Harutyun, the senior detective on the scene, explained what they’d found, which wasn’t much. The shell casings, the CDs, the money—the altar to Kayleigh. But even the twenty-dollar bill seemed to have been washed—literally laundered. And the fire had been such a serious threat that the men and women had charged onto the grounds with hoses to contain the flames, surely contaminating the scene worse.
Besides, Dance guessed, if Edwin was behind the killing he wouldn’t have left much evidence. He was too clever for that.
Harutyun continued the explanation he’d begun over the phone.
The victim had indeed known Kayleigh—and about a thousand other performers.
His name was Frederick Blanton. “He’s a crook,” Harutyun summarized. “Was a crook.”
Dance thought of the CDs, the altar … and what she knew of the music business. “Into illegal file sharing?”
“That’s very good, Kathryn. Yes.”
“What’s the story?”
“There were close to ten thousand computers on the network. People would download songs, music videos too. Kayleigh’s were among the most popular.”
“How’d you ID him?” Dance glanced inside. “Obviously, no prints.”
“Weren’t hardly even any hands or feet. One hand must’ve burned down to ash, gone completely. We’ll have to confirm with DNA but we found his wallet in a part of the shed that didn’t burn so bad. We checked his address—he lived in the Tower District, about seven, eight miles from here. A team’s going through his house now. They found his door kicked and it was a mess—all his computers were wrecked. We figured the perp probably forced him to destroy the file-sharing servers then made him get into the trunk of his car. If it’s Edwin he’s got plenty of room in that Buick of his. Drove him here, shot him and set the fire.”
Dance mused, “How easy would it have been for Edwin to find him?”
“Google ‘torrent’ and ‘Kayleigh Towne’ and ‘download,’ and his site”—a nod toward the shed—“was in the top ten. Some basic research and he’d’ve come up with the address, I’d guess. Our boy seems good at that.”
“And he left the altar as a warning not to steal from Kayleigh.”
A stalker’s likely to target anybody who’s a threat to you, or even offended you. He’s taking real seriously his role as a protector….
“And the crime scene at his house? Evidence?”
“Nothing. No prints, foot or finger. Some trace but …” He shrugged, an indication of its marginal usefulness. “They did find he had a partner.”
“Who’s feeling a little uneasy at the moment,” Dance speculated.
“Well, he’s not in the area.”
“Guess you don’t need to be next-door neighbors with your co-conspirator if you’re doing computer crimes. You could be in South America or Serbia. Where’s he based?”
“Salinas.”
Hm. Monterey County.
“You have the guy’s name—and physical or computer address?”
“CSU’d have it.” The detective made a call and asked that the information be sent to her phone. She noted that he’d memorized her number.
The unit chimed a moment later with the incoming message.
“I’ll send it to some people I know there. They can follow up with him.” She composed an email and sent it off.
Harutyun then said, “I’m trying to keep an open mind. I know it seems to be Edwin but I’m still looking into motives anybody else would have had to kill Bobby. I’ve been getting a lot of information about him but so far nothing jumps out. And now I guess I better add this guy into the mix. But, well, there’ve gotta be a lot of people who’d like to murder a file sharer. Half the record companies and movie studios.”
Another squad car arrived, crunching over the gravel, dirt and bleached twigs that bordered the site of the blackened earth. It parked near a faded Conoco sign depicting a pale green dinosaur. Dance’s daughter, Maggie, was presently in a Jurassic phase. Her room was littered with plastic versions of the reptiles. Dance tamped down a pang, missing her children.
P. K. Madigan climbed out, surveyed the scene with hands on his slim hips overshadowed by his belly. Then he joined Dance and Harutyun. “So, he was stealing her songs?”
“That’s right.”
Madigan grumbled, “Never thought he’d switch to landlines. Should have.”
“We all should have.”
“And where the hell is he? He’s got a car as big as my boat and it’s bright red, to boot. I don’t see how he keeps losing my folks.” His phone rang and he regarded the screen. “’Lo? … You don’t say…. Naw, I’ll go myself.” He disconnected. “Well, all righty then. I can’t tell you where Edwin was when this fella died but I can tell you where he is now. He’s parked in front of Kayleigh’s house again. In the arboretum lot across the road.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Sitting on the hood of his car, happy as a clam, having himself a picnic. I want to have a talk with him. Well, actually, I’d like you to have a talk with him, Kathryn. You up for that?”
“You bet I am.”
Chapter 30
THAT CONVERSATION DID not, however, occur.
Driving in tandem, they were at Kayleigh’s house fast, in twenty-five minutes, but Edwin Sharp had left by then.
He has a sixth sense, Dance thought, though she did not believe in sixth senses.
Was it her imagination or did she see a cloud of dust hanging over the spot from which he might have just sped off? Hard to tell. There was a lot of dust in Fresno. The sky was clear but wind rose occasionally and a nearby vortex of beige powder swirled into a tiny funnel and then melted away.
Dance and Madigan both parked across the road from Kayleigh’s house and climbed out. This side of the road was lush, thanks to the park. Kayleigh’s yard too was thickly landscaped. In the distance, south and west, was a vista of low fields, now just dark dirt. Whatever was grown there had been harvested.