“Ana Markovic, age twenty. Two shots close range, one in the face, one in the chest, two casings here in the room. Both nine-millimeter. Did I mention that?”

“No.”

“These guys used nines. All the bullets and casings we found—nines.”

The room was a small place to die, filled by a bed and a table, with only a casement window for light. Pictures of a smiling young woman hugging Frank’s boys were taped over the desk, part of a birthday card the kids had made of construction paper. We love Ana.

Pike said, “Her?”

“Uh-huh. An au pair.”

Smears of blood on the floor and the door indicated she tried to crawl away after being shot.

Pike said, “Did she describe them?”

“Uh-uh. She was unconscious when the uniforms found her. They got her over to UCLA, but she’s not going to make it.”

Pike stared at the streaks of blood. It was easy to imagine her outstretched hand.

“Does Terrio have any suspects?”

“No one we’ve identified. If he has someone from the other side, I couldn’t tell you. They haven’t issued any warrants.”

SID was the science side. The other side was shoe leather—whatever detectives turned from informants and witnesses.

“How many people have they killed?”

“Four. If the nanny dies, five.”

“Not here, John. All together.”

“Eleven. Hey, that’s why they set up a task force. They’re using divisional dicks from all over the city.”

Chen suddenly glanced at his watch, looking uncomfortable.

“Listen, I gotta get busy. Those dicks are coming back.”

Pike followed Chen back to the dining room, but he still wasn’t ready to leave.

Pike said, “Let me see the pictures.”

Criminalists, coroner investigators, and homicide detectives photo-documented everything. Chen would have photographed the scene before he made the sketches.

“Bro, these people were your friends. You sure?”

“Let me see.”

Chen went to his case and returned with a black digital camera. He scrolled through the images until he found what he wanted, then held it so Pike could see.

The image was tiny, but Pike saw Frank splayed on the floor. He was on his back, his left leg straight and right leg cocked to the side, floating in a pool of deep red that shined with the flash. Pike had wanted to see if the red arrows were inked on his arms like Deets said, but Frank was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, rolled to his forearms.

“I want to see his face. Can you zoom it?”

Chen adjusted the picture, then held out the camera again. Frank was cut beneath his right eye in two places, indicating he had been hit more than once. Pike wondered if Frank had been trying to disarm the man or men closest to him when the men across the room shot him.

Pike said, “Was a time, he would have beat them.”

Chen said, “What?”