Barbara “Brandi” Podesky, self-described as a “performer and dancer,” had no wants but a warrant did pop out of the database: failure to show up for community service on a first-offense marijuana bust. She’d be heading to West L.A. lockup. The news stunned her and she began whining that she was cold.

O’Shea checked out her body, said, “We’ll get you something soon.” Not a trace of sincerity.

Milo went to look at the skeleton, emerged seconds later and positioned himself in the doorway. Chewing his lip and wiping his face, he got back on the phone. As he waited for a connection, his facial muscles relaxed and something aspiring to be a smile stretched his lips.

“Ms. LeMasters? Milo Sturgis … yeah, I know it has been, but not to fret, how’re your ace-reporter chops this beautiful day? And are you still in love with your husband? … Why? Because trust me, Kelly, you’re gonna dig me more than him, do I have a scoop for you.”

Just as he clicked off, the chief beeped in. Milo began to supply details I already knew so I left him there, figuring to walk off some excess energy.

I circled right of the car-crush. Came face-to-face with Prema Moon.

Milo had instructed her to stay behind. Some leading women didn’t take well to direction.

“Where is he?” she said.

“In the van, but you need to stay away.”

“Why wouldn’t I stay away? So. It’s over.”

For the justice system, it was just beginning.

I said, “Yes.”

No response for a second. Then she winked at me. Turned her back and tossed her hair and offered a frisky shake of her perfect rear.

Laughing—a giddy, knowing, brittle sound—she walked off the set.

CHAPTER
56

On TV, it would have been a cinch.

The female skeleton’s DNA tracked to Qeesha D’Embo, that of the baby in the park was linked to both Qeesha and Donny Rader. Bloodstains, bone fragments, skin flakes, and hair found in the double garage that Rader had set up as his taxidermic workshop belonged to mother and child.

Several of the women located through Mel Wedd’s little blue book confirmed that Rader had often retired to the dark, dingy, space after partying, demanding to be left alone with his “projects.”

The bullet pulled from Mel Wedd’s brain matched a .45 in Rader’s firearms closet. Rader’s collection consisted of thirty-seven poorly maintained weapons included an Uzi and a Russian assault rifle.

Milo had hoped that the .22 bullet pulled from Adriana Betts would match the gun he’d taken from Rader. But it didn’t, couldn’t be traced to any of Rader’s armaments. That lent credence to the notion that someone else, most probably Melvin Jaron Wedd, had murdered her.

Most probably at Rader’s request, but good luck proving that.