A large, elaborate house had been framed up on the lot. Weathered wood marred by rust streaks below the nails said it had been a while since the project was active. Care had been taken to preserve the assortment of mature eucalyptus at the rear of the lot. The trees hadn’t been trimmed and some of their branches drooped to the ground and continued trailing along the dirt, shaggy and green, like oversized caterpillars. The foliage had served to partially shield the Explorer but if anyone had been working on the site, they’d have noticed the vehicle immediately.

I said, “Foreclosure?”

Milo said, “Yup, last year. Guy who found the body goes around checking out bank-owned properties. The former owners are a nice older couple from Denver, moved here to be with their grandkids, tried to build their dream house, got taxed out of their dry-cleaning business. I had Denver PD talk to them. They’ve never heard of Wedd and they come up antiseptic-clean. And there goes my case on Adriana because ol’ Melvin ain’t ever talking.”

Gloria called out his name. We approached her, tried to stand sufficiently back to avoid the wafting of death fumes.

“This was in his jacket, Milo. Upper inside pocket.”

She held out a matchbook, white cover, unmarked. The kind you get with cigarettes at the liquor store.

Milo said, “So he had a fuel source for his dope.”

Gloria opened the book. No matches left, just fuzzy stubs. Inside the book’s cover, someone had scrawled in blue ballpoint. Tiny, cramped cursive.

Milo put on reading glasses, gloved up, took the book.

I read over his shoulder.

This is guilt.

Gloria said, “Can I theorize a little?”

“Sure.”

“If we’d found a gun, I’d look at this as maybe a suicide note. Seeing as it’s clearly a homicide, either your victim had remorse for something and wrote this himself or someone else thought he should pay for something.”

“Have you checked his other pockets yet?”

“Twice. I even looked in his underwear.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m dedicated up to a point. Any idea what Mr. Wedd could be guilty of?”

“Before this I had a few ideas.” He shook his head. “Anything else?”

“The driver’s-seat adjustment seems to roughly fit Wedd’s height, so either he was driving and moved to the passenger side or your offender’s around the same size. I guess the weed and the bong are meant to imply a drug party. But with no matches in the book or anywhere else, same for ashes or residue?”

“It looks staged to you?”

“That or there was an interruption before the party got going,” she said. “Was Wedd involved in that world?”

“Not that I know,” said Milo. “But I don’t know much, period.”