Robert Crais - L.A. Requiem

“So he probably dumps the shoes, too.”

The scowl deepened, but now it wasn't because of me.

“Probably, but who knows. A nut like this, he might videotape his goddamned murders. Jesus, I wanna bust this scumbag.”

We sat there a while, neither of us saying anything until Dolan glanced at her watch.

“You've given me a lot of background, Dolan, but so far you haven't told me why I shouldn't level with Frank.”

“A lot of times, these guys will initiate contact, like Son of Sam with his letters, you see?”

“I'm listening.”

“Here was Berkowitz, getting away with murder, and he felt powerful because of it. He wanted to flaunt the fact that the cops couldn't catch him, so he started sending notes to the newspapers.”

“Okay.”

“Well, our guy hasn't done that. The Feebs say our guy doesn't want publicity, and may even be scared of it. That's one of the reasons we decided to keep this thing boxed. If we go public, maybe this guy changes his MO, or maybe he even moves to another town and starts all over again. You see what I'm saying?”

“But maybe if you go public, somebody feeds you a tip that lets you nail this guy.”

Her eyes hardened, irritated. She had nice eyes. Hazel.

“Well, shit, World's Greatest, that's the problem here, isn't it? There's no goddamned rule book on how to catch a shooter like this. You make it up as you go along, and hope you're doing the right thing. Don't you think we've talked about this?”

“Yeah, I guess you've talked about it.”

I thought about the change I'd seen up in Robbery-Homicide, how everyone was suddenly more relaxed, about the smiles and high fives, and even the grinning Feebs, and suddenly I knew there was more.

“Who's your suspect, Dolan?”

She stared at me as if she was deciding something, then wet her lips. “Dersh.”

“ Eugene Dersh?” That's why the cops were on him.

“Nuts like this, they can't stand not knowing what you know. They like to get up close and find out what you're saying about them. One of the ways they do it is to claim some connection to the crime. They pretend to be a witness or they say they overheard something in a bar, like that. The feds said we might get a break that way, and Krantz thinks Dersh is our break.”

“Because Dersh found this body.”

“It isn't just that. Krantz and a couple of Feebs flew back to Quantico to talk with one of their behavioral science people. They built a profile based on the evidence we had, and Dersh pretty much matches up with it.”

I frowned. “You're talking the talk, Dolan, but you don't seem all that convinced to me.”

She didn't say anything.

“Okay, if it's Dersh, how does Riley Ward fit in?”

“If the Feebs are right, he was just Dersh's cover for finding the body. You read their statements. Ward suggested that Dersh was directive in finding the body. When Dersh tells the story, he puts a different spin on how they went down to the lake. It makes everybody wonder which story is correct and why there are two stories.”

“In other words, you've got nothing. There's no physical evidence, and you guys are trying to hang it on Dersh because of an FBI profile.”

The hazel eyes stayed with me, but she shrugged. “No, we're trying to hang it on Dersh because Krantz is feeling heat from upstairs. Bishop gave him the Task Force a year ago, but he doesn't have anything to show for it. The brass are screaming a shitstorm, and that means Bishop can't carry Krantz forever. If another body drops, and Krantz doesn't have a suspect, he'll be out of the job.”

“Maybe they'll give it to you, Dolan.”

“Yeah. Right.” She looked away.

I thought about Dersh and his Kenyan coffee. Dersh, with the bright paintings and his house smelling of Marks-a-lots. “What about you? Do you think it's Dersh?”

“Krantz thinks Dersh is the shooter. I think Dersh is a legitimate suspect. There's a difference.”

I took a breath and nodded, still trying to figure out what to do. “The criminalist's report suggests the shooter was driving an off-road vehicle or an SUV. Remember the homeless guy I told you about?”

“Krantz may be a dud, Cole, but not all of us got into Robbery-Homicide on a pass. I took a ride up there yesterday, but couldn't find Mr. Deege. Hollywood Division uniforms have been told to keep an eye out.”

I suddenly felt better about Frank Garcia and what I would tell him.

“Well, okay, Dolan. I'm going to sit on it.”

“You're not going to tell Garcia?”

“No. The only person I'll tell is my partner.”

“Pike.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled, and the bad girl was back. “Christ, wouldn't Krantz love that. Joe Pike knows his big secret.”

I held out my hand. “Nice doing business with you, Dolan. I'll give you a call later about talking to Frank.”

Her hand was cool and dry and strong. I liked the way it felt, and felt a faraway stab of guilt that I liked it a little too much.

She squeezed once, and then I opened the door to get out.

“Hey, Cole.”

I stopped.

“I didn't like passing you those bum reports.”

“I know. I could tell.”

“That's good work you did, putting all this together. You would've made a good cop.”

I let myself out of her Beemer. She watched as I walked away.

I reached my office just after seven, but I did not stay there. I gathered the interviews with Dersh and Ward, then walked across the street to a bagel place I like. I ordered Nova lox on a cinnamon-raisin bagel, then took a seat at a window table. An older woman at the next table smiled a good morning. I wished her a good morning back. The older man with her was reading a paper, and didn't bother with either of us. He looked snotty.

It was an ideal place in which to consider multiple homicide.

I went to the pay phone by the rest rooms, and called Joe Pike. He answered on the second ring.

“I'm at the bagel place across from the office. Karen Garcia was the fifth victim in a string of homicides going back nineteen months. The police know that, and they have a suspect.” If you're going to say it, you just have to say it.

Pike didn't respond.

“Joe?”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

I reread Dersh's and Ward's interviews while I waited, all the while thinking about Eugene Dersh. Dersh didn't seem like a homicidal maniac to me, but maybe they said that about Ted Bundy and Andrew Cunanan, too.

Both Dersh's and Ward's versions of events agreed that it was Dersh who had suggested the hike at Lake Hollywood, but differed importantly about why they had left the trail to hike along the shoreline. Ward stated that it was Dersh's idea to walk along the shore, and that Dersh picked the spot where they left the trail. The police called this being “directive,” as if Dersh was directing the course of events that led to their finding the body. But where Dersh was clear and decisive in describing their actions, Ward seemed inconsistent and uncertain, and I wondered why.

The elderly woman was watching me. We traded another smile. The elderly man was still lost in the paper, neither of them having shared a word in the entire time I had been there. Maybe they had said everything they had to say to each other years ago. But maybe not. Maybe their silence wasn't two people each living separate lives, but two people who fit so perfectly that love and communication could be derived by simple proximity. In a world where people kill other people for no reason at all, you want to believe in things like that.

When Joe Pike walked in, the old man glanced up from his paper and frowned. There goes the neighborhood.

I said, “Let's walk. I don't want to talk about it here.”