Moon Music. Faye Kellerman
Читать онлайн книгу.
poured Mocha Mix into his coffee. “You know, you’re spoiling us, Myra.”
“She spoils everyone.” The lieutenant polished off his coffee. “We have so many people running in and out of our condo, I’m thinking about selling time shares.”
“Everyone loves Vegas,” Myra said.
“Everyone loves a freebie,” Patricia said.
“You got that right, Deluca. We keep getting all these out-of-the-blue relatives popping in. People she’s never heard of, let alone met.” Weinberg looked at his wife. “But she lets them stay anyway.”
“Just in case,” Myra answered.
“In case of what?” Jensen asked.
Myra stared at him, shrugged.
“As if that explains it,” Weinberg groused. “Are you going to turn on the fan, Myra?”
“Yeah, it is kind of stuffy, isn’t it.” She spooned eggs onto her husband’s plate. “Eat before they get cold, Mick. I’ll get the toast.” Before Myra left, she tapped his head.
From his pants pocket, Weinberg pulled out a yarmulke. He placed it over his bald pate. To Poe, he said, “So what made you think of this twenty-five-year-old case? The scooped-out eye?”
“Probably.”
“Was it true?” Patricia asked.
“Beats me.” Poe shifted the conversation. “Loo, I think Trent Minors deals the noon-to-midnight shift. I’ll try to catch him before he goes to work.”
“Good idea. I also want one of you to go back and comb the scene of the crime now that we have some visibility. I got a uniform out there guarding the place. The sooner the better.”
Jensen asked, “What should we be looking for?”
Weinberg chomped at a piece of pastrami gristle. “She was found nude from the waist up. Maybe some kind of top … shoes … maybe a purse.” He washed down his breakfast with a full cup of water. “Some storm last night. The wind could have blown items all over the effing place.”
“If the killer dumped her belongings along with the body,” Poe said.
Patricia said, “Think the killer would want to keep a trophy, Loo?”
“Sure. But how likely would it be that he’d keep everything? We found her pretty bare-bones, no bad pun intended.”
Poe speared a piece of smoked turkey, chewed it thoughtfully. “Patricia, you want to go out?”
“I’ll go out.”
“And me?” Jensen asked.
Poe said, “We still don’t have any idea about Brittany’s final hours. Someone should start checking out the bars—”
“Wouldn’t that be better done at night, Sergeant?”
Poe nodded. “You can do that as well. But based on how low Brittany had fallen, she could have been a day-tripper, too. Someone should check out the naked city.”
Jensen said, “I’ll do it.”
“I thought you had tickets to the fabulous Oldies show at the MGM,” Patricia said.
“I … gave them away.” Jensen sighed. “Alison hasn’t been feeling well.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Poe broke the tension. “How about this? After you two finish up with the crime scene, Patricia can comb the bars and Steve will work the bellmen. I think they’d open up easier man to man.”
Besides, Stevie had lots of personal connections.
“Fine,” Jensen answered.
Weinberg said, “What’re you doing after the ID, Rom?”
“Figured I’d talk to Dr. Kalil. Find out how Newel died. See if she was skinned alive.”
“Good God, is that level of detail truly necessary? I know, I know.” Patricia helped herself to another serving of omelet. “Yes, of course it is. Find out if the guy is a sadistic killer or just a closet pathologist. Anyone notice if the body had stab wounds or bullet holes?”
“It was dark, Deluca,” Jensen answered.
And old Steve had been as sick as a dog.
Poe said, “I couldn’t tell, either. I’ll ask Rukmani about it. It would be nice to know if we should be looking for shell casings or a discarded knife.”
“Could you tell if the murder occurred at the body drop?” Weinberg asked.
“Didn’t see a big pool of blood.” Jensen paused. “For whatever that’s worth. It was real windy last night.”
“The desert sand is a natural litterbox,” Poe said. “Blood could have been soaked up by the surface grit and blown away.”
“And just as easily,” Weinberg said, “if there was enough blood, it could have seeped down a couple of inches and spread out in the underlying clay bed. And there it may lie still.”
“So I’ll root through the surface sand,” Patricia said.
Again, Poe drummed the tabletop with his fingers. He said, “Aren’t we forgetting about someone?”
“Lewiston,” Patricia answered.
“What do you want to do about him, Loo?”
“Premature to question him.”
“He fucked her, sir.”
“Rom, she was a hooker. He is an eccentric billionaire who has probably fucked three-quarters of the girls in this city. When you figure how much fucking was going on, their lives were bound to intersect. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“He’s a link.” Poe paused. “I could go to him with the angle that I’m asking for his help.”
“He isn’t going to swallow that horseshit. Parkerboy won’t give us squat without proper papers.”
“Loo, if Brittany’s sugar daddy had been Joe Blow—”
“Who says Lewiston was Brittany’s sugar daddy? The girl was a whore. They’re notorious liars. You’re basing all of this on the word of one disgruntled boyfriend.”
“So let me ask Lewiston about it. Let him deny it.”
No one spoke.
Weinberg relented. “All right. After you’re done with the ID, and after you’ve finished with Dr. Kalil and the crime scene, then you can go attempt contact. But don’t be disappointed if you come back empty-handed.”
Jensen smirked. “You just want an excuse to go to the Laredo. No-limit tables. One-deck shoes.”
Poe returned the evil grin with one of his own. But the accusation was true. Steve knew his number. Equally true, Poe knew Jensen’s quirks … down to the eye color of his whores.
Too bad neither really knew Alison.
“If you’re asking me about a smoking gun, I’m going to tell you no, nothing yet. These things take time, Romulus.”
Rukmani was talking through a white paper mouth and nose mask. Head down, she was peering into a sea of tissue and viscera, probing at something red and squishy with a metal instrument. An hour ago, Trent Minors had been vomiting over Brittany’s face. Now the young girl had been literally