Scott felt elated, and that something trapped in his heart for nine months was beginning to ease.
Orso said, “Okay, now Joyce has something. Come sit. Joyce—”
Scott took a seat as Cowly picked up a large manila envelope and took out the contents. She dealt out four sheets of heavy gloss paper in front of Scott like playing cards. Each sheet was printed with six sets of color booking photos. The pictures were in pairs, showing each man’s full face and profile. The men were of all ages and races, and all had white or gray sideburns of varying shapes and lengths. Cowly explained as she laid out the pictures.
“Identifiers like hair color, hairstyle, length, et cetera, are part of the database. Anyone look familiar?”
Scott went from elated to nauseous in a heartbeat, and in that moment was once more lying in the street, hearing the gunfire. He closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and imagined himself on a white sandy beach. He was alone, and naked, and his skin was warm from the sun. He pictured himself on a red beach towel. He imagined the sound of the surf. This was a technique Goodman taught him to deal with the flashbacks. Put himself elsewhere, and create the details. Imagining details took concentration, and helped him relax.
Orso said, “Scott?”
Scott felt a flush of embarrassment, and opened his eyes. He studied the pictures, but none of the men were familiar.
“I didn’t see enough. I’m sorry.”
Cowly pulled the cap off a black Sharpie and handed it to him, still smiling the relaxed, easy smile. She wore no nail polish.
“Don’t sweat it. I didn’t expect you to recognize a face. I got three thousand, two hundred, and sixty-one hits for gray or white hair. I pulled these because they have different hair types and sideburn styles. That’s the purpose of this exercise. As best you can—
One of the men had long thin sideburns as sharp as a stiletto. Another had huge muttonchops that covered most of his cheeks. Scott crossed them out along with the other styles he knew were wrong, and circled five men with thick, rectangular sideburns. The shortest stopped mid-ear, and the longest extended about an inch below the man’s lobe. Scott pushed the sheets back to Cowly, wondering again if he had seen the sideburns or only imagined them.
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure I saw them.”
Cowly and Orso shared a glance as she slipped the sheets back into their envelope, and Orso plucked a thin file from the spread on the table.
“This is the criminalist’s report on the Gran Torino. After we spoke, I reread it. Five white hairs from the same individual were found on the driver’s side.”
Scott stared at Orso, then Cowly. Orso smiled. Cowly didn’t. She looked like a woman on the hunt, and picked up where Orso left off.
“We can’t affirm they’re from the man you saw, but a man with white hair was in that vehicle at some point in time. The DNA from the follicles didn’t match anything in the CODIS or DOJ data banks, so we don’t know his name, but we know he’s a Caucasian male. There’s an eighty percent chance his hair was brown before it turned white, and we are one hundred percent positive he has blue eyes.”
Orso arched his eyebrows, smiled even wider, and looked like a happy scoutmaster.
“Starts adding up, doesn’t it? Thought you’d like to know you aren’t crazy.”
Then the happy scoutmaster face dropped away, and Orso rested his hand on the file box.
“Okay. The case file here is arranged by subject. The murder book contains the case evidence Melon and Stengler thought was the most important, but isn’t as complete as the file. You’re the man with the questions. What do you want to know?”
Scott wanted something to trigger more memories, but he didn’t know what that thing was or what it might be.
Scott looked at Orso.
“Why don’t we have a suspect?”
“A suspect was never identified.”
“I knew that much from Melon and Stengler.”
Orso patted the file box.
“The long version is in here, which you’re free to read, but I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.”
Orso sketched out the investigation quickly and professionally. Scott knew most of it from Melon and Stengler, but did not interrupt.
The first person suspected when a homicide occurs is the spouse. Always. This is Rule Number One in the Homicide Handbook. Rule Number Two is “follow the money.” Melon and Stengler approached their investigation in this way. Did Pahlasian or Beloit owe money? Did either man cheat a business partner? Was either having an affair with another man’s wife? Did Pahlasian’s wife jilt a lover, who murdered her husband as retaliation, or did his wife have Eric murdered to be with another man?
Melon and Stengler identified only two persons of interest during their investigation. The first was a Russian pornographer in the Valley who had invested in several projects with Pahlasian. His porno enterprise was financed by a Russian Organized Crime element, which put him on their radar, but the man made better than a twenty percent profit with Pahlasian, so Melon and Stengler eventually cleared him. The second person of interest was tied to Beloit. The Robbery-Homicide Division’s Robbery Special group informed Melon that Interpol had named Beloit as a known associate of a French diamond fence. This led to a theory Beloit was smuggling diamonds, but the Robbery Special team eventually cleared him of criminal involvement.
All in all, twenty-seven friends and family members, and one hundred eighteen investors, business associates, and possible witnesses were interviewed and investigated, and all of them checked clean. No viable suspect was identified, and the investigation slowly stalled.
When Orso finished, he checked his watch.
“Anything I’ve said help your memory?”
“No, sir. I knew most of it.”
“Then Melon and Stengler weren’t holding out on you.”
Scott felt his face flush.
“They missed something.”
“Maybe so, but this is what they found—”
Orso tipped his head toward the file box as Cowly interrupted.
“—which means this is where Bud and I begin. Just because Melon and Stengler zeroed out, doesn’t mean we will. Just because it’s in these pages, doesn’t mean we accept it as fact.”
Orso studied her for a moment, then looked at Scott.
“I have Shin and his burglar, I have you, and I have a dead police officer. I will break this case.”
Joyce Cowly nodded to herself, but did not speak.
Orso stood.
“Joyce and I have work to do. You want to look through the files and reports, here they are. You want to go through the murder book, there it is. Where do you want to begin?”
Scott hadn’t thought about where to begin. He thought he might read his own statements to see if he had forgotten anything, but then realized there was only one place to begin.
“The crime scene pictures.”
Cowly was clearly uncomfortable.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Scott had never seen the crime scene photographs. He knew they existed, but never thought about them. He saw his own version of them every night in his dreams.
Orso said, “Okay, then, let’s get you going.”
13.
