the Westwood Pavilion shopping center. After pulling to the curb in a no-parking zone out front, Thorson smiled and said, "This is it. This is the one."

  "How do you know?" I asked.

  "Walk-in store on a busy street. The other two were more like mail-order offices, not storefronts. Gladden would have wanted the storefront. More visual stimulation. People passing outside, people coming in and out, more distractions. It would be better for him. He doesn't want to be remembered."

  It was a small store with two desks in the showroom and several unopened boxes stacked about. There were two circular counters with computer terminals and video equipment on display along with stacks of computer equipment catalogs. A balding man wearing thick glasses with black frames was sitting at one of the desks and looked up as we entered. There was no one at the other desk and it looked unused.

  "Are you the manager?" Thorson inquired.

  "Not only that, I'm the owner." The man stood up with proprietary pride and smiled as we approached his desk. "Not only that, I am the number one employee."

  When we didn't join in his guffaw he asked what he could do for us.

  Thorson showed him the inside of his badge wallet.

  "FBI?"

  It seemed incomprehensible to him.

  "Yes. You sell the digiShot 200, correct?"

  "Yes, we do. Top-of-the-line digital camera. But I'm out of stock at the moment. Sold my last one last week."

  I felt my guts seize. We were too late.

  "I can have one in three or four days. In fact, seein' that it's the FBI I might get them to ship two-day. No charge extra, of course."

  He smiled and nodded but his eyes had a quizzical look behind the thick glasses. He was nervous dealing with the FBI, especially not knowing what it was all about.

  "And your name is?"

  "Olin Coombs. I'm the owner."

  "Yes, you said that. Okay, Mr. Coombs, I'm not interested in buying anything. Do you have the name of the person who bought your last digiShot?"

  "Uh . . ." He creased his brow, probably wondering if he should ask if it was legal for the FBI to ask for such information. "Of course I keep records. I can get that for you."

  Coombs sat down and opened a drawer in his desk. He looked through a hanging file until he found what he was looking for, pulled out a sheet of paper and laid it flat on the desk. He then turned it around so Thorson didn't have to read it upside down. Thorson leaned over, studied the document and I saw his head make a slight turn to the right and then back. Looking at the receipt, it looked to me as if numerous pieces of equipment had been purchased along with the digiShot camera.

  "This isn't what I'm looking for," Thorson said. "I'm looking for a man that we believe wanted to purchase a digiShot camera only. This is the only one you've sold in the last week?"

  "Yes-uh, no. It's the only one with delivery. We've sold two others but they had to be ordered."

  "And they haven't been delivered yet?"

  "No. Tomorrow. I'm expecting a truck in the morning."

  "Either of those two just order the camera?"

  "The camera?"

  "You know, none of the other stuff. The software, the cable, the whole kit."

  "Oh, yes. Uh, as a matter of fact, there is . . ."

  His words trailed off as he opened the drawer again and pulled out a clipboard with several pink forms on it. He started peeling them back and reading.

  "I have a Mr. Childs. Just wanted the camera, nothing else. Paid cash in advance. Nine ninety-five plus California sales tax. Came to-"

  "Did he leave a number or address?"

  I stopped breathing. We had him. This had to be Gladden. The irony of the name he had given was not lost on me. I felt a chill roll across my back.

  "No, no number or address," Coombs said. "I wrote a note to myself. It says Mr. Wilton Childs will call to check on the equipment's arrival. I told him to call tomorrow."

  "Then he'll come pick it up?"

  "Yes, if it's here by then he'll come pick it up. Like I said, we don't have an address so we can't deliver it."

  "Do you remember what he looked like, Mr. Coombs?"

  "Looked like? Uh, well, yes I suppose so."

  "Can you describe him?"

  "He was a white fellow, I remember that. He . . ."

  "Blond hair?"

  "Uh, no. It was dark. And he was growing a beard, I remember that."

  "How old?"

  "About twenty-five or perhaps thirty."

  That was good enough for Thorson. It was in the ballpark and the rest of the information fit. He pointed at the empty desk.

  "Anybody using that desk?"

  "Not at the moment. Business is not so good."

  "Then is it all right if we do?"

  39

  There was a discernible electric buzz in the air as everyone gathered around a table in the conference room with the million-dollar view. After being brought up to speed by a phone call from Thorson, Backus had decided to move his operation command post from the Wilcox Hotel to the FBI offices in Westwood. We gathered on the seventeenth floor of the federal building in a conference room with a panoramic view of the city. I could see Catalina Island floating out in a golden ocean reflecting the spectacular burnt-orange-and-red start of another sunset.

  It was four-thirty Pacific time and the meeting had been scheduled late to give Rachel as much time as possible to obtain and execute a search warrant for records of Gladden's bank account in Jacksonville.

