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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

HUNTINGTON BEACH, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, MARCH 28, 2023

7:00 P.M.

Still short on sleep, Ray dozed off almost as soon as the plane was in the air and slept until the plane was preparing to land at SNA.

“Are you aware that you snore?” Monica asked as he moved his seat into its full upright and locked position.

“Sorry,” Ray replied. “Mona may have mentioned that from time to time.”

“Poor woman,” Monica said. “Your wife must be a saint.”

“Pretty close,” Ray agreed.

On the ground in Santa Ana, Ray dialed Detective Ortega’s number as they made their way through the terminal toward baggage claim.

“Okay,” Ortega said. “Here’s the deal on your suspects. We found a 2018 BMW motorcycle registered in the name of Marc Atherton. You told me that he’s employed at a place called Meet and Greet, a gay bar here in town located at the corner of Beach Boulevard and Main. Since his motorcycle is currently parked behind the bar, he’s probably at work. We don’t actually have eyes on him, because, in a place like that, cops would stand out like a pair of sore thumbs.”

“Any idea what time he’ll get off?” Ray asked.

“Not really, but security footage from the business next door showed him arriving and going inside, at one p.m. Since I doubt he’s scheduled to work a twelve-hour shift, he’ll probably leave prior to closing time.

“What about Joel Franklin?”

“Adam Brewster arrived home at his residence in the Holly-Seacliff neighborhood at twenty past five. When he pulled his Lincoln Navigator into the double garage on Churchill Drive, Joel Franklin’s Camaro was already parked inside. Since Mr. Brewster’s arrival, no one has come or gone.”

“That’s a huge help,” Ray said.

“Where are you?” Ortega asked.

“We’re in baggage claim now,” Ray reported. “Once we get our luggage and pick up our rental, we’ll check into our hotel and then head to the bar. Does the Meet and Greet serve food?”

“Their website says yes, but it’s probably not gourmet fare.”

“We’re cops,” Ray said. “We don’t need gourmet, but maybe Detective Burns and I can pass for a pair of misguided tourists who happened to stumble into the place by accident. How far is the bar from Huntington PD?”

“Only a mile or so away,” Ortega said. “Happy hunting. I have an interview room reserved for your use later this evening, and I’ll make it a point to be on-site when you bring your guy in.”

With their luggage finally in hand, Ray and Monica located their rental, a hybrid Tahoe. After leaving the airport, they checked into their hotel before heading for the Meet and Greet around 8:30.

To his knowledge, Ray Horn had never visited a gay bar, so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. When they got there, the place was relatively full, but in a very subdued kind of way. The clientele consisted mostly of middle-aged to older pairs of men who engaged in quiet conversations over their various beverages. The music playing in the background was an endless stream of original-cast recordings of Broadway show tunes.

There were actually two bartenders at work behind the bar. Ray and Monica seated themselves at the bar close to what appeared to be Marc Atherton’s station, where they ordered and downed reasonably good burgers. If Atherton thought it odd that his barstool customers stuck to straight coffee, he made no mention of it. About twenty to ten, however, he stopped by where they were seated to drop off their check.

“I’m about to go off shift,” he told them, “so if you don’t mind paying up…”

“No problem at all,” Ray assured him, reaching for his wallet. While the two of them sorted out the bill, Monica sent a quick text to the Huntington PD officers who were parked outside, letting them know that their subject was about to exit the bar. The whole idea was to have Atherton in custody before he and his motorcycle made it out of the alleyway.

A few minutes later, Atherton caught the eye of his fellow server and waved as if to say he was leaving, and then he disappeared through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Knowing there was most likely a rear entrance, Monica and Ray followed hot on his heels.

“Wait a minute,” the cook shouted after them as they passed. “Where are you going?”

In reply, Ray waved his badge in the disapproving cook’s direction and kept right on going. They caught up with Atherton in a back alleyway where he was standing next to a motorcycle with his back to them while donning a helmet.

“Mr. Atherton?”

