inch away like they were lovers. Those wild eyes staring through her.
“They know you did it, Cobb.”
“How?”
“The gun you used. It matched up.”
“It matched?”
“That drive-by case you worked with Bennett and Higgins. Eight years ago in Exposition Park. Elvira Wheaten and her grandson. You pulled the gun from Property. They have your request card. You did it. All four of you assholes are guilty. You kill me and they’ll hunt you guys down like animals.”
His eyes were still on her, still measuring her as he chewed it over. He looked crazed and still couldn’t seem to get enough air. After a long stretch, he rolled off of her body, then reached out and grabbed her gun, his mind a million miles away.
“They didn’t make girls like you when I was growing up,” he said.
“Screw you.”
“We need to take a drive.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“No,” he said. “So you can see something.”
“See what?”
“You tell me when we get there.”
“You’re a piece of shit, Cobb.”
He handed over her gun and struggled to get to his feet. “No, I’m not, Gamble. I’m the guy who tipped off Paladino, and made sure that Jacob Gant’s DNA got lost in the fucking lab.”
46
She was sitting in the passenger seat of his Lincoln. Cobb had asked her to call ahead to make sure Martin Orth would be at the crime lab. Once she had confirmation, Cobb called a sheriff’s deputy he knew to come over and fix her sliding door before the coyotes moved in.
Maybe the world really was spinning upside down. Maybe she’d crossed over and died on the living room floor.
She looked at him behind the wheel-his wild eyes pinned to the road. Another dust storm was blowing into the city thick as smoke. The freeway kept vanishing, then coming back.
During the silence, she tried to make sense of it all.
Cobb had turned on Bennett, Watson, and Higgins, and given Paladino the anonymous tip. First, Cobb had railroaded Gant, but then he’d given him the only chance he had at a NOT GUILTY verdict.
She tried to make sense of it, but she couldn’t.
He seemed so jittery. He kept checking the rearview mirror. He said he wouldn’t talk to her until they reached the crime lab. He wanted Lily Hight’s clothing brought to a room where they could be assured of privacy. He said that they would need a foam mannequin that matched Lily’s height and form as well. As Lena made the request over the phone, Orth’s voice sounded just as strange as it had this morning. Still, he agreed to the favor and told her that he would have everything ready by the time she arrived.
The drive through the dust cloud took forty-five minutes. They found Orth waiting by his office door. Orth seemed more than surprised to see Cobb with her. But after a moment’s hesitation, he led them down the hall to a room with sinks and lab tables that hadn’t yet been furnished with equipment.
Lena glanced at the mannequin, then stepped over to the lab table where Orth had laid out the girl’s clothing. Cobb walked by her and picked up Lily’s boots. Feeling the weight of them in his hands, he passed them over to Lena.
“Tell me what you see, Gamble. And then maybe we’ll talk.”
Orth didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Nor did Lena, although she immediately remembered the clip Vaughan had shown her of Cobb on the witness stand. He had been holding one of Lily’s boots when he lost his composure and said he needed a glass of water. She thought it might have been the right boot, but wasn’t certain.
She set the left boot down on the table and began with the right. Nothing about the boot seemed out of the ordinary. The leather wasn’t scratched or stained. The lining remained free of any marks.
And then she turned it over. She picked up the left boot, glanced at the sole, then discarded it.
Lily Hight’s right ankle had been broken during the attack. And now she could see how it had happened. The sole of her right boot wasn’t just worn. It looked like someone had blasted away the rubber with a high-speed grinder.
She could feel Cobb’s eyes on her. She knew that they had never left her. When she looked up at his face-his hardened, brutal face-he nodded slightly and it felt like an electric shock working across her shoulder blades.
“Lily was trapped in the passenger seat of a moving car,” she said. “She was trying to get out. Trying to escape. That’s how she broke her ankle. In a moving car.”
Orth took the boot for a look of his own and seemed stunned. Cobb sat down on a stool and began rubbing his knees.
“I was on the stand when I noticed,” he said. “I saw it and knew that I’d fucked up. But we need to make sure of something, and I couldn’t do it after the trial without people noticing.”
“Make sure of what?” Orth asked.
Cobb didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked the SID supervisor to dress the mannequin in Lily’s T- shirt and blouse and place it in a sitting position on the table. Lena suddenly realized what Cobb was up to.
It was all about the screwdriver that the killer had plunged into Lily Hight’s back. It was all about the holes the murder weapon punched through her clothing-a T-shirt that would have clung to her skin, and a blouse that was loose enough to move. It was all about the fact that when her back was straight, the holes in the two pieces of clothing didn’t match up.
Orth shook his head and gasped as he noticed.
Then Cobb began pushing the mannequin forward an inch at a time from the waist. When the holes in the two pieces of clothing finally merged into one, it was clear to everyone in the room.
Lily Hight had been leaning away from the killer with her foot out the door of the car when he plunged the screwdriver into her back.
“My God,” Orth said.
47
Vaughan walked out of his house, took three steps, then spotted Lena standing in front of the white Lincoln parked in his driveway and stopped dead in his tracks. His body locked up. He looked afraid and uncertain.
“What’s going on, Lena?” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”
His eyes were zeroed in on Cobb behind the wheel. When they rocked back over to her, she nodded. She’d made a mistake. She should have called him on the drive over and told him what happened. She gave him the bottom line as quickly as she could.
“Cobb’s the one who tipped off Paladino,” she said. “Lily wasn’t murdered in her bedroom. The crime scene was staged.”
Vaughan didn’t move. “What are those marks on your neck? Are you sure this isn’t some kind of trap?”
“It’s not a trap, but things aren’t cool. We need to talk, Greg. Let’s go.”
He seemed reluctant, but climbed into the backseat nonetheless. When Cobb offered his hand, Vaughan shook it without saying anything-his eyes big and glassy and still absorbing the shock.
Cobb drove south on the Pacific Coast Highway heading for Tim Hight’s house. While they drove, Lena gave Vaughan a detailed briefing on what had happened at the crime lab. Vaughan took it in with some reservation until
