She phoned his house in La Crescenta. Kathy Bishop answered, sounding subdued.
“Did I wake you? Sorry-”
“No, we're up, Petra. We just watched it, too. Here's Stu.”
None of the usual small talk. Kathy usually liked to chat. Something different with both of them- a marital thing? No, couldn't be, the Bishops were poster children for marital solidity, don't disillusion me, Lord.
Stu came on. “Just got off the phone with Schoelkopf. Quote: ‘We don't want another f-ing O.J. My office, eight A.M.' ”
“Something to wake up for.”
“Yeah. How'd the notification go?”
“Spoke to the father. He hates Ramsey's guts, is positive Ramsey did it.”
“He back that up with anything?”
“The beating. And he says Lisa was scared of Ramsey.”
“Scared of what?”
“He didn't say.”
“Aha… okay, eight A.M.”
“What do you think about the broadcast?”
Silence. “I guess it could help us. Make Ramsey a de facto suspect and get the brass worried about looking stupid if we don't press him a little.”
“Good point,” she said.
Silence.
“Okay, I won't keep you- just one more thing: Dr. Boehlinger runs an ER, probably a take-charge kind of guy. I'm sure he and his wife will be coming out ASAP. He hates Ramsey. What if he decides to get proactive?”
“Hmm,” he said, as if it were mildly interesting. Same way he'd reacted to the library book. Was she off her game? “Share it with the captain. He's such a sharing person.”
Tuesday, 7:57 A.M.
Edmund Schoelkopf looked more Latin than Teutonic. A short, trim man in his early fifties, he had moist black eyes, thick, artificial-looking black hair combed back from a flat, shallow forehead, and delicate lips. His skin was the color of All-Bran. He wore knockoffs of Armani double-breasteds and aggressive ties; looked like a former cop who'd gone on to corporate security. But he'd spent every moment of his work life in LAPD and would probably never leave till mandatory retirement.
His office was unimpressive, the usual mix of city-issue and community donations. He let Stu and Petra right in.
“Coffee?” His bass voice was morning-thick, barely into the human register. On the walls behind him were the usual graphs and pin charts- tides of crime that could be surfed but never tamed.
The coffee smelled burnt. They were supposed to refuse it, and they did. Schoelkopf pushed back his desk chair and crossed his legs, tugging up knife-crease slacks.
“Tell me,” he said, the basso corseted now.
Stu caught him up on the visit to Ramsey's house, and Petra summed up her talk with Patsy K., the search of the apartment and the door-to-door, the notification of Dr. Boehlinger. Presented that way, it sounded as if she'd done a lot more work than Stu. She had. He didn't seem to care; kept looking around. Schoelkopf seemed distracted, too, even when Petra talked about the discovery of Lisa's dope.
“The father blames it on Ramsey, sir,” she said. “He really hates Ramsey's guts.”
“Wouldn't you? So… you'll follow up with that black guy at the studio- Darrell.”
“Right away. What if Dr. Boehlinger tries to get involved?”
Schoelkopf's black eyes fixed on the center of her forehead. “We'll deal with that if and when it occurs. Let's concentrate on getting some data. I know the lab's got all the stuff, but is there anything even remotely resembling physical evidence yet?”
Petra was about to shake her head when Stu said, “Petra found something interesting. A library book, hundred feet or so above the body. And there are some other indications someone could have been up there recently. There's a rock formation-”
“I've seen the crime-scene photos,” said Schoelkopf. “What other indications?”
Petra's hands had tightened. She tried to catch Stu's eye, but he focused on the captain. Something interesting?
Schoelkopf said, “Tell me about the other indications, Barbie.”
“Food wrappers,” she said. “Like from a fast-food joint. Specks of ground beef, maybe tacos. And urine on one of the rocks-”
Schoelkopf said, “Someone eating and peeing and reading? What kind of library book?”
“Presidents of the United States.”
That seemed to annoy him. “Checked out recently?”
“No, sir. Nine months ago.”
“Oh, c'mon- that sounds like bullshit.” He tossed coffee down his throat. The mug was steaming. It had to hurt. “What makes you think this person was up there recently?”
“The meat wasn't dried out, sir.”
“A speck of meat?”
“A few specks. Ground beef.”
“How long does it take for ground beef to dry out?”
“I don't know, sir.”
“I don't either, but I'll bet it varies, depending on how much fat in the meat, temperature, humidity, who knows whatever the fuck else. What about the urine?”
“The crime techs thought it was-”
“It's a park,” said Schoelkopf. “People come up there to eat and relax, maybe they take a leak when no one's watching- there are picnic tables not far from there, right?”
“Yes, but not right there, sir. These rocks-”
“Sometimes people don't bother going to the john- is there a john nearby?”
“Just past the picnic tables.”
“People are lazy- okay, I can see you liking the food and the pee, but the book tells me you're barking up the wrong tree. Because it was dark, Barbie. Why the hell would anyone be out there reading in the dark?”
“The person could have arrived earlier, stayed till after dark-”
“What, some intellectual with an interest in political science is reading about the presidents- God knows why, they're all scumbags- eats, takes a leak, and lays his head down on a rock and falls asleep and just happens to wake up to see the girl get sliced? Fine, so where is he, your witness?”
“We're not saying the book was even related to the food,” she said. “It was found a ways up from the-”
“Hey,” said Schoelkopf, “you want a gift from Santa Claus, fine. But for all we know it was Ramsey behind those rocks munching a burger and taking a leak- sitting in wait for her. She shows up, he jumps her.”
“The way she was dressed, sir, she seemed to be out on a date.”
“With who?”
“Maybe Ramsey. His everyday car, a Mercedes, was gone when we visited his house. If we're allowed to ask questions, maybe we can find out where it is.”
Schoelkopf shot forward in his chair. “You don't think you're being allowed?”
Petra didn't answer.
Stu said, “We have been told to be careful.”
“And what the fuck's wrong with that? Ever hear of Orenthal James Asshole? Remember what happens when people aren't careful?”
Silence.
Schoelkopf drank more coffee but remained slanted forward. “You'll proceed appropriately once the evidentiary basis has been established. Let's get back to your scenario, assume she was having some kind of date that ended in a meeting at the park. Ramsey, dope, or she's trysting with some married guy. Or cruising some fucking whips-and-chains club, who the hell knows. And let's say your potential witness was behind the rock. What kind of witness bunks out in the park at night and pees on rocks? Sees a brutal murder and doesn't call us. That sound like Joe Citizen?”
Petra said, “Maybe a homeless person-”
“Exactly,” said Schoelkopf. “A lowlife, a mental case. No sane person- no legit person- would be out at night alone in Griffith Park. Meaning, we've got a bum or a wacko or even the bad guy himself. Hell, I'll go for a scumbag who reads about the presidents, but till you get me a lead, I'm not gonna authorize any media release for the info, because we are not going to look like idiots on this one.”