The entrance led straight into the living room, which took up the left front corner of the house. Dining room on the right. Hall closet and stairs on either side of a short hall. Den left. Kitchen right. Rear exit to the stoop off the back.
Lena had joined them by the time the third sheet of paper was out of the printer.
Upstairs. Four bedrooms, one larger than the other three. Two windows each. Small closets. Jeffrey knew the ceilings would be sloped with the line of the roof. One bathroom at the end of the hall. Tub, toilet, sink, small window.
The third page showed the basement. The stairs leading down were tucked underneath the stairs that led up to the second floor. In the drawing, the space was an open square with a small box to indicate the mechanical room. Support columns and footings were marked with open squares. Any illegal renovations would’ve been off the tax record, so there could be bedrooms down there, a den, laundry room, maybe even a cage with Rosario Lopez trapped inside. Sara had commented that the killer was learning with each new victim. Maybe the lesson from Caterino and Truong was that he needed privacy.
“Chief?” Marla called from the front of the room. “Matt’s on three.”
Jeffrey put him on speakerphone. “What’ve you got?”
“I just saw Nesbitt go into the house,” Matt said. “He was carrying two bags—one from Burger King and one from the hardware store.”
Jeffrey felt his stomach grip into a fist. The hammer had been left inside of Leslie Truong. The killer would need a replacement.
Matt said, “Daryl was driving an older model cargo van, a charcoal GMC Savana. License plate 499 XVM.”
Brad started typing. He said, “It’s registered to Vincent John Abbott.”
“Axle, the stepfather,” Frank said. “I confirmed he’s been locked up in Wheeler for the last three months.”
Matt told them, “The basement’s fully underground. No exterior entry, but it looks like it’s got two hoppers on each side.”
Hoppers were narrow windows that hinged open to circulate fresh air. They were too small for an adult to fit through, even a small woman.
Matt said, “I’m driving off, but I got a peek inside the garage. The door is open. Looks like there’s a wheeled tool cart inside, maybe five feet by five, stacked with drawers. Green and yellow stripes.”
Frank said, “That’s the colors Brawleigh uses.”
Brawleigh, the same brand of hammer found inside of Leslie Truong.
Access to the murder weapon.
Jeffrey checked the last page on the printer. The plat showed the size of the lot and the position of the house. There were two outbuildings. One was a detached garage on the living room side of the house. The other was a 10x10 shed approximately fifteen feet from the back door.
He told Matt, “There’s a shed in the back.”
“I can’t see it from the street.”
“It’s behind the house.” Jeffrey referenced the street map on the wall. He looked above the yellow Post-it note. “You got your binoculars?”
On the speakerphone, he could hear Matt moving around. A click. A glovebox slamming closed. “Yep.”
“There’s a road that goes behind Bennett, Valley Ridge. The lots are short. Maybe you can see the backyard from there.”
“Driving around now,” Matt said.
“We’ll stay on the line.”
They could hear the road noise as Matt drove around the block. His police scanner was turned down low. He cleared his throat. The brakes groaned at the stop sign. His hands rubbed along the steering wheel as he took the turn.
The tension was almost unbearable. They were all staring at the phone, waiting. Brad had turned in his chair. Lena was leaning forward in a runner’s stance. Frank was sitting with his hands gripped tightly together. There were eight men on patrol right now. Two had been sent to search the woods behind the college. That left Jeffrey with ten bodies to move around the board.
He checked through the list he’d been cataloging in his head.
Sex offender. Criminal history. Proximity to the crime scenes. Known to Caterino and Truong. Access to a dark van. Access to the murder weapon. Worked at the U-Store close to the fire road.
The detail about the van had come from Tommi Humphrey. She hadn’t made an official statement. The U-Store was a loose connection based on a nickname. Daryl’s number being in the phones of two victims could be explained by his weed trafficking.
Jeffrey had enough probable cause to justify knocking on Daryl Nesbitt’s door, but not enough to bust it down. He couldn’t risk this animal skating on a technicality.
He added another detail:
Rosario Lopez. Student. Missing for five hours.
A drop of sweat rolled down his back. Jeffrey had no connection between Daryl and Rosario Lopez. He had a gut feeling, but there wasn’t a judge in town who would sign off on his gut.
His eyes went back to the desk phone. Matt had coughed again. This was taking too long. Woodland Hills was three miles from where they stood. Had Jeffrey sent one of his detectives to circle around the neighborhood while Rosario Lopez was being tortured, paralyzed, raped?
His stomach was clenched so hard that the muscles spasmed.
Tommi Humphrey had told Jeffrey what the killer was capable of. Leslie Truong’s body illustrated in excruciating detail exactly how sadistic the man could be. How could all these cops be standing around when another young woman might be feeling a metal awl piercing her neck?
“I’m here,” Matt finally said. “Got my binoculars. I can see the top of the shed. Roof’s sloped like a ski jump and, shit—”
The brakes squealed over the phone.
Matt said, “The shed has a window in the back. It’s painted over, but it’s got security bars over the glass and—fuck me. I can see the door on the side. It’s got metal bars, too. There’s a padlock.”
Jeffrey felt the tension in the room stretch as taut as a noose.
Rosario Lopez could be locked inside of that shed.
Matt said,
