"It's going." Quick handclasps. Milo introduced me.

Wimmers said, "I heard about you, Doc. Ever think of coming over to the county side? We're the one's really out for truth, justice, and the American way."

I smiled.

"Unspoken like a true shrink-sit down, guys. Want me to order you half a bird?"

"Quarter'll do fine, Irv."

"Each?"

"Both."

"On a diet, Milo?"

"G.o.d forbid."

Wimmers rumbled amus.e.m.e.nt. "What're you drinking? The iced tea's good, they throw in some pomegranate juice, supposed to be healthy, slow us down from rusting."

"They're outta that," said Milo, "I'll take WD-40."

Wimmers lumbered to the counter, returned with a pair of twenty-four-ounce gla.s.ses of red-brown tea. "So you're thinking this crooked C.I. had something to do with Bobby Escobar?"

"I can't prove it, Irv, but I'm certain she wiped away a s.e.m.e.n stain because it belonged to her boyfriend. And Bobby's specialty was monkeying with evidence, meaning he coulda been sharp-eyed, seen something."

"From what I hear, Milo, he was definitely sharp-eyed. Back when he worked as a C.I., he used to get on people's nerves for being a little too gung-ho, you know? The kid in cla.s.s who points out the teacher forgot about the test?"

Milo said, "How far was his office from that fridge-closet where they stack up the tagged bodies?"

"Right across the hall," said Wimmers. "Hmm, ain't that cute? So let's frame this: I told you Bobby didn't have a set schedule but before I drove here I called his wife and she said between school and a part-time job at a medical lab, it wasn't unusual for him to come in at midnight, stay for a while. Which is exactly what he was doing the morning he got killed. Same for the two days preceding, which was the period when Rieffen would've done her tampering. So maybe she sneaks in late to do her mischief, figures no one's there. But Bobby's in his office, behind a closed door, typing on his laptop. She goes into the fridge, does her bad thing, just happens to encounter Bobby as he pops out."

Milo said, "She was official, had a badge, someone else might've ignored her. But Bobby got curious."

"Only problem, Milo, from what I've learned about Bobby, he sees something hinky, he reports it. There's no record he ever did."

Milo said, "Maybe he left a note on someone's desk, Rieffen saw it, s.n.a.t.c.hed it."

"Guess so," said Wimmers. "But try proving that."

I said, "Even if Bobby suspected something and checked in the fridge, how would he have found her out? We're talking evidence removal, how do you confirm the absence of something?"

"Then why bother killing him?"

"Maybe he gave her a look that unsettled her. Or made a comment. Not enough for him to report, but more than enough to get Rieffen worried. She told Monte, he decided to fix the problem."

"Homicidal boyfriend," said Wimmers. "Can't believe she actually finagled herself to process a murder she'd done. That's gotta be a first."

"Didn't take much finagling," said Milo. "She offered a trade to another C.I. The tipoff is she never bothered to claim her share."

"Too good to be true," said Wimmers. "Man, this girl's a piece of work. Now all we have to do is prove it."

"What brought you back to Escobar's office today?"

Wimmer pushed cranberry sauce around his plate. "What brought me back was my perception of the case. It wasn't mine, initially. Two rookies caught the call, got pulled off to do gang stuff and wrote up the prelim as a robbery gone bad. Given the neighborhood and Escobar's wallet being gone, that made superficial sense. But when I looked closer, it started to fall apart. Escobar's cell phone was right there, on the pa.s.senger seat. So was a bunch of bling on his person, all inherited from his dad, who was a p.a.w.nbroker. I'm talking a big gold ring with a diamond, a gold I.D. bracelet, a gold-and-diamond earring. Stuff that would've been easy to fence. Plus, Escobar was sitting behind the wheel of his car when we found him but most of the blood was outside and when I revisited the scene, I found what looked to be drag marks."

"He got shot outside and put back in?"

"How many armed robbers you know gonna take the time to do that? To me it smelled staged."

"Rieffen and Monte are veterans at that." Milo described the turret murders in greater detail.

Wimmers said, "Please tell me your guy was shot with a .22 revolver or maybe an automatic and the sh.e.l.ls were collected."

Milo nodded.

"Your bullet clean enough for a.n.a.lysis?"

"Coroner says frags but they can be put back together, so maybe."

"Who's making the call to the gun lab, you or me?"

"Be my guest, Irv."

Wimmers phoned Ballistics, arranged for the comparison asap. "They said forty-eight hours, I got 'em down to twenty-four." Two giant hands rubbed together. "This is starting to taste even better than my bird."

CHAPTER.

41.

There's a sixth sense, a high-definition sensitivity to threat, experienced by soldiers in combat, veteran cops, and a certain cla.s.s of cold-blooded psychopath.

