The Search for Linnea Lomax Part 2 By Michelle Wishart

A True Story from my perspective

 

2012 summer in the California Valley was like any other summer. Daytime heat continued intensely throughout the night. The days turned into weeks, and looking for Linnea became routine. I chased down every viable lead that came into the call center.

A couple of promising calls came in. The caller’s description was spot on. She described Linnea with pinpoint accuracy, including the small backpack and hoodie she was wearing the last time she was seen.

According to the caller, Linnea was thinner, but she recognized her from the fliers around town. She also said she was with a black guy with dreadlocks near the Red Roof Inn on Capital and Alhambra Blvd.

Dangerous Surveillance 

A Jamaican gang used the Red Roof Inn and Motel 6 to traffic girls. This particular gang was brutal. They murdered members of their rival gangs in the Los Angeles area by machete.

Several of us relocated near the Red Roof Inn. Many of the team members were off-duty law enforcement. Volunteering their time to help us look for Linnea. I was teamed up with a friend and a co-worker of my husband’s from the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office, “Bull”. I called him Bull from the time I met him at a SWAT social gathering.

My undercover car for surveillance was a silver Hyundai Sonata, with blacked-out windows. With a windshield shade up, we were nearly undetectable. Usually, I worked alone on surveillance, so this was a pleasant change of pace. And Bull had official law enforcement training, where I was just a Private Investigator. Not to mention Bull was a serious badass. Me! Not so much a badass except in my mind.

We were set up across the street from the Red Roof Inn’s office entrance. There were very few cars in the parking lot, but a lot of foot traffic. We spent a few hours at the hotel watching the people arrive and leave.

The Sleaze Bag

Then, the sleazy private investigator the Lomax family hired arrived. He was a swindler; given the chance, he’d cheat his mother. Anyway, he showed up and pulled into the motel parking lot in a brand new shiny Infinity G37.

He had the stereo blasting at an extremely high volume. When he got out of the car he was wearing a bright red, green, and gold Hawaiian shirt, like he thought he was Magnum PI. His hair was slicked back and he wore patent leather dress cowboy boots with the zipper on the side.

Bull and I couldn’t believe what we were witnessing. This asshole comes blaring in and walks into the office, and pretty much blows the entire surveillance. As if it couldn’t get any worse, he walks straight over to my car to bark orders. Which didn’t go over well with either of us. All of this right in front of the street kids who work as lookouts for whoever is conducting misdeeds. And all with none of us setting eyes on Linnea.

My car was burned in that area for a while

Bull and I went on foot, surprisingly encountering and stopping to speak with many people. We had fliers in hand. Some people said she looked familiar, but most people brushed us off.

We did however talk to a homeless lady in front of Safeway. She told us she sees a lot of the same young girls that go in and out of the Red Roof Inn that she also sees near Alhambra and Tiger Alley between X Street and Y Street. Y Street is a known area with run-down apartments, used as flop houses.

The process continued until 11 PM; then we finished for the night.

Another Missing Girl

The next afternoon, my friends, Chica, Mary and I were following up on what the homeless lady told me the night before. We cruised in a grid of the alphabet streets. U, V, W, X, and Y between Alhambra and 34th.

Just after turning onto V Street, a young girl came into view. She might have been 14 to 16 years old. Her eyes were much older than her age. She looked familiar to me. I knew I had seen her before, but wasn’t certain of the context.

Her feet were bare and black. She was wearing very shortcut off jean shorts that looked like they once fit her but she was skin and bones and they hung low on her hips. She had on a white belly tank top. Around her neck, she was wearing a leather string with three large puka shells. Her hair was shoulder length straight, dark brown with auburn streaks, parted down the middle.

The young girl walked as if she was sore as if she had a rough “John”. My heart ached. She stopped and stared at us as we rolled to a stop, pulling up to the curb. I asked if she was okay and if she needed help. She just stared at me not answering me. I then asked if she had seen Linnea. Her expression seemed to soften slightly, but then said that she hadn’t seen her, except from the fliers posted on the telephone polls.

I asked her again if she needed help but she just shook her head and slowly turned and walked away.

We continue our grid search, broadening the grid by a block on each side. This continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

Shelley

Just as I was going to call it a day, we ran into an older lady who was screaming and arguing with a man she called her “Boyfriend”. Which is code for a pimp. He left in a van after I exited my car to speak with the woman. I was putting on a large lightweight shirt to cover my concealed weapon. She laughed and said, you the cops. I assured her we weren’t and just wanted to ask her a few questions.

At 51, Shelley had been on the streets since her teenage years. Her beauty, once evident, was now marred by hardship. She had been missing most of her teeth. Her skin was sagging on her thin frame. And she had an open wound on her shoulder.

I handed her Linnea’s flier. She inquired about keeping the flier and promised to watch for her. I thanked her and asked her if where we were was her normal area. She said yes and also Broadway and Freeport Blvd.

After departing from Shelley, I stopped at CVS and bought a small backpack, which I then filled with bottled water, bandages, Bactine, tampons, baby wipes, and hand sanitizer. I went back towards where I last saw Shelley, but she had walked nearly to Broadway when I spotted her.

She started crying when I handed her the backpack with it stuffed full of supplies.

I said goodbye, unaware of the significant role she would play later on. Helping Shelley made my heart feel a little better.

When I finally got home, I pulled up the “Missing Persons” database. The girl I spoke with earlier—I located her after some searching.

The day after, I went back to the alphabet streets, searching not just for Linnea, but also for the other missing girl.

Never Give Up

As I said before, my specialty was finding people. It seemed I wasn’t able to find my own ass with both hands. I was beyond exhausted. I was beyond frustrated and I was heartbroken. Society discarded these girls.

My son’s image surfaced as I contemplated abandoning the search for Linnea. Putting myself into their position, I thought how I would feel if he was missing. I didn’t particularly like Craig Lomax; I gave him a pass for the behavior I had witnessed because his daughter was missing, but he was an asshole. What killed me was Linnea’s mother. I just couldn’t imagine the anguish she must be feeling. So I decided for her and for Linnea to continue searching. To continue dedicating my time and shedding tears every night over not finding her.

THEN THE RUMORS BEGAN…

Sign up for my blog. In Part 3, find out the fascinating story behind THE RUMORS.

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Michelle Wishart

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