Evidence (45 page)

“Wow. My brain feels kind of scrambled. The
psychologist who tested me said it happens under stress. I’m sure you’ve seen
that, Dr. Delaware?”

“Of
course.”

“What
are you scrambled about, Lara?”

“The
sequence. The reason I traded Dan—the first reason, wanting more experience—was
the right one.”

“Not
the part about psychological control?”

“That’s
also true but it came later—an afterthought, you know? When the call came in, I
couldn’t be sure it was going to be them but I was scared. Because they lived
on the Westside—both of them, in Santa Monica—”

“Des
on California. Where did Doreen live? We still haven’t found out.”

“Somewhere
on the Westside, she never said. So it made sense the Westside was where
they’d—where Monte would do it.”

“Close
to home.”

“Don’t
geographical profilers say that? Crimes occur in comfort zones?”

“That
refers to the killer’s comfort zone.”

“Monte
lives on the Westside, too, it made total sense. I just had to see for myself.
So there’s really no contradiction. I wanted more experience plus I wanted
psychological control.”

“Did
you learn anything at the scene to help you up your control level?”

“I
learned Monte was even worse than I imagined. He claimed he was just getting
even, but then I saw that she’d been strangled, up close and personal. Saw that
semen stain and knew he’d done something twisted.”

“You
suspected the stain was Monte’s.”

“Des
uses condoms and that kind of thing fits Monte—dominant, cruel. That’s why I
pointed it out to you, Lieutenant. I was too scared to come out and tell you
but I hoped you’d follow the trail.”

“Aiding
and abetting me, huh?”

“Right from the beginning.”

“So
you figured out the semen was Monte’s, not Des’s? Okay… um, how do you know Des
used condoms, Lara?”

Silence.

“Lara?”

“Must
be something I heard. Back in high school. Des was a huge player, everyone
talked about it, how he’d jump anything with a pulse. How he carried condoms in
his wallet.”

“We
didn’t find any condoms at the scene.”

“I
figured Monte took them.”

“Why
would he do that?”

“He’s
evil—maybe for a trophy, some kind of sick male dominance. Just like
ejaculating on Doreen’s leg.”

“You’re
sure it wasn’t Des’s semen?”

“I
can’t be sure of anything. I just figured Monte was capable of something
twisted like that. Killing Doreen, then demeaning her. When I pointed it out, I
was hoping you’d analyze it, find out it was Monte’s, and that would tell you
had something more than a simple murder.”

“One
thing this case hasn’t been, Lara, is simple. Something John Nguyen reminds me
every day. Now it looks like it’s not gonna close anytime in the future.
Especially with that semen stain gone. What do you think caused that?”

“Someone
here screwed up. It happens more often than you think.”

“A
screwup as opposed to something deliberate.”

“Who
would do that deliberately?”

“That’s
what Bobby Escobar wanted to know.”

“Who?”

“Bobby
Escobar, C.I., used to work here—the position you filled—before he went back to
school to get a master’s. Well liked, so they let him come in after hours, work
on his data.”

“He
told you about the stain?”

“Basically.”

“Okay
… good, so someone will look into it and hopefully they’ll tighten up
procedures. For the chain of evidence, I mean.”

“That would be useful … but here we go again, Lara,
with another annoying problem. Bobby reported to Dave McClellan that a couple
of days after Des and Doreen’s bodies came in, he was here working late,
happened to step out of his office, which is right across from the
fridge-closet, at the exact same time you walked out of the fridge. That ring a
bell?”

“Short
Latin guy? Big mustache?”

“That’s
Bobby. He went into the fridge, found one of the bodies looked like the plastic
wrap had been messed with. Doreen’s. Dave didn’t think much of it, you were
staff, maybe you were clearing a serial number for your paperwork. But now that
we know about the stain, you can see what it looks like.”

“That’s
all it was, I was checking numbers.”

“But
someone else got in there and removed the stain?”

“Or
it got washed away by accident, Lieutenant. That kind of thing happens around
here, believe me.”

“I
can hear John Nguyen groaning.”

“What
do you mean?”

“See
it from John’s perspective, Lara. You’re seen entering the fridge, the
plastic’s disturbed, a piece of evidence is missing.”

“Maybe
he did it.”

“Who?”

“That
guy Bobby, maybe he wanted his job back, so he tried to cast suspicion on me.”

“Bobby’s
busy with school and a part-time job.”

“He
might’ve changed his mind.”

“Anything’s
possible, Lara, but I wouldn’t even try to offer that to John Nguyen—hold on,
let me shoot another one at you. A problem, I mean: Bobby was murdered.”

Silence.

“Lara?”

“Oh,
that.”

“That?”

“I
heard a C.I. was shot off the premises. I didn’t know it was him.”

“It was, Lara. He was shot in the head, same as Des
Backer. With a .22, same as Des, no shell casings left behind, same as Des.
Which makes sense, because the gun—the one with your prints on it—is a
revolver, that little Smith and Wesson 650 we found in the box in the closet.
So obviously we ran comparisons and unfortunately, the striations from the
bullet in Bobby’s head match those from the bullet in Des’s head. I say
unfortunately, because now we’ve got your prints on a weapon of multiple
destruction. So to speak. Monte has an explanation for that—one that doesn’t
depend on coincidence. Want to guess what he says?”

“Something
that incriminates me. But he’s a sociopath and a liar.”

“Be
that as it may, Lara, John Nguyen likes what Monte has to say. Which is that
you were the one who ambushed Bobby. Monte admits to following Bobby when he
left the crypt and to waiting until Bobby caught a red light then jacking him,
pulling him out of his car, and dragging him over to where he says you shot
Bobby. He even admits to putting Bobby back in the car. All you did, according
to his version, is pull the trigger. John likes that story because it doesn’t
depend on coincidence.”

