“The resident at 3701 Bader said she heard a car door slam about five in the morning. I asked if there was anything else, and she said the door sounded like a large European car with darkened windows. I’ll bet if I talked to her for a few more minutes, she’d have told me it sounded like a blue car. We also had three other houses mention the car door sound—at three thirty, four, and nine thirty. That last one was probably our car.”

Frames pushed his chair back. Having the two officers so close made him feel claustrophobic. “Did you talk to the woman with the dogs who found the body?”

“That was a scene. Mrs. Edna Jarman at 3704 Bader. She’s got six mutts, all Corgis, all named after Italian-American pop singers from the 1960s. Dean Martin, Frankie Avalon, Bobby Rydell, Dion DiMucci…”

“Strictly speaking, was Rydell Italian?” Pruitt asked.

“You’re kidding me, right? The guy’s hit was ‘Volare.’ That sound like a German song to you?”

Frames held up his hands. “Just tell me what this dog lady told you.”

“She said she entered the park at about six. Gave us a whole song-and-dance about how she should be allowed to go in before the gates open, because she lives in the neighborhood and her late husband was a Pearl Harbor survivor, which apparently entitles her dogs to take a crap before everyone else. Anyway, one of the dogs, Frankie Valli, I think, led her to the bench. At first, she thought the victim was sleeping, which disgusted her and dishonored the family who donated the bench. But then she realized the woman was dead, which, in Mrs. Jarman’s eyes, was a legitimate use of it.”

“So all she did was tell you the same thing she already told Officer Hadley?”

“Basically, but there was one other thing. When they were leaving the bench, the oldest dog, Paul Anka, pulled her toward that group of oaks next to the parking lot. After seeing the dead woman, Mrs. Jarman was afraid to go over there. Anyway, you guys might have one of the police dogs check it out.”

“Probably a used condom,” Pruitt said. “Every time I’ve been out with those dogs, it’s the first thing they find. I’ll bet you twenty bucks.”

“That’s it?”

“We pulled up security camera footage from two residences. Nothing on them so far, but we’re still looking.”

“Anything else?”

The two men shook their heads, and Timsen stuffed his notebook back in his shirt pocket.

Frames stood up behind his desk, encouraging the officers to leave. For a few seconds, they sat still, looking at him.

“We get some kind of lunch voucher?” asked Timsen.

“Are we on for that condom bet?” Pruitt asked.

Chapter Seven

(i)

(TUESDAY, 2:10 P.M.)