  In the conference room, Backus was joined by Thorson, Carter, Thompson, six agents I hadn't been introduced to but who I assumed were locals, and me. Quantico and all the field offices involved in the investigation were also on the conference line. And even these unseen people seemed excited. Brass Doran kept saying over the speaker, "Are we ready to start yet?"

  Finally, Backus, sitting at the center of the table, closest to the speakerphone, called everyone to order. Behind him, on an easel, was a crude top-view diagram of the Data Imaging Answers store and the block of Pico Boulevard

  where it was located.

  "Okay, people, things are happening," he said. "This is what we worked for. So let's talk about it and then let's do it and let's do it right."

  He stood up. Maybe the moment was getting to him as well.

  "We have a priority one lead we're working and we want to hear from Rachel and Brass. First, though, I'm going to have Gordon give the rundown on what we've got set up for tomorrow."

  As Thorson told the captive audience about our day's work and discoveries, my mind wandered. I thought of Rachel somewhere in Jacksonville, twenty-five hundred miles from her investigation and listening to a man she didn't like and probably even despised talk about the major break he had made. I wanted to talk to her and try in some way to console her, but not with twenty-five people listening. I wanted to ask Backus where she was so I could call afterward but knew I couldn't do that, either. Then I remembered the pager. I would do that later.

  "We are shifting our critical incident team off Thomas," Thorson said. "The LAPD surveillance team is doubling up and will stay with Thomas. We are redirecting our people to be used in a twofold plan to facilitate the arrest of this offender. First off, we now have caller ID on the phones at Data Imaging. We will have a mobile receiver and LED read-out to monitor incoming calls on both lines and the field office is providing all available hands for response teams. We're going to trace this subject's call when he checks in to see if his product is in and try to hold him at the phone until our people can get there. If they do, standard felony arrest procedures will follow. Any questions so far?"

  "Air support?" an agent asked.

  "We're working on it. I'm told we can count on one bird but we are going for two. All right then, step two is if we are unable to effect capture of the subject through caller ID. At Digital Imaging Answers-let's call it DIA for short-I'
ll be inside with Coombs, the owner. If we get the call from this guy, he will be told that the camera he ordered is ready for pickup. We'll try to press for a pickup time but not too hard, just keeping it natural.

  "If the subject slips through the first net, the plan is to set up on him once he comes to the store. The store's been wired-sound and video. If he comes in, I'll just give him his camera and send him on his way, another satisfied customer. The felony arrest will take place at the time Don Sample, he's our critical team leader, thinks is appropriate and gives the word. Obviously, that will be the first controlled setting our man takes us to. We hope that will be his car. But you all know the procedures for other contingencies. Questions?"

  "Why not prone his ass right there in the store?"

  "We feel we need Coombs to be there so as not to spook the subject. He bought the camera from Coombs, Coombs should be there. I don't want to try to take this guy down that close to a civilian. Also, it's a small store and we may be pressing it having even one agent in there. You put more in and it's going to look suspicious to this guy. So why don't we just give him the camera and take him down out there on the street, where we can control things a little better?"

  With Thorson, Backus and Sample handing off to each other, they outlined the plan in more detail. Coombs would be in the store with Thorson to handle the daily business and real customers throughout the day. But when the outside surveillance teams reported the approach of any customer even remotely matching Gladden's description, Thorson would remain up front to handle the transaction while Coombs excused himself, retreated to a small rear storage room and locked himself in. Another agent, posing as a customer, would enter through the front door as backup after Gladden entered. The interior of the store would be monitored by a video setup. The exterior would be monitored by roving and stationary agents ready to deal with all contingencies once Gladden was identified. Additionally, a female agent in a Los Angeles parking enforcement uniform and car would continuously patrol the block where DIA was located.

  "I don't think I need to remind everybody just how dangerous this individual is," Backus said when the briefing was done. "Everybody pack some extra common sense tomorrow. Watch out for yourself and your partner. Questions?"

  I waited a beat to see if there were any questions from agents. When there weren't, I spoke up.

  "What if the digiShot doesn't come in tomorrow like Mr. Coombs said it was supposed to?"

  "Oh, yes, good point," Backus said. "We're not taking any chances. The Internet group at Quantico has one of these cameras and it's coming out tonight on a plane. We'll use that whether the one he really ordered comes in or not. Ours will be wired with a homer just in case, God forbid, he gets by us. We'll be able to track him. Anything else?"

  "Has any thought been given to not taking him down?"

  It was Rachel's voice on the speakerphone.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Just playing devil's advocate, it looks like we've got this pretty well buttoned down. This could be a rare opportunity for us to watch a serial killer and observe his hunting and victim acquisition patterns. It could be invaluable to our studies."

