Chapter 3

The autopsy reports on the three victims indicated that they were killed in various ways — collapsed lung, head trauma, cardiac arrest — but all were caused by a large, heavy object falling on them. They all, also, had large quantities of cocaine in their systems. Within the first few days of the investigation, all three of their vehicles had been located, at each of their respective residences. Roommates had been questioned and the residences searched. Two items of note during the searches were that no keys were found for any of the vehicles, nor were any illegal drugs. Skip's roommate claimed that Skip left their apartment that afternoon in his car for a fraternity event, but noticed the car outside of their apartment the next morning. He also indicated that Skip had been doing a great deal of drugs since pledging the fraternity. Skip had been trying to persuade him go to the frat parties with him because the "drugs were plentiful." Kevin's girlfriend felt that there was a substantial amount of hazing going on with the pledges, but said that Kevin always denied it. His explanations for his various bruises and aches and pains, in her opinion, did not make sense.

"Hey, good morning," McCall says, walking up to her desk and setting down her things.

"Morning," replies Hunter without looking up. He is hunched over with his elbows on his desk and his forehead resting on his fingertips.

"Whatcha looking over?"

He takes a moment, chewing slowly on a toothpick, before sighing and sitting back in his chair. "Fingerprints from the victims' cars came back with nothing. But that blue Suburban in the frat house parking lot is registered to our good friend Mr. Levi Jenson." He hands the file to her across their desks.

She quickly peruses them, and Hunter waits a few seconds before continuing. "Thanks again for dinner the other night."

"Thanks for coming. I know you wanted to wiggle your way out of it," McCall says and peers at him with a grin. "I hope Rachel had fun."

"By the way she was talking about you on the way home you'd think you two were best pals."

She laughs, "That must have been hard for you."

"Yeah, terrible," Hunter says as McCall smiles at him. "Ready to go wake up some frat boys skipping their Monday morning classes?"

"I'm ready."

They are quiet most of the way across town, back to the UCLA campus, both lost in thought, going back over the details of the case and what they hope to accomplish by questioning the fraternity members again.

"So far it appears that none of the men were regular drug users until becoming involved with this fraternity. I always thought alcohol was the frat boy vice of choice," McCall says, breaking the silence.

"Hasn't drug use always been rampant on college campuses?"

"Yeah, I guess. I saw plenty with the musicians I ran around with."

Hunter glances over at her, eyebrows raised. "You do any experimenting? Back in your wild and crazy college years?" he asks, amusement in his voice.

"Uh no. Never. I dated a bassist for a short time. A really nice guy, really good looking, but the band couldn't seem to perform without being high. I got tired of it real fast and dumped him. Shame, too, he was really talented." She regards Hunter for a second. Thinking she knows the answer already, she asks him anyway, "You?"

"Yep. Once."

"What?!" McCall's eyes go wide as she's shocked by his answer. "No, you didn't. Really?"

"Really. I was a couple months into the academy. Had come home from the war and went straight into the academy as soon as they let me, but I was really struggling, you know, dealing with just being home for the war. One Saturday night a bunch of my Marine buddies and I were hanging around drinking. There were some girls there, too, of course. I'd probably already had a few too many when someone brought out some drugs. To this day I still don't know what it was, but at the time I didn't care. I just….well, I just wanted something to take away all the stuff in my head. I remember taking the drug and then nothing else until I woke up the next morning…on my back, on the floor, with one of those girls…well, let's just say she was going for a little ride."

"Oh my God! Hunter!" McCall gasps as she covers her mouth with her hands. She starts to laugh at his bluntness, until she realizes that Hunter is not laughing. His jaw is rigid with anger.

"Her name was Libby. She called me a few weeks later to tell me she was pregnant."

"Hunter! What did you do?"

"I was furious. Told her it was her problem to deal with." He stops talking, lost in thought.

"What happened after that?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was still furious, but I couldn't turn my back on my kid — if it was really my kid. So I called her up after a month or so to see how she was doing. She had had an abortion."

"Why have you never told me this before?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "It never came up. Anyway, it scared the crap out of me. I didn't as much as have a beer for at least ten years after that, and I have never been drunk, or high, again."

She immediately recalls the amount of scotch he drank at her house Saturday night, and the way he swayed just slightly when he stood up after dinner, but decides to leave it alone. She had already questioned him once.

"And you didn't give up women, as well?"

"The point, McCall, is control. Never. Lose. Control."

Yes, she knew the point. If you looked up "control" in the dictionary you would find a picture of Hunter, she thinks to herself. She had always taken this trait as Hunter just being Hunter. It had never occurred to her that there was a story behind it.

She is still looking at him, trying to fit this new piece into the man she knew, when she realizes the car has stopped and Hunter is getting out of it. Quickly regaining her composure, she jogs up behind him.

"No baby was born," he says, turning his head to the side as she approaches so that she can hear him.

"What?"

"I checked birth records. She did not have a baby. At least not then."

She nearly jumps when the heavy, walnut inlaid door of the fraternity house opens, lost in thought over Hunter's last statement. Only Hunter would make sure that woman was telling the truth, that he had no lose ends that would come looking for him some day in the future.

"Sergeants Hunter and McCall, we would like to speak with Jonathon," Hunter says, showing the man at the door his ID and badge. McCall quickly does the same.

