City of Echoes (7 page)

“But Frankie said nothing was ever made public about the murder. How could anyone duplicate it?”

Grace leaned back in his chair, his eyes losing their edge as he gazed into the past. “Millie was found in one of those picnic areas off the parking lot at the Hollywood Bowl. A couple with two young children. They’d taken their lunch up there and they found her. Me and my partner got the call. Me and Leo.” He paused for a moment, staring through the window. “You saw the pictures,” he said in a quieter voice. “She’d been dead for more than twelve hours. Everyone who was there, including me, will live with that memory for the rest of their lives. Leo had nightmares for months.”

“But how could anyone duplicate it now?” Matt said.

“People talk, Jones. The way the girl was staked to the ground. The wounds to her face. She was young and beautiful and the daughter of a congressman. She came from a decent family. A wealthy family. We kept the details out for a lot of reasons, but you remember the rumors. They may have been roughed in, but they were close. Too close. The couple finally talked to one of the tabloids—and who wouldn’t? They were paid a lot of money. Other than what the deputy DA said in his opening statement, I don’t know about our side. It’s been eighteen months. You can’t keep a secret like that forever. At this point I’m not sure there’s even a reason to. That’s what I told Lane and your friend Hughes.”

As Matt thought it through, memories began to surface. He remembered the chatter that some of the rag sheets and gossip TV shows were spewing out at the time. He could remember looking at the crime-scene photos on the ride back to the station and thinking to himself that somehow the way Millie Brown and Faith Novakoff had been murdered seemed familiar to him. It was a strange feeling—spooky—and he waited for it to pass.

He watched Grace glance at the surveillance video on the laptop. The killer was racing across the parking lot toward the camera, then veering to the left and out of view. After what seemed like an eternity but only amounted to thirty seconds in real time, the first responders, Hank Andrews and Travis Green, began to enter the lot from the other side. Grace shook his head at them and turned away, like he couldn’t watch.

“What about the mirror?” Matt said. “Why do you think Harris placed the girl’s face on a sheet of glass? It has to mean something, right?”

Grace shrugged but didn’t answer.

“You just told me that her body was found at lunchtime. That means she was killed in the middle of the night.”

Grace nodded. “Within an hour or two of midnight either way.”

“So maybe the mirror was meant for whoever found her the next day.”

“Or maybe,” Grace said, “Harris was just trying to make it look as far from what it really was as he could. The guy was wrapped too tight. He killed Millie because she wanted out of the relationship and was threatening him with exposure. He may have called whatever the fuck he was doing to her consensual. He may have called it a secret affair. But he was the only one who did, and he waited until he was cornered to do it. Every one of her friends knew exactly what was going on. Harris killed Millie Brown because he had a lot to lose. His job, his wife, his two kids. He tried to make it look like it was done by some freak. He used a box cutter on her face. He made her pay. He made it hurt. And in the end we realized that the killer really was a freak. It was the girl’s science teacher, and we got him.”

CHAPTER 14

Matt tossed the murder books onto the counter and sat down at his cubicle. He could hear the sound of muffled voices, but because the partitions were six feet high he couldn’t tell who was in the room. Just Cabrera, whom he could see was seated right beside him, talking to someone on the phone.

His workstation came with a small fluorescent light, a hanging coatrack, and double set of plastic file holders. An official LAPD calendar, along with a list of department phone numbers, was tacked to the partition above the phone. As he looked the cubicle over, he wondered who might have invented it and what kind of person they were. Someone in the sciences, he guessed, like Ron Harris. Someone who worked with lab rats. Someone with a long list of issues.

He shook it off and unlocked his cell phone, skimming through his list of new e-mails. When he didn’t see a reply from Henry Rollins, he picked up his desk phone and entered his number from memory. He was surprised that he hadn’t heard anything from Rollins after e-mailing the surveillance video more than six hours ago. The phone rang seven times before the SID analyst finally picked up.

“It’s Matt Jones, Henry. How’s it going with my video?”

“Do I really need to say it?”

