Terry pulled in behind Wendy's car. She had a street map in one hand and was already delegating detectives to spread out and canvass a six-block radius. 'The lieutenant's waiting for you in the garage,' she said.
Jo was lying on the floor a few feet from Reggie's pickup. Her legs were at a right angle to her torso. One arm was extended to the left, the other was pinned beneath her. Her left cheek was resting on the oil-stained concrete. Reggie had said she was working a wedding last night, and her clothes seemed to bear him out. She had on a flowery summer dress and sensible tan shoes with low heels. Her honey-blonde hair fanned out across her back and shoulders, but one of the fan blades was missing.
I knelt down beside her. 'I'm not sure, but it looks like a hunk of her hair has been chopped off. Can't really tell because of the blood.'
'Bullet to the back of the head,' Terry said. 'Looks more like an execution than a random homicide.'
'Don't jump to conclusions,' Kilcullen said.
'I always jump to conclusions,' Terry said. 'It's just that you're not usually on the scene to watch me do my job wrong.'
'I'm here for the same reason my boss is here. And his boss. A cop's wife was murdered in cold blood in her own home. Whatever else you're doing, shelve it. This case goes to the top of the pile.'
'We both knew the victim,' I said. 'Is there any conflict with us handling this?'
'We all knew the victim,' Kilcullen said, his voice kicking up a notch. 'She's one of our own. She was killed in our jurisdiction. It's ours to solve, and you two are going to solve it.'
'Right,' Terry said. 'And if you yell louder, maybe we'll solve it faster.'
'Sorry,' Kilcullen said, more to Jo than to Terry. He bent down and took a closer look. 'They cut her hair. It's like a violation on top of a violation.' He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand and stood up. 'CSU should be here any minute. I've got half the station combing the neighbourhood. You guys get the fun job. Interview Reggie.'
'Rule number one,' I said. 'The husband is always the primary—'
'I know,' Kilcullen said. 'But I know Reggie, and he didn't kill her. Let's just hope he's got a solid alibi.'
'He's going to want in on the investigation,' Terry said.
'Well, you know the answer to that one. No fucking way. You need manpower, you let me know. Anyone but Reggie.' He took one more look at the dead woman at our feet. 'I don't get it,' he said. 'A nice girl like Jo. I can't imagine she had any enemies.'
Terry shrugged. 'She must've had one.'
Chapter Four
Reggie was sitting on the sofa in the living room. He was dressed for work - tan pants, pale yellow short-sleeve shirt, green tie with thin blue stripes. He had showered and shaved since I saw him last night, and his face, forever tan from a life on the water, was probably a melanoma waiting to happen. But for the moment, it gave off a healthy glow. Only his eyes were a window to the shock and the grief.
He stood up when Terry and I walked in. 'Oh man, am I glad to see you guys. I'm crawling the walls here. What's going on? What do you know?'
'Reg, we're all torn up about this,' I said. 'We're gonna solve it, but we're just getting started. First, we need to sit down and talk.' I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to ease him back toward the sofa, but he didn't budge.
'Mike, I don't want to sit and talk. I want to be part of the investigation.'
'Reg, you know the rules...'
'Fuck the rules,' he said. 'I worked robbery-homicide at Central. I know what I'm doing.'
'Reg, that was years ago, and you transferred out after six months.'
'This is different. This is my wife.'
Like a lot of cops, when Reggie made detective, he thought he could do the most good working homicide. But catching murderers doesn't bring back the victims, and Reggie has always had a passion to help people find the road to recovery. So he switched to vice, where he can help addicts kick the habit and prostitutes get off the street. Before he joined the navy he was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. While other kids were out playing ball, Reggie and his parents were knocking on doors trying to save souls. He gave up the religion years ago, but he never shook the need to point others toward the light.
'Reg,' Terry said, 'I can't tell you how sorry I am. We're going to catch this guy, but we're losing time here. The best way you can help right now is to let us ask you some questions.'
Reggie lowered himself back onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands. 'I know the drill,' he said, looking back up at us. 'Get to it. Ask.'
