‘Is it Klein’s rap sheet that’s eating at you?’ she asked. ‘The kid got busted with six ounces of grass. The way things are right now, the way drug sentencing works, that means ninety days down in Terminal Island. But it was only weed – it wasn’t like he was slinging dope – and being a pothead is a pretty long way from being a killer.’ She looked at the crime scene. ‘Is that what you don’t like?’

He smiled at her, clearly impressed by her instincts.

‘The sort of shit you saw up in that motel room yesterday,’ Callson said, ‘I’ve seen stuff like that before. For my sins, I’ve seen it over and over.’ He stopped himself, obviously wondering if he should continue. He swallowed, using a finger on his right hand to smooth out the edges of his moustache. ‘Trying to dissolve a body in acid …’

‘It takes a certain type of killer.’

‘Right. And a certain way of thinking.’

‘And that’s not Klein?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know the kid. All I know is that he lived with his disabled mom in Van Nuys and he looked after her real good. Like, this kid cared for her, he was kind and thoughtful. Sure, he smoked some grass, maybe dealt a little, but when I told her Klein was dead, his mom hit the floor. Literally, dropped like a stone. He was everything to her.’ Callson held out his hands. ‘I also picked up the phone and spoke to one of the guards down at Terminal Island. It’s a low-security prison, so the very worst person Klein could have shared a cell with was some white-collar criminal who stole a bunch of money from a pension fund. But this guard, he said Klein was shit-scared for the entire time he was inside. I mean, he reckons this kid was crying himself to sleep every night.’ Callson looked at the spot in which Klein had been discovered. ‘Does any of that sound like a killer to you?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘It doesn’t sound like much of one to me either.’

‘It sounds like someone who could be manipulated easily.’

‘Or blackmailed.’

Jo nodded, looking at the file again. ‘The manager at the motel reckons he saw a station wagon there around the time Gabriel Wilzon died. I think I’ve managed to locate the vehicle: it’s registered to a supplies yard over in Industry. Except, the guy who runs it is the only one who has access to the cars, and he just doesn’t feel like …’ She faded out.

Callson eyed her. ‘Like our killer?’