Perfect.
She found the LISTEN LIVE icon on the screen and clicked it. Then she turned up the volume, grabbed her leather jacket, and walked out onto the back porch. Moving away from the slider, she leaned against the side of the house and gazed at the pool. The lights were off, the rain breaking the water’s smooth black surface like stones falling out of the sky.
She flipped open her cell. Ramira from The Times would have to wait. When she found the medical examiner’s home number in her address book and hit ENTER, Art Madina picked up on the first ring.
“It’s me,” she said. “And I need a favor.”
“What is it? And what’s that in the background? It sounds like we’ve got the same station on.”
She smiled again. She knew Madina listened to rock and still went to the clubs on weekends. She knew that he had been a fan of her brother’s music as well.
“I need a favor,” she repeated.
“Tell me what I can do.”
“I want to take another look at Jane Doe’s body.”
“That’s easy. She’s in the cooler. Come over any time you want to.”
“I don’t mean a quick look,” she said. “I don’t know what your schedule’s like, but I really think we need to do it as soon as possible, Art. How’s tomorrow morning sound?”
“Hold on a second.”
She heard him set down the phone, then shut off the music at his end. When he finally came back, his voice had changed.
“What’s going on, Lena? Tell me what you’re looking for.”
“We need to make sure that she’s all there.”
A moment passed. She could still see that meat grinder on the workbench.
“Why wouldn’t she be all there?” he asked.
“I can’t answer that,” she said. “It’s something we need to check.”
“How much would be missing?”
“I don’t know.”
Another moment passed. Longer. Heavier. Both of them thinking it over. She could feel the wall vibrating beneath her back from headbanger’s night on KROQ. She could see the lights from the Library Tower, the tallest building west of the Mississippi, flickering in the rain clouds. She kept her eyes on the tower-the city’s beacon standing tall. For a moment it felt like she was riding out a storm in heavy seas, steering the bow of a disabled ship toward a lighthouse on a rocky shore.
“Can we do it?” she asked. “Can we take another look?”
“You bet we can. First thing in the morning.”
“See you then,” she said.
She closed her phone, wondering if it wasn’t too late to call Rhodes. She had held back all day, not wanting to break in on his time with his sister. Just one call in the morning, letting him know that they had found the crime scene and SID was processing the evidence. No need for him to change his plans and return.
Deciding to wait, she scrolled through her address book searching for Bobby Rathbone’s number. She needed another favor tonight, help from an old friend, and hoped that his cell number was still good. But before she could make the call, her cell started vibrating in her hand. She checked the display and saw Denny Ramira’s name pop up. She had forgotten to call the reporter back.
“You said five minutes,” he shouted over the phone.
“I don’t have time for this, Denny.”
“Five minutes,” he repeated. “It’s been more than twenty. When I called the house, all it did is fucking ring.”
“You leave a message?”
“No. I called your cell. I’m in trouble, Lena. Big trouble. I need your help. We need to meet and talk this out.”
She shook her head. She needed to reach Rathbone, not waste time on a reporter worried about making his deadline. She wanted Rathbone to sweep the house tonight. She wanted to know exactly what Klinger had done.
She lifted the phone back to her ear. “Talk about what, Denny? There’s nothing to say. We processed a crime scene. End of story. Call your friend on the sixth floor.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about saving my fucking life. I’ve got information. We need to meet tonight.”
His voice had reached a fever pitch. Ramira sounded frightened.
“Information about what?”
The reporter didn’t say anything.
“Information about what?” she repeated.
“That body you found in the trash.”
22
Lena switched on the wipers and made a left at the end of the drive. The rain had picked up and the road felt slick.
Ramira had insisted on meeting in person and wouldn’t say anything over the phone. Wouldn’t even give her a hint. She finally agreed to see him-agreed to meet at the Blackbird-based on his word that whatever he had was worth a late-night trip downtown.
She checked the rearview mirror, the asphalt beginning to glisten behind her. Somewhere around the bend a car was on the move. Probably Klinger and his sidekick-the dynamic duo-heading out for coffee and donuts after a busy day wiring her home and breaking the law that was no longer a real law anymore.
She started down the hill, picking up speed and listening to the rain pound against the car. As she rolled into the next curve, she checked the mirror again and caught the headlights just rounding the bluff fifty yards back. Measuring the car’s speed, she watched the bright lights spread across the rear window as the glass fogged.
They were in a hurry-the distance closing fast.
It occurred to her that Klinger may have stepped up his demented surveillance efforts, deciding to keep closer tabs on her. But if he was following her, why would he be so obvious about it? Particularly on a Sunday night during a rainstorm when they were alone on the road. Why play it so close?
Her car filled with more bright light, the glare wiping out her mirrors. They were on top of her now, a few feet back on the slippery road.
For some reason she couldn’t explain, her thoughts turned to that pack of cigarettes Rhodes kept in his car. She had been thinking about them off and on for most of the day, but managed to beat back the urge and keep going.
She blew through the stop sign at Scenic Avenue, accelerating all the way down the hill to Franklin. Ignoring the freeway, she hit the overpass and raced down the street until she reached Gower Gulch. When the headlights kept up with her and actually followed her into the strip mall, her jittery nerves hit overtime. She found a place to park in front of the Rite Aid and got out. Hurrying through the rain, her eyes swept across the lot searching for the Caprice in the milieu of cars. But as she reached the sidewalk beneath the overhang, she couldn’t find it.
Instead, she watched a black Audi pull into an empty space across the lot in front of Denny’s restaurant. Two men got out in the rain. They glanced at her, a beat longer than maybe they should have, then turned away and headed into the diner.
Lena stood there until the door closed. Ironically, she knew who they were. Everybody did. Jack Dobbs and Phil Ragetti had been partners-two cops from the old school who were forced into early retirement after beating the life out of a murder suspect. Both detectives had advanced to the Robbery-Homicide Division before getting the boot and leaving the department in disgrace. Lena wondered how they had managed to escape jail time and keep their pensions. From where she stood, they looked more like a pair of middle-aged bruisers with chips on their shoulders. Ragetti lived in a house overlooking the reservoir in Hollywood Hills, a mile up the road from Lena. She had heard rumors that he lost everything in the wildfires last spring and had decided to rebuild.