The other two pictures were snapshots. One captured the woman walking hand in hand with two little girls. They looked about three and five. In the other, the trio was seated on a wall. Same kids but older, maybe six and eight.
Both girls had the woman’s dark eyes and hair. On both occasions, their hair was center-parted, braided, and tied off with bows.
My mind popped a series of flashbulb images. Leal. Donovan. Estrada. Koseluk. Nance. Gower.
I hurried back to the kitchen. Slidell was peering into the fridge. “Did you check out the photos in the bedroom?”
“Probably the wife and kids.” Slamming the door.
“Did you see the resemblance—”
“You telling me how to do my job?”
Cutting, even for Slidell. Knowing pressure from Salter and friction with Tinker were combining to make him overly defensive, I let it go. “Are you getting any feel for who Ajax is?”
“Bollywood freak.” Far from apologetic but more tempered.
“The DVDs?”
Slidell nodded. “Lousy dresser. Eats healthy. Likes baseball.” I cocked a questioning brow. Wasted, since Slidell wasn’t looking at me. “He gets the major league package on cable.”
I scanned the countertop beyond the island. Not a crumb or smudge. No canisters or cookie jar. Only a portable phone in a charger.
Slidell turned and saw where I was looking. “Yes. I hit redial. The last call went to Mercy.”
“Any stored numbers?”
“No.”
“Any messages?”
“No.”
“You’re right about the place being spotless.”
“The worm’s got every spray and polish ever put in a bottle.” Jerking a thumb at a pantry I hadn’t noticed before.
“Does he use a cleaning service?”
“None of the neighbors ever saw anyone but him come and go. Hell, they hardly ever saw him.”
“Yard service?”
“No.”
“What about mail?” I noticed a small white box on the wall beside the back door.
“Utility bills. Circulars. Catalogues. Nothing personal.”
“No indication he maintained contact with his family?”
“They’re in India.”
“They have phones and mailboxes there.”
“No shit.”
“Catalogues might mean he shopped online.” The box had a sticker.
“I don’t shop online, and I get the same crap.”
“Was the security system activated when you came in?” The sticker had a logo. ADT.
“Yeah.”
“Ajax gave you the code?”
“I persuaded him that sharing was in his best interest.”
“So he sets the alarm when he’s away.”
“Where you going with this?”
“If ADT keeps records, they could tell you when Ajax entered and left the house.”
“They could tell me when someone entered and left the house.”
“So this was a bust,” I said.
“You kiddin’? Double score.” Slidell stripped off his gloves. “First, this house ain’t a crime scene.”
Slidell’s phone buzzed. He yanked it from his belt. Checked the screen. Sighed and raised it to his ear. “Slidell.”
A tinny voice. Female. Strident.
“Yeah?”
The voice boiled again.
“Musta been a misunderstanding.”
More boiling.
“On my way.” Hooking the device back into place. “Salter’s putting me up for cop of the year.” Slidell looked at me, eyes bloodshot from worry and unrest. Then strode toward the door.
“And the second?” I asked.
“What?” Turning.
“What’s the second thing you learned?”
“The prick keeps another crib for his dirty work.”
While Slidell reported to Salter, I went to the MCME.
Larabee’s bones weren’t as straightforward as he’d hoped. Though far from complete, the skeleton was obviously human. A male, middle-aged, edentulous, probably white. Cortical flaking, discoloration, and adherent fibers suggested the man had occupied a coffin for many years.
Larabee was off somewhere. I wrote a preliminary report and left it on his desk. It would be up to him to investigate or not.