from each end of the car, Merci noted: good.
She also saw the crime scene tape, a big rectangle of it with the car in the middle.
'You'll like this,' said Zamorra.
'A confession letter and video evidence?'
'Not quite. Your pal Dobbs was first one here again.'
'My luck.'
'Look at the crime scene he marked off, it's the size of Yankee Stadium.'
The floodlights made her think of a baseball stadium, too-the bright, clean white light. She followed him to the tape, then under it, but Zamorra took her by the arm and stopped her.
Then Merci saw the flashlight in the gravel, pointing toward the road. Less than a yard away lay a citation book. Then a sunglass case. Then, closer to the STS, a bundle of road flares, unlit.
Her heart sped up and she thought of young Dobbs and wondered what all this debris was.
'What's this stuff doing everywhere?'
'He'll want to tell you.'
Dobbs was already trotting toward her-head steady, up on his toes-but staying way out by the perimeter of the tape. She saw the triangle of his torso, the big chest and arms.
'Sergeant Rayborn,' he said crisply.
'Deputy.'
He knelt and picked up the flashlight and aimed its beam down into the dirt and gravel. It barely showed up against the fierce light of the floodlamps. She knelt, too.
Dobbs traced a small circle on the dirt with his light. In the middle of the small circle was a large footprint.
'I found a total of ten indentations, leading from the car toward the road. I marked the best ones with whatever I had handy. None of them are very good, but the first four, up by the car, are better. Two people. One set starts from the passenger side of the Caddy. The other from the driver's side. I took the liberty of holding my duty boot over the ones from the passenger side-don't worry, I didn't even come close to touching one.'
Dobbs stared intently down the beam of his light.
'I wear a twelve,' he said. 'And these are bigger than mine. A lot. Big dude.'
'Very.'
'I approached on the passenger side, from the rear, checked for anything suspicious, then taped the whole scene off before I called in. Got into kind of an argument with one of the CSIs over how close the generator should go. After that driveway thing, nobody's getting too close to my crime scenes. Including me.'
'You with Crowder tonight?'
'He called in sick so I'm solo. Sergeant, guess what's laying on the front seat of the Cadillac?'
'That could take a while.'
'Today's Journal, folded into quarters, with the article about Archie facing up. About Archie and Gwen, I mean.'
'Nice work.'
'Thank you. I'll be over there with the order log, if you need me.'
Merci picked her way over to the rear end of the car, following Zamorra, avoiding Dobbs's markers and the footprints. She glance out at the strawberry field, saw the furrows converging back toward hill with the moon above it. The furrows were lined in plastic to protect the berries and the plastic shined like water in the moonlight. The fruit smelled sweet on the air, not heavy like the Valencias, she thought but higher in pitch and less determined. She could see the Irvine Medical Center from here, which was where Tim Jr. was born. She thought of how small and red and afraid he'd been, of the plastic ID brace that dwarfed his wrist, of the little blue-and-white-checked cap they gave him to keep his head warm in the New World. And she remembered the great fear and anger she felt when she was being wheelchaired to the pickup area to take Tim home.
She shined her light on the STS plates and the registration stick
'It's not on the hot list,' said Zamorra. 'Registered owner George Massati of Lake Forest. His CDL says forty- four years old, five-ten, one-ninety. No criminal record. I sent two uniforms to his place. There are twelve models like this on the state hot list-three them here in this county. If somebody got fancy and swapped out plates and tags, this still might be a stolen vehicle.'
'You seen the trunk yet?'
'Not much to see, but here.'
Zamorra popped the trunk from inside the cab and Merci ran her light across the recess in a slow back-and- forth motion. Not much was right: a bungee cord, an old red shop rag, three paper funnels with the Union 76 logo on them. The trunk liner was clean.
'George runs a tight ship,' she said.
'Even adds his own oil.'
'Then drives his clean Caddy out here and ditches it? I wonder.
'I do, too,' said Zamorra. 'If he ditched it, he probably got picked up. Maybe the getaway car left us some tracks.'
'The crime scene guys probably set up the generator on them.'
'You can't blame Dobbs for that,' said Zamorra.
'He's a good kid,' said Rayborn.
The front passenger door was open and Ike Sumich was bent into the opening, hands on his knees, not touching the car. He turned when he sensed her and she saw the tight anger on his face. 'They were either wearing gloves, or they wiped the interior. All the slam dunkssteering wheel, shifter, door handle, headlight switch, turn signalclean.'
'Too hot for gloves,' said Merci. 'They probably wiped. They used one of the red shop rags from the trunk, then threw it over in the culvert there. I know just where to find it.'
He backed out, shaking his head. 'I already looked.'
Ike had blond hair that fell over his forehead and he was as thin as a wire hanger. He was a terrific CSI, the best sketcher she'd ever worked with. She'd decided years ago that he was to be one of her people, one of the then-under-thirties who-along with her-would be running the department someday. That particular plan had gone bust with the Mike McNally arrest, but that had nothing to do with Ike. She remembered Hess telling her once that he wished he was Ike's age again. She wished he had been Ike's age then, too. And about her age now. And hadn't gotten cancer. And hadn't taken from a scum-bucket punk the bullet that ended his life.
Dadda is all gone?
Dadda is all gone.
Dadda is here?
Dadda is not here.
Is in the picture?
Is in the picture but is all gone.
Is not all gone?
Dadda is all gone. Good night, Tim. I love you. Good night. Good night, little man.
'Sergeant, I might be able to dust up something from the door handles or body, but it's getting damper and damper out here. I suggest towing this thing into impound as fast as we can, put it in the covered part. I can try tomorrow, when it's dry and clear and warm out. If the print dust won't raise anything, I can try alternative light source on the big parts, maybe superglue some of the controls.'
'You've got it.'
Then Sumich changed subjects without missing a beat, something that often caught Merci off guard. 'Al Madden has been hanging around my crime lab. In conference with the Big Man. Doors closed.'
This was news, not good. 'And you heard the name Wildcraft
'I did. Gilliam has to give him what we find. I mean, that's our job. To not give him the findings would be awfully damned strange.”
'I understand.'
'Dawes, too.'
'Shit.'
