a drawing out for us. You think the paper would run it?”
“I don’t see why not,” I said. Always a safe answer.
“We may not need to do that,” Ben said, in a tone that told me his patience was worn thin. “We may be able to match dental records with a missing-persons report.”
“Got any other identifying information on him? Age range? Height? Weight?”
“That will all have to wait,” Ben said firmly.
“What else have you recovered up here?”
“Nothing I’m telling you about.”
“Any clues about the killer?”
“Who says there is a killer?”
“I suppose this guy just chopped himself up, stuffed himself into bags, rolled out here, and buried himself?”
“It could be death from natural causes. People have been known to dispose of remains in worse ways.”
Vince, concerned that he was about to lose the paper’s cooperation, said, “Ben’s just joking with you. There’s always a chance it’s as he said, of course, but we are treating this as a homicide. Too early to talk about suspects, though. If we can identify the victim, that will likely take us a lot closer to figuring out who put him here.”
I wanted to ask him more about that, but his cell phone rang and he moved off.
Ben started telling me that I might as well go back to the office.
I looked up at the slope. The young man working there was focusing on something, digging carefully. He was a little taller than Ben, with dark brown hair. “Is that your new graduate assistant?” I asked.
“Caleb-” He caught himself. “No, I don’t think I’ll tell you his last name.”
“For God’s sake, you think I couldn’t find out if I wanted to?”
He considered this, then said, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t include his name in any stories about this case.”
“Not up to me. Not my story. Like I told Vince, Mark Baker will be writing it.” I watched his assistant for a while. Ben wouldn’t be acting like this unless his helper was someone who had already been in the news. It took me only a few minutes to connect the name Caleb to a story that had been big news in Las Piernas a few years earlier. “Jesus. Caleb Fletcher. So he’s one of the powerful Fletcher clan, eh?”
“He doesn’t have anything to do with the Fletchers!”
“Not even his mom?”
“Not even his-” He broke off and made a sound of frustration. “Goddammit, Irene…”
But before he could say more, Caleb was calling to him, clearly excited about something he had found.
That wasn’t lost on Vince, either, and he followed Ben up the slope. I would have done the same, but the uniformed officer had finished his coffee break and was now dedicated to preventing me from getting any closer to the crime scene.
I pulled out a camera and took a few shots. Nothing very artistic, but the Express hadn’t spared a staff photographer for this, so they’d have to make do. The uniform called up to Vince before I managed to take more than five or six. The whole group was scowling at me now.
They came down the hill in a pack. Caleb reached me first and surprised me by saying, “You’re Ben’s friend who’s taking care of Ethan Shire, right?”
“Yes, he’s living with my husband and me until he gets back on his feet.” I extended a hand and introduced myself. “How do you know Ethan?”
“Before he was shot, he used to come out and talk to us while we worked on the municipal cemetery case. How’s he doing?”
Ethan had uncovered a scandal involving the reselling of graves, grave robbing, and the mixing of remains at a municipal cemetery. I now recalled that several of Ben’s graduate students had worked on the project of restoring the graves.
Ben was bearing down on us now. “Look,” I said, just as he reached us, “why don’t you and Ben come over for dinner tomorrow? Ethan is recovering, but he’s kind of down. I think he’s bored, just having Frank and me around.”
“That would be great! I mean…I can make it. Ben, how about you?”
I managed not to smile. I think Ben would have come just to see how Ethan was doing, but I also knew there was no way on Earth that he would let his graduate student spend time with two reporters without being there to oversee matters.
Ben gave me a hard stare but then sighed and said, “Yes, I’d like to see how Ethan’s doing, too.”
Vince said, “Caleb found a wallet. As you know, that is not even close to a positive ID. May not even belong to the deceased. But make sure Mark gives me that call, all right?”
“For a guy who just got a big break on a case, you’re looking mighty grim,” I said.
“Let’s just say life is full of surprises.”
I tried to get more information out of him, but he said that until he cleared things with his department, he wasn’t going to say more. I made sure he meant it, then left.
As I drove off, I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Caleb Fletcher staring at my car. That was okay. I was curious about him, too.
CHAPTER 12
Monday, April 24
3:30 P.M.
A HOME IN HUNTINGTON BEACH
CARRIE smiled to herself as she washed the lunch dishes, thinking of being able to spend more time with Grandfather Fletcher as soon as she finished. The visit from her uncle and her grandfather had been a surprise. Uncle Giles was always nice to Carrie, but it was Grandfather she was most happy to see. Everyone loved Grandfather.
Her sister, Genie, and their brothers were upstairs with him now, while Carrie washed the lunch dishes. Mom and Dad were in Dad’s office, here at home, talking with her uncle. Family business. Uncle Giles was in charge of Grandfather’s private school-Fletcher Academy. Carrie wondered if she would be allowed to go there one day. Home schooling was okay, but she wished sometimes that they got out of the house more, could meet children who weren’t her cousins. She always tried to be extra nice to Uncle Giles, thinking he might let her in.
Today her parents and Uncle Giles had gone off to talk almost right away. Grandfather had said the children could all take a little break before they went back to their studies.
Carrie dried her hands and went upstairs to their big playroom. Grandfather turned and winked at her as she slipped in, but went on playing the piano, singing to her little brothers, Aaron and Troy. The boys stood as close to him as they could, eyes bright, joining in on the chorus. It was a song for young children, one Grandfather had written. Her nine-year-old sister, Genie, was quietly drawing. She smiled at Carrie, flashed a quick greeting in sign language, then bent her head over the big pad of drawing paper Grandfather had brought her.
Grandfather had taught all of his grandchildren some sign language so that they could communicate with their two deaf cousins. “And when my hearing goes, you can use it to talk to me,” he’d say.
As usual, he had brought a little gift for each of them. The drawing pad for Genie. For Carrie, a disposable camera, which made Mom roll her eyes but delighted Carrie-Grandfather had smiled at her excitement. The boys had been given storybooks, carefully chosen for their reading levels and interests-Troy’s was a book about dinosaurs, Aaron’s about astronomy. The boys loved books.
Carrie went to sit on the cushions on the window seat of the big bay window. She listened to the lyrics of Grandfather’s song, which was about the planets in the solar system. Carrie was old enough now to know that most of the songs Grandfather wrote were teaching songs, because Grandfather loved teaching almost as much as he loved children. The song was just the right thing for the boys. Aaron was five and Troy was six. Both of them could name the planets, because they knew this song so well.