The chubby-faced man, wearing his fraternity letters big and bold across the chest of his oversized sweatshirt, his LA Lakers baseball cap backwards on his head, stands completely still. Open-mouthed, he seems to be searching for the proper words for decades. Finally, he speaks, "Jonathon who?"

"Jonathon Broken Arm, that's Jonathon who," Hunter nearly growls at him in frustration. "He was here last week. Broke his arm the same night your other three brothers were being murdered. I think you probably know who I'm referring to."

McCall has to stifle a laugh at the fear evident in the man's eyes, but Hunter's face remains cold as ice as his intimidation continues.

The man eventually nods in assent. "I'll go, I'll go find him," he squeaks and starts to close the front door. Hunter places his palm on the door preventing its closure.

"We will wait inside. If you don't mind." Hunter turns sideways a fraction to allow McCall to enter the house ahead of him.

When Jonathon finally emerges, it's apparent that he has just rolled out of bed. With his hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other, along with a wrinkled t-shirt, he looks no better than he did at their previous meeting.

"Good morning, Jonathon. Sorry to pull you out of bed," Hunter says a bit too loudly, causing the sleepy and possibly hung-over man to cringe. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"Yeah, um, this way. But why do you want to talk to me?"

"We just want to ask you a few questions. That's all," McCall says with a smile, trying to ease Jonathon's anxiety, as he leads them into what appears to be a study room. One wall is lined with bookshelves containing several encyclopedia sets, worn textbooks and several year's worth of old National Geographics and Time Magazines. There is a library-style table in the center with six chairs around it and framed maps hanging on the walls. The neatness of the room gives the impression that it is rarely used.

Everybody takes a seat around the library table before McCall starts asking questions. "You live here in the fraternity house?"

"Yes," Jonathon replies, his posture stiff. McCall can hear the faint shuffling of his flip-flop against the floor as his leg nervously bounces up and down.

"Is that normal to move in before becoming a member?"

"I don't know. I'm rooming with my older brother. He's been in the fraternity for three years already. It's a pretty sure thing that I will be initiated next week."

"Initiation is next week? Is there any hazing going on with the pledges?"

"Oh, well, you know, just a little. It's normal stuff." Jonathon laughs apprehensively, as if he's trying to denote joviality.

"This normal stuff? Is that how you broke your arm?"

"What? No." Again, he responds with nervous laughter.

"So how did you break it?" Hunter asks.

"I, uh, I fell. I fell down the stairs," Jonathon answers, but this time he's looking at the table.

"Here in the house? You fell down the stairs here, but it wasn't a hazing accident?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Were you high?" McCall asks, soothingly, like she's offering him an excuse for falling.

Jonathon's leg suddenly stops bouncing. "I don't do drugs. No drugs."

"Do you ever see drugs around the house? A little pot? A little coke?" asks Hunter.

"No drugs."

"See, Travis, Kevin, Skip, they were all high on cocaine when they died. We think they got it from someone in the fraternity."

"I can't help you. Like I said, I don't do drugs."

"Your brother? He doesn't do drugs either?"

"No," Jonathon states, more authoritatively than necessary.

They speak to three more fraternity members, acquiring the same amount of information they got from Jonathon. Nothing.

XXXXX

It is later than normal when McCall gets home that evening. The late September sun is just a sliver of auburn light in the horizon. She and Hunter both are getting frustrated with the lack of progress on their case. It feels as though they are on the tip of something substantial, but they just have not been able to find that break to open it up. She's so lost in thought when she pulls into her driveway that she does not even notice Mitch's car parked on the street.

She's startled when she opens her back door, finally taking in her surroundings when faint piano music, flickering candlelight and the fresh scent of cut flowers fill her senses. Bouquets of pink dahlias surround her – on the kitchen island, the fireplace mantel, the coffee table, the small breakfast table in front of the windows. Various sizes of white candles are scattered around the room.

Mitch slowly rises out of one of the wing-backed chairs near the bookshelves and crosses the shadowy room. McCall laughs when she sees him, her eyes wide in wonder and a nervous smile on her lips.

"What is all this?!" she asks, her voice creaking in amazement.

"A surprise," Mitch muses as he leans down to kiss her.

"I'm definitely surprised!"

"I had all this planned for Saturday night….but you made other plans." Mitch winks at her, teasing.

"I had no idea!"

A conspiratorial grin stretches across his face. "I know." Mitch gives her another light kiss as he slides her purse strap off her shoulder, setting it aside on the table. She watches him patiently, trying desperately to quell her excitement. There really can be only one explanation for this overly dramatic and romantic gesture.

Taking her hands in his, he looks down at her a moment and starts to laugh nervously. "I had this whole speech planned that I've been rehearsing for weeks. And now? I can't remember any of it."

They laugh together, McCall's expression turning tender as she watches Mitch fumble for the right words. She can feel his quick pulse in his hands and she gives them a gentle squeeze in encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, he continues, "I love you and I want to live the rest of my life with you. I was telling the truth when I said I thank God everyday for leading me to you. I want to marry you, have a family with you." He gently lowers himself to one knee, clutching her hands tighter as he does. "Dee Dee, will you marry me?"

She pulls her hands out his grasp, placing them on either side of his face. Her thumbs gently caress his cheeks, as tears begin to well up in her eyes she whispers, "I love you, too."

"So is that a yes? Please tell me that's a yes."

She nods her head quickly, emotion clogging her throat. "Yes. YES!"

...to be continued...