The man started when Ray said his name. That was the moment when he might have simply jumped on his motorcycle and made a run for it, but he didn’t.

“Yes,” he said uncertainly, turning to face them. “Who are you?”

Prior to their arrival at the Meet and Greet, Ray and Monica had sorted out the strategy that they would try to convince Atherton to agree to speak to them by assuring him that their investigation was focused solely on Adam Brewster.

Still holding his badge wallet, Ray flipped it open. “I’m Detective Raymond Horn with the Edmonds, Washington, Police Department,” he said, “and this is Detective Monica Burns. We’re looking into the murder of a man named Chuck Brewster, and believe his son, Adam Brewster, may be responsible. I understand you’re acquainted with Adam’s husband, a man named Joel Franklin. Is that correct?”

Marc nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Joel’s a good friend of mine.”

“Would you mind accompanying us to Huntington PD to answer a few questions?” Monica asked.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not at all,” she said reassuringly. “All we’re doing is making routine inquiries and looking for background information.”

“Okay,” Marc said. “I know where Huntington Beach PD is. Can I meet you there?”

“Why don’t you ride with us?” Monica suggested lightly. “Our vehicle’s right out front. We’ll be glad to bring you back here once we’re finished.”

Atherton hesitated for an indecisive moment, but finally nodded. “Will this take long?”

“Probably not. As I said, it’s just a few routine questions. How long have you known Joel?”

“Several years. We’re writing a screenplay together, a thriller.”

“Really,” Monica said, sounding enthusiastic. “How exciting! I always dreamed of writing novels. The problem is, I’m good at starting manuscripts, but I never make it beyond the third or fourth page.”

“I’m the same way,” Atherton said. “I’m good at writing dialogue, but Joel’s specialty is plotting. While I’m still focused on the first few scenes, he’s already planning the ending.”

“Sounds like the two of you make a great team,” Monica said as she opened the back door of the Tahoe so Atherton could climb inside. “Does your screenplay have a title?”

“It’s called Tying Up Loose Ends ,” Atherton answered. “The killer is a serial strangler.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Monica said.

As she settled into the passenger seat, Ray started the engine. During the short drive to Huntington PD, Ray was happy to let Monica do all the talking. Her enthusiastic flattery about Atherton’s being a writer was clearly working its magic, and Ray didn’t want to break the spell.

In the lobby of Huntington Beach police headquarters, they met up with Detective Eduardo Ortega, “Eddie,” as he liked to be called, who was waiting to escort them to their interview room. Given the evidence they had already gathered on Marc Atherton, there was no way to keep pretending he was only a person of interest. It was time to read him his rights, and once they were seated in the interview room, Monica did just that.

The abrupt change of subject seemed to jar Marc Atherton. “But I thought you said I wasn’t under arrest,” Atherton protested.

“You’re not,” Monica responded. “You’re free to leave at any time, but we needed to verify that you’re still willing to speak with us.”

Atherton shifted uneasily in his seat. “I guess,” he allowed finally.

Without missing a beat, Monica returned to their discussion of Tying Up Loose Ends. “Every movie has to have some kind of twist,” Monica said, “so what’s the twist in yours?”

Marc’s momentary uneasiness evaporated. “That would be a spoiler, now, wouldn’t it,” he replied. “You’ll have to wait until you see it to find out.”

“Fair enough,” Monica said. “Now how about if we go about tying up some of our loose ends?”

Enjoying the joke, Atherton grinned and nodded in agreement.

“If you don’t mind,” she added, “we’d also like to examine your phone.” The request seemed to give him pause. He hesitated for a moment, before he said, “Sure,” and handed it over.

Since they already had the search warrant in hand, she could have simply demanded it, but Monica’s charm offensive made that unnecessary.

“Thanks,” Ray said, accepting the phone. Then, not wanting to break the mood, he added, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll pass this along to some tech guys.”