Silence.

“This
is ridiculous, Lieutenant.”

“So
is sticking lynx hair on trees where it doesn’t belong. Which, when you think
about it, isn’t that different from wiping away a stain. A stain Monte was too
macho to get rid of at the scene—like you said, he’s a gambler, likes to take
risks. Probably told you no way would they even analyze the stain. Two people
are found in a sexual pose, there’s semen, why even suspect someone else
contributed? I’m willing to believe he intimidated you that night, Lara, that’s
why you couldn’t get rid of the stain right then and there. You both had guns
but Monte’s was bigger. Size mattering and all that. You were training your
little gun on Doreen while Monte did his big-gun thing, weren’t you? Then he
strangled her, came on her leg.”

Silence.

“Lara?”

Silence.

“Lynx
hairs, stains, it’s always about playing with evidence, Lara.”

Silence.

“Now
you’re getting kind of closed up, Lara, the way you say Monte tends to be. That
is not in your best interest, John Nguyen will not appreciate that.”

Silence.

“Lara,
I’ve been open to your explanations, will continue to be open. But you’ve got
to meet me halfway. Like that trip to Port Angeles to get the money. We’ve got
Monte on video taking those suitcases, but both your names on the passenger
list to Seattle. On a day you were off-shift.”

Silence.

“Tell
me what really happened, Lara. Start at the beginning, it’s in your best
interest.”

“We’re
over.”

“Pardon?”

“Over.
Finished. I need to have an attorney.”

“You’re
saying you absolutely want an attorney.”

“Finished.”

“Suit
yourself, Lara. You always do.”

Knock
on the door.

Milo
said,
“Entrez-vous.”

A
Mutt-and-Jeff duo of female sheriffs stood over Lara Rieffen.

“Thank
you, ladies, give this one the full strip—use that room across the hall.”

The
shorter cop said, “Will do, Loo.”

He
turned to Rieffen. “See you around, Lara? Or should we start using Kathy? For
old times’ sake.”

Her
reply was scalding eyes and a toss of strawberry blond.

The
taller cop said, “I like your highlights. What do you use, L’Oréal?”

Stepping
back inside, Milo removed his coat from the table, checked the
mini-video-recorder he’d secreted under the garment. High-tech loan from Reed’s
half brother Aaron Fox, formerly an LAPD homicide D, now a Beverly Hills
private eye with a penchant for toys.

A
partial replay revealed clear images and sound. “Perfect. Except for those
extra ten pounds, can’t they invent a camera won’t do that?”

Gloving up, he searched Rieffen’s bag.

Inside
were coroner’s credentials, five photos of her and M. Carlo Scoppio wearing
hiking clothes, backdropped by forest.

“She
look intimidated to you?”

“Not
in the least.”

A
wallet held a hundred twenty-three dollars in cash and some change, I.D.’s and
credit cards under Lara Rieffen, Kathy Lara Vanderveldt, Laura Vander, Kathleen
Rieffenstahl, Laura Rice, Cathy Rice, Lara Van Vliet.

A
push-button stiletto and a pepper-spray dispenser shared a zipped compartment
with two tampons.

Milo
said, “That cries out for wit, but I lack the energy.”

A
second pouch held a pair of opal earrings. He inspected the backs.

One
was engraved.

D F

“Trophy
of the kill, poor Doreen.”

Another
pouch, deeper and secured by a snap, contained lip balm, breath mints, a single
sheet of white paper, letter-sized, folded twice.

Four-month-old
e-mail from [email protected] to [email protected].

hey
baby someone at the office put up one of those stupid posters today that
affirmation for inner peace and I thought of you and made this up:

KATHY AND MONTE C.’S SUPREME NEGATION (FOR OUTER
CHAOS)

I tell the truth. They lie.

I’m strong. They’re weak.

I’m good.

They’re bad.

that about sums it up, hey, babe? you want it you name
it you the

bomb LOL love you forever continue to light my fuse

Irvin Wimmers showed up with two more tan uniforms.
After a brief, happy chat with Milo, Wimmers and his team took Rieffen away,
marching her through the crypt, cuffed, head-down, past stunned co-workers and
Dave McClellan’s look of utter contempt. When she passed close to McClellan he
made a point of directing a thumbs-up at Milo.

Rieffen
looked up at him. Cobra disturbed from its nap.

I
said, “Master manipulator.”

“Lotta
good it did her,” said Milo.

“I
was referring to you.”

“Moi?
I’m crushed.” Grinning. “So how’d I do, Cecil B.?”

“You
deserve a percentage of the adjusted gross and a big chunk of the marketing
revenue.”

“Hooray
for Hollyweird—not that I really fibby-fooed.”

“Perish
the thought.”

“Think
about it: Monte will soon be in custody, I just got there a little early.”

“I’ll
jump-start your election committee soon as we’re back in the office.”

“Once
we get him, is there any doubt he’ll turn on her? And Bobby
did
kind of
talk to me. From the grave.
That’s
a form of talking, right? And look,
he was right, Bobby, I mean. I guess fibby-fooing about the gun was a little
naughty, but I
had
to, I was
so
scared I’d
never
close the
case, my boss can be so
mean
, when he yells at me it makes me feel
bad
.
And hey,
that
worked, too, and now I can get hold of that nasty old
gun
and it won’t be used to make anyone else
dead
, please tell me I’m a good
person
, Dr. Delaware.”

I was
still laughing when we reached the car.