“Sorry, Lena, but you didn’t really give me much to go on.”
“I’ll have more tomorrow,” she said. “I was just hoping something in the database would jump out.”
“A white female in her twenties with blond hair goes missing in Southern California. I’ve got a lot of those. Nothing’s jumping out.”
Lena didn’t say anything. The number she had dialed wasn’t Benson’s cell phone. It was his office number, and he sounded moody and tired.
“Lena, I’m sorry. All I’m saying is that we need more.”
“What about limiting the search to the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”
“I tried that, but it’s still a long list. Lots of kids come to southern California. And a lot of them are runaway females with blond hair. Only they’re not living the dream. They’re on the streets doing the nightmare.”
Lena thought it over as she accelerated up the freeway entrance and hit the 101 heading downtown. If Jane Doe was murdered last night, then it was too early. A Missing Persons Report wouldn’t be filed for another day, if a report was filed at all.
“I’m jumping the gun on this, Howard. I know that. I was just hoping for a little luck.”
“We’ll talk after the autopsy. I’m sure we can narrow it down. Height, weight-something will turn up.”
“Thanks, Howard.”
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and took a sip of coffee. It was hot and strong, and she needed it right now. She saw the long string of brake lights begin to glow through the windshield. Then the traffic slowed down to a crawl and finally stopped. Benson had triggered an unwanted memory without knowing it. Lena had been a sixteen-year-old runaway, along with her younger brother David. After their father died, they had fled Denver before the Department of Human Services could scoop them up and dump them into the system. They had spent six months living in their father’s car before they earned enough money to rent a small place of their own. They had left their childhoods in Colorado, and never turned back.
She took another sip of coffee. As the traffic started moving again, the memory vanished but not the loneliness. It was such an oppressive loneliness. So final and far-reaching. She tried to ignore it and to concentrate on the road.
The eight-mile drive downtown should have taken ten minutes, but turned into a grueling forty-five played out at ten miles an hour. By the time she found a spot to park in the LAPD garage and jogged across the street to Parker Center, it was almost eleven and people were beginning to file out of the meeting room on the first floor.
She pushed her way through the crowd. As she entered the room, she spotted the chief and his adjutant getting up from their seats. By Lena’s count four of the five civilian commissioners were still here, fielding informal questions from the press and the thirty to forty people who stayed. But it seemed as if an energetic man with gray hair was getting most of the attention tonight. When he turned, Lena realized that it was Senator Alan West. West had been appointed to the commission by the mayor and approved in a unanimous vote by the City Council in an attempt to regain public trust in the department. He was three years in on his first five-year term. Although there was talk that West might make another run at politics, Lena had read in the newspaper that he thought his work overseeing the police department was just as important. While the chief handled day-to-day operations within the department, a civil rights attorney, a former mayor, two criminal defense attorneys, and Senator Alan West defined department policies.
Lena turned back to the chief. He was beckoning her forward. When she glanced at Klinger, he pointed to the alcove at the head of the room. Although she still wondered why the chief had picked Klinger as his adjutant, tonight they looked like bookends. Both men obviously worked out, their bodies lean, straight, and military tight. And their grooming was immaculate, verging on overprocessed, their hair short and gray. The only difference was in their eyes. Klinger’s were a soft, even wounded brown without much catch. The chief’s gave definition to his chiseled face and intelligence, but were as dark as night and at times uncomfortable.
She stepped around the conference table and entered the alcove, wishing she had better news. When Klinger started to say something, Chief Logan silenced him with a short wave of the hand.
“Let’s hear it, Gamble. Who’s your suspect?”
“We’ve got a long way to go,” she said. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, Chief. But that’s the way it is. We’re starting from scratch. Zero.”
“What about witnesses?”
“We interviewed every shop owner on the block. Every employee. There aren’t any witnesses.”
She couldn’t get a read on him with those eyes. All she knew was that the chief didn’t take the news the way she thought he would. It was almost as if he’d been hit in the chest and had the wind knocked out of him. But his wheels were turning. She could see him thinking something over. If he’d been a suspect in an interrogation room, she would have guessed that he was guilty of something and holding out.
He shot her another penetrating look. “Then you don’t even know who the victim is.”
“We didn’t find any ID.”
“What about her clothing?”
Lena shook her head, remaining silent. The victim wasn’t wearing any clothing.
“Here are my concerns, Detective. I don’t want this to be a long, drawn-out case. If you don’t have anything in the next forty-eight hours, chances are you won’t have anything ever. You know that as well as I do. Your chances for success go to shit by fifty percent.”
Lena didn’t need the chief to give her the odds. When she glanced away, she saw Denny Ramira enter the meeting room and approach Senator West. From the way they shook hands, she guessed that they knew each other.
The chief must have noticed the reporter as well. When Lena turned to him, he was standing so close she instinctively took a step back.
The chief lowered his voice. “I don’t want to read about this investigation in the newspaper, Detective. I don’t want to see it on TV. You pull anything, and I mean anything like that, and you’re out. All the way out. So far out nobody in law enforcement ever hears from you again. Do you understand?”
She gave him a long look.
“You’re either a company man,” he said. “Or you’re a man without a company. You get the logic, Detective? Do you realize how serious this is? What will be tolerated and what won’t?”
“I get it, Chief.”
“This isn’t another OIS case. This is a homicide, and I want a suspect. I need an arrest.”
The chief came up for air, then Klinger stepped forward as if it were a tag-team match. Lena suddenly realized who made those calls to the press. It had to be Klinger, doing everything he possible could to make things more difficult for her.
“We want reports,” he said. “The chief’s office is to be copied on everything. No one cares if it takes twice as long. Just do your job and do it by the book, Gamble. We’re your partner now. And we’re not a silent partner. You want to make a right turn, you ask before you make it. You want to go left, make sure you’ve got the order and it’s signed by a judge. We’re your shadow, is that clear? Please acknowledge that we have had this conversation and you understand what was just-”
Klinger suddenly became quiet. Everyone turned. Senator West was standing at the entrance, starring at them with a quizzical expression across his broad face.
“Sounds like a serious discussion, Chief. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Lena could tell in an instant that West wasn’t sorry at all. From the look he gave the chief and his adjutant, it seemed they probably didn’t get along. She remembered hearing a rumor that the chief’s appointment had not been a unanimous decision by the police commission. That the water had been cloudy, and one of the five members voted against his appointment. Lena wondered if the lone vote of dissension came from West. From the look on Chief Logan’s face, and Klinger’s, they had heard the rumor and come to the same conclusion.