'Let's start with the usual,' I said. 'Did Jo have any enemies?'
He shook his head. 'Mike, you knew her. Everyone loved her.'
'Dig deeper. What about crazy neighbours, old grudges, any of her exes, any of yours?'
'Mike, I've been digging deep for the past two hours. There's nobody. If I could've thought of somebody, I'd already be at their house.'
'Did you hear anything or notice anything out of the ordinary in the past few days?' Terry said. 'Anyone new hanging around the neighbourhood? Weird phone calls? E-mails? Any flare-ups at work?'
'Nothing. She was happy. Busy, but happy. That was her. That was Jo.'
A uniform came into the living room. 'Excuse me, Detectives,' she said. 'Detective Burns said to tell you that the medical liaison is here.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'Tell her Detective Drabyak will be right out.'
'I don't need a doctor,' Reggie said.
'It's standard procedure, Reg. Cop in trauma. Just talk to the doc. We'll have someone drive you to the station, and we'll pick up the interview there.'
'I spent the night on the boat,' he said.
'I know,' I said. I didn't know it for sure, but I knew that's what he'd say.
'I should have come home.' His eyes were starting to tear up. 'I should have come home. This wouldn't have happened.'
'Reggie, before you go,' I said. 'We need your OK to do a permissive search of the house.' I handed him the paperwork and a pen.
'Do it,' he said, signing the form. 'Rip the place apart. I don't give a shit. Just find out who did this.'
'And we'll need to secure your gun.'
He grunted out a laugh. 'I don't know why you need it now. I don't know who to shoot yet.' He reached down to his ankle, took his piece out of the holster, and handed it to me.
'Thanks. We'll talk back at the station,' I said.
'The first thing we talk about is making me part of the investigation.'
I looked at Terry. He had told Kilcullen that Reggie would want to help us catch Jo's killer. I also remember Kilcullen's answer. No way. Only he said it in three words.
'Did you hear me?' Reggie said. 'I want in.'
'We understand,' Terry said. 'But it's not our call. We'll ask Kilcullen. He's pretty reasonable. Let's see what he says.'
Chapter Five
Kilcullen delivered the manpower we needed. At least a dozen uniformed officers plus detectives from every desk at the Hollywood Station canvassed the area and questioned everyone they could find within a six-block radius of the crime scene.
'Most people are at work,' Kilcullen told them. 'Which means you keep going back and knocking on doors till you speak to every single person who might have seen or heard anything last night.'
Terry and I searched the house. It was neat, tasteful, and completely devoid of leads. At 11:00 a.m. we went back to the garage and were surprised to find Jessica Keating wrapping up her preliminary investigation. For my money, Jess is the best crime scene investigator in LA County. I just hadn't expected to see her till October.
'I thought you still had another month of maternity leave before you came back,' I said.
'Breast-feeding and poopy diapers are highly overrated,' Jess said. 'Besides, Dan works at home, and we were starting to get on each other's nerves. So I bought a breast pump, left enough milk in the fridge to feed a village, and asked if I could come back to work early.' She looked down at Jo Drabyak and shook her head. 'I know it sou
nds unhealthy coming from someone who just brought a life into the world, but believe it or not, I missed this.'
'Glad you did,' I said. 'What's the cause of death?'
'You didn't really need me to figure that out,' Keating said. 'She died from a good old-fashioned case of HILP: high-impact lead poisoning. A single bullet to the back of her head. Small hole, no exit wound, probably a .22, but there's no brass on the floor.'
'So ballistics will be next to impossible,' Terry said.
Jess shrugged. 'You know the odds as well as I do. A small calibre like a .22 tends to just ping around your skull making a mess of everything in there, including itself. The slug is usually hard to trace.'
'Any sign of sexual assault?' I said.
'None. It looks like the killer came to kill. He must have waited till she got out of the car, got behind her, and put a bullet in her brain.'
'He?' I said.
'Sorry. That's my pronoun of choice for all assholes who commit murder. But it could easily have been a she. Women aren't traditionally shooters, but the wound indicates a small, ladylike gun.'
