was looking up at him now with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. He was petting one of the most pathetic examples of a Labrador Alex had ever seen. The dog’s fur reeked of smells Alex didn’t really want to identify. Chase had to be starved for company if he’d befriended this thing.
The thought suddenly reminded Alex of another rich kid whose parents had left him behind. “I can see that he likes you,” Alex said. “And I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve just had a rough night, that’s all. And it’s not over, so we need to get going.”
“We’re going to another case?”
“Let me restate that. I need to go to another crime scene. You need to decide if you’d rather go back to my house or Malibu tonight.”
“What about Rusty?”
Alex opened his mouth to say, “Leave him,” but shut it without uttering a word. The dog was watching him, too, now. He’d have to be diplomatic if he was going to talk Chase out of this. He’d start with the blame going elsewhere. “Will your folks let you keep a dog?”
Chase shook his head. Still, Alex noted, there was hope in his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to crush it. “You want me to keep your dog at my house, is that it?”
Chase looked down at the dog, who briefly wagged his tail, then seemed to pick up on his new friend’s mood. In a voice Alex could barely hear, Chase said, “It doesn’t sound fair to you after all, I guess.”
I’ve lost my mind, Alex thought, but said, “Just promise me that the minute we get home, you’ll bathe the dog. Then you’ll bathe yourself and put your clothes in the wash…”
How much of this Chase heard, he wasn’t sure, because he was shouting with glee and the dog was barking. Chase jumped up and hugged Alex before Alex guessed what he was going to do. “You’re welcome, but now you’re going to pay my dry cleaning bill, too. And probably for a car wash. God almighty, that dog stinks. You sure that damn thing is alive? Jesus, he must have rolled in garbage…”
But Chase was hugging the dog now and waving to someone. Alex turned to see a man driving off in a Jeep.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Some reporter. Rusty liked him.” He paused, then added, “He gave me his water and beef jerky, so that I could give them to Rusty.”
“I’ll have to thank him someday,” Alex said under his breath.
36
Mulholland Highway
Santa Monica Mountains
Thursday, May 22, 12:24 A.M.
The Bora was bright red beneath the lights the crime lab had set up, a low, sleek streak of color in dark surroundings. If you ignored the two dead men, Alex thought, and the dark brown stains on the inside of the driver’s side window and elsewhere in the interior, you couldn’t help but appreciate it as a thing of beauty.
“Less than six hundred of them ever made,” Enrique Marquez said. “I couldn’t let them just haul it off on a standard tow truck. The flatbed should be here before too long.”
Alex had been in touch with Marquez through the task force, but this was the first scene they had worked together since Adrianos’s body was found. Recalling Ciara’s insults to the man, Alex was relieved she wasn’t here. He wouldn’t break any confidences about her sister, but he could still mend some fences.
“I’m with you,” he said. “Besides, we’ll want to go over every inch of it anyway.”
“You aren’t thinking of dismantling it?” Marquez asked in horror.
Alex smiled. “I doubt that will be necessary.”
“I hope not.”
“Any idea how long they’ve been up here?”
“The Malibu Station says they patrolled past here at about six o’clock and would have noticed it then-I’ve got to believe that’s true, because at six it wasn’t dark yet, I’m damned if I believe one of our guys could go past a red Bora in broad daylight without seeing it.”
“So who did see it first?”
“Malibu Station deputy taking that same routine ride between here and Kanan-Dume. He found them at about ten-forty-five. So we’re looking at sometime between six and ten-forty-five. Coroner thinks-unofficially-they’ve only been up here two to three hours. When you’re done looking them over, he’ll take them out of the car and be able to tell you more. It’s a little cramped trying to work in there now. But we’ve had a chance to take some photos, do a little fingerprint work, make some calls. My partner has been running his ass off down in Malibu and the Palisades, and I learned a few things from a deputy who has worked here for a while.”
“I’m glad you caught this case, Enrique. Anyone else might not have made the connection to Whitfield so quickly.”
“Your buddy from Channel Three beat you up here,” Marquez said. “I wish I knew who was tipping her off to everything.”
“You and me both. You’ve held her at bay?”
“You know I did.” He grinned. “Ontora and I have had a few run-ins. I think she was disappointed that I was here. Wouldn’t let them close enough for a shot, and at this turnout there are too many trees to let them get anything by helicopter. I loved it.”
“The deputy radioed it in and waited here, right? Maybe Ontora heard it on a scanner. Same thing just happened to us in Del Aire.”
“That’s possible, I suppose. Thank God the deputy stayed here, though, because between the money these two had on them and the car, these guys were like a hundred-thousand-dollar prize waiting to be claimed.”
“Not an easy car to unload, though,” Alex said, and frowned. He walked nearer to the Bora. “A little conspicuous for arranging murder, too, don’t you think? If they had pulled up in this thing in the Lakewood neighborhood where we found Adrianos, I think someone would have noticed it.”
“Sure, but you know these guys have more than one car. In fact, this one was in the shop until today.”
Alex stopped walking. “What?”
“No, wait, it’s after midnight isn’t it? Until yesterday morning-Wednesday.”
Alex frowned-something wasn’t right. “You’re sure he just got it back?”
“Yes-hang on a minute.” Marquez opened the file folder he had in his hand. “The driver is the registered owner of the vehicle. Morgan Addison.” He flipped through some department forms and came to a flat evidence envelope. He pulled out a yellow carbonless form and handed it to Alex.
The form was a receipt made out to Morgan Addison from Blackstone European Auto Repair and Restoration in Santa Monica, time-stamped at nine-fifteen on May 21. It appeared to be a routine maintenance check, but combined with the bill for washing and detailing the car, the total cost was more than Alex paid for a year of visits to a mechanic. “How many miles driven since it was in the shop?”
Marquez consulted his notes. “One hundred forty-six.”
“Then we’ll want to see what’s within that range and try to find out if anyone in those areas remembers seeing a red Bora. Maybe we’ll be able to fill in the gap between their victims-we’ve skipped from number six to number three.”
Enrique put a hand on his shoulder. “I feel for you, man. I’m glad they didn’t decide to go out in a hail of bullets or holding hostages, but this is lousy.”
“Yes.”
“And nothing but shitwork from now on, tying up all the loose ends. Just isn’t as rewarding as catching somebody.”
“I’m not so sure there’s no one left to catch.”
Marquez raised his brows.
“Why does someone who’s planning to kill himself take his car into the shop?” Alex asked, handing the receipt back to him.
