Dance glanced at the crime-scene photos. Hard to make an ID from them alone: he’d been in the water for some time and, though the chill would otherwise preserve flesh, critters had been dining. Much of the remains had been reduced to bone.
‘I haven’t contacted the family yet,’ Rivera said. ‘We’ve got a DNA sample from them and the lab’s running it now. Should be about twenty-four hours.’ A nod at a close-up of the corpse’s hands. ‘No fingerprints, of course.’
O’Neil squinted at one image. ‘Not Grant.’
‘It’s—’
‘Not him. Grant had had a knee replacement. Two of ’em. That man’s got both knees intact. Maybe homeless, maybe a drifter, fell asleep on the beach and got washed out to sea. Anyway, it’s not him.’
‘Okay, Detective. I’ll let everybody know.’
‘Oh, Gabriel?’
‘Yessir?’
‘Saves time to learn everything you can about whoever you’re searching for.’
‘I’ll remember that, sir.’ The deputy took the envelope back and returned to his squad car.
Dance and O’Neil walked to short-term parking and collected his vehicle. The fog was back, and the evening promised chill.
‘Solitude Creek … Bay View … What on earth is he up to?’ Dance mused.
O’Neil remained silent. A mood seemed to be on him. Understandable, of course: a deputy had been shot, a witness killed and their suspect had escaped. Yet she sensed there was something else on O’Neil’s mind.
His window was down and cold air streamed into the car. She thought about asking him to roll it up but chose not to, for some reason. She turned the heater up higher.
Well, if he wanted to talk, fine; it wasn’t her role to pry anything out of him, unlike with her daughter. She pulled out her phone to call Boling but somehow the idea of having a cheerful conversation with him didn’t appeal; it also seemed a bit passiveaggressive – payback for O’Neil’s mood. She texted, instead, saying she’d be home soon.
Almost immediately her phone dinged with a reply. Miss you. WDYWFD?
She answered back that leftovers were good, and asked about the kids.
He sent another, saying Maggie was Skyping with Bethany and Carrie (Secrets Club teleconference), Wes was out with Donnie, biking (back @ 7, promised).
She typed: C U soon. XO
Dance did make a voice call – to Charles Overby. ‘You’re on speaker with me and Michael,’ she told him.
Her boss called, ‘Michael, hello.’
‘Charles.’
She had, of course, called in from time to time to let him know how the incident in Orange County was proceeding. She now said, ‘No indication that Prescott was anything more than an oddball – a redneck, if they have rednecks in Orange County – stirring up anti-Islamic sentiment. Our office down there’ll canvass his friends and family, coworkers but I’m sure that the profile’ll be just that. We’ve got custody of his computer and a phone the unsub dropped. I’d like to have Jon Boling crack the passcodes and take a peek.’
‘That’s good. Sure. And, if I recall, he’s not very expensive.’
Dance let that go.
Overby added, ‘Any thoughts about why our boy would travel all that way to kill him?’
O’Neil explained the theory that Prescott had brought unwanted federal scrutiny to the incident with the ‘terrorist’ comments. ‘That’s all we can think of.’
They arranged a meeting tomorrow in Overby’s office, to review the crime-scene reports from the sheriff’s office in Orange County.
Dance clicked the phone off. Then made another call.
‘Hey, boss. You back from La-La Land?’
‘Just landed,’ she told TJ Scanlon. ‘Eleven tomorrow in Overby’s office. On Solitude Creek and Bay View.’
‘Be there with bells on.’
She asked, ‘And Serrano? The second lead? What’s the name again?’
‘Ah, Se?orita Alonzo. Serrano’s former squeeze. Moss Landing tomorrow at nine? Good for you?’
‘Yep. I’ll coordinate with Al.’
‘Foster’ll be out. Steve Two and Jimmy’ll be there.’
‘Thanks. See you tomorrow.’
They disconnected.
Silence for some moments.
‘Look out,’ she said sharply, pointing ahead.
Two flashes of yellow, close-set eyes.
‘I got it,’ he said, braking.
They cruised past the deer as it debated who would win the collision.
O’Neil hadn’t, however, seen the creature at first. He’d been distracted. Mind elsewhere.
More silence. His body language revealed tension.
Another five minutes. Finally she’d had enough. She was going to pry a confession out of him, but just at that moment his phone rang. He unholstered it and hit accept. He listened, grim. ‘Where?’
Her heart sank. Had the unsub returned so quickly and committed yet another mass attack?
‘I’m headed in that direction now. I can be there in fifteen.’
He disconnected.
‘Another one?’
‘Not our unsub. A hate crime again.’ He sighed, shaking his head.
‘Anybody in custody?’
‘No, a homeowner found his wall graffitied. I’m going to swing by and poke around the neighborhood. It’s in Pacific Grove, not far from you. I’ll take you home first.’
‘No, I’ll go with you.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
He hit the flasher lights and sped up, though minding the slippery road.
She asked, ‘You think there’s a chance you’ll find the perp there?’
‘He can’t be too far away. The graffiti? The paint’s still wet.’
CHAPTER 49
‘Well, there you have it. Welcome to Berlin, nineteen thirty-eight.’