“I’m low tech, too.”
“I’m glad you are. So, easy for a valet, but not so easy for anybody else. Or, he could have bought a spare keyless unit to fit her car — but that means he’d have to have her picked out way in advance. See, this system is awfully hard to beat. It’s designed to defeat the old code grabbers, keep them from grinding their own keys from the vehicle identification or serial numbers. This has got rolling codes that change every time the key is used. If he had his own keyless unit, I don’t understand why he would deactivate the alarm but not open the doors. I don’t understand why one and not the other.”
Hess nodded and didn’t understand either. “Then he must not have had a keyless entry device. Not one that was working.”
Ike shrugged. “Well, he didn’t override the alarm mechanically — the good thieves can pop the hood and cut the system before it sounds more than once or twice. They usually work in pairs. But that’s messy and there’s no sign of forced entry at all, other than the Slim Jim abrasions. This guy beat the alarm system electronically, then used the Slim Jim. That would be his only chance, out in a mall parking lot. People around, security. Two things cancel all our bets, though: if she never turned on the security system. Or if she knew him.”
Hess sighed. His vision blurred for just a second, then sharpened again. “Amazing what people forget to do.”
“Amen to that.”
Hess had already cross-checked the Jillson and Kane lists. Both were still growing, but so far, no friends in common. No shared business associates, retailers or service companies except for gas and electric. They belonged to no common organizations unless you counted the auto club, which had millions of members in the state. But he understood that the observers of a person’s life can be many and easily overlooked. And that finding the shared point could be very difficult. He needed to stand in the middle of Lael Jillson and Janet Kane’s lives and look out from there. See what he could see.
“We’re looking,” he said. “Could he make his own? Some kind of universal override device? Something that would work on a lot of different makes and models?”
Ike’s eyebrows and shoulders raised and lowered. “The creeps are always finding a way. That’s what creeps do. You’d have to be pretty darned good with this kind of stuff.”
Ike set the module on the floor, straightened and snapped his head left to get the hair off his face. “I’ll work the interiors again for the usual evidence, Lieutenant.”
“Hit the space behind the driver’s seat extra hard.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hess looked at Janet Kane’s disassembled BMW.
“Lieutenant Hess? I just want to wish you all the good luck in the world, with what you’re going through. It’s good to have a low-tech guy around.”
Hess smiled. The chemotherapy made his lips feel too small and his teeth feel huge.
“Thanks, Ike. It’s good to be around.”
He parked in front of Janet Kane’s Laguna Beach cottage. It was slat construction circa 1930 and painted white with gray trim. There was a shaded front porch with beds of flowers in front of it. Two adirondack chairs by the door. The garden hose was coiled on a crank stand and ended with a sprinkler spiked into the ground. The walkway across the lawn was bordered by river rocks with purple lobelia and white alyssum sprouting up between them.
Hess took the two missing persons files and got out. The air smelled of flowers. On the way up the steps he stopped and looked down at the flower beds. They were dry and dying in the warm August sun. He turned on the water and collected the mail before letting himself into the house.
Inside he confronted the personal surroundings of Janet Kane. Hardwood floors and pale green walk. Rich-looking red French furniture with curvy legs, but not a lot of it. Paintings, sculptures, stacks of art books on the shelves. A red plastic TV with a seven-inch screen. The kitchen was small but light, with big squares of alternating white-and-black tile, just like his. Hess noted that there was a painting in the kitchen of her living room and a painting in the living room of her kitchen. Her file said she was a sales representative for a New York publisher of art books.
He pushed the message button on her answering machine and turned up the volume all the way:
Janet, this is Dale. We just got a 1,500-copy order from Borders for the Cezanne and a lot of that is thanks to you. Just wanted you to be the first to know. See you at pre-sales.
It angered Hess that whoever had taken Janet Kane out to the Ortega probably had no idea that she was artistic and joyful and a little bit unconventional. He probably knew nothing about her except the way she looked. He probably didn’t know her name until late in the process. Hess looked at her picture in a frame on the bookshelf — Janet Kane and two girlfriends about her age standing three across at a party of some kind. An art opening, Hess speculated, a reception. She was in the middle. She would be the brave one of her group, Hess thought, the one quick to laugh, chide, take a stand or take a chance.
Hi, Jan, this is Pete again. Just checking in. Hope we’re still on for dinner Friday. Looking forward to it. Keep in touch, now.
The bedroom smelled of woman. It remained cool and i dark at the back of the house with the shades drawn. Her bed was unmade and there was a coffee cup on the nightstand by the clock. Something on the ceiling caught his eye. Hess turned on the light, then turned it off. To the ceiling plaster Janet Kane had affixed luminescent stars of plastic, the kind made for children’s rooms. Children, he thought, or anyone who had a sense of humor left.
Hi Candy Cane, this is Sue-Happy, you home? Pick up. Piiick uuup... okay, look — let’s have a late one at the Zoolo Cafe tonight. I’ve got to tell you about last Sunday and I want to hear about Pete the Peeve. Cheerio, ding-dong...
Hi, Jan, this is Pete. It’s Thursday and I know you’re working hard but give me a call. I want to get Friday nailed down or not — got some things I’d like to talk about. ’Bye for now.
Jan, Pete again. I’m at 555-4459 today. Later!
Rayborn had interviewed Pete Carter. According to her notes he was saddened, shocked and not to be suspected. He’d claimed to have been out in local bars the night she died and Rayborn had already confirmed it. He was a popular guy — people here knew him. Hess heard sincerity in his voice — maybe a little too much of it, maybe that’s why she hadn’t called him back to begin with.
Hess turned on the light again, then sat on the bed and looked through Janet Kane’s mail. Bills. Junk. Invites to art events. A card-sized envelope with a return address for “P. Carter” scribbled on the back. He remembered from Rayborn’s notes that Kane’s mother and father had arrived here the day after the missing person report was filed by Kane’s friend, Sue Herlihy. Kane owned the home. Hess wondered idly if she was interstate but assumed that either way, her folks would be around for a few more days.
A pea-sized part of my brain says they still might be alive.
Hess tried hard to think of a way this might be possible. He couldn’t reconcile the amount of blood he saw under the oak tree with the continuation of human life. But maybe the crime lab would come up with different results in the saturation test. The Jillson site was too old for a reliable estimate. The Kane site would be their gold standard.
Janet, this is Sandy at Prima Printers. Your cards are finished and ready to be picked up. Bye.
Janet Kane? This is Brian at Len’s Wine Cite. The Brunello you liked came m today. Steve said it’s the best he’s had. We’ll hold a case for you if you’re still interested. Thanks.