Chapter Twenty

By the time Hunter got to his office at 8:00 a.m. the next day, Garcia was already pinning photos to their picture board. He had divided the board in two halves. The left side belonged to Shaun Daniels, while Terry Wilford's photos occupied most of the opposite half.

‘Good morning,' Hunter said, as he placed his jacket on the back of his chair and instinctively checked his watch. ‘What time did you get in?'

‘Not that long ago,' Garcia replied, before driving Hunter's attention to the last two photos he had pinned to the board. The first was a portrait of Terry Wilford – film casting style – the second was a full body shot of Terry in his bartender uniform – white, pristine long-sleeved shirt with a classic bowtie that matched his dark waistcoat. ‘OK, so Research has managed to expand a little on the basic report that Dr. Hove had received on Mr. Wilford.' He grabbed a printout from his desk. ‘It's still not a lot of info, but it will give us a start.'

‘OK.' Hunter fired up his computer. ‘So what did they manage to come up with so far?'

‘Full name – Terry B. Wilford,' Garcia read from the printout. ‘No one knows what the B. stands for. Born in Phoenix, Arizona, on November 1st, 1980, where he lived until the age of thirty-eight. That was when he moved to Los Angeles, where he'd been living for the past five years. His last listed address is an apartment in East LA – Wellington Heights.'

‘Married… girlfriend… partner?' Hunter asked, as he keyed in his computer password.

Garcia's eyes quickly scanned the printout. ‘Nothing about a present girlfriend or partner,' he replied. ‘But back in Arizona he was married for sixteen years to a Joana Suarez, who became Joana Wilford. She died five years ago – cancer.'

‘Is that why he moved to LA?' Hunter asked, meeting Garcia's stare. ‘Because his wife passed?'

Garcia searched the printout again. ‘Nothing on the report, but I'd say that the dates are a pretty good match. Mrs. Wilford died in March 2019. Five months later, in September that same year, Mr. Wilford relocated to LA.'

‘Any kids?'

‘One,' Garcia nodded. ‘Joseph Thomas Wilford.'

‘Is he also in LA?' Hunter asked.

Garcia flipped back a page then forward a page. ‘Again, it doesn't say, but if he is, he didn't live with his father.'

Hunter's eyebrows rose at his partner.

‘According to this,' Garcia clarified, ‘Terry Wilford lived alone in Wellington Heights.'

‘Was there a Missing Persons Report?' Hunter queried. ‘Was Terry Wilford ever reported missing?'

‘Yep.' A firm nod from Garcia. ‘He was. The report was filed just over two weeks ago – on Monday, June 24th, by a Sabrina Davis, who works as a waitress in the same cocktail lounge that Mr. Wilford used to work.' He instinctively pointed at the window. ‘The Varnish cocktail bar, which is less than a mile from here.'

‘Yeah, I know the place,' Hunter said. ‘He worked at The Varnish?'

Garcia nodded. ‘For the past four years. He was the head bartender. Have you been there lately?'

‘Not for at least three or four years,' Hunter replied, approaching the picture board. As he studied Terry Wilford's portrait photo, he found it hard to find any resemblance between the carefree face on that picture – with his messy manbun, his well-cared-for stubble and his cheeky smile – and the completely disfigured face and body that he and Garcia had seen lying on the autopsy table back at the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center the night before. ‘The Varnish is big with the financial sector crowd – white-collar people with a lot of money. Not really the kind of crowd I mingle with.'

Garcia laughed. ‘You don't really mingle with any crowd, Robert, but I know what you mean.' He flipped a page on the report. ‘Before The Varnish, Mr. Wilford worked at a place in Santa Monica beach – Bar Chloe. He was a bartender there for almost a year.'

‘I know it as well,' Hunter said. ‘Quite a trendy place. Just off Santa Monica Boulevard.'

‘If you say so,' Garcia replied. ‘I'm not that familiar with the cocktail bars in Santa Monica.'

‘Who was handling the Missing Persons investigation?' Hunter asked.

‘The report was filed with the Central Bureau,' Garcia read from the file. ‘Before being allocated to Detective Graham Cohen with the MPU.' Reflexively, his index finger pointed up. The Missing Persons Unit of the LAPD Detective Support and Vice Division was located on the seventh floor of the Police Administration Building – two stories above their office. ‘Do you know him?'

