FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 49

 Chapter 49

Agent Driscoll showed me into the office, as before.

“He’s early today.”

“So I see,” said Thornhill.

We sat down.

“You asked me to let you know if I figured out the brands. You know, the initials.

“And did you?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

I carefully explained the significance of the initials, how they related to the names of followers of Charles Manson.  It took a while. They listened with rapt attention. I didn’t know if I was being recorded and I didn’t ask.

“Did you figure out why Manson chose to—for lack of a better word—memorialize  members in particular?” asked Thornhill.

“I can only guess.”

“And your guess is…?” Driscoll prodded.

“Maybe because they lived with him at the Barker Ranch. Manson was on the run, wanted for auto theft.”

He nodded.

“He saw them every day,” I added.

“That’ll do until something better comes along,” said Thornhill.

“Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” said Driscoll.

“I was afraid that you’d think it was too improbable.”

“No,” said Thornhill.

“No way,” Driscoll chimed in.

They sat back in their chairs and stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

They exchanged a long look, then Thornhill nodded.

Driscoll just sat there.

“Paul?”

“What?” he asked.

He was as flummoxed as I was.

“Set up the monitor.”

“Right.”

While he was doing that, Thornhill rose.

“We’re going to do a little exchange,” she said. “You gave us pertinent information and it didn’t cost us a dime. Now we’ll give you what we know about Mr. Jason L. Powers.”

Finally! A name! I scribbled it down.

“The L stands for Latham, his mother’s family name. It’s important that you know that.”

“How come?” I asked.

“I’ll get back to that in a minute,” she said.

We both looked at the screen. A “Wanted” picture.  Jason Powers had big deep-set dark eyes. His black hair was pulled back.

Thornhill said, “He’s short, but not as short as Manson is. Powerfully built. He actually wrestled in high school, but he was kicked off the team for stealing money. He found a way to get into his teammate’s lockers. This was after he’d been expelled from two reform schools. Powers claimed he had found religion in the pen. He was in for armed robbery. If he had killed anyone before that… We don’t know. When he got out, he got his hands on some primo weed and cocaine. He preached on the street in The Haight, just as Manson did. To the homeless. To the junkies. He concentrated on young women. When he got his following, however many there were, he started taking them to Death Valley. They practiced shooting firearms, pistols, rifles and one twelve- gauge shotguns. We know they poached, but we don’t know if he or his girls killed any people.”

“But that was then,” said Driscoll. “We think he pulled up stakes and moved to Northern California. Two months ago a liquor storeowner in Santa Rosa said he sold to him. Said he came in wearing buckskin. Said there were three girls waiting for him outside the store. All wearing baseball caps. He thought that was weird.”

“Why?” I blurted.

“Didn’t fit. They were wearing long, full-length dresses. Anyway, he saw the wanted poster later that week and reported it.”

“What for?” I asked.

“Who?  The owner?”

“Powers. What was he wanted for?”

“He kidnapped a girl in Death Valley. Cops picked him up, but somehow he slipped away. He’s eluded us ever since.”

Thornhill said, “That was the last time he got caught. But we think he had started killing people way before that.”

“What now?” I asked. “Where does it go from here?”

Driscoll said, “Powers has an aunt named Dorothy Latham, who lives in Glen Park.”

I flashed on the park, itself, where Colin and I used to play when we were kids. A sizeable patch of wilderness. Made for kids and critters.

Thornhill continued: “She moved there right after the Rollins girl’s body was found. She used to live on Cole. A couple of San Francisco’s finest interviewed her right after they found the body. They didn’t make the connection. They said she was batty.”

Sounds like Slim and Shorty.

“So there your are,” Thornhill said.

Driscoll said, “If you happen to run into Mrs. Latham, I wouldn’t tell her that you’re a private dick.”  He then started for the door.

Our meeting was over.

Outside in the hall I heard: “That was dumb, Paul. You made it sound like we were hinting that he should interview her.”

“What if I did?”

“It can’t come from us, goddamn it! When are you gonna learn that?”

After that it was quiet. I hurried down the hall.