“That’s all still good,” he said. “He didn’t get any cash. But here’s the problem. Yesterday there were no attempts to use the card at all. Same thing happened today, and that’s why I’m worried. Usually they keep trying. The machine doesn’t eat the card. The screen they get gives them their balance, branch locations and tells them to try again.”
“And this guy hasn’t tried again.”
“It’s a first, Lena. There’s a lot of money in that account and he knows it. I think something’s going on.”
She took another drag on the smoke. A lot was going on.
“Let’s see what happens tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m just giving you a heads-up. I’ll call if anything changes.”
“Thanks.”
She slipped the phone into her pocket and dowsed the cigarette in the wet ashtray. It seemed fitting that Avadar would call this late and give her the news. Albert Poole was stretched out on a gurney at the morgue and now it looked like their witness was in the wind.
The chief and his adjutant were probably celebrating. Probably out there somewhere in the fog with the DA.
Lena looked back at the drink in her hand, then dumped it out on the lawn. She got up, heading inside to make a cup of coffee. She didn’t want any more vodka. The blue bottle wasn’t working tonight.
35
It was 5:30 a.m. Lena disconnected the charger on her cell and glanced at the display, expecting the worst. Good calls didn’t come this early in the morning. When she read Irving Sample’s name, it threw her. Sample was calling from his desk in the Questioned Documents Unit at Parker Center. Either he was getting an early start, or like Lena, he hadn’t gone to sleep yet.
She opened the phone and pulled a stool over to the counter, no longer concerned that anyone was listening. Two hours ago she had walked outside and heard the Caprice drive off. Her life as a homicide detective had hit the drain. No one was listening anymore.
“I’ve got the answer,” Sample said.
“The answer to what?”
“The forms the victim filled out at her doctor’s office. I’ve got the answer to your riddle. I know why she rushed through the first page and slowed down on the second. It took a while, but I figured it out. And you’re not crazy, Lena. You noticed something no one else did.”
The words were coming rapidly. She could hear the excitement in his voice.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s the answer? Why would Jennifer McBride start fast and end slow?”
Sample laughed. “Because she didn’t,” he said. “She made a mistake on the first page and crossed it out. When she finished the second page, she asked for another copy of the first and filled it out twice. She did just what you said. She followed human nature. She started slow and picked things up at the end.”
“You’re saying that there were two first pages?”
“That’s right. And the pen she used left impressions from both on the second page.”
“What did she cross out?”
“A phone number. The one they need in case there’s an emergency.”
Lena grabbed the pen off the counter, barely able to speak. “What’s the number?”
Sample read it to her. After writing it down, she read it out loud just to confirm.
“That’s it,” he said. “And that area code’s Las Vegas.”
“Yeah,” she managed. “Vegas.”
“Then it’s important. I wasn’t sure.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“I didn’t do the work, Lena. You did. I’m just glad I could help.”
She closed her cell and stared at the phone number on the pad. She could imagine what happened with perfect clarity. The woman living as Jennifer McBride had thyroid problems and needed to see a doctor. After filling out the forms, she would have checked her work just to make sure it mirrored the real Jennifer McBride’s history and contact information. When she spotted the Las Vegas number, she realized her mistake and crossed it out.
But the number must have been too important to her. There could be no other reason why she decided to take the extra step and ask for another form, or even why she made the mistake itself. The woman living as Jennifer McBride had left a lifeline after all.
Lena thought about that snow globe she had found beside the victim’s bed. The snow falling over Las Vegas. Most likely it wasn’t a gift or souvenir, but a remembrance. And there was a decent chance that it pointed to home.
She turned and looked outside. The sun was still hidden below the horizon. The city, still buried in the marine layer. She dialed the number anyway, lifted the cell to her ear, and listened. After three rings, a man picked up and said hello. His voice was low and gruff, but not groggy. In spite of the hour, he hadn’t been sleeping.
“I’m trying to locate Jennifer McBride,” she said.
His hesitation was unmistakable. “Who?” he asked finally.
“Jennifer McBride.”
Another beat went by. When he spoke, she sensed the undercurrent of emotion in his voice and knew that she had just struck a nerve.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no one here by that name. You must have dialed the wrong number.”
She listened to the man hang up. Then she moved over to the table by the windows. Her computer was already logged onto the Internet. She found AutoTrack in her bookmarks and entered her user name and password. When the search window popped up, she typed in the phone number and hit ENTER. Almost immediately a man’s name appeared on the screen. Mike Bloom from Las Vegas, Nevada.
Lena jotted his address down and started reading. Until four years ago Bloom had been employed by the Las Vegas Police Department and carried a badge. He was only thirty years old, so he couldn’t have retired and she already knew that he wasn’t deceased. Every job he had ever worked was listed. Every address ever used and every phone number. Yet, the lack of information about the man was striking. Everything was listed as it should have been until four years ago when everything in the man’s life seemed to stop. Everything went dark except for the registration on his Ford F-150 pickup.
She made a second pass, rereading Bloom’s history and thinking it over. She didn’t want to call him back and she didn’t necessarily want to inform the LVPD. After what happened last night, she didn’t want to spook the guy or possibly warn him. Still, Bloom’s past four years had as much detail as a black hole feeding on the universe.
She crossed the room, opening a cabinet below the bookcase. Inside were a variety of LAPD forms she kept as backup when working at home. Most of them were blank reports that made up a murder book. But now she was looking for a letter. The one she needed to get her firearm through security at the airport. Vegas was only an hour away from Burbank. And after one week, she finally had a lead on who the victim might actually be. A real name to go with the woman’s dead body.
36
She had tried to catch some sleep on the plane, but couldn’t shake the way Albert Poole had died. The man’s fate had followed her to Vegas. And she knew with certainty that he would follow her home when she returned to Los Angeles. No matter what happened to her career, no matter how Chief Logan decided to rewrite what went down, Poole would be with her for a long time.
Just like the woman who cast spells. The woman without a name who was driving her, pushing her. As Lena walked down the aisle to her rental car, she understood that her need to know the victim’s true identity had become an obsession-but also her saving grace. If she could just find out who she really was, Lena thought she stood a fair chance of living with whatever came next.
She climbed into the car and unfolded the map on the passenger seat. Bloom lived in the desert, northwest of the city off Kyle Canyon Road. After deciding on her route, she powered up her cell phone and checked for messages. There were three. The first call had been made by Rhodes an hour ago. He said that he had checked in with Barrera. There was no word from the chief’s office yet. Barrera thought that it would be a good day to lay low and see what happens, maybe work on that loose end list. Rhodes had been away and didn’t know about the chief’s list, but promised to call back later.