Interesting. Dogs out walking in the rain don't usually come home with
body paint.
'And how are we going to find out where that paint might've come from?'
I asked.
'One of the lab guys is getting together with some paint geek from Home
Depot. They've got a color-match computer. It's a long shot, but they
might be able to tell us the brand name if there's a perfect match.
From there, we could check the stores for any recent orders. In any
event, they'll make us up a paint chip, so if we ever do have something
to match it against, we won't have to use the dog hair. In the
meantime, the PIOs going to put a call out in the next press briefing
for tips. Hopefully, we'll get some reports of a neighbor who was
painting in the area. Even if we don't get our bad guy, it might at
least help us figure out where the dog has been.'
Better the bureau's Public Information Office than me. I try to stay
away from the media.
'Any other news?'
'Nothing of any use. Looks like Griffey's the only mutt with anything
to contribute. We called a K-9 unit out there this morning to see if
one of their dogs could pick up a scent on
Clarissa. No luck. The handler told me the scent was long gone.
Probably the rain.'
'Any luck getting in touch with Susan Kerr?' It would be helpful to
see if Clarissa's friend had noticed anything unusual when they went
shopping on Saturday.
'Haven't managed to reach her yet.'
'She's around,' I said. 'She was with the family at the press
conference this morning.'
'I know. She called my desk this morning; probably got my name from
Tara. I missed her when I called her back, though. When I catch up
with her, you want to go out on the interview with me?'
'Any reason to figure she's a suspect?' DAs don't usually tag along on
witness interviews.
'Yeah, guilty of being a rich muckety-muck. I did a little recon on
our girl. She makes the Easterbrooks look like Jerry Springer trailer
trash.'
'Careful, Ray. Not all of us can afford those Hugo Boss suits you
strut around in.'
'The point is, she's loaded. I thought we might cut through some of
the predictable bullshit if you talked to her.'
'No problem. It's my first day cooped up in the office, so the sooner
the better.' As usual, Johnson was right: Lots of rich people find
speaking to the police beneath them. Depending on who Susan Kerr
turned out to be, she might expect a personal call from District
Attorney Duncan Griffith or even from the mayor herself.
I hung up, pleased that I hadn't given in to the urge to ask Ray if
he'd seen Chuck this morning. I was surprised I hadn't heard from him
yet.
I'd managed to reject only another three cases before my thoughts
drifted back to Clarissa Easterbrook. If she was still alive, what was
she doing right now?
I paged Johnson, and he returned the call right away. 'Didn't I just
talk to you?' he asked.
'Have you thought about searching Easterbrook's office?'
'I thought you wanted to play things cool with him for now,' he said.
I realized that he thought I was talking about Townsend. 'No,
Clarissa's office. Maybe there's something there that would at least
give us some leads.'
'It's looking like she was snatched from the neighborhood, so we've
been working from that area out. The office has been less of a
priority, but, yeah, you're right, we should at least check it out.
I'll get someone on it.'
'Don't worry about it. I'll do it and call you when it's okay to go
in.'
'Really, Kincaid, it's all right. I know you're new to this, but DAs
don't usually do any of the runaround work. One of the perks of the
job, right? Bossing cops around?'
'Trust me, there will come a time when you rue the day you encouraged
me to be bossier. I'm not doing this to take the load off you; I'm
doing it because I'm going stir crazy in this new rotation. Plus, I
have a feeling that if you guys storm into a judge's office with a
search warrant, the chief judge will be on the phone to Duncan
demanding my head.'
'We're talking about me, Kincaid. I don't storm. I slide.' He
dragged out the vowel in his last word.
'You get the drift.'
'That I do. Go to it, then. Call me when you need me.'
I buzzed through the rest of my screens, the promise of doing some real
work motivating me like a creme briilee waiting at the end of a bad
meal.
When I was done, I called the mayor's office. Although Clarissa's
position entitled her to be called Judge, hearings officers are
actually part of city administration. Anyone who disagrees with a city
agency's decision has to take an administrative appeal to a city
hearings officer before he can sue before a 'real' judge. In short,
when it comes to city bureaucracy, a judge like Clarissa Easterbrook is
the last stop before the courthouse.
I explained the situation to the mayor's administrative assistant, who
referred me to Clarence Loutrell, the chief administrative hearings
officer.
Hanging up the phone, I swiveled my chair around to look out the
window. Okay, it was more of a cranking than a swivel with this
particular chair, but it was enough for me to see that there wasn't a
break from the rain yet. I generally prefer to handle this kind of
thing face-to-face. It's harder for someone to reject a request in
person than to say no to a faceless voice on the telephone.
Fuck it. The walk in the humidity was sure to leave me with a puffy
head of cotton-ball hair for the rest of the day, but four hours at a
desk after two weeks on the beach had me yearning to get out. Besides,
