“We don’t know that,” Marge said. “If we check all the other tapes and maybe see her leaving through another exit—not only would it be helpful to our investigation, it might clear the hospital of any wrongdoing. But since we haven’t seen her leave, we need to view all the tapes.”

Povich drummed the table. He said, “You take a break. I’ll call management and see if you can take them. But one thing. If you view them at the police station, I want to be there. Then I think I can talk them into it.”

“No problem.” Marge shook his hand. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

Oliver said, “We’ll miss Peter, but somehow we’ll have to get along without him.”

With his eyes glued to the monitor, Peter gave a wave.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IT WAS AFTER seven by the time Decker made it back to the station house. The squad room was quiet with a few stragglers, including Wanda Bontemps, a recent transplant to Devonshire homicide. She and Decker had worked together on the Cheryl Diggs case back when Chris Donatti had been not much older than Gabe. Chasing down a killer had led Decker into Wanda’s district. There had been tension between them at first, but by the time the case had been solved, Decker had been won over by her professionalism. He’d gone to bat for her when she had wanted to transfer into the detectives’ division, and she’d been loyal to him ever since.

In her late forties, Wanda was five six with a spread around the middle. She had recently taken to push-ups and it showed in her muscular arms. She had mocha skin, dark eyes, and very close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair with just a touch of blond.

“Have a second, Loo?”

“Sure.” Decker took out his keys and unlocked his office door. “Come on in.” He sat at his desk and Wanda sat opposite with papers in her hands. “What’s up?”

Wanda checked her notes. “I’ve been looking through hanging deaths. Almost all have been suicides or accidental—autoerotic asphyxiation. It’s really rare as a method of suicide for women. I was able to find two homicides by hanging, but both of them old, old cases done in South Central.”

Decker had taken out a notepad. “Open cases?”

“Yes. The wisdom at the time was that it was a serial killer because both of the women had been prostitutes.”

“How long ago are we talking about?”

“Twenty-five years.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good match to Adrianna’s case.”

“That was my feeling.”

“What about hangings outside of L.A.?”

“That was my next step. To murder someone that way is really weird, so maybe it’s a serial killer who recently moved into the area.”

“Lovely,” Decker said. “But valid.”