“My daughter played soccer,” Duncan said. “She was terrible. Her team ranked last in the league. But they all got trophies.”
He picked up one of the trophies and showed it to Eve. There was no championship designation, just the name of his team in the valley youth soccer league and the year that he played.
“That’s nice,” she said. “It makes everyone feel good and reminds them that it’s about sportsmanship, not winning.”
Duncan put the trophy back. “It’s touchy-feely bullshit. In my day, you got trophies for winning, not for showing up.”
“In your day, coaches didn’t give much attention to individual self-esteem.”
“Yeah, and look where it got Paul,” Duncan said.
The bed faced a large flat-screen TV that was mounted high on the wall above Paul’s old student desk, where he had a new MacBook, the latest gaming console, a few Rolex watches, a men’s gold necklace, and a pair of Gucci sunglasses. There was an iPhone charger plugged into the wall, but no phone.
Estelle gestured at everything on the desk side of the room. “Where did all that stuff come from?”
Eve glanced at her. “You never saw him bring it into the house or wear any of it?”
“Of course not. He couldn’t afford any of that.”
Duncan got on his knees, peered under the bed, and pulled out a slim box that contained porn DVDs, porn magazines, K-Y Jelly, and a hollow electronic device that looked like a flashlight missing the light and batteries. Eve didn’t want to imagine what it was used for but couldn’t stop herself from doing so anyway. Neither could Paul’s mother.
Estelle covered her mouth and turned away from the door, repulsed by what she saw, and walked away.
Eve shook her head at Duncan. “Did you have to pull out the box while she was standing there?”
Duncan shrugged. “These things happen. At least now we know he didn’t have a girlfriend.”
He pulled out another box that contained a carton of bullets and a bunch of burner phones, identical to the ones they’d found at Dalander’s house.
Eve picked up one of the Rolex watches and dangled it in front of Duncan. “Looks like Paul kept some bling for himself.”
“We can leave this for CSU to process and collect as evidence.”
“Maybe they can unlock his computer, too.”
“It’s probably full of porn,” Duncan said. “I’ll make the call.”
Eve took photos of everything so she could create a virtual tour of the room if she needed to, then went out to find Estelle Colter, who was sitting on the couch again, her back straight and stiff. She’d made herself a drink.
“We need to go,” Eve said, “but two officers will stay here and wait for the forensic team to arrive to take photos and remove evidence from your son’s room. You can’t go in until they say it’s clear.”
“But it’s our home.”
“That room is a crime scene now. I may be contacting you again with more questions. In the meantime, please feel free to call me if you have any questions or concerns.” Eve handed her a card and turned to the front door.
“What Paul did . . . what happened to him . . . it’s on the news?” Estelle asked. “Everybody already knows?”
Eve looked back at her. “His name hasn’t been released yet.”
“But it will be?”
Eve nodded, and dreaded having to inform the next of kin about the deaths of Dalander and Nagy, who might be as in the dark about their criminality as Estelle was about her son’s.
Estelle took a long, big gulp of whatever she was drinking and looked at Eve again. “How are we supposed to live with this?”
Eve had no answer for that, so she went outside, where Duncan was giving instructions to the two uniformed officers. She went to the Explorer, got inside, started the engine, and radioed the dispatcher that they were on their way to Santa Monica. Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Her agent again. She let the call go to voice mail.
Duncan joined her a moment later. Neither of them spoke until they were on the San Diego Freeway, heading south over the Sepulveda Pass into the smog-choked LA basin. The sun was setting, giving the smog a sickly glow that made the landscape look to Eve like an alien world populated by creatures that breathed radiant vomit.
She said, “Maybe Colter was the guy who cased the neighborhood and picked the homes to rob.”
“What makes you think that?”
“If he really is an Uber or Lyft driver, he could have circled Calabasas all day to pick up rides that originated or ended inside gated communities. That would give him an opportunity to get behind the gates and cruise the streets. We could get his plates and the gate logs to see when, and how often, he came into the communities where houses were hit.”