“Thanks for the picture,” Rina said. “It means a lot to me. I’ll get it back to you right away.”

“Take your time,” Abel said. He watched her walk away, the dog nuzzling against her hip. How he envied the four-legged bitch. He sighed and stroked his beard. “Take your time,” Abel repeated, whispering it this time.

13

Slouched in the backseat of the unmarked, Decker smoked a cigarette. He’d removed his jacket and tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His feet were propped over the driver’s seat, all the windows of the Plymouth cranked open, the doors pushed out to the maximum. Hot tobacco air mixed with dry dust, and his mouth felt desert-arid. He eyeballed Marge outside, saw the sweat pouring off her forehead, and wondered if he should give her a break, whether she’d take offense at his offer. He shrugged and decided she’d ask for help if she needed it. She was talking to Byron Howard, calming him down, trying to get him inside the car so he wouldn’t mess the ground if a grid search was needed. But the bald man wasn’t heeding her advice, and paced as if he had something to hide.

Ten minutes later, Decker heard tires grinding against gravel. From the back windshield, he saw a black-and-white County Sheriff’s car and a white crime-lab van park behind the Plymouth. The driver of the cruiser opened the door, stood, and stretched. He appeared to be in his sixties—a portly man with a pencil-thin mustache, pouches for cheeks, and a pale complexion. His hair was white and thin, combed to the side to cover an empty patch of pink scalp. He was dressed in typical detective fashion—a white short-sleeved shirt, clip-on tie, navy slacks and black oxfords. He sauntered over to the van, knocked on the window, and waved the men from Forensic outside.

The techs were young—a crew-cut Asian and curly-haired redhead splattered with acne and freckles, both wearing long white coats and sweating in the heat. Slowly, Decker swung his feet outside, stood up, and joined the powwow.

Shaking Decker’s hand, the sheriff detective introduced himself as Ozzie Crandal. He said, “I was in the field when the RTO patched the call through. Actually, I was on my lunch break. It sounds like we’ve got a mess inside there.”

Decker introduced himself and said “mess” was an understatement, explaining what they had was a quadruple homicide.

Crandal bit his lip. “How’d LAPD field the call?”

“Case originated in my division just over the mountain. I was doing follow-up when my partner and I stumbled onto this one.”

“Who’s your partner?”

“Detective Dunn, the woman talking to the bald man.”

Crandal touched the crown of his head and said, “Witness?”