Estelle shook her head repeatedly and held up her hands in a halting gesture, a smile on her face. Eve had noticed early in her job that people smiled at the strangest times, that smiles weren’t always smiles. Sometimes they were pain.
“That’s absolutely crazy,” Estelle said. “You’re not making any sense. It’s not Paul. I’m calling my husband. He’s an attorney, he’ll sort this out.”
“That’s a good idea,” Eve said.
Estelle got up, went into the kitchen, and emerged a moment later holding a cell phone. Her lower lip was beginning to tremble and Eve could see tears welling in her eyes.
“Alan? There’s a police detective here. There’s been a horrible misunderstanding. She says that Paul robbed a house in Calabasas, held up a grocery store, and was shot by—” She stopped, apparently interrupted by her husband, a bewildered expression on her face. “No, I haven’t seen the news. You know about this?”
Eve held out her hand. “May I speak to your husband?”
Estelle spoke into her phone. “The detective wants to talk with you.”
She handed the phone to Eve, who introduced herself.
“Oh God,” Alan said. “You’re the one.”
“The one?” Eve said.
“On the news. The detective in the Rolls-Royce who chased the gunman into the supermarket. You think he’s our son?” He posed the question with heavy incredulity.
“We know he is.”
“It’s . . .” He took a long moment to find the word. “Incomprehensible. On the news, they say he was shot dead.”
“Yes, he was. I’m very sorry.” Eve heard silence on the line. “You should come home. Your wife needs you.”
He seemed to choke on something, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Yes, of course, right away. Let me talk to Estelle.”
Eve handed the phone back to Estelle, who was crying now. Duncan emerged from the hallway and Eve went over to him to give Estelle, and themselves, some space.
“It’s a three-bedroom house,” Duncan said, his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “One of the bedrooms, I assume it’s Paul’s, is locked with a dead bolt.”
“He really wanted his privacy.”
“Maybe he didn’t want his mom coming across his gun while she was cleaning his room.”
“Or it’s stuffed to the rafters with stolen goods.”
“We’ll soon find out.”
“His father’s a lawyer,” Eve said.
“A patent attorney. I looked on the web while you two were talking. He won’t fight us on the warrant.”
Eve looked back in the living room and saw Estelle set the phone down on the coffee table with a shaking hand.
“Alan is on the way,” Estelle said.
Eve walked over to her. “Do you have a key to Paul’s bedroom door?”
Estelle shook her head. Duncan shared a look with Eve, then went outside.
“Alan was furious about the lock.” Estelle sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her shaky hand. “He said it was his house, he could go in any room he wanted. But I told him to let Paul have his space. If having a lock made him feel better about being a grown man living at home, so what? What do you care what he’s doing in there?”
“Why was Paul living at home?”
“Rents are outrageous in Los Angeles and he’s had a hard time finding a decent job. He was just staying here until he got on his feet.”
Duncan came back into the house holding a small battering ram. Estelle’s eyes widened.
“What is that for?”
Eve said, “We have a warrant to search Paul’s room. We’re going to have to break the door down. You’ll be reimbursed for the damages.”
“What do you think you’re going to find in there?” Estelle asked. “An explanation?”
“Or something that will lead us to one.”
Eve and Estelle followed Duncan down the hall to the locked door. He heaved the ram where the door met the jamb, splintering the wood around the dead bolt. Estelle flinched as if she’d been slapped. The door yawned open, torn free from the jamb.
Duncan set the ram down and put on his plastic gloves.
Eve turned to Estelle and put on her gloves. “You need to stay here in the hall. You can’t go in or touch anything.”
It was still a teenager’s bedroom, frozen in time, but being occupied by an adult. A full-size bed was crammed into the tight space. The walls were adorned with posters of sports and music figures from Colter’s youth. The shelves were crammed with books assigned for high school reading, action figures and spaceship models, and a bunch of soccer trophies.