  Her question set off a debate among the agents over the plan.

  "And risk the chance that we lose him and he kills some kid or another cop?" Thorson responded. "No thanks-especially with the Fourth Estate here watching."

  Almost everybody came down on Thorson's side of it, the feeling being that a monster like Gladden, though a worthy research subject, should be studied only in the closed setting of a prison cell. The risks of his potential escape far outweighed the riches that might be gained by watching him at work in an open environment.

  "Look, people, the plan has been set," Backus finally said, closing the subject. "We've considered the alternatives that have been suggested and I feel that going at him in the way we have outlined is the best and safest plan. So let's move on. Rachel, what have you got for us?"

  I watched the body language of the agents in the room change as their attention went from Backus and Thorson to the white phone positioned at the center of the table. People seemed to lean toward it. Backus, still standing, leaned down with his palms on the tabletop.

  "Let me start with the bank," Rachel said. "I just got these records about ninety minutes ago, so there hasn't been a lot of time. But, preliminarily, it looks like we have withdrawals wired to three of our cities, Chicago, Denver and L.A. The dates look good. He got money in those cities within days, just before or after, the bait murders in each. There are two wires to L.A. One coincides with the bail last week, and then on Saturday there was another transfer of twelve hundred. He picked the money up at the same bank. A Wells Fargo on Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks. I was thinking this might be another way of taking him if he doesn't show up tomorrow for his camera. We could watch the account and intercept him the next time he gets money. Only problem with that is that he's running low on funds. After pulling out that twelve hundred, he's down to about two hundred in the account."

  "But he's going to try to make some more with the new camera," Thorson said.

  "Going on to the deposits," Rachel continued. "These are very interesting but I just haven't had the time to really . . . uh, in the last two years there has been about forty-five thousand dollars wired to the account. Deposits coming from all over the place. Maine, Texas, California-several from California, New York. There doesn't seem to be a correlating pattern to our killings. Also, I found one overlap. Last November one there were wire deposits made from New York and Texas on the same day."

  "He's obviously not making the deposits," Backus said. "Or at least not all of them."

  "Those are payments," Brass said over the conference line. "From selling the photos. Payments wired in directly by the buyers."

  "Exactly," Rachel said.

  "Will we . . . can we trace back these wires and get to these purchasers?" Thompson asked.

  "Uh," Rachel replied when no one else did. "We can try. I mean, we can trace them back but I wouldn't count on much. If you have cash, you can walk into almost any bank in the country and make a wire transfer as long as you have the destination account number and you pay the service charge. You have to give bare-bones sender's information but you don't have to show ID. People buying child pornography and possibly-probably-much worse are likely to use false names."

  "True."

  "What else, Rachel?" Backus asked. "Anything else from the subpoena?"

  "There is a P.O. box for the account mail. It's local and it's probably a mail drop. I'll be checking it out in the morning."

  "Okay. Do you want to report on Horace Gomble or save that until you've put your thoughts together?"

  "No, I'll tell you the high points, which weren't many. My old pal Horace was not too happy to see me again. We sparred for a while and then his ego got the better of him. He acknowledged that he and Gladden had discussed the practice of hypnosis when they were cellmates. He admitted finally that he traded lessons for Gladden's legal work on his appeal. But he would go no further than that. I sensed . . . I don't know."

  "What, Rachel?"

  "I don't know, some kind of appreciation for what Gladden was doing."

  "You told him?"

  "No, I didn't tell him, but it was obvious to him that I was there for a reason. Still, it seemed like he knew something more. Maybe Gladden told him before he left Raiford what he planned to do. Told him about Beltran. I don't know. He also might've seen CNN today-if they have cable in the dorm. They picked up Jack McEvoy's story big time. I saw it at the airport. Of course, nothing in it links the Poet to Gladden, but Gomble could have figured it out. CNN used the tape from Phoenix again. If he saw that and then I showed up, he'd know what it was about without me saying a word."

  It had been the first I'd heard about any response to my story. In fact, I had totally forgotten about it because of the events of the day.

  "Any chance Gladden and Gomble have been communicating?" Backus asked.


  "I don't think so," Rachel said. "I checked with the hacks. Gomble's mail is still filtered. Coming in and out. He's managed to work his way up to trustee status, works in the prison's receiving shop. I guess there is always the possibility that incoming shipments might contain some kind of message but it seems doubtful. I also doubt Gomble would want to risk his position. He's got it pretty nice after seven years in. Nice job with a little office. He's supposedly in charge of supplying the prison canteen. In that society, that would make him a power. He's got a single cell now and his own TV. I don't see the reason to communicate with a wanted man like Gladden and risk all of that."