Hunter shook his head. ‘Not exactly, but I think I know who he is – stumpy guy, balding, drives an old Volvo… but I never really interacted with him.'

‘Yeah, me neither.' Garcia nodded once.

Despite knowing that the Missing Persons investigating team would no doubt have conducted interviews with a plethora of people, Hunter and Garcia would still want to conduct their own interviews, at least with some of the people that MPU had already talked to.

Hunter had a gift when it came to observing people and he and Garcia worked as one, seamlessly. While Garcia asked most of the questions – applying pressure and easing off at key moments – Hunter simply listened and watched. But he didn't listen only to the words that people spoke. He listened to their silences… to the pauses between their words… to their breathing. He watched their eye movements, their mannerisms, the crossing and uncrossing of their legs, the way in which they scratched their noses… everything. So often, people's silences and movements spoke volumes, giving away a secret that their words were trying so hard to hide.

‘So what else do we have?' Hunter asked.

Garcia flipped a page on the printout. ‘Well, Mr. Wilford was an only child – no brothers or sisters. His father passed away when he was nineteen years old – heart attack. His mother is still alive and lives in a nursing home back in Phoenix. She's seventy-one.'

‘Has she been notified of her son's death?' Hunter asked. ‘Has his kid?'

‘No mention of it in the report,' Garcia clarified. ‘But Mr. Wilford's body was discovered eight days ago, on July 1st. The news of his death has certainly been reported to the MPU and Detective Cohen. They would've notified the next of kin.'

Another nod from Hunter.

‘Now here comes the intriguing part,' Garcia said, indicating the left half of the picture board. ‘Just like Shaun Daniels, Mr. Wilford had a sheet, which, funnily enough, isn't too dissimilar.'

Hunter paused and looked back at his partner. ‘Really?'

‘A bunch of offences but no major convictions,' Garcia explained. ‘Check this out though.' He indicated on the printout. ‘Just like Shaun Daniels, Terry Wilford was also arrested three times for disorderly conduct – bar fighting.'

‘Here in LA?

‘Nope. All three arrests happened back in Arizona. He was also taken into custody four times throughout his sixteen years of marriage for domestic violence, but in all four occasions, the charges were dropped.'

‘So our victim had a temper,' Hunter concluded.

‘It looks that way,' Garcia agreed.

Hunter craned his neck to have a better look at the printout in Garcia's hands.

‘Nothing since he relocated to LA?' he asked.

‘Absolutely nothing,' Garcia confirmed. ‘Not even a parking ticket. Who knows? Maybe it was his New Year's resolution – new town… new beginning… new Terry.'

‘Maybe,' Hunter agreed.

Garcia's stare returned to the printout and he paused. ‘Hold on a second.' He reread the paragraph just to be sure.

‘What?' Hunter asked, once again craning his neck to look at the printout.

‘According to the police report,' Garcia explained. ‘There were two witnesses to Mr. Wilford's jumping suicide.'

‘Witnesses?' Hunter's widened eyes searched the page.

‘Right here,' Garcia indicated. ‘It says that Luis Toledo and Randy Douglas, both employees of the Sanitation and Environment Division, actually witnessed Mr. Wilford jump from the 7th Street Bridge.' Garcia blinked at the page. ‘How is this even possible when, according to Dr. Hove, Terry Wilford was dead way before he got to that bridge? How could they have seen him jump?'

‘I guess we better go ask them.'

‘No doubt,' Garcia agreed, flipping back and forth on the printout one last time, searching for anything else that they might've missed. There was nothing else. ‘That's pretty much all we have.'

Hunter nodded.

Garcia turned to face the board again. ‘So where do you want to start?'

Hunter checked his watch. ‘Too early to drop by The Varnish or go talk to the two employees from the SE Division.'

‘Yeah, but Missing Persons should be alive and kicking by now.'

‘Yep,' Hunter agreed. ‘Let's go talk to Detective Cohen and see how far his investigation has taken him. We'll move on from there.'

‘I'm right behind you.'