To Die For (8 page)

Dana first stopped at Perfumania, a discount perfume boutique, for two bottles of her favorite scent, Opium. $128.11. Half an hour later, she was cruising the aisles of Famous Brands with her dark-haired male companion, stocking up on spices, blue glass bowls, golf-, cat-, and pig-themed novelty switchplates, children's scissors and extremely sharp poultry shears. Store manager Jean Smothers noticed that the blonde customer wore several rings on her left hand and seemed extremely nervous.

“Will these scissors cut bone?” the man asked Smothers. He seemed to have an East Coast accent.

“Yes, they will,” Jean replied.

His companion seemed so unnerved by this exchange that she knocked down a counter display at the checkout stand. Smothers rang up the scissors, the spices and the switchplates $49.87.

Seven minutes later, Dana zoomed out of 9 West, a popular shoe store, with a pair of ladies' dress shoes. $37.68. The next stop was the Nike Factory Outlet Store, across the mall's spacious palm-lined walk-way. While the tall man held her other purchases, Dana pulled boxes of athletic shoes and exercise wear off the display racks and stacked them on the counter. The cashier, noticing that she seemed anxious and hurried, rang up the sale while Dana continued to pull items off the shelf. Paying with June's credit card, Dana walked away with white stretchy Everlast boxing tights, multi-colored exercise leggings, racer-back workout tops and bottoms, and a variety of exercise shoes for her live-in boyfriend, Jim, and herself. At 4:33 p.m., Dana and her other male friend emerged from the Nike store with $339.04 worth of merchandise charged to June. She hurried home to fix dinner for Jim and Jason.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 2, 1994, 9:10 A.M.

“You've got some visitors.”

Greco looked up from his coffee to see Sergeant Wenker standing over his desk. “It's the family of June Roberts. The son-in-law is a detective in Nevada. He works homicide. He wants to know who's handling his mother-in-law's murder investigation. They're in the lobby right now.”

Greco took a gulp of coffee, put his jacket back on, walked out to the lobby and tried his best to act confident. The Perris Police building had once been a high school, and, as was the case in many of the neighborhoods in its city, several rooms were trailers. Trailers with connecting hallways housed the detective bureau and offices. Greco walked through the hallway to the front lobby that opened onto a small patio. Three women and two men. They looked upset and one of the women was weeping.

In a soft voice, Greco introduced himself as the investigator, offered his condolences and said he would do his best on the case.

A sturdy-looking man in his 40s stepped forward and asked loudly, “Who's the primary investigator on this case?”

“I am,” Greco said.

Greco's words hung in the air as the man angrily stared at Greco's peaches-and-cream complexion and college student's whisper of a moustache.

Greco held out his hand.

“I'm Detective Joe Greco,” he said.

“How long have you been a detective?” the man barked.

“Six months,” Greco answered. “But I'm pretty tenacious…”

Shaking his head, the man refused the handshake and turned away. Greco dropped his hand. His face felt hot.

A blonde woman in her 40s stepped forward and introduced herself as Susan Van Owen, June's daughter. She lived out of state. She and Greco spoke for a few minutes, then Greco watched them file out the door before he headed back to his desk. He didn't blame them for doubting his efforts. He didn't have much faith in himself, either.

*   *   *

“What's going on out here?”

“Is there some connection between these murders?”

“How come you guys can't catch this guy?”

“I'd like to report a transient in the neighborhood—I think it might be related to these murders.”

By midday, Greco had fielded 15 to 20 phone calls and that didn't include calls from the press. James McElvain dropped by Greco's desk with a couple of newspaper articles and Greco read his quotes in print. Members of the community no doubt read the paper; word of the newest murder would spread quickly. Some of the callers were hostile, some fearful, and some offered tips. One person who had the misfortune to resemble a transient walked through the private development and triggered more than a handful of calls. Greco heard repeat phone reports of people driving beat-up cars, and of pedestrians whom the caller didn't recognize. He fielded so many calls that he couldn't get any work done on this or any of his other cases. Of the leads he followed up on, all went nowhere. Greco chalked up some callers' hostility to a panic reaction. Canyon Lake's residents were not shy about complaining. Greco didn't know what to tell them, except to assure them that the investigation was proceeding and everything possible was being done to solve the homicides.

