He bent over and pushed his face through tabletop. The shallowness of the upper drawers limited his range of sight. To check contents took side-to-side sweeps, making him feel like someone reading a book through a loupe. But passing from cosmetics in the middle drawer to one of the side drawers, he found a salt-and-pepper mustache in a plastic box, and more hair the same color in another box. Yes! Those could be Kijurian’s mustache and eyebrows.
Cole knelt to lean into the large lower drawer. It contained a stack of round boxes…containing hair, he found as he pressed down through them. Wigs? Excitement mounting in him, he shuffled over to the big drawer on the opposite side. Among the boxes, cans, and bottles there, one word leaped out: latex! The material movie makeup artists used to create false faces.
He jumped to his feet and raced out to check the bookshelves and confirm that Irah had books on theater makeup. There was also a videotape labeled Ex-spy/secrets of disguises. Which meant she had the knowledge and materials to make herself into Kijurian. He would love to see a face recognition program compare her to Kijurian.
Staring at some books on locks and security systems, it occurred to him…maybe Flaxx kept more than arson in the family. One of the problems in making the burglary case against him was the total silence on the street about him looking for men to pull the jobs. No wonder, if little sister could do it. Who knew the store security systems better? She was slim enough to fit through the small rear windows of stores broken into that way, and limber enough to hide in a small space waiting for closing time, as happened in other stores.
Cole hurried back into the closet and stuck his head into the drawer portion of the armoire. It held rolls of electrical wire and electrical tape, along with a can of polyurethane foam and a black, child-sized backpack. The jumble of items in the small space of the backpack played hell with trying see what was there. Going down through it, eyeball to item, he did make out needle-nose pliers, a small roll of the electrical wire, more tape, another can of polyurethane foam, and a rolled bundle that could be lock picks.
Grinning, he sat back on his heels. The pack’s contents needed to be spread out for a good examination, but it sure as hell looked like a burglar kit to him. What a piece of work Irah was…big brother’s own personal in-house department of dirty tricks. No wonder Flaxx tolerated some attitude. It made for a tight, secure conspiracy…brother, sister, and devoted henchman.
Cole’s satisfaction faded. The only murder the Kijurian outfit and burglar tools pointed to was the firefighter’s. He needed more evidence to show that Irah killed him, and maybe Sara.
The murder weapon would be a start. He leaned into the armoire once more, this time into the gun safe. To his disappointment, all he could see were four zippered gun pouches. Seeing whether one of them held a Glock had to wait for a search. He stood and headed out through the bedroom, fighting uneasiness. In Irah’s place, he would have thrown the Glock in the bay. He could only hope she hung on to it. He needed that gun. Right now, it looked like all the evidence he had against her.
As he crossed the sitting area, the curio cabinet caught Cole’s eye. She had a cylinder lock on it, too.
Connections crackled in his brain. Cross-dressing…burglary…kitsch. Cole ran to the cabinet and peered at the jumble on the shelves. He had barely glanced at the collection before…registered the Mardi Gras beads, a scruffy Princess Leia action figure, and a prancing model horse with a long pink mane and tail…and classified the stuff as childhood treasures and accumulated tchotchkes. Now he took a closer look and bells clanged. He had seen such items Gayle Harris and Phil Braff’s list of Old Spice’s souvenir picks. An armless Barbie doll, flat stones glued together and painted to look like a frog, a snow globe with the Olympic rings and a pagoda, a letter opener in the shape of a miniature samurai sword, a cast metal figure of a jumping horse and rider.
It appeared Irah did not confine burglary to the Flaxx stores.
No wonder Gayle and Braff’s were chasing their tails. Struggling in the dark with an athletic opponent who bested him really screwed up that homeowner’s perception of his opponent. And Irah burglarized herself for, what…cover? Or maybe to study the investigation process, the better to-
Another thought cut across that one, reverberating in him. Irah takes souvenirs.
Feverishly, Cole began studying the shelves even more closely. That was how to tie her to his murder, find a personal article of his here. Or of Sara’s. He hoped there was nothing of Sara’s, but while looking for something of his, he tried not to overlook anything that might be hers. The problem was guessing what that might be. Except for her butterfly passion, he knew so little about her. None of the shelves had a butterfly.
None of the shelves had anything he recognized as his, either.
He frowned irritably at the cabinet and started the search over. She must have something of his here! Not those handcuffs on the bottom shelf. They were hinged and his had a chain. Item by item, shelf by shelf, he examined the contents of the cabinet a second time. And a third. When that found nothing, either, Cole backed off and looked around the room. Where else could she be keeping souvenirs.
Maybe the rolltop desk?
He put his head into it. One drawer contained a pair of handcuffs with a chain, but he had no way to identify them as his. His had no personalizing marks. Nothing else visible to him in the drawers looked significant or incriminating. A laptop in the rolltop section was closed and inaccessible.
Backing away, he took one more look around. Frustration hissed through him. “I guess you won this round, Irah.” For everything here, there was still no proof whether Sara was dead or alive, and no hard evidence against Irah for murder. He gritted his teeth. “But you’ve left evidence somewhere…and I will find it!”
15
Cole eyed the Mustang urn. Dear hubby was a good place to start. While running Carrasco on Homicide’s computer, he also could hook up with Razor again and keep working on him. Assuming Razor had managed to stick with Hamada.
Before trying to ziptrip, Cole memorized details of the room and the view out the window…just in case he wanted to zip back for another look around. Then he concentrated…Homicide office, Hamada’s desk, Bay Bridge view. Be kind, travel gods.
Irah’s bedroom gave way to Charlie Dennis hunched over a typewriter, muttering to himself while his fingers flew. Even burned out, he typed faster than anyone else in the Bureau. In this instance, Cole saw on peering over Dennis’s shoulder, he worked on a search warrant for Sara’s credit cards. An affidavit for the warrant already lay on his desk along with the affidavit and search warrant for the apartment…waiting for a judge’s signature. So Hamada ought to be coming back to find a judge.
Across the room, Tom Padilla sat using the computer. Cole walked over to wait. He doubted there was much on Carrasco locally, but since Flaxx talked about Irah having fun enough for a lifetime in L.A., Cole hoped Sacramento and NCIC could give him something.
Padilla hit Print. While the printer worked, he rubbed a spot off the monitor with his thumb. The action reminded Cole what his touch did to Irah’s computer. Could he leave a message even without a digitized screen like Braff’s laptop?
Padilla collected his printout and headed back for his desk.
Cole touched one finger to the screen and averted his eyes long enough to sink the tip into it. The image distorted where he touched. To his disappointment, however, when he moved the finger, the only effect was a shift in the point of distortion. No trail remained. Bummer. He was stuck with using the keyboard.