“Wild oats? You’re a music-therapy teacher.”
“Who after I began to see believed that the wine of life should be tasted to the last drop.”
“Really?” He looked intrigued. “Diane never mentioned wild oats to me.”
“She wouldn’t. You’re her idea of the wholesome guy next door. She wouldn’t want to scare you away.”
“I notice you didn’t disillusion her … yet.”
“No. I’ll have to probe a little more.” She smiled. “Guy-next-door types generally bore me. It shows a lack of courage to reach out.” She held up her hand to stop him from answering. “Later. Those lights up ahead is our destination. We’re going to have to run the gauntlet.”
* * *
“MA’AM, YOU’LL HAVE TO GET BACK in your car and clear out. Authorized personnel only.”
Kendra and Dean had driven around the two-mile-long line of stopped cars that extended from the bridge, down Laurel Boulevard and across the 1-5 freeway. A stocky, female traffic cop was holding back the curious onlookers, mostly joggers and dog walkers, angling for a glimpse of the chaotic scene.
Kendra turned back toward Dean, who had just parked his car on the side of the Prado Road that transitioned to the bridge’s two-lane roadway. She motioned for him to join her.
The traffic officer glared at him and raised her walkie-talkie as she would a lethal weapon. “Sir, don’t even think of leaving your car there. I have a tow truck on speed dial.”
Kendra waved him over again. Dean hesitated, then climbed out of the car.
The stocky cop shouted something that was lost in the roar of the circling news’copters. Kendra surveyed the scene behind her. There had to be someone she knew here. She had assisted in a few police investigations in the past few years, but none of them involved the accident-investigations cops now on the bridge snapping photos and taping off the scene.
Finally, she saw a familiar face. Lieutenant Wallace Poole, a tall, gangly, bald man who seemed to be doing little other than positioning himself toward the bank of news cameras.
Poole …
Kendra tried to remember if she had pissed him off during the Petco Stadium case a couple years before. Not that much, apparently. He stepped closer and waved her through the police line while simultaneously quieting the walkie-talkie-wielding traffic cop. He smiled. “Why, Dr. Michaels, what brings you here?”
“The same thing that brings you. How many fatalities?”
“Four.” He gestured back to the three wrecked vehicles on the bridge. “A man and woman in the convertible, a man in the pickup truck, and a woman in the minivan.” Poole’s eyes narrowed on her face. “I thought you only helped out on murder cases. Who called you in?”
“I’m being rude.” Kendra motioned toward Halley. “This is Dean Halley. Care to walk us through it?”
Poole appeared more mystified than before, but he nodded. “Uh, sure.” He led them past a fire truck and a line of road flares.
Dean shot her a “what-in-the-hell-are-we-doing” glance, but Kendra was busy scanning the scene in front of her.
The pickup truck, charred and dripping with extinguisher foam, was still smoldering alongside the bridge’s right-hand railing. A gray tarp was thrown over the driver’s compartment, obviously to conceal a corpse. The convertible BMW was right behind, grill first into the granite railing. The minivan was on its side a few paces behind, also surrounded by mounds of extinguisher foam.
Poole motioned toward the pickup truck. “We figure the driver of the truck lost control and plowed into the bridge. It triggered a chain reaction. The Beamer swerved and hit the stone railing. The van swerved the other way, rolled, and ended on its side.”
Kendra nodded. “No one was wearing seat belts?”
“No. That’s probably why none of them survived.”
“And no air bags deployed?”
“No. The investigators say it’s not all that uncommon unfortunately. They get stolen, or if they’re deployed once, they’re expensive to replace, and some people just don’t do it. It’s also possible that the crash sensors were faulty, or the trigger wires can get severed early in the crash sequence.”
“That took four lives.” Kendra leaned toward the BMW 320 coupe. It was easily the most intact of the cars, with no fire and only damaged at the crumpled front end. Two bodies were slumped in the front seat. They were a man and a woman, late twenties, both dressed in buttoned-down business attire, as if they were on their way home from a Fortune 500 board meeting. Blood ran from their heads and was splattered across the windshield. There were two impact shatter points on the glass, one in front of each victim.
“Anything about this look strange to you?” Kendra asked Poole.
“It all looks strange to me. What are you getting at?”
“Look at the number of windshield cracks radiating out from the impact points. The number is proportional to impact speed. With the speed that would have been necessary for those skulls to cause these kind of cracks, there should have been much more damage to this car’s front end when it struck the railing. I could see that from a barroom TV on Fifth Street. That was the first thing I noticed.” She leaned over the windshield and examined it more closely. “May I borrow an evidence glove?”
Poole peeled off his right glove and gave it to her. Kendra slipped it on and rubbed her fingers across the cracks, both inside the windshield and outside. She occasionally closed her eyes, letting her sense of touch guide her in a way that was seldom necessary anymore.
She finally looked up and stepped away. “And, what’s more, the force of impact came from outside this windshield, not the inside.”
Poole leaned down to look. “Both sides are shattered. How can you tell?”
“There are two kinds of fractures here. Radial fractures, which jut out like the spokes of a wheel, and concentric fractures, which are like a series of circles radiating outward. The concentric fractures are always on the impact side. It’s difficult to see which side they’re actually on, but you can feel them.” She peeled off the glove and handed it to Poole. “Want to try?”
“No thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Anyway, your forensics guys will back me up.” Kendra glanced around. “I take it no one actually saw the accident?”
“No. The zoo and botanical gardens had been closed for hours. There’s not a lot of traffic here after dark.”
“So what were the victims doing here?”
“Don’t know. We’ve just started notifying the next of kin.” He motioned toward the still-circling news’copters.” Although some may have found out already.” Poole turned to Dean. “What about you? Are you with the media? Who are you again?”
Dean extended his hand. “Dean Halley. History professor. Just along for the ride.”
Poole looked at Kendra.
“He doesn’t have anything to do with this,” she added quickly. “Blind date.”
Poole glanced from one to the other. “Huh. And how’s it going?”
“Pretty good, I think,” Kendra said.
Dean nodded. “Except for the dead bodies. Could have done without that.”
Poole stared at Kendra. “Then why in the hell are you here, Dr. Michaels?”
“I didn’t want evidence compromised. I’m sure your medical examiner will tell you this later tonight or tomorrow, but these people didn’t die here.”
Poole gazed at her for another long moment. “What makes you say that?”
“There would be a lot more blood if they had hit this windshield with enough force to kill them. They both have identical bruising on their necks, as if they were strangled by the same patterned belt or cord.”
Poole examined the corpses in the BMW more closely. “And how did you know you would find this?”
“I didn’t. But like I said, I could see this accident wasn’t what it seemed to be.” She pointed to the long skid mark behind the overturned minivan. “This was meant to look like it came from that van, but I don’t think it did. If you skid on antilock brakes, the mark looks like a series of dashes, not an unbroken line. Another thing I spotted from the news helicopter.”