“Nope.”
At that point, the task force had investigated over sixty selected breaking-and-entering occurrences. Neither of the Bakers’ cars had been recently damaged, but because a physical injury had taken place and the other task force search criterion fit, Lt. Huff had decided to follow up. Deluca and I had drawn the assignment. Given the number of break-ins already investigated without success, it was without much hope that I climbed a final flight of steps and rapped on the Bakers’ front door. Seconds later I changed my mind.
“Mrs. Baker? Maureen Baker?” I asked the stunningly beautiful brunette who had answered the door.
The woman, who was extremely tall and possessed a flawless figure, nodded. “You’re the cop… the detective who called?”
I flipped out my shield. “I’m Detective Kane. This is Detective Deluca.”
“Under different circumstances, a pleasure,” said Deluca.
Mrs. Baker looked at Deluca, then back at me. “I told the other policemen everything I know, which isn’t much. I’m not certain why you want to talk to me. I wasn’t even here when it happened.”
“Yes, ma’am. We understand, but there are still some things we want to go over. May we come in?”
“Why not? Everybody else has.”
I pushed past her into the house. Deluca followed.
“Would… would either of you like something?” Mrs. Baker stammered as she closed the door, seeming uncomfortable with me towering over her in her entry. “Coffee, a Coke?”
“Not me,” answered Deluca.
“I’ve had my caffeine for the day,” I said, glancing into the living room. “How about if we talk in there?”
“All right.”
Deluca and I followed the woman into a large, elegantly furnished room with a leather couch and loveseat facing a rock fireplace. Withdrawing a pen and notebook from his jacket, Deluca took a seat on the couch. Mrs. Baker settled nervously on the love seat, her hands flitting like captive birds in her lap. I remained standing. “Take it from the beginning,” I suggested. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Mrs. Baker nodded. “As I said, there’s not much to tell. I got a call at work yesterday. Our maid had been attacked. I rushed home in time to see Rosa being driven off in an ambulance. That’s it.”
“Was anything taken?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. I searched through everything, but I couldn’t find anything missing.”
“How’d he get in?”
“I don’t know. John and I always lock the doors when we leave. Rosa comes on Mondays and Thursdays, but she has her own key. Maybe she forgot to lock up after she arrived.”
“The report said one of the garage doors was open.”
“I noticed that when I got home,” Mrs. Baker said, appearing puzzled. “I suppose I could have forgotten to shut it on my way out.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No.”
“Do you lock the door from the garage into the house?”
“Not usually. You think the burglar may already have been inside, and Rosa surprised him when she got here?”
“Maybe. Do you have kids?”
“One. Kyle is seven. He was at school when it happened.”
I crossed to the window and stared out at the street, noting a home for sale several houses down. “Let me ask you something, Mrs. Baker. Do you belong to a health club?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A health club, some sort of fitness center? It’s important.”
“Actually, yes. At least I used to. The Sports Club in West LA.”
“On Sepulveda?” asked Deluca. “The one that takes up a whole city block?”
“That’s it.”
“You used to belong?” I asked, turning from the window.
“I canceled my membership a few weeks back.”
“Why?”
“It was too far to go. I thought the trip wouldn’t be that bad, but the freeway’s always jammed and driving over Beverly Glen three times a week turned out to be too much. It made more sense to join a club here in the valley.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet.”
“You could probably go a couple more months without a problem,” Deluca noted appreciatively.
Ignoring Deluca’s comment, I asked, “Did anything unusual happen to you at the Sports Club?”
“Like what?”
“Like an accident in the parking lot, or maybe some guy showing a little too much interest in you?”
“There was somebody,” said Mrs. Baker, her eyes widening.
“What did he do?”
“He introduced himself at the desk. I only gave my first name, but I caught him trying to get a look at my membership card. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Hours later I saw him again outside the post office, and then again at the market. He was driving a white van. It was too much of a coincidence. I started checking my rearview mirror after that. Sure enough, the guy was following me.”
“When was this?”
“Sunday. Two weeks ago.”
“Remember his name?”
“No. Sorry.”
“How about a license number?”
“I didn’t think to get it.”
“Type of Van? Ford? Chevy?”
Mrs. Baker shrugged.
“Damn,” I said. “Okay, go ahead. What happened next?”
“Nothing. I drove around Beverly Hills and lost him in traffic. After that, I came home. I haven’t been back to the club since. Do you think the man who broke in was the same guy?”
“Possibly. What did he look like?”
“I don’t remember much about him. He was kind of, uh, plain.”
“White?”
“Yes.”
“How tall? Five-ten? Six feet? Six-two?”
“Sorry, I can’t say.”
“You’d be surprised what you can bring back.” I crossed to the love seat and took her hand. “Stand up.”
Hesitantly, Mrs. Baker rose to her feet.
“The guy introduced himself to you at the desk,” I said, releasing her hand and moving closer. “How near was he? Closer than this?”
Mrs. Baker shifted uncomfortably. “I… about like that.”
“Close enough to smell. Did he have on cologne? Maybe he had bad breath, body odor?”
“Uh, he was wearing cologne, I think. Old Spice. My husband uses it.”
“I’m a bit over six-three and weigh around two-fifteen. Was the guy bigger or smaller than me?”
“Smaller. I had to look up at him, but not much. And I wasn’t wearing heels.”
“That would make him around five-eleven, maybe six feet,” I said, gauging Mrs. Baker’s height. “How about his build? Fat, skinny, muscular?”
“Not as muscular as you. But strong. You know, wiry.”
“So let’s put him in the one seventy-five to one ninety range. You said he introduced himself. Did he shake your hand?”
“Yes. He did.”
“Like this?” I took her hand again, swallowing it in mine. “Think back. Anything you can recall might help. How did his hand feel? Hard? Soft?”
“He… he had on workout gloves. I remember thinking it was rude of him not to take them off.”
“Keep going.”
“His hand was smaller than yours. He had a limp, creepy grip, as if he were afraid of hurting me if he squeezed too hard. Not like you,” she added pointedly.
“What about his voice? Loud, soft? Any accent?”
“He talked softly, which I thought was unusual for someone his size. No accent.”
“Scars, marks, distinguishing features?”
“I didn’t see any.”
“Age?”
“About like you. Maybe a few years younger.”
Releasing her hand, I stepped even closer. “Look at me and pretend I’m the guy. Did you see his eyes?”
“Briefly,” said Mrs. Baker, thinking back. “They were dark. Like his hair.”
“Could his hair have been dyed?”
“Now that you mention it, I did notice something about it that didn’t seem quite right.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that there was an intensity about him that made me feel uncomfortable. Like now.”
“Sorry.” I took a step back and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Sometimes it helps to remember if you go through it again. You did well.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I’d like you to come downtown and work with a police artist, see whether we can come up with a sketch of the man who followed you. Would you do that for us?”