Greco decided to ask Sgt. Wenker for help with the calls. Wenker assigned a non-sworn officer to screen them, categorize them as complaints, comments or leads, and forward relevant information to Greco. The overflow during off-hours would be routed to an answering machine. When the news stories ran their course, Wenker said, the calls would start to die down.

As soon as he got back to his desk, the phone rang again.

“This is Charles Van Owen,” he said. “You left some evidence here at the house. You need to come and pick it up.”

Greco hesitated. At first he didn't recognize the voice, but quickly realized he was talking to the out-of-state homicide detective who'd refused his handshake earlier that morning. Van Owen sounded perturbed and Greco felt himself tense up. Greco knew Van Owen already thought little of his investigative skills and wondered what evidence they'd left at the house. Greco told Van Owen he'd be there as soon as he could.

When he got there, Greco found June's relatives in the middle of the disturbing task of cleaning the house. Ugly blotches of June's dried blood stained the carpet and the arc of blood still swept across the side of the desk. Greco realized that his inexperience—his having missed potentially vital evidence—probably heightened their distress. He had been right behind the criminalists the whole time and thought they had picked up everything important.

“There.” Van Owen pointed. He was barely civil, but Greco didn't blame him. Who wouldn't be angry after a loved one was slaughtered in her own home? He was not about to argue with a grieving family.

There was June's bloody, brown plastic hairband, a typed list of Canyon Lake canasta players and their phone numbers, a small child's drawing with a handwritten name and address on the back and a ticket stub to a movie labelled
Do Anything,
which bore a time stamp. Any of that could be important, Greco agreed. Van Owen said some of the papers were taken from June's wastebasket, suggesting that he hadn't bothered to look through his mother-in-law's garbage. Greco let the comment go and simply agreed to collect it. He didn't have a good answer as to why the hairband and the ticket stub had not been picked up. Greco had left the homicide scene, his third, thinking he had been as thorough as possible. He slid his hands into the latex gloves from the evidence kit that he kept in his trunk, put the items in paper lab envelopes, and labeled them.

Greco worked as quickly as possible, not wanting to prolong his task as Van Owen looked over his shoulder. When Van Owen suggested that he also collect four knives in the kitchen and a pair of kitchen scissors, Greco agreed. The knives and the scissors had been laid out on the kitchen counter and could contain fingerprints.

How could we miss this? Greco thought. He wasn't sure if Van Owen knew about Norma's murder, or the fact that she had been stabbed, but judging from Van Owen's anger and stony silence, he probably did. Greco wanted to tell him that he'd used all the resources available to him and that he'd even tried to call the FBI, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

Before he left, he exchanged a few words with June's other daughter, Linda Dorsey, who lived in San Diego. The victim had spent her birthday weekend with Linda and left for home on the afternoon of Sunday, February 27, her birthday. The last time Linda heard from her mother was when she phoned to say she'd arrived home safely and to remind Linda to take the chicken stock off the stove. June was murdered the following day.

On the drive back to his office, Greco felt the strain of being watched at every turn. Not only were the public and his entire department monitoring his every move, but Van Owen, who had many more years of experience than he did, was literally looking over his shoulder. He knew he couldn't ask Van Owen for help because it would only confirm Van Owen's suspicions that he really was incompetent. Greco tried hard not to sink into self-destructive thinking again; he would be paralyzed by fear.

The more Greco thought about it, the more angry he became that Van Owen was judging him on his looks. Yes, he looked young. But he wasn't a kid anymore. He had a wife and three children. He had done well in his career and had even been honored for his work. Just because he hadn't investigated many homicides didn't mean he couldn't solve this one. He deserved a chance.

