Chapters (128)
- Prologue: THE STORYTELLER
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Part One: THE “MARY SMITH” MURDERS
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Part Two: I LOVE L.A.
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Part Three: JUGGLING ACTS
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- Chapter 61
- Chapter 62
- Chapter 63
- Chapter 64
- Chapter 65
- Chapter 66
- Chapter 67
- Chapter 68
- Chapter 69
- Chapter 70
- Chapter 71
- Part Four: THE BLUE SUBURBAN
- Chapter 72
- Chapter 73
- Chapter 74
- Chapter 75
- Chapter 76
- Chapter 77
- Chapter 78
- Chapter 79
- Chapter 80
- Chapter 81
- Chapter 82
- Chapter 83
- Chapter 84
- Chapter 85
- Chapter 86
- Chapter 87
- Chapter 88
- Chapter 89
- Chapter 90
- Chapter 91
- Chapter 92
- Chapter 93
- Chapter 94
- Chapter 95
- Chapter 96
- Chapter 97
- Chapter 98
- Part Five: END OF STORY
- Chapter 99
- Chapter 100
- Chapter 101
- Chapter 102
- Chapter 103
- Chapter 104
- Chapter 105
- Chapter 106
- Chapter 107
- Chapter 108
- Chapter 109
- Chapter 110
- Chapter 111
- Chapter 112
- Chapter 113
- Chapter 114
- Chapter 115
- Chapter 116
- Chapter 117
- Chapter 118
- Chapter 119
- Chapter 120
- Chapter 121
- About the Author
IT DID, TOO. A ripple went through the room. At least I’d gotten everybody’s attention.
“I’m not saying it’s definitely a male offender, but we haven’t ruled that out as a possibility. I don’t believe you should. Either way, though,” I said, raising my voice over the low rumble, “there are a few things I can say about this case.
“I’ll use she as a default for now. She’s likely white, and in her midthirties to forties. She drives her own car, something that wouldn’t get too much notice in the upscale neighborhoods where the murders happened. She’s most likely educated, and most likely employed, nonprofessional. Maybe some kind of service position for which she may very well be overqualified.”
I went on for a bit, then fielded some questions from the assembled team. When I was finished, Jeanne Galletta gave the floor over to ballistics for a gun report; then she wrapped up the meeting.
“Last thing,” she said. “Kileen, sit down, please. Thank you, Gerry. We’re not done. I’ll tell you when we’re done.” She waited for quiet, and she got it.
“I don’t need to tell you about the kind of ridiculous press coverage this is getting. I want everyone thinking and acting as though there’s a camera on you at all times, because there probably is. Absolutely no shortcuts out there, people. I’m serious as lung cancer on that last point. S.O.P. should be a nonissue.”
I noticed Galletta’s eyes shift toward Van Allsburg while she spoke. Procedure had probably been the topic of their closed-door meeting with the deputy mayor. It occurred to me that this was an election year. The mayor needed a clean result on this one, and a fast one. I doubted it was going to happen that way.
“Okay, that’s it for now,” Galletta said, and the room came alive. She caught my eye and nodded her head toward the conference room in the back.
I had to push through the crowd to get there, wondering what she wanted to talk about.
“How’s it going?” I asked as she closed the door behind us.
“What the hell was that?” she snapped.
I blinked. “What the hell was what?”
“Contradicting me, talking about Mary Smith as a man, confusing the issue at this time. I need these people focused, and you need to keep me informed before you start reviving dead issues out of the blue like that.”
“Dead issues? Out of the blue? We talked about this. I told you my feeling.”
“Yeah, and we put it away.”
“No. We didn’t put it away. You did. Jeanne, I know you’re under pressure —”
“Goddam right I am. This is Los Angeles, not D.C. You have no idea.”