Milo's approach to Lara Rieffen was subtle, faking good cheer as she exited her county car in the crypt lot. She went along with the chitchat, synched with his loose, slow gait, but I was reading her eyes, bet she had a different rhythm in mind.

Milo probably figured it out, but he kept up the performance as the three of us entered the northern half of the coroner's complex. Where the wet-work gets done.

Once inside, he used the barest touch of thumb on arm to direct Rieffen toward the empty room Dave McClellan had provided. The trajectory took her toward her cubicle, no reason for her to resist or suspect but her mouth tightened and she pushed ahead of Milo. He caught up and when they reached the open door, took hold of her elbow and stopped the parade.

"I could use a few minutes of your time, Lara."

Stiff smile. "For what, Lieutenant?"

"Go over the Borodi scene a bit. I need to nail down a few details before I finish my report."

"You've closed the case?"

"I wish, just the opposite. It's actually looking real bad for a close, but I've got a new a.s.signment from the bra.s.s, need to move on."

Blue eyes blinked. "Oh. That must be frustrating."

"Part of the job. So just a few secs, okay?" Propelling her inside before she could answer.

Two chairs facing one, a table to the side where Milo's jacket was bunched up. Kathy Vanderveldt aka Lara Rieffen sat where she was supposed to.

No one-way for observation, no s.p.a.ce or practical way to work Gayle Lindstrom in and Milo had informed the S.A.

Appetizer goes down smooth, you can share the entree, Gayle.

I sat down next to Milo. Lara Rieffen watched me. More concerned with my presence than Milo's.

He said, "Doc's along for the ride." Snapping his attache case open, he spent some time behind the lid, fumbling, like an inept magician scrounging for a prop.

Lara Rieffen wanted to look bored, but her body wouldn't go along. She tried to will herself loose, ended up with something contrived and edgy, what a yoga novice might achieve the first few times on the mat.

Milo kept shuffling papers. Rieffen checked her watch. I said, "Busy day?"

"Always. Before I took the job, I had no idea."

"Where'd you work before here?"

"Labs," she said. "Nothing forensic, medical settings."

"Always been into science, huh?"

"Always."

Milo said, "Sorry, it's a mess in here, bear with me." He clicked his tongue. Lara Rieffen started to relax-the real deal. Put at ease by his incompetence.

"Take your time, Lieutenant. I want to be part of the solution, not the problem."

"Thanks, Lara. I wish everyone felt that way.

"Okay, here we go." Instead of drawing out papers, he snapped the case shut, placed it on the floor. Smiled at Rieffen and kept observing her with that lazy, hooded look he produces when the mood's right.

Her lips turned up. More sickly confusion than anything related to glee.

"What do you need to know, Lieutenant?"

"Well, for starts, let's talk about Monte."

Lara Rieffen's head retracted. Pretty blue eyes shot to the door. Milo crossed his legs and put his hands behind his head. Try to bolt, go ahead, you're mine, I'm not worried.

Lara Rieffen said, "Monte?" as if trying out a foreign word. "As in Carlo. As in Scoppio." No answer.

"As in Dwayne Parris." Rieffen shook her head. "As in boom, Lara."

Rieffen crossed her own legs. Smiled weakly and exhaled. "Thank G.o.d."

"For what, Lara?"

"He terrifies me, says if I ever think about leaving him he'll cut me up, dump the pieces where they'll never be found."

Milo winced. "That's heavy-duty."

"Super-heavy-duty, Lieutenant, but if you're asking about him, you probably know that."

Angling for info. When that didn't work, she scrunched her eyes, worked at pushing out tears. Produced a couple of sorry-looking droplets.

Milo's big, thick fingers rested atop hers. "Finally," she said. "Someone who can help me."

"Protect and serve, Lara. Okay, let's get the details so we can nail this b.a.s.t.a.r.d good."

Lara Rieffen's technique was cla.s.sic con: a mix of understatement, distraction, and outright lies. Painting Dwayne Parris/Monte Scoppio as ultimate evil, herself as submissive victim, all the while trying to pry out what Milo knew.

He fly-fished her, dangling error as bait then withdrawing, puncturing minor falsehoods with good nature while ignoring the whoppers.

Setting the hook.

"So... when exactly did you meet Monte?"

"Couple of years ago."

"Really? Hmm." Another mumbling foray into the attache case. "Um, I could be wrong here, but I think I had a notation here... unfortunately, I can't seem to find it... never mind."

"What kind of notation, Lieutenant?"

"We've been talking to people about Monte. Doing background, you know? Someone claimed you and he knew each other way back-in high school."

"Not really."

"It's not true?" More rummaging. "Ah, here it is Center High, cla.s.s of-"

"Oh, that. Technically it's true, but Center was huge, we hung in different crowds."

"So you knew who he was-"

"Barely. We met up years later and even that was nothing intense."