“Is that where it happened? Near the cashiers?” Bailey asked.
“No, it was in front, just inside the entrance.” He pointed to the three sets of double doors. The area was guarded by another set of officers. Behind them I saw paramedics huddled around a body on the floor. Torn, bloody pants that’d been ripped off the body lay a few feet away. Next to them was a purse, its contents strewn across the floor. “He walked in and just started shooting.”
“Could you see his face?” I asked.
“No, he was wearing a ski mask. One of those kinds with just eyeholes. And he had on a coat, like an Army jacket-what do you call it-”
“Camouflage?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Could you tell how tall he was? Anything about his size?” Bailey asked.
Enrique swallowed and wiped his forehead. “Uh, I think he was kind of tall.” But Enrique wasn’t much taller than me-five feet seven, tops. Most men would seem tall to him.
“Could you show us how much taller than you?” I asked.
“Maybe about this much?” Enrique gestured about three inches above his head. That would make the shooter about five feet ten. “And he looked kind of stocky, I think. Not fat. Just…not thin.”
It was possible the coat made him look bigger than he really was. This type of eyewitness description could be notoriously unreliable. One man’s idea of big was another one’s idea of medium.
“Did he say anything when he was firing the guns?” I asked.
“No. He just started shooting at everyone around him. Then he ran out.”
“Did you see him throw anything down before he ran?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think he dropped the guns.”
“Did you see him do that?” I asked.
He frowned. “No, I guess not, but I heard the police saying that.”
We wrapped up with the manager and stepped away to talk to Gina privately.
“Have they found any decent witnesses?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Gina said. “You might check with Jay Rollins. He took the people in the parking lot.” She pulled out her cell and punched a number. “Hey, Jay, where you at? I’ve got the lead IO here.” She listened, then said, “Okay, I’m sending them over.” Gina ended the call. “I’ve got to stay here and coordinate.” She pointed to a black man in a detective uniform-sports jacket, tie, and slacks-in the parking lot, standing next to an unmarked car. He was talking to a squat woman in a long skirt and hooded parka.
“Thanks, Gina,” Bailey said.
I couldn’t remember when I’d seen Bailey look so miserable, so defeated.
Gina gave her a sympathetic look and slapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, Keller, you’ll get the son of a bitch. You always do.”
We headed for the parking lot. “Yeah,” Bailey muttered under her breath. “The question is, when?”
When we got to him, Jay was still listening to the woman, and she didn’t sound as though she was inclined to be finished any time soon. He nodded in our direction and held up two fingers to let us know he’d wrap it up.
“I mean, it was just a blur,” she said. “But I know I saw a guy running. I know I did.”
From Jay’s expression, I could tell this was probably the fifth time she’d repeated that amazingly unhelpful statement. But there was something about him that told me he was pretty good at dealing with people like her. He couldn’t have been much past his forties, but he had a kind face and a relaxed attitude. Jay let the woman run through it all again, then thanked her and motioned for us to follow him.
He headed toward a circle of squad cars at the far west side of the parking lot. As we fell in next to him, we exchanged introductions.
“I don’t envy you this one, Detective Keller. But I think I may have the break you were looking for.”
A break. At last. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
65
Jay stopped and pointed to a squad car ten feet away. “We’ve got a witness over there says he saw the guy get into a car. Got the description of the car and the license plate.”
Bailey looked from the car to Jay. “No shit.”
“No shit. He’s-well, I’ll let you see for yourselves. But I think his story’s solid.”
“Someone ran the plate?” Bailey asked.
“Of course. It’s registered to a woman. Angelica Freeman. Address in Canoga Park.”
“What kind of car was it?” I asked. Please let it be an old Chevy.
“Pontiac sedan. Nineteen eighty-six. Our guy said it was a screwed-up junker.”
Close enough. I could feel my heart beat faster. “It wasn’t a stolen?”
“No. But we’re checking on the insurance. Might just be that the woman wasn’t driving it so she didn’t realize it was gone.”
Jay led us to the squad car and pointed to the backseat, where a young man in his twenties was bopping to the sound coming from his earbuds. His shoulder-length brown hair looked like a combed-out Brillo pad, and probably would’ve been flying all over the place if it hadn’t been for the knit cap pulled down to his eyebrows, one of which was pierced. He wore a frayed, dirty-looking blue puffer coat and sneakers that were coming apart where the rubber met the canvas. The overall look told me indoor plumbing wasn’t a regular experience for him. His home address was probably the seven hundred block of Ventura Boulevard.
Jay leaned down and tapped his arm. “Hey, Forest, got a couple more people for you to talk to.”
“Oh, sure thing, Detective!” Forest jumped out of the car, tugged on his cap, and gave us an anxious smile.
He didn’t offer his hand for a shake, so I didn’t offer mine. Some of the homeless have issues with physical contact. “Hi, Forest, I’m Rachel Knight and this is Detective Bailey Keller. You saw something tonight?”
He gave us both a little wave. “Hi. Uh, yeah.” Forest bounced from side to side. “I heard people screaming, you know? And I was, like, right over there.” He pointed to an area behind us, stretching his arm as far as it would go.
“Like where that red Prius is parked?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Forest shifted into hyperdrive. His words came flying out as though they’d been spring-loaded. “So then, I noticed this dude. He was, like, wearing one of those Army jackets, you know? And he wasn’t screaming or nothing like the others. I seen him walking fast, but not running like everyone else. So I, like, ducked down behind that car there”-he pointed to a blue Ford Explorer twenty feet away. “I saw him get into this banged-up old green car. And I memorized the license plate ’cuz, like, I knew. I knew something was up with that dude.”
“Could you tell how tall he was?” I asked. “Was he as tall as you?”
Forest was at least five feet ten, maybe six feet. “Nah. He was like maybe so tall.” He held a hand about three inches above my head.
“What size body did he have?” I asked. “Skinny? Medium? Fat?”
“Nah, not fat. Not skinny. Well…I guess I couldn’t really tell under that coat. But I’m sure he wasn’t fat.”
“Could you see his face or his hair?” I asked.
Forest shook his head. “He was wearing one of those things.” He put his hand in front of his face. “Like in the movies, where you can only see the eyes. Except I couldn’t see his eyes. He was too far away.” Forest shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked down. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve seen more.”
“Forest, don’t be sorry. You did great.” I waited for him to look up. When he made eye contact, I smiled at him. “Really. You’ve helped a lot and we so appreciate it.”
He dipped his head and looked at me shyly through his fringe of woolly hair. “Always try to help.” He nodded to himself. “I try.”