aftershocks of Rodney King, O. J. Simpson, Rampart Division, and assorted lesser scandals still rippling from the epicenter of too-recent memory, the department intended to walk this case home and put it to bed without a peep.
Graham had divided his investigative force into two teams. Team One's focus: Gregor Tavlin's year post-Lomax Enterprises, including his scholarship foundation and his lengthy roster of Hollywood clientele.
Timms had been assigned to walk point on Team Two: the Lomax Enterprises era.
Late Wednesday morning, the crew assembled around an octagonal table in one of the new multiuse pods off the squad room. The murder book, a fat blue binder containing a record of everything collected in the Tavlin investigation so far, served as a centerpiece.
Detectives Joe Reese and Ruben Carvajal took the first turn. Their previous night's stakeout of the house on Palisades Beach Road had marked a possible new player. Timms studied color printouts of digital photos of the visitor who had climbed the gate to the property just after sundown.
“That's him leaving the property this morning, few minutes past five, ” Reese said. They'd obtained permission from a neighboring homeowner to park a few numbers up for the night. “Walks right past us without giving a glance. Had a rental parked in the pay lot up the beach.”
Carvajal took it from there. “Guy checks out of the Hotel California on Ocean Ave around six. We talked to the desk on our way back. Night manager marked him right off, said he remembered the guy had an unusual scar above his eye.”
“Must have been riding shotgun, ” Timms said,thinking about the car accident story Kindler had fed him yesterday.
Carvajal said, “When?”
Timms shook his head. “Never mind. Scarface here, how was he registered?”
“Under the name Ronald McDonald. Paid cash for the room, ” Reese said. “Goes straight from there to LAX, checks in the rental under the name Guy Smiley, then hops a nonstop United flight to Baltimore.”
Timms studied the photo a moment longer, then tossed it onto the table. He looked at the group. “Opinions?”
“We could cross-check the passenger list with NCIC, OCIS, definitely Baltimore PD, ” Reese suggested.
“Maybe we should go ahead and x-ref the Maryland telephone listings for Willy Wonka while we're at it, ” Aaron Keene said.
“I could put a Baltimore phone book up your ass, ” Drea offered. “You can x-ref it with a hand mirror.”
“Children, ” Timms said.
“He started it.”
Keene curled his hand and stroked it back and forth in front of him. Timms ignored the gesture. Every circle had a jerk; Aaron Keene just happened to be theirs. When it came to working a suspect, Timms had seen Aaron Keene play a hand as close to the vest as anybody. But around the shop, Keene pretty much wore his asshole on his sleeve.
“I talked to SID this morning, ” Drea said, moving on, repeating for the group what she'd already given Timms. Among other things, the Scientific Investigation Division performed forensic analyses of evidence items. Timms had handed over the Lomax letter, and the envelope containing it, to SID's Questioned Documents section, whohad returned their findings to Drea Munoz two hours ago. “Computer workup of the handwriting samples basically clinches it. The signature's a forge.”
“Big surprise, ” Keene said.
“Somebody wants to ding this guy Kindler for something, ” Timms said. “But whatever he's into, it smells to me like some other cop's problem.”
Aaron Keene said, “So we can sign off on this zero now?”
“I'm not signing off anything yet, ” Timms told him. “What have you got?”
“How about an actual lead?” Keene opened the file folder he'd brought with him and passed a sheet of paper. “This is an arrest record for a Lomax Enterprises employee named Benjamin Corbin.”
The name rang a bell. Timms pulled the murder book and flipped to the running index of conducted
Graham had divided his investigative force into two teams. Team One's focus: Gregor Tavlin's year post-Lomax Enterprises, including his scholarship foundation and his lengthy roster of Hollywood clientele.
Timms had been assigned to walk point on Team Two: the Lomax Enterprises era.
Late Wednesday morning, the crew assembled around an octagonal table in one of the new multiuse pods off the squad room. The murder book, a fat blue binder containing a record of everything collected in the Tavlin investigation so far, served as a centerpiece.
Detectives Joe Reese and Ruben Carvajal took the first turn. Their previous night's stakeout of the house on Palisades Beach Road had marked a possible new player. Timms studied color printouts of digital photos of the visitor who had climbed the gate to the property just after sundown.
“That's him leaving the property this morning, few minutes past five, ” Reese said. They'd obtained permission from a neighboring homeowner to park a few numbers up for the night. “Walks right past us without giving a glance. Had a rental parked in the pay lot up the beach.”
Carvajal took it from there. “Guy checks out of the Hotel California on Ocean Ave around six. We talked to the desk on our way back. Night manager marked him right off, said he remembered the guy had an unusual scar above his eye.”
“Must have been riding shotgun, ” Timms said,thinking about the car accident story Kindler had fed him yesterday.
Carvajal said, “When?”
Timms shook his head. “Never mind. Scarface here, how was he registered?”
“Under the name Ronald McDonald. Paid cash for the room, ” Reese said. “Goes straight from there to LAX, checks in the rental under the name Guy Smiley, then hops a nonstop United flight to Baltimore.”
Timms studied the photo a moment longer, then tossed it onto the table. He looked at the group. “Opinions?”
“We could cross-check the passenger list with NCIC, OCIS, definitely Baltimore PD, ” Reese suggested.
“Maybe we should go ahead and x-ref the Maryland telephone listings for Willy Wonka while we're at it, ” Aaron Keene said.
“I could put a Baltimore phone book up your ass, ” Drea offered. “You can x-ref it with a hand mirror.”
“Children, ” Timms said.
“He started it.”
Keene curled his hand and stroked it back and forth in front of him. Timms ignored the gesture. Every circle had a jerk; Aaron Keene just happened to be theirs. When it came to working a suspect, Timms had seen Aaron Keene play a hand as close to the vest as anybody. But around the shop, Keene pretty much wore his asshole on his sleeve.
“I talked to SID this morning, ” Drea said, moving on, repeating for the group what she'd already given Timms. Among other things, the Scientific Investigation Division performed forensic analyses of evidence items. Timms had handed over the Lomax letter, and the envelope containing it, to SID's Questioned Documents section, whohad returned their findings to Drea Munoz two hours ago. “Computer workup of the handwriting samples basically clinches it. The signature's a forge.”
“Big surprise, ” Keene said.
“Somebody wants to ding this guy Kindler for something, ” Timms said. “But whatever he's into, it smells to me like some other cop's problem.”
Aaron Keene said, “So we can sign off on this zero now?”
“I'm not signing off anything yet, ” Timms told him. “What have you got?”
“How about an actual lead?” Keene opened the file folder he'd brought with him and passed a sheet of paper. “This is an arrest record for a Lomax Enterprises employee named Benjamin Corbin.”
The name rang a bell. Timms pulled the murder book and flipped to the running index of conducted
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