Taking the phone with him, he stepped out of the room. Outside, he met up with Detective Ortega, who was observing the interview through the two-way mirror. Wanting to join him, Ray had barely settled onto a stool when Marc’s phone, still in Ray’s hand, began to ring. A glance at the screen revealed no name, but he recognized the number—the one to the unidentified burner.

Ray guessed that Joel probably knew that Marc would be off work by then, so why was he calling? Was he hoping for a meetup of some kind, or had Joel somehow gotten wind that the investigation into Chuck Brewster’s homicide had come home to roost? After four rings, the call went to voice mail.

Unable to access the voice mail message, Ray slipped the phone into his pocket and turned his attention back to the interview room. Monica was now asking a series of nonconfrontational questions. How long had he and Joel been friends? How had he and Joel met? Joel had stopped by the bar when he first arrived in town, and they had hit it off. Had he ever met Chuck Brewster? No. What did he know about Adam’s strained relationship with his father? Chuck Brewster was offended when he found out that his son was gay and had thrown him out of the house. What did he know about Chuck Brewster’s financial situation?

Marc hesitated before answering that one. “Just that he was loaded,” he said.

At that point Marc’s phone rang again. Once again, the call went to voice mail, but Ray was beginning to worry. Maybe Joel and Marc had made plans to get together after Marc got off work, and perhaps Joel was wondering not only where Marc was, but why he wasn’t answering his phone.

“Is that Joel calling?” Detective Ortega asked.

Ray nodded. “Again.”

“Getting anxious?”

“Maybe.”

Ortega did some amazingly fast texting. Moments later, a reply came in. “Don’t worry. All’s quiet on Churchill Drive. Both cars are in the garage, so everyone’s still at home.”

When they turned their attention back to the interview room, the mood had undergone a sea change. Marc Atherton was now on high alert.

“Tell me about your trip to Seattle three weeks or so ago,” Monica said. “I believe that was the weekend of Chuck Brewster’s birthday party. Were you invited to that?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“We know you were in the area at that time, so if you didn’t go to the party, why were you there?”

“To visit some friends.”

“Which friends?”

Atherton visibly twitched. “Do I have to name them? I don’t want to drag them into this.”

“She’s got him cold,” Ortega muttered under his breath. “He’s going to cave for sure.”

“Maybe he is,” Ray agreed, “unless the SOB decides to lawyer up.”

With that small aside, they turned back to the interview.

“That’s up to you,” Monica was saying, “but if they can provide you with an alibi, you’d best name them. You see, we happen to have video footage of your rented RAV4 driving around Chuck Brewster’s neighborhood in the early morning hours two days before the homicide occurred. Would you mind telling me what you were doing there?”

“Just driving around.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“We also have video of your visiting a Food Mart in Edmonds the evening of the party. We know that you parked your vehicle near a strip mall less than a mile from the crime scene. It remained there for some time and didn’t leave again until after Charles Brewster was deceased. Do you have an explanation for that?”

Atherton said nothing.

“You might also be interested in knowing that, while examining your rented RAV4, we located a tiny blood smear that has since been discovered to contain Mr. Brewster’s DNA. Before you say anything more, one way or the other, you need to know that, although you may have wielded the murder weapon, we don’t believe you acted alone. You might want to consider that old saying “the first to squeal gets the deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the ladies’. Can I get you anything—coffee? A soda?”

Atherton shook his head and said nothing.

When Monica reached the door, Detective Ortega opened it from the outside. “Good time to walk away and let him spend some time stewing,” he told her as she stepped into the hallway. “You’ve given him a hell of a lot to think about.”

“I hope so,” she said.

Just then, Atherton’s phone rang again, and Ray glanced at the screen. “It’s the burner,” he said aloud.

“In other words, Joel Franklin,” Monica said.

Ray nodded. “This is his fourth call. He’s left several messages, but we can’t hear them, and we need to before we go after him. See if you can get Atherton to give you his password.”

Monica nodded. “Will do,” she agreed. “If I can, I’ll text it to you. While you go after Joel, I’ll focus on Atherton. He’s not leaving that room until I have a full confession.”