'What about her hair?' I said.
'Bravo,' Jessica said. 'A man who actually can tell when a woman gets her hair cut. If I wanted Dan to notice I'd have to come home looking like Sinead O'Connor. Someone chopped off a big hank of her hair. Unless she had a really bad hair day at the beauty salon, my guess is whoever killed her decided to take home a souvenir.'
'So what do we have here?' I said. 'A vendetta?'
'I'm not a profiler,' she said. 'I just sift through the physical evidence and try to find something that can help. But this doesn't look like a robbery, a crime of opportunity, or a random shooting.'
'Time of death?'
'Around midnight - give or take.'
'Give or take how much?' I said. 'Her husband has an alibi for part of last night, but not for all of it.'
'She probably was shot between eleven last night and one o'clock this morning. Does that help?'
'It helps us,' I said. 'It won't help him. You got anything else?'
'Nothing yet,' she said. 'The garage is covered with prints. We'll be dusting for a week. And we're going over the grounds looking for footprints, fibres, or any sign of someone who might have laid in wait outside, then followed her in when she opened the garage door.'
'Excuse me again, Detectives.' It was the same cop who let us know when the medical liaison showed up. She was young, blonde, with how-can-I-help written all over her face.
'Yes, Officer,' I said.
'Julie Horner, sir. I thought you'd want to know. There's a flower delivery.'
Terry rolled his eyes. 'Is this your first homicide, Officer Horner?'
'Yes, sir.'
'The detectives are usually too busy looking for the killer to handle flower deliveries,' he said. 'Maybe you can sign for them and either put them in the house or reroute them to the funeral home.'
'These don't look like condolence flowers, sir,' she said. 'They're roses, and they're addressed to Mrs Drabyak.'
Chapter Six
The guy driving the flower van was tall and blonde, with a chiselled jaw, and a pair of arms that looked like they lifted more than floral arrangements.
'Soap star wannabe,' Terry said, as we walked toward him.
As we got closer, I could see that the face didn't quite live up to the physique. Thin lips, eyes set close together, sharp nose. Not a problem if he could do Shakespeare or deliver posies.
'This is so cool,' he said. 'With the yellow crime scene tape and everything, it looks like you're shooting a movie, except there's no cameras.'
'We can't afford cameras,' Terry said. 'We spent all our money on yellow tape. Let's see your ID.'
'John G. Evans,' he said, not reaching for his wallet.
'ID,' Terry repeated.
'John G. Evans,' he said, flashing a mouthful of expensive teeth. 'I'm just delivering flowers. Is my name going to be in the police report or something?'
'If you don't show me your ID,' Terry said, 'your ass is going to be in a squad car or something.'
He dug into his back pocket, removed his license from his wallet, and handed it to Terry.
'Well, it's got your picture, John G.,' Terry said. 'But the state of California seems to think your name is Evan Goldfried.'
'I'm an actor. John G. Evans is my...'
'I'm a detective. Way ahead of you,' Terry said. 'Who sent the flowers?'
He shrugged. 'There's probably a card in the box.'
I opened it. There were two dozen long-stemmed red roses and a single white card. Dear Jo, Thank you for last night. Everything was perfect, except me. You were right. I did have about six drinks too many. Sorry if I put a damper on an otherwise fantastic evening. Roger.
The O in Roger's name had a smiley face drawn in it. I showed the card to Terry. 'Who's Roger?' he asked.
'He must be the dude who sent the flowers,' John G. said.
'Where do we find him? Do you have any paperwork with his name and address?'
'I'm just the delivery guy. Call Peg at the shop,' he said, pointing to the phone number on the side of the van.
I dialled. The shop was Freem's Flowers. The owner, Peg Freem, was efficient, cooperative, and not the slightest bit curious about why I was trying to track down Roger.
'He came in as soon as I opened,' she said. 'He was about five foot eight, late fifties, curly grey hair, wearing a nice suit, no tie, gold band on the third finger of his left hand.'