Matt leaned back in his chair. “No, you don’t have to say it. I thought it was a lost cause when I sent it over. I just wanted you to take a look. Just in case. So what, three seconds in and you bailed out?”

“No, I’m still on it,” he said. “Let’s see what happens.”

“You’re saying there’s a chance?”

“No question I can clean up these images,” he said. “Maybe a little. Maybe more than that.”

Matt was stunned but didn’t want to get his hopes up. Lane had tainted his perspective more than he realized. Although Frankie couldn’t make a single connection between Hughes’s murder and the death of Faith Novakoff, Matt couldn’t draw a line in ink from Hughes’s murder to the three-piece bandit either. They didn’t have a single witness or a single lead. Just fifteen shell casings from a Glock 20 and a slug that would take time to analyze and carried no guarantees.

“That video’s all we’ve got,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Rollins laughed. “I know it’s all we’ve got. We just finished reviewing the street cams. We went through every image within ten blocks of the crime scene. Your shooter isn’t there. He entered the parking lot the same way he left it.”

From the north, Matt thought, because the killer was smart enough to know that there weren’t any cameras north of Hollywood Boulevard until you reached Franklin Avenue. By the time he made it to Franklin, he would have been behind the wheel, his car indistinguishable from any other car immersed in a sea of traffic.

“What do you think?” Matt said. “How much time?”

“Let’s see what happens over the next couple days.”

Matt had been thinking that it would be a matter of hours, not days. Still, he thanked Rollins and hoped for the best. As he hung up the phone, he turned and found Cabrera staring at him. He must have been listening.

“We’ve got a shot?” Cabrera asked with raised eyebrows.

Matt nodded. “Maybe.”

“Well, you’re having better luck than I am. I just got off the phone with Orth at the crime lab. Everything’s backed up. They’re not even gonna get started on the SUV until late tomorrow.”

“I thought we were at the top of the list.”

Cabrera shrugged. “Orth says that is the top of the list. If we were on the bottom, it could take six months.”

“What about the slug?”

“Same thing. Late tomorrow.”

“Because we’re at the top of the list.”

“Right,” Cabrera said. “We’re first in line.”

Matt glanced at Cabrera’s laptop and could see that he was working on the chronological record and had begun to put together a murder book. A blue binder with Hughes’s name on it was leaning against a stack of files.

Matt listened to the din of muffled voices for a moment, then turned back to Cabrera. “Does Leo Rodriguez still work here?”

“Grace’s old partner?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never met him. I think he retired after Grace’s promotion. If he didn’t, then he’s probably downtown at Robbery-Homicide. It would’ve happened before I got here. Why?”

“Grace was talking about the two of them seeing Millie Brown’s body staked to the ground.”

Cabrera waited a moment, mulling something over, then looked back. “For the record, Jones, I’m sorry I lost it out there with Lane.”

Matt didn’t say anything.

Cabrera loosened his collar. “I talked it over with Grace. He said the same thing happened to him and Rodriguez.”

“And what’s that?”

“What you were just talking about. Millie Brown. The way they found her. He said it really shook them up. Frankie has to deal with Novakoff’s murder, and now his partner’s dead, too. No wonder he’s not thinking right.”

Matt didn’t like the tone of Cabrera’s voice. It sounded like he was trying to placate him. It sounded like bullshit. He shot his new partner a touch-and-go look. He could feel the anger stirring in his gut but kept his mouth shut. When Cabrera turned back to his computer, Matt got up and walked out of the room.

CHAPTER 15

No wonder he wasn’t thinking right
. . .

Matt pulled out of the lot in his Honda, drove up Wilcox, and made a right on Franklin. After a few minutes he picked up Los Feliz, heading east toward the Golden State Freeway. Fifteen minutes later he was in Glendale, making the climb into the hills. When he saw Hughes’s house just ahead, he pulled up to the walkway and parked.

He wasn’t sure if he was here because he felt like he needed to check in on Laura or because he needed a break from Cabrera. Either way, the short drive seemed like a good idea.

He walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. Feeling a chill in the air—the steady breeze—he zipped up his sweatshirt and waited. When Laura didn’t come to the door, he checked the window before starting around the house. He saw Laura’s car in front of the garage. Hughes’s silver Escalade had been returned from the dealership and was parked off to the side. Matt stared at it for a while, felt his chest tighten, then stepped into the side yard.

He could hear Laura’s voice as he eased around the corner and looked down the hill at the pool. She was with the woman who lived next door. The woman Matt had met when she came over last night. They had pushed two chaise lounges together. They were drinking coffee, sharing a blanket in the cool air, and talking in soft voices.

He couldn’t tell what they were saying. All he knew was that Laura needed it right now, and he didn’t want to interrupt or intrude. After several moments he backed out and returned to his car.

He shivered and climbed in behind the wheel. He fought off a yawn as he headed back toward the freeway. The coffeehouse on Pacific Avenue looked too busy to deal with. When he spotted the Jack in the Box, he pulled into the drive-thru lane and ordered a large coffee with two sugars. The paper cup was hot to the touch and warmed his hands. Removing the top, he took a first sip and felt his stomach begin to glow.

The caffeine seemed to revive him, and he started driving. He felt the sudden need to keep moving and wondered if he was running away from something. Seeing Hughes’s SUV parked in the drive must have been the trigger. He had thoughts in his head. A steady stream rolling just beneath the surface. His past, his present, his future.

No wonder he wasn’t thinking right
. . .

He had no idea where he was going. Still, he could see himself. He could see himself from behind, almost as if he were driving the car in his rearview mirror. A metallic silver Nissan. Almost as if he were the man driving the Nissan.

He could see himself.

He was parking his car and getting out with his cup of coffee. He was pushing another piece of nicotine gum against his cheek and wishing for a Marlboro again. He was walking into the park. He was hiking down the long row of oak trees in the muted light just before sunset.

And then he stopped.

There were two girls, eighteen or nineteen years old, straightening up the memorial for Faith Novakoff. They had brought fresh flowers and a pack of fresh batteries for the faux candles.

Matt knelt down in the grass and took a sip of coffee as he gazed at them.

He felt so uneasy about so much. The fact that his father had walked out and abandoned him and his mother when he was only a boy. The fact that his mother had died a year later of breast cancer. Because his father still didn’t want him, Matt went to live with his aunt, whom he didn’t know very well but grew to love.

So uneasy about so much.

Lane’s wild story. Cabrera working on the chronological record and, right or wrong, going with the flow like the man worked for a fucking bank.

Matt ran his fingers through the grass and tried to focus.

Why did he have this bad feeling in his gut? This horrific sense that he was staring at the void and about to be tossed in?

He heard something and his mind snapped back. The two girls were screaming. He looked for the source, then back at the girls, and realized that they were staring at
him
. When he stood up, their bodies shuddered in terror and they fled across the lawn. He watched and listened. They were too far away to say anything. The shrieking seemed to lessen some as they reached the street, but it didn’t stop.

No wonder he wasn’t thinking right
. . .

CHAPTER 16

Matt climbed out of the car, then heard someone call out his name and checked the lot. It was Cabrera, hustling over to their unmarked Crown Vic. Grace was right behind him, scrambling out of the station with Orlando and Plank and a handful of cops in uniforms.

Grace pulled the cops aside. “We go with our lights on. You lead the way. You guys take the rear, and we’ll ride in the middle. Four cars. We stop for nothing. We’re in a hurry, but we’re not racing. And stay together.”

Grace hopped into the backseat, riding with Orlando and Plank. Matt slid into the passenger seat as Cabrera started the car and found his place in the middle of the caravan.

“What is it?” Matt said.

Cabrera’s eyes were big and wide and shiny. “A guy working on the tower at the top of Mount Lee heard a girl scream. He called nine-one-one. First responders just called back with confirmation. They found her body on a trail just below the Hollywood sign.”

“Why all this?”

Cabrera shook his head back and forth, gave him a look, almost as if he couldn’t speak.

“What’s going on, Cabrera?”

“She’s like the others,” he said finally.