Then I tell him about my Internet searches for Elisa Vandersteel. I couldn’t find her in London or anywhere.

CHAPTER 28

THE DRIVER’S LICENSE COULD be fake,” he says. “These days technology makes it a piece of cake to counterfeit IDs that look like the genuine article.”

“It’s odd that whoever Elisa Vandersteel is she doesn’t seem to be on social media either,” I inform him. “What young person isn’t these days? And I came across nothing in the news about anyone with that name that might be her. But I only looked for a few minutes.”

“I agree it’s strange. Unless she had reason to stay below the radar.” Marino pulls down his white hood, patting dry his shiny head with paper towels. “Jesus, I’m sweating like a whore in church. Or she had a fake ID card, and there’s no such thing as an Elisa Vandersteel with that DOB and address. And maybe that’s why there’s no one with that name on social media.”

“Lucy’s working on it. Let’s see what she comes up with.” I tear open a packet of coveralls.

“More than she’s been coming up with, I sure as hell hope.” It’s an unfortunate dig at her failed efforts with Tailend Charlie, and I won’t get into it with him.

I scan the lighted area of the park inside the flat-topped block-shaped enclosure, my attention wandering over the grass, the hard-packed path, the laid-down bike and the body. The scene looks eerily undisturbed as if it’s not possible someone died violently here.

“How are we doing?” I ask Marino to fill me in on what might have developed since we last communicated. “Have you found anything interesting that we missed the first time? We’re going to want to wrap this up as quickly as we safely can. It’s awful in here, and I don’t want either of us or anyone else getting overheated.”

“Mostly I’ve been collecting what we already know about. The pieces of gold chain, the driver’s license. And her helmet, which didn’t look damaged to me.”

“Do you think Enya and Anya might have picked up other evidence?”

“Where would they hide it? I searched their knapsacks, and we’ve got the glasses, the skull pendant, the phone. Plus we found the shirt one of them threw up on in the bushes.”

“Unless they hid something somewhere,” I propose. “Money, for example. Credit cards, cash? The victim was riding her bike out here alone with no money and no keys?”

“All I can tell you is they swear they didn’t borrow anything else.” Marino takes off his gloves and unzips a small black Harley-Davidson cooler bag that belongs to him personally. “They turned their pockets inside out for me. Nothing.”