'I appreciate the description,' I said. 'But what I really need is his last name and his address.'
'I never saw him before, and he paid cash.'
'Not what I wanted to hear,' I said, 'but it makes sense. A guy with a wedding ring, sending flowers to someone else's wife—'
She interrupted. 'But I told him I needed his cell in case there were any problems.'
'Well, Ms Freem, I guess you could say there's a problem.'
She gave me Roger's number.
Chapter Seven
Terry and I figured if Roger shot Jo last night, he probably wouldn't have sent flowers in the morning, along with a mea culpa for getting drunk. So we sent a backup team to track him down and question him.
The two of us drove back to the station and sat down with Reggie.
'I spent the night on the boat,' he said. 'You guys left at ten or so. Jo called me around eleven. She was on her way home from the wedding.'
'Did she say if anything happened?' I asked.
'Like what?'
'Like people at weddings get drunk. Did she have an argument? A fight over the bill? Anything out of the ordinary?'
'No. She said it was real good. The bride was happy. Her mother was happy. It was a wedding. Everybody had a good time.'
'Who's Roger?' I said.
He shrugged.
'Some guy named Roger sent Jo flowers this morning. He apologised for his bad behaviour last night.'
'Never heard of him,' Reggie said. 'But I sure as hell would like to meet him as soon as I get my gun back.'
'Jo didn't mention anything about it when she called?'
'No, that shit happens all the time. She's a good-looking woman...' He stopped, put his hand over his eyes, and turned away. 'Give me a minute.'
I see it a lot. That excruciating moment when someone realises that the present tense no longer applies.
Reggie took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. 'I'm OK,' he lied. 'Jo was beautiful. She'd orchestrate these big parties, guys would get shit-faced, and sometimes make a pass. Pretty harmless. Usually she would tell them her old man was a cop, and that would be the end of it. She wouldn't tell me, because she said I'd just get all bent out of shape. I mean, who wants to hear that some guy is grabbing his wife's ass?'
'Was that phone call the last time you spoke to her?'
'Yeah. I drove home from the boat around six thirty this morning. Jo had borrowed my pickup last night. I parked her Tercel in the driveway, took a quick look t
hrough the garage window, and I could see my truck. I walked to the front door, grabbed the paper, and went upstairs. The bed was made, so I figured she was out jogging. I took a shower, got dressed, but she still wasn't home, so I left her a note on the kitchen table and went to the garage to get my truck. That's when I found her. She was cold. Dead a long time. I called 911, then I called Kilcullen direct.'
'Let's talk about who might have it in for you - did you bust anyone who could be that pissed?'
He shook his head. 'Come on - they're low-level sex peddlers. They get busted, they do a little time, they go back on the street again. It goes with the turf.'
'What about johns?' Terry said.
'You passed the detective exam,' Reggie said. 'Cops don't arrest johns.'
'I know. But I wonder if maybe you nailed one you shouldn't have, and caused him a problem.'
'Who knows? Some of these guys are pretty twisted. Just ask the hookers. Maybe we could go over my case file. Something might jump out at me. You think I was the target?'
'We're gonna look at everything,' I said.
'Maybe you're right,' he said. 'There was no robbery. It's not a crime of opportunity. They're laying in wait for me, but it's dark out, Jo comes home in my truck, and they shoot her by mistake.'
'Reg, the lights go on in the garage when you open the door. Jo got out of the truck and the killer came up behind her. She was wearing a dress. They didn't shoot her by mistake.'
'What if they came to shoot me, but I was too fat and lazy to get off the boat, so they killed her instead?'
I doubted it. The fact that the killer cut off a lock of Jo's hair made me pretty sure she was the intended victim, but that was one of the crime scene details I wasn't about to share with my primary suspect.
'You may be right, Reggie,' I said. 'So just in case you are the target, Kilcullen assigned someone to keep an eye on you.'
'Bullshit. If I need protection, why did Kilcullen take my gun? He's not assigning someone to protect me. He knows I have other guns at home. He's just tailing me to make sure I don't go out and use them.'
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