Rick Mofina - Into the Dark

Claire found some comfort in the actions Freeman had taken.

“We’re working on all aspects of the crime committed here,” Freeman said. “Unfortunately, we can’t let anyone inside right now, but you must have your files backed up?”

“Yes, we have to follow professional standards and procedures for securing our files. They’re password protected and encrypted. We have an off-site hard drive and I have my USB with me. It also holds my files, but I’ll call my husband to bring my laptop here ASAP. We don’t live far. We’ll work from that.”

“Okay good, the detectives will want to talk to you once we get a little more information from the scene.”

Robert arrived with Claire’s computer moments after the crime scene technicians had suited up, entered the office and started processing it. One of them worked outside photographing the building and neighborhood.

Robert watched with interest. From the distance he strained to see them working through the windows. “Do they have any suspects?”

“I don’t know,” Claire said. “They’re thinking they were trying to get the gold from the dentist’s office.”

Robert never took his eyes off the investigators.

“I’d read about that trend, thieves stealing gold from dentists.” He turned to Claire. “Are you okay? Is there anything else I can do? I was on my way to get some stain for your planter boxes, but I can stay here with you.”

For a moment she’d forgotten her feelings of uncertainty about him. The crisis underscored that she could count on him when she needed him. “No, thank you. I’ll call you later. I expect it’ll be a long day. Thanks for rushing over with my computer.”

Claire kissed his cheek.

After Robert left, Claire and Alice searched the files on Claire’s laptop, then used Claire’s cell phone to call all of her patients to alert them to the burglary. They’d managed to reschedule morning sessions. To accommodate patients, Claire offered to provide evening appointments later in the week, as well.

For the next few hours the crime scene experts checked the alarm system and took photographs among their other work. The lead was Detective Cobb, who’d joined the San Marino P.D. after putting in twenty-five years with the LAPD. Cobb and his partner interviewed the tenants one by one. When he got to Claire, she summarized her concerns for him.

“Okay, they’re done processing things,” Cobb said afterward. “I’m taking you inside first to walk you through your office. Be sure to follow my steps.”

The desks, walls, cabinets and keyboards were smeared with fingerprint powder-white chalky stuff on dark surfaces and black graphite dust on light surfaces.

“Whoever came in wore gloves,” Cobb said. “They also smashed the security cameras. They were experienced. Let’s see if they got into your files.”

The cabinets, although damaged, seemed to have held. They were reinforced steel. But when Claire tried to log in to her computer, it took several attempts and several passwords, an indication that previous attempts had been made by the thieves.

“What do you think?” Claire asked Cobb.

“I think it’s possible a former partner would benefit, say for custody or a divorce settlement, from gaining access to a confidential file.”

“Is that what you think happened? I thought they were after Ramsallie’s gold and laughing gas.”

“You’ve recently had an enraged ex show up here.”

Claire recalled Eric glaring at her from the back of the police car after the attack.

“Now we have a burglary,” Cobb continued. “It could’ve been staged to disguise other intentions.”

Claire stared at Cobb.

“It’s just one theory,” he said, shrugging. “But at this point, we can’t rule anything out.”

Commerce, California

Leeza Meadows had high cheekbones and eyes that sparkled with hope.

She was just twenty-one.

Tanner stared at the photocopy of her driver’s license that he’d paper clipped inside the cover of his file folder for the task force meeting. Leeza was the youngest of the five victims. A few years out of high school, she was working at the Misty Nights Bar amp; Grill to put herself through college. Her eyes blazed with life, he thought, flipping through the other pictures in his file.

Terror consumed her in one of the photos that had been sent to the AllNews Press Agency. Again Tanner’s gut tightened at the indignity. It had been nearly two days since Mark Harding had alerted them to the letter. In that time the task force had held several case status meetings.

It was now 9:00 p.m.

The ANPA had been calling Tanner every thirty minutes, demanding confirmation so they could run their story. Tanner was leading the group’s last meeting before the task force would respond, aware that they’d already missed the agreed upon deadline with the newswire service.

More than two dozen investigators from a spectrum of law enforcement agencies had taken seats around the table in a meeting room at the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department.

“Let’s get to this,” Tanner said. “We’ve concluded that the letter and contents originated from the person responsible for Leeza Meadows’s homicide and the four others.”

“Hang on.” Art Lang, a detective with the LAPD, was drawing circles on his case status sheet. “Are we ruling out the possibility that someone originally happened on the Meadows’s scene, collected the items and sent the letter in response to the article as a hoax?”

Tanner acknowledged the theory.

“Our analysis shows that the photographs are authentic,” Tanner said. “And they were taken before and after her death. Only the killer could’ve taken those images and only the killer would know about, and possess, her missing driver’s license. Only the killer could’ve used her pinky print in the message the Cold Case Unit discovered in Temple City.”

Lang let a moment pass before nodding, and Tanner continued.

“Unfortunately,” Tanner said, “the material sent to the ANPA has yielded no suspect DNA or latent prints. Nothing so far. Our guy was careful.”

Tanner turned to FBI Special Agent Brad Knox, who said that preliminary lab results showed the envelope was sealed with moisture activation of the manufacturer’s adhesive. Examination was still in progress to determine the type of camera used to take the photographs of Leeza Meadows. The writing instrument used for the letter and envelope was a standard felt-tip medium-point marker. The paper was standard, white, twenty-pound recycled. We’re still working on it.”

Knox said the Behavioral Analysis Unit had found that the syntax of the block-lettered message was indicative of someone of above-average intelligence who craved attention and was likely in a highly regarded position of control.

“This is someone who enjoys being looked up to. This guy needs to have his ego fed,” Knox said. “Can we get more time before the news agency prints its story?”

“The letter is their property,” Tanner said. “If we take much longer, they’ll do a story without us confirming it’s from the killer. They’ll say it’s from someone claiming to be the killer and that we’re investigating. We’d lose our chance for some control of the fallout of the story.”

“Why did we go to the press with this?” Lang asked.

“When the evidence first surfaced we talked to retired detectives who’d handled the original five cases and we consulted with the FBI profilers. It was suggested we use an anniversary to draw the killer out, if he was still alive. We went to the wire service so we could reach across the country.”

“It worked,” Lang said. “We’re going to panic Southern California. Every whack-job will be confessing to us. We’ll have to set up for tips. This could get as huge as Son of Sam, the Zodiac Killer and the D.C. Sniper. It’s going to draw intense scrutiny. We’re going to be in the national spotlight once this breaks.”