The Castaway - Chapter 11

The next morning I hit the ground running, I didn't even go into the office. I've learned to keep my work car loaded with everything I need - evidence collection kit, digital camera, video camera, laptop with wireless Internet, tape recorder. My trunk is always packed with enough gear to do the job on the road. I even keep an overnight bag in there with a change of clothes and a toothbrush. You never know when you're going to get a hot lead that keeps you out for days.

This morning I was heading for Oceanside. I had to find the apartment where Kelly and Becky went to the party. She told me it was couple of blocks from their house but she didn't know the street names. It would have been much easier if Kelly could fly to California and point the apartment out, but that would have cost money that she just didn't have. It was time to get creative.

I pulled my car up in front of Kelly's old house on Nevada Street. I got out and took the digital video camera out of the trunk. I began video taping the front of house and the view from the front yard looking up and down the street. I kept the camera rolling and got back in the car. I placed the video camera on the dashboard facing forward and I started driving around the neighborhood. Street by street, block by block, I gradually worked away from Nevada Street and eventually out of the neighborhood.

About 30 minutes later I found a nice place to park on the beach. It was close to the pier and had a beautiful view of the crashing waves. I got out and set up my temporary office on the trunk of my car. The small scratches and dents all over my trunk lid were an indication of how many times I had done this before. One of the first things we do when we arrive at a crime scene is figure out where the command post will be and all too often it's somebodies trunk.

I opened up my laptop and found a wireless Internet connection. I plugged the video camera into the laptop and uploaded the video to my YouTube account. I called Kelly in Arkansas and walked her through the steps of getting access to the video. A few minutes later, Kelly and I were both watching the same video 2,000 miles apart from each other.

"Wow," she said as she watched, "the neighborhood has really changed. There's a lot of new houses. Oh, hey! There's my friend Julie's house!"

It was kind of exciting for Kelly to see the old neighborhood where she grew up. She missed Oceanside. She missed the beach. She missed Becky.

"There!" She yelled into the phone. "That was it!, back up, back up!"

I reminded Kelly that she was controlling her own video and we both hit pause at the same time. Kelly described what she was looking at so we could stay in sink and we both rewound our videos together.

"The blue apartment building on the left! The one with the three palm trees! That's where the party was, that's it!"

I was able to scroll through the video and figure out what street the apartment building was on. I told Kelly I would call her back in a few minutes and I headed toward California Street.

A few minutes later I was walking around the small apartment complex with my video camera in hand... and my gun tucked under my shirt. This was not a very nice neighborhood. I was in plain clothes, jeans and a collar shirt, but there was no mistaking me for anything but a cop.

"Get the fuck out of here five-oh!" I heard from a distant window. "This ain't your neighborhood!"

"Better put that video camera away before you lose it!" Came another voice. "It's worth more than your life!"

There's a lot of drugs in this neighborhood. A cop with a video camera is not very welcome. I continued walking around with the camera rolling as the sound of doors were slamming shut and blinds were being drawn. I filmed every building, every staircase and carefully made sure to get the address and apartment number on every door. Then I got the Hell out of there and went back to the beach.

I went through the same procedures again with Kelly on the phone and we watched the video together. A few minutes later she spotted the apartment.

"That's the one." She said. She was a little more quiet this time. "That's where the party was. That's where that bastard took Becky."

Now I had an address. It was another piece of the puzzle.

I went back to Riverside and gave the address to our Crime Analyst. She started working her magic and searching the dozens of databases that she has available. Old utility records and credit reports. So much information is available on the Internet if you know where to look for it.

She brought me back a list of 55 names. 55 people who had lived in that apartment or used that address in some capacity between 1980 and 1990. I was looking for a very large black man in his late twenties or early thirties according to Kelly's description.

I began eliminating the names one-by-one based on their description or when they were associated with that address. Eventually I ended up with about six potential matches. I obtained driver's license photos for each of the six and e-mailed them to Kelly. She was able to eliminate four of the men but two looked familiar.

"God, it's been so long." She said. "I can still see his face but it's a younger face than these two men here." There was a long silence on the phone while she examined the photos carefully and thought about it.

"Number two." She said. "I think number two was the guy who threw the party."

Carlton Williams. "Damn," I thought. That was the one guy out of the six I was hoping she wouldn't pick. Carlton didn't have any recent contacts or addresses in the computer. His driver's license expired ten years ago and his social security card hadn't been used for credit anywhere in nearly twelve years. There was no death record on file but for some reason the guy just disappeared off the radar a long time ago. I had the crime analyst do a full search for Carlton Williams. She located another man, Lamar Williams, who appeared to be a potential relative living in Oceanside.

The next day I was back on the road to Oceanside. I knocked on the door at the little apartment where Lamar Williams lived. No answer.

I started knocking on neighbor's doors and eventually found a nice lady who would talk to me. I asked about the man who lives in apartment 3D.

"Oh you mean Carlton?" She said.

Bingo. Carlton was probably using his relative's name and social security number to rent the apartment.

"Carlton goes to dialysis three days a week." She said. "They pick him up in the morning and bring him back at night. Poor man doesn't have much time left. It really takes a toll on your body, having just one kidney."

The kidney dialysis center was located just down the street. I walked in the doors and flashed my badge at the receptionist. She directed me to Carlton's room down a long bright hallway. Man I hate the smell of hospitals.

I stopped at the doorway to Carlton's room. There he was... lying in bed with all kinds of tubes connected to him and a big machine making this God-awful grinding noise. He looked old and weak. He was slowly dying. I could only hope that he would be able to remember the night 21 years ago that a teenage girl attended one of his parties.

I wasn't very optimistic.