We watched the grim sequence again, looking for a tell that would help us track down the killers. I was hoping we’d get something on the guy who leaned in to grab Scrape—a glimpse of his face or maybe just a reflection of it on something in the car. But most of his head was blocked by the bulky metal frame of the partition. Then I spotted something and hit the Pause button.
“Right there. What is that?”
I went back a few frames and held it there, on an image of the killer struggling with one of Scrape’s legs. He was wearing something dark and long-sleeved, but as he fought to hold down the biker, his left sleeve had ridden up and I could see something around his wrist, between the top of his glove and the edge of his sleeve.
I got the tech to zoom in and enhance it as best he could, and we got a clearer look at it. It was a leather wristband. An elaborate one, about half an inch wide. It seemed intricately tooled, with silver strands and some tiny blue gemstones.
Not exactly a fingerprint, I grumbled inwardly, staring at the screen, puzzled by why they had taken Scrape and not shot him on the spot, and wondering what state he’ll be in when we finally catch up to him.
My deliberations were interrupted by our point of contact at La Mesa PD knocking on the door. Villaverde gestured through the door’s glass inset for the cop to enter and he quickly joined us, his body language telling us that whatever he had to say was important.
“Karen Walker wants to talk to you. She’s on hold. Line four.”
I duly pressed the button and put the call on speaker.
“Karen? This is Agent Reilly.”
“I thought of something else. About Guru’s kid brother, Marty. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it yesterday, but maybe it can help you find him.”
She was obviously serious about earning her immunity.
“Shoot.”
“Marty had a girlfriend. Dani—Danielle Namour. He and Dani were really close and she was devastated when he died. So devastated I wondered if there was more to it, if I was missing something, and I asked her about it. Turns out, she was newly pregnant. The kid was Marty’s. I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s not, you know?”
“Everything helps, Karen. Where can we find her?”
“We lost touch not long after the shooting. Maybe she was following Guru’s lead, I don’t know. She didn’t want to have anything to do with us either. I heard she did have the baby. A girl.”
“Karen, where can we find her?” I pressed again.
“Last I heard, she was living down in Chula Vista, working in a high-end fashion store at the Chula Vista Center. But that information’s a couple of years old.”
“Thanks, Karen, that’s great. We’ll talk to her.”
I could hear some relief in her tone. “Like I said, I want you to get the bastards who did that to Eli.”
I ended the call and looked at our POC, who was already heading for the door.
“We’ll get right on it,” he said as he left the room.
I stared at the phone and played the call over again in my head. It might turn out to be nothing, but then again, blood is the thickest of all ties, especially when tragedy strikes. A fact I had just experienced at first hand.
Pennebaker clearly had a conscience.
Maybe it extended to his niece.
34
Tess felt uneasy as the color drained from the principal’s face.
The woman, Marlene Cohen, hadn’t heard the news about Michelle’s death, and Tess hadn’t relished being the one to break it to her, but she didn’t have much of a choice. What she did, though, was avoid going into too much detail about what had happened, limiting herself to telling her that there had been a break-in at Michelle’s house, and that the intruders had shot her, fatally.
They were in the principal’s office at Merrimac Elementary, a smart and cheerful preschool-to-grade-six school that sat at the end of a cul-de-sac by San Clemente Park, close to where Michelle lived. Tess had checked out the website of the school before heading out there, and the first thing she’d noticed was how glowing its reviews were. Clearly, Michelle had done her homework and had chosen a highly regarded school for Alex. It made Tess think of the exercise she’d soon need to do herself on that front—school selection, admissions, and everything that went along with being the parent of a young child in today’s manic, highly competitive world. It had been years since her daughter, Kim, had been in grade school, and the thought of going through it all again was daunting. Surfing through the website of Alex’s school had made her stop and think, in more gritty detail, about how very different her life was going to be from now on.
The website informed her that the school ran some summer camps, which meant there’d be staff there for Tess to talk to. It also had a list of faculty members, but there were no Deans on it. Tess hadn’t been able to get anything more out of Alex about who he was talking about. In fact, most of the faculty were women. So she’d taken a cab out to the school and asked to see the principal.
Cohen, a tall, elegant, gray-haired woman who reminded Tess of a figure from a Modigliani painting, took a moment to collect herself before inquiring about Alex, how he was doing, what would happen to him. She told Tess she didn’t know the boy personally, but she thought she remembered seeing him and Michelle at school events.
“What can I do to help you?” she finally asked.
“I found a drawing that Alex had done that I was curious about, and when I asked him about it, he said his mom took him to see someone called Dean. I’m thinking maybe it’s some kind of counselor. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Cohen pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, not really. We don’t have any Deans on staff here. What was the issue with the drawing?”
“I’m not really sure. It shows Alex and someone else, kind of an ominous-looking figure. And when I asked him about it, he didn’t want to talk about it. He seemed scared by it. What about his teachers? Maybe they know something.”
“Alex was in prekindergarten,” Cohen said as she checked her computer. “He was in room two. Miss Fowden’s group.”
“And she never mentioned anything to you about him?”
“Nothing.”
Tess frowned. “Is she around? I’d love to talk to her.”
Cohen’s nose crumpled apologetically. “She’s not working this summer.”
“I really need to talk to her. Can I call her? Do you know if she’s around?”
Cohen looked at her, uncertain.
“Please. It’s important.”
Cohen smiled. “Sure. Let me try her.”
She picked up her phone, glanced at the computer screen to get the teacher’s number, and dialed. Tess watched anxiously as the call seemed to go unanswered, then Cohen spoke up.
“Holly, it’s Marlene. I’ve got a woman here who needs to talk to you. It’s about Alex Martinez.”
Tess’s heart deflated. From the principal’s tone, she’d evidently reached the teacher’s voicemail.
Tess gave Cohen her cell phone number, which Cohen included in her message. Then she thanked her and left.
As she walked back to the waiting cab, she felt the midday sun weighing down on her, draining and oppressive. She relived her chat with Alex, and the fear she saw on his face was still there, like a wraith, stalking her through the heat haze.
It was still there as the cab drove off, and she pulled out her iPhone to let Jules know she was on her way
