Jonathan Kellerman - Evidence

“Anything related to Sranil ever come up in Doreen’s stories?”

“Nope. And that I can be sure of because soon as I found out about Teddy owning the property, I re-read every damn word in her file.”

“But she did talk about foreign terrorists confederating with local eco-nuts.”

“It never came to anything, plus she never mentioned anything about Asians or Swedes or Ugandans or Lithuanians.”

“Just Ahmed,” said Milo.

“Quote unquote ‘al-Qaeda types.’”

“Sranil’s Muslim, Gayle. And the sultan’s got two groups of extremists itching to cut his head off and get control of all his oil. One of them’s fundamentalist.”

“Interesting,” said Lindstrom. “You’re really thinking this could be political?”

“God, I hope not. Doreen ever travel abroad?”

“Never even had a passport.”

“Same question, Gayle.”

“I just told you-oh. No, Lieutenant Sturgis, as far as my peon status can carry me, I’m unaware of the Bureau or anyone else furnishing her funny travel papers.”

Milo said, “So someone upstairs could’ve granted it.”

“Sure, but why would the Bureau help her evade when we were paying her to blab and she hadn’t come through? The only time she could’ve traveled abroad would’ve been between splitting on us and now.”

“Exactly,” said Milo.

Lindstrom thought about that. “Okay, I’ll make some calls, promise to give you righteous info. Fair enough?”

He nodded. “After Doreen asked to be moved away from Seattle, where’d you safe-house her?”

“Sorry, not authorized. But trust me, it wasn’t anywhere outside the continental U.S.” Smiling. “Think acres of plains, not a mountain in sight.”

Milo said, “Not here in L.A.”

“Not even close.”

“Seeing as you just read every damn word of the file, is there anything in there about a gal-pal who had traveled abroad? Or came from abroad?”

“Swedish party girl? Negative, yet again,” said Lindstrom. “You’ll have to believe me on this, but that file contains squat-all international intrigue associated with Doreen Fredd. And you’ve got no serious evidence Prince Teddy actually offed anyone. But even if he did, how would it connect to Doreen and Backer two years later? Burning down a big showy house, I can believe. They probably did that back in Bellevue and God knows how many other times. But targeting Teddy, specifically? This turning into some obnoxious 007 deal? I’m not seeing it.”

Milo said, “What if Doreen and Backer somehow found out about the alleged murder and tried to cash in? From what you know about her, would that make sense?”

“Blackmail… sure, why not? She wasn’t a woman of high character.” She sat forward. “She and Backer hooked up more for old times’ sake, decided to do more than eat dandelions and screw? Hey, anything’s possible, but there’s nothing along those lines that I can help you with.”

“Does the name Monte appear anywhere in your files?”

“Nope. Who is he?

“Maybe no one, Gayle.”

“Obviously, you think he’s someone.”

“What happened to the other two kids Doreen and Backer hung with back in Seattle?”

“Dwayne Parris and Kathy Vanderveldt? They both went off to college and got on the straight and narrow. She was pre-med, he was pre-law. Tell me about Monte.”

“Just a name that came up in a tip.”

“As…”

“Someone who might’ve known Doreen.”

“Might? That mean you don’t think the tip’s solid?”

Milo gave her the details.

“Geezer without a cell,” she said. “Monte. Nope, doesn’t ring a bell, but the moment I get back, I’ll re-read the file, just in case it slipped by me. We’re talking seven-hundred-plus pages.”

“Doreen was small-time but she merited an encyclopedia?”

“One thing we’re good at is churning paper.” Lindstrom smiled. “Poor trees.”

We stood in front of the station and watched Lindstrom drive away in a government-issued Chevy.

Milo said, “How much of that was real?”

“Who knows?”

A woman exited the staff parking lot, crossed the street, and brushed by us, setting off a zephyr of Chanel No. 5. Thin, pinch-featured, with a well-styled mop of flame-colored hair sharpened by a deep green suit and a yellow scarf patterned like a rattlesnake. She carried a bag even larger than Lindstrom’s, maintained a high-stepping walk as she flung the station door open.

I said, “It probably is in Lindstrom’s best interests to cooperate. You clear Doreen, she makes headway on her pile of punishment.”

The station door opened and the redhead charged toward us, bag swinging, hair bouncing. “Lieutenant Sturgis? Clarice Jernigan, from the coroner’s.”

“Doctor.”

“I was testifying around the corner, thought I might as well talk to you in person. The receptionist told me I’d walked right by you.” Khaki eyes studied me.

“This is Dr. Delaware, our psych consultant.”

“We can sometimes use help on suicides. Would you mind if I talked to the lieutenant in private?”

Milo said, “Anything I know, Dr. Delaware’s going to know.”

“There’s nothing psychological about what I have to say, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry, Doc. It ain’t done that way.”

Dr. Clarice Jernigan slid her bag to the sidewalk. “Sure, what the hey. I opened Mr. Backer’s head and retrieved bullet frags. Definitely.22s, lab’s trying to reassemble so if you get a weapon, they can run a match.”

“Thanks-”

“I also decided to do an autopsy on your Jane Doe, after all. As I’d assumed, no big surprise in terms of COD. Manual strangulation, the finger marks are obvious, but no prints or DNA, so maybe your bad guy gloved up. This was a healthy young woman who met a rather unpleasant demise literally at the hands of another.”

“We’ve got a name for her, now, Doc. Doreen Fredd. Two d’s.”

Jernigan whipped out a BlackBerry, entered the information. “My report will be forthcoming. Meaning whenever I can get to it.”

Milo said, “That’s what you needed to tell me face-to-face?”

Jernigan threw back her shoulders. “What I need to tell you is I made an error and preferred not to address that fact over the phone.” Looking at me. I settled my gaze on the parking lot and pretended to be elsewhere.

Milo waited.

“I don’t see it as a major faux pas, but you might as well know, in case it impacts how you direct your investigation. As I told you, the rape kit was negative and my initial evaluation was no sexual assault. But after opening her up, I did find an abrasion in the vaginal lining, just under five inches in.”

She tossed the snake scarf over her shoulder. “So why didn’t I spot it initially? Because it was on the roof of the vaginal vault, kind of tucked away. A smallish but rather nasty snag wound consistent with insertion of a hard object-no jokes, please. Something with a pointed extension on the upper surface. My guess, confirmed by my tool-mark analyst, is the barrel of a handgun with a sharp sight. Initially, I assumed a.22 because of Backer. But after checking barrel lengths, I can’t see any.22 entering that deeply without inflicting serious external damage to the labia. So we’re leaning toward a larger-caliber revolver with a longer barrel and a prominent sight, such as a Charter Arms Bulldog. In fact, we tried out a Bulldog and it fit quite nicely with the abrasion.”

“Two guns,” said Milo. “Little one for shooting, big one for raping.”

“To me, Lieutenant, that smells of intimidation, rage, or maybe just plain sadism. And, of course, now you need to consider two offenders. Do you concur, Dr. Delaware?”