When Greco returned to the office, he booked the evidence, then tried to call Jeri. No answer. He'd tried to reach her the day before with no luck, so he left another message. He wanted to see what Jeri had to say about why Norma's housekeeper, Ila Tingley, was on June's prayer list. Greco also found it interesting that June lived right around the corner from Jeri. He'd made a mental note of that when he went to the crime scene that night, and had later plotted their homes on a map of Canyon Lake just to eyeball the locations. Out of curiosity, he also plotted Norma's condo and Alice's house. Norma, June and Jeri all lived within a few blocks of each other.

Greco was convinced that Jeri was not a killer, but he felt she had some kind of connection to the killings. He had dropped by Jeri's house several times since Norma's murder to plumb for more information, and had completed the victimology—the summary of Norma's life, work, marriages, children and family connections. The only remarkable aspect was the fact that Jeri had taken on the responsibility of caring for Norma in her later years. Jeri had married Norma's son in 1952 and had three children, two boys and a girl. He died of a stroke in 1982 and Jeri assumed the responsibility of taking care of Norma. Jeri and Russell, her second husband, were married in 1986. Jeri's grown sons lived in a nearby county. Russell had a grown daughter who lived nearby.

Jeri said that her grandson had borrowed Norma's car over the Christmas holidays with the understanding that he had no obligation to return it immediately. In late January, the car was stolen from his house in Hollywood. Police later found it stripped. Greco took down the information. Maybe the car thieves took Norma's address from the registration slip in her car. It was worth looking into.

“So, are you ready?” Wyatt was standing over his desk. They were going to see the psychic who had predicted June's murder. Greco was skeptical about anyone claiming to predict the future, but he had two murder cases open without much in the way of a lead and he was curious about what this guy could tell him.

At least he had a really nice house. An elderly man with white hair welcomed them into his spacious, sunny living room. Because Wyatt's responsibility was Canyon Lake, he already knew the psychic so they exchanged pleasantries and Wyatt introduced Greco.

“Give me a moment,” the psychic said.

He sat down with a pad of paper and, with slow, deliberate movements, began to draw in wide circles, scribbling some words.

“I see a golf cart … two women in a golf cart,” he said. “This may or may not have significance.”

Greco rolled his eyes. This man was wasting their time.

“It's a woman,” the psychic said. “She has a partner, a female partner.”

This guy's crazy, Greco thought. What can he possibly do, give me the killer's phone number?

The psychic looked up and asked Greco if he could get a personal item of June's. He also wanted to see June's autopsy report.

Greco had no idea whether the old man was a con artist or was actually seeing a vision. But it didn't matter. The information was so vague, it was useless. Greco told him he'd think about it and thanked him for his time.

“There's something else,” the psychic said. “You're going to solve the case.”

*   *   *

By the time he got back to the office, the LAPD had faxed the report about the stolen car. Beyond the block-out information—the time of the incident, information about the vehicle, the names and addresses of the individuals involved—there wasn't much of interest in the report.

He also checked with the community service officer about calls from the public. Officer Julie Bennett had created a note card system with the name of the caller, the reason for the call, and a return phone number. She said it seemed like fifty people in Canyon Lake all saw the same transient and called the police department. She added that the calls spanned the spectrum—some people were angry and upset and others were genuinely frightened. Those who saw the transient were convinced that the murders were committed by an outsider. Greco flipped through the cards and pulled out the few offering concrete leads that he could follow up on. He wasn't about to assume that a transient was responsible for either murder. Before he left, he tried calling Jeri again. No answer.

On the way home, Greco stopped to see Alice even though she was forty minutes out of his way. She was so frightened, he had to shout through the door to identify himself before she unlocked it.

Alice didn't look good. She seemed even more frail than she had the last time he'd seen her. Greco watched her pale, wrinkled face turn into a smile when she greeted him; it looked like she hadn't smiled in quite a while. She was extremely grateful that he'd stopped by. Greco didn't stay long. He didn't mention that he had to attend June's autopsy in the morning.