to go on. I tried contacting hotels in the area. There's not a lot more I can do unless he resurfaces.”
“If he resurfaces.”
“If you're right and he's somehow connected with this case, he'll resurface.”
“This Argyle remembered Jay Stevens?”
“It took some prodding. It was a long time ago, and it never really was officially a murder case, but he did finally remember a few details, and he was willing to talk, so we'll see what comes of it.”
“How'd you find him so fast?”
“I've still got a contact or two downtown.” The satisfaction in his voice made me smile inwardly.
“Whatever is going on at the bookstore, it's got to tie into Jay Stevens's murder.”
“It is homicide,” he agreed. “The preliminary indicates Stevens was killed by blunt-force trauma to the head. There's a big crack down the side of his skull. He must have been struck by something pretty damn heavy. He probably died almost instantly.”
Nice to still have friends on the force. The papers had been remarkably silent on the topic of Jay Stevens once the excitement of the discovery of the skeleton in the floor had been milked.
Jake said, “It's been handed over to the CCHU. The cold case homicide unit. But you have to remember, despite the media attention on the discovery of Stevens's remains, this isn't a high-profile case.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it all went down half a century ago. Our resources are limited. CCHU has six detectives trying to choose among eight thousand unsolved homicides dating all the way back to 1960.”
I groused, “You'd think they could move the cutoff to permit one case from 1959. Couldn't they temporarily add an extra detective or two?” Granted, if the extra detective was going to be Alonzo, I'd be just as happy if they let it go.
“The focus has to remain on clearing up current caseloads that not only stand a better chance of being solved but have citizens pushing for resolution. No grieving family member is begging us to find Stevens's killer. No one is begging us to give them closure.”
54
Josh Lanyon
Our. Us.
Once a cop, always a cop, I guessed.
“I'm begging,” I said.
He looked at me and grinned. “You never begged in your life.”
“I suppose you have?”
An odd expression flickered in his eyes, a sudden recognition of something in the distance—or the past. “I begged for something once.”
To be straight? That would be about right. Or did he mean it in sexual context I didn't want to know anything about?
I said drily, “And did you get what you begged for?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded funny. “I did.”
I glanced at him. There was nothing to read on his face. Same handsome, unforgiving profile.
I changed the subject. “Have they confirmed that the skeleton belongs to Jay Stevens?”
“It's not a rock-solid ID. We don't have any family members to match the remaining DNA to, but Stevens's fingerprints were all over the suitcase the skeleton was walled up with. The suitcase and the clarinet inside.”
“Stevens's fingerprints are on file?”
“Oh yeah. Once for possession of marijuana and once for theft.” I could tell by the satisfaction in Jake's voice that there was more.
“He doesn't exactly sound like a master criminal.”
“I'll let Argyle fill you in.”
Yep, he sounded way too pleased with himself.
I said, “What I don't get is, why now? Why, after all these years, is someone looking for whatever it is they're looking for in that building?”
“You tell me.”
I thought about it. “Because whatever it is will either be found during the renovation or be lost forever.”
“That's my guess.”
We made good time on the 101 and got off on Highway 33. At Lake Casitas, we stopped so I could stretch my legs. We strolled down to the small store and bought bottles of water and ice-cream bars. We ate the ice cream, watching the boats on the lake.
Maybe it was the perfect combination of fresh air, sunshine, and ice
“If he resurfaces.”
“If you're right and he's somehow connected with this case, he'll resurface.”
“This Argyle remembered Jay Stevens?”
“It took some prodding. It was a long time ago, and it never really was officially a murder case, but he did finally remember a few details, and he was willing to talk, so we'll see what comes of it.”
“How'd you find him so fast?”
“I've still got a contact or two downtown.” The satisfaction in his voice made me smile inwardly.
“Whatever is going on at the bookstore, it's got to tie into Jay Stevens's murder.”
“It is homicide,” he agreed. “The preliminary indicates Stevens was killed by blunt-force trauma to the head. There's a big crack down the side of his skull. He must have been struck by something pretty damn heavy. He probably died almost instantly.”
Nice to still have friends on the force. The papers had been remarkably silent on the topic of Jay Stevens once the excitement of the discovery of the skeleton in the floor had been milked.
Jake said, “It's been handed over to the CCHU. The cold case homicide unit. But you have to remember, despite the media attention on the discovery of Stevens's remains, this isn't a high-profile case.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it all went down half a century ago. Our resources are limited. CCHU has six detectives trying to choose among eight thousand unsolved homicides dating all the way back to 1960.”
I groused, “You'd think they could move the cutoff to permit one case from 1959. Couldn't they temporarily add an extra detective or two?” Granted, if the extra detective was going to be Alonzo, I'd be just as happy if they let it go.
“The focus has to remain on clearing up current caseloads that not only stand a better chance of being solved but have citizens pushing for resolution. No grieving family member is begging us to find Stevens's killer. No one is begging us to give them closure.”
54
Josh Lanyon
Our. Us.
Once a cop, always a cop, I guessed.
“I'm begging,” I said.
He looked at me and grinned. “You never begged in your life.”
“I suppose you have?”
An odd expression flickered in his eyes, a sudden recognition of something in the distance—or the past. “I begged for something once.”
To be straight? That would be about right. Or did he mean it in sexual context I didn't want to know anything about?
I said drily, “And did you get what you begged for?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded funny. “I did.”
I glanced at him. There was nothing to read on his face. Same handsome, unforgiving profile.
I changed the subject. “Have they confirmed that the skeleton belongs to Jay Stevens?”
“It's not a rock-solid ID. We don't have any family members to match the remaining DNA to, but Stevens's fingerprints were all over the suitcase the skeleton was walled up with. The suitcase and the clarinet inside.”
“Stevens's fingerprints are on file?”
“Oh yeah. Once for possession of marijuana and once for theft.” I could tell by the satisfaction in Jake's voice that there was more.
“He doesn't exactly sound like a master criminal.”
“I'll let Argyle fill you in.”
Yep, he sounded way too pleased with himself.
I said, “What I don't get is, why now? Why, after all these years, is someone looking for whatever it is they're looking for in that building?”
“You tell me.”
I thought about it. “Because whatever it is will either be found during the renovation or be lost forever.”
“That's my guess.”
We made good time on the 101 and got off on Highway 33. At Lake Casitas, we stopped so I could stretch my legs. We strolled down to the small store and bought bottles of water and ice-cream bars. We ate the ice cream, watching the boats on the lake.
Maybe it was the perfect combination of fresh air, sunshine, and ice
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