“He says he should be able to tell whether we have more than one killer, and because the bite wounds go all the way through in some places, he may be able to fabricate plaster casts.”
“Prints?”
“We’re still comparing the latents we lifted against those of the victims, the maid, the woman who found the bodies, and anybody else who might’ve been in the house. A couple of prints not matching anyone’s have turned up. No hits yet on any of the database systems yet. I have a hunch the guy wore gloves. Everything that we know he touched-doorknobs, power panel, knife, and so forth-turned up negative.”
Long took a final look at my photos, then slid them back. “So what’s the good news? Or is there any?”
“Not much,” I answered. “The neighborhood canvass was unproductive. Nobody heard or saw anything. We got hairs from the bathroom, beside the bed, and from pubic combings on the wife. All blood traces are being typed and compared with the victims’ to see whether any came from the killer. We’re trying to get a shoe size and make from the bloody footprints, too. I’m not optimistic, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe. In the meantime, how are you proceeding?”
I paused to marshal my thoughts, then continued. “First, we’re running a toxicology analysis on the husband and wife to see whether they were using drugs. I found a small amount of cocaine in the upstairs dresser and a quarter ounce in an office safe downstairs.”
Long raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The wife’s brother opened the safe,” I explained. “Seemed surprised at finding the coke there,” I added. “It’s slim, but if there’s a chance the killings are drug related, we need to check it out. Second, because we didn’t find matching candles, rope, pipes, or Ace bandages in the Larsons’ house, I’m assuming the killer brought those items with him. We’ll run that down with local markets and hardware stores. We’ll also compare the candles and any other similar materials to those found at the Orange County murder scene. Third, one of the Larsons’ cars is missing. A 2010 Infiniti. I have an APB out in the hopes the guy took it after he killed the family. Last, I plan to go through the victims’ records, searching for some personal tie-in. We’ll also round up all known sex offenders in the area, interview friends and coworkers for the possibility of an ex-boyfriend or jealous lover, and see what the word is on the street. The funeral’s set for later this week, so we’re going to post an undercover van there and video everyone who shows up. Plus, family members will be watching for strangers. Speaking of which, sometimes these fruitcakes like to come back for another look. How about getting surveillance on the Larsons’ house?”
“Good idea. I’ll set it up with Metro.”
“In addition to talking with the Orange County investigators, I’ll be contacting NCIC to check for similar crimes in other states,” I went on, referring to the National Crime Index Computer, a system created in the mideighties to facilitate communication among disparate law-enforcement agencies across the country. “It’s another long shot, but in the absence of informants or witnesses, it’s worth a try.”
Again, Long nodded.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” I said, winding it up. “I get the feeling I’m missing something. I’m not sure what, but there’s something. Anyway, I let the brother clean out the fridge and take the bunny home, but I’m keeping the scene sealed for the time being.
“Fine. What other ongoing cases do you have?”
During my earlier recitation I had proceeded without reference to either notes or the crime report. Again I answered from memory, giving updates on a half dozen cases-some mine, some being handled under my supervision by other members of the squad-rattling off dates, personnel allocation, and court appearance schedules for the entire unit.
Long stared at me, then shook his head. “I’m constantly amazed by that memory of yours. You remember everything?”
I shrugged. “Mostly.”
Long stared a moment more, then moved on. “As I said earlier, we have a problem brewing. Mayor Fitzpatrick, Chief Ingram, and our very own Captain Lincoln have been tying up my phone all morning. They want this investigation closed, and closed fast. With the exception of court appearances on pending cases, you and Deluca are on this full-time.”
“Right.”
“And if it turns out you’re right and there is a connection with the killings last month in Orange County, and I mean even a hint of a connection, I need to know immediately.”
“Agreed,” I said. “About that-I got in touch with the investigator handling things down there. Some guy named Barrello. I’m meeting him this afternoon.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not much. The switchboard had to patch me through to his car, and he didn’t want to talk over the radio,” I replied. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’d better get on the road-try to beat the traffic.”
“There is something else. Something I don’t want going outside this room.”
“What?”
Long considered his next words carefully. “I’ll tell you something, Dan,” he said, lowering his voice. “I command a lot of good men in this department. You may have more than your share of faults-your screw-ups with the press, your disdain for anybody wearing gold braid, your abrasive-”
“You going somewhere with this?” I broke in with a grin.
“What I’m getting at is this,” Long replied soberly. “I could count on one hand the detectives I’ve worked with over the years who are capable of actually detecting anything, and I’d have fingers left over. Despite your faults, you’re one of those guys. If anybody can find this scumbag, it’s you.”
I remained silent. I appreciated Long’s confidence, but I had my doubts on this one.
“Between you and me, I have a feeling that before this is over, things will get a lot uglier than anyone can imagine,” Long continued, his eyes narrowing. “So here’s what I want. I want you to catch this son of a bitch, and I want you to take whatever steps are necessary to do it. You understand what I’m saying here?”
“I understand.”
“Good. One more thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If this is the same guy who killed that family in Orange County, find him before he does it again.”
8
After leaving Lt. Long’s office, I took a moment to phone my house in Malibu, hoping to catch Catheryn before she went out. No one was home. Next I tried her cell. She wasn’t answering, so I left a message saying that I planned to stop by later that evening to take her and the kids out for a final bon-voyage meal-someplace close and casual.
I had spent most of my spare moments that morning thinking about Catheryn. Missing her, actually. Although I knew the previous evening had been a step in the right direction, I had no illusions about the fragile nature of our truce, and before she left I wanted a chance to solidify whatever progress I’d made.
Deciding to let taxpayers pay for the trip to Orange County, I made my way to the parking lot behind the station house and checked out one of three “city cars” assigned to the West LA Division. The unmarked vehicle I got, a late-model Chevy, was a piece of junk. Worse, apparently it hadn’t been serviced in a while, and halfway to Orange County I noticed the temperature gauge climbing into the red. Realizing I didn’t have time to stop if I wanted to make my meeting, I rolled down my windows and turned on the Chevy’s heater. Although making a sweltering day even hotter, my tactic bled off enough engine heat to keep the car running… barely. Cursing the LAPD motor pool, I drove the slow lanes of the 405 Freeway to the Interstate 5 Interchange, turned south, and crawled the remaining distance to Mission Viejo.
After exiting on Alicia, I nursed the Chevy east through the crowded Orange County streets, passing a procession of unfamiliar shopping malls and housing developments that had mushroomed since I’d last visited. Irritated and sweating, I finally arrived at my destination. Wheeling past a brace of flower beds and a carved wooden sign reading “Villa del Sol,” I pulled into a “Visitors Only” lane and eased to a stop before a flagstone-
