I took the phone to the couch as I listened.
Bonnie Newberg and Dana Ito caught the case. They were both Detective-2s at Central Bureau. Lou knew Ito well and considered her a fine detective.
Rachel Bohlen’s body had been wrapped in black sixty-five-gallon trash bags made from one-point-five mil-linear low-density resin. This was a heavy-duty, stretchable plastic ideal for heavy trash, yard waste, sticks, and sharp objects. Each bag measured fifty inches by forty-eight inches. Ms. Bohlen could have easily fit inside a single bag, but the killer or persons associated with the killer had wrapped her body using five bags, and secured the wrapping with a common black plastic duct tape. They had not taped the wrapping well. At some point, her right arm slipped free. She was found in an area of coastal sage scrub and chaparral on a south-facing slope thirty-two feet downhill from a street in Griffith Park.
Lou spoke as if reading from notes.
“She was murdered elsewhere and left in repose between twenty-four and thirty-six hours before she was moved. No indications of rape. No semen. Multiple DNA and fibers, but so far they’re nothing. No suspects as yet, but a wit claims he saw the dump.”
“He saw her being dumped, or murdered?”
“Dumped. A homeless dude. He flagged a black-and-white and led them to the body. Ito has her doubts.”
“She thinks he’s trying to insert himself?”
Murderers often approached the police.
“Nah. Mental issues. They questioned him on and off for most of a day, but he didn’t offer much. Two men wearing jackets and hats in a light-colored vehicle shaped like a box.”
“A box.”
“Lemme see—”
Lou checked his notes.
“Unable to provide make, model, characteristics, or color beyond ‘light.’ Jackets and hats described as dark. Described subjects as two males, one large, one smaller. No face, hair, race, or skin tone. On and on. Maybe he saw it. Maybe he didn’t.”
“But he reported the body.”
“He did, though it’s unclear whether he reported it the following day or two days later. He didn’t seem sure.”
“He lives up in the park?”
“Says he was camped up there when he saw the dump. If he actually saw it. Otherwise he found her body when he was screwing around and imagined the rest. Some of these poor folks can’t tell the difference.”
Two men, one large, one smaller, could describe the meatball and a partner. One of the gardeners maybe or even the scarecrow.
“How’d she die?”
“Asphyxiation following prior strangulation. Perp closed the deal with a plastic bag.”
I saw the image of her battered and swollen face.
“She was beaten.”
“I don’t want to go through this stuff. You want, I’ll send the M.E. notes.”
“She was beaten bad.”
Lou sighed.
“It was bad. Ligature abrasions on her wrists and ankles. The M.E. thinks the killer tied her and dragged it out.”
“He wanted something from her, Lou. It fits what I told you.”
“Listen. Go down this road and you’ll be finding fantasy clues. We don’t know what the killer was thinking or why he or she did this. We’ll find out, but for now we don’t know. Maybe the freak’s just an animal.”
Rachel’s face floated before me. A bee landed on her cheek. A second bee settled on her nose. I pushed off the couch and clenched my eyes. Rachel and the bees vanished.
“What happened to him?”
“Who?”
“The wit. I want to talk to him.”
Poitras hesitated and I wondered what he was thinking.
“I’ll call Dana. Give me ten minutes.”
38
The phone buzzed thirty seconds later with an incoming video call, but it wasn’t Lou Poitras. Joe Pike and Jon Stone were on the call together in what looked like a mausoleum.
Stone grinned like a shark and gestured behind himself.
“Check out my digs. If you made more money, you could upgrade.”
“It looks like a mausoleum.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”
I ignored him and focused on Pike.
“Are these people spies?”
“They are not known operatives of the Ministry of State Security or the Military Intelligence Department. They’re criminals.”
“Criminals with top secret PRC spy gear.”
Jon Stone tapped his phone.
“Sending picture one.”
A close shot of the meatball’s face appeared.