don't know."
His legs were shaking when he rose from his crouch.
Dalton tossed the In-N-Out bag in Yale's lap. Yale quickly picked it up, trying to work a spot of grease out of his pants with a fingernail.
"Sorry," Dalton mumbled. He raised the remaining crescent of double cheeseburger to his mouth and angled it in.
Yale glanced inside the bag, closed it, and set it aside on the bench. He stretched his legs, running his eyes around the grassy quad of the Medical Plaza.
A burly male patient in a hospital gown flirted with a nurse near the wide steps of the hospital entrance. He leaned in to whisper something to her, and she drew back slightly.
Dalton wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I took another look at the construction guys on Le Conte. Two of them have arm tattoos, but neither one resembles a skull. One of the guys is a parolee, got popped for a B and E in '96, but he's alibied three times over. Other guy's tat looked like jailhouse ink. I'm gonna run him, but he's also got a solid alibi."
"We're looking for a disorganized offender," Yale said. "He's smart enough to wear latex gloves, but discards evidence at the scene. I think he gets close to the victims by necessity--he's not sophisticated enough to figure out how to do dirty work from afar."
"I don't know about that. There's a hundred easier ways to fuck someone up." Dalton sighed. "It's just too bad neither vic got a good look."
Yale signaled to Dalton that he had a crumb on his cheek. "That could be something psychological, not just strategic." He pressed his fists together, lining up the knuckles. "Maybe there's another motivation to his not wanting to be seen. Maybe he's got some physical impairment he's ashamed of."
"Limp or something?"
Yale shook his head. "Probably not. Too memorable. Someone would've noticed--and remember, he's vanished into thin air twice. I'm thinking something less immediately visual. Something you only notice if you talk or interact with him. Glass eye. A lisp. Bad acne. Something. I think he doesn't want to be seen. I think he's afraid to be seen. Self-conscious. Avoids eye contact. As soon as the victims are aware of him, they have Drano flying in their eyes."
"Not a single fucking eyewitness. The goddamn ER doesn't post guards at the doors. Everyone comes in in their vehicles, so the guys in the parking kiosks are the gatekeepers. No one walks to the ER."
"God bless LA," Yale said.
Dalton scratched his head. "Well, now that we have two vics, at least we can rule out a personal attack on Nance."
"I don't know," Yale said. "We gotta cross-check records, see if there's any patients both Nancy and Sandra Yee treated. Could make sense. Nurse and doctor. Maybe they fucked someone up, pissed him off."
"They're reading like crimes of opportunity to me. We've found no evidence to show he stalked either of the victims. And believe me, me and Jenkins dug hard for any unusual shit in Nance's life." Dalton picked a loose string off his shirt. "I think anyone who stepped through the ER doors into the ambulance bay at that moment was gonna catch the faceful of lye. Yee just got unlucky."
"Smoking kills," Yale said.
"I think he would've hit anyone."
"Male or female?"
"Crimes like this, I'd guess he's at least sex-specific."
"Yeah." Yale nodded. "Yeah."
Dalton pushed a hand through his hair, leaving his bangs sticking up on one side. "Maybe he's got a vendetta against the hospital."
"Or nurses, or doctors. Or professionals, for all we know. Like you said, he's not picky with who he's hit so far. Tall Caucasian nurse and a short Asian doctor. Sounds like a porn." Yale popped a smile, then lost it at Dalton's glare. "Gallows humor. The one saving grace of the job. Lighten up. I want to bust the piece of shit as much as you do."
"You may want to bust the POS," Dalton said, "but I got three years in uniform with her brother, and I've eaten food off her table after more than one graveyard shift. I'm looking forward to losing a few
His legs were shaking when he rose from his crouch.
Dalton tossed the In-N-Out bag in Yale's lap. Yale quickly picked it up, trying to work a spot of grease out of his pants with a fingernail.
"Sorry," Dalton mumbled. He raised the remaining crescent of double cheeseburger to his mouth and angled it in.
Yale glanced inside the bag, closed it, and set it aside on the bench. He stretched his legs, running his eyes around the grassy quad of the Medical Plaza.
A burly male patient in a hospital gown flirted with a nurse near the wide steps of the hospital entrance. He leaned in to whisper something to her, and she drew back slightly.
Dalton wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I took another look at the construction guys on Le Conte. Two of them have arm tattoos, but neither one resembles a skull. One of the guys is a parolee, got popped for a B and E in '96, but he's alibied three times over. Other guy's tat looked like jailhouse ink. I'm gonna run him, but he's also got a solid alibi."
"We're looking for a disorganized offender," Yale said. "He's smart enough to wear latex gloves, but discards evidence at the scene. I think he gets close to the victims by necessity--he's not sophisticated enough to figure out how to do dirty work from afar."
"I don't know about that. There's a hundred easier ways to fuck someone up." Dalton sighed. "It's just too bad neither vic got a good look."
Yale signaled to Dalton that he had a crumb on his cheek. "That could be something psychological, not just strategic." He pressed his fists together, lining up the knuckles. "Maybe there's another motivation to his not wanting to be seen. Maybe he's got some physical impairment he's ashamed of."
"Limp or something?"
Yale shook his head. "Probably not. Too memorable. Someone would've noticed--and remember, he's vanished into thin air twice. I'm thinking something less immediately visual. Something you only notice if you talk or interact with him. Glass eye. A lisp. Bad acne. Something. I think he doesn't want to be seen. I think he's afraid to be seen. Self-conscious. Avoids eye contact. As soon as the victims are aware of him, they have Drano flying in their eyes."
"Not a single fucking eyewitness. The goddamn ER doesn't post guards at the doors. Everyone comes in in their vehicles, so the guys in the parking kiosks are the gatekeepers. No one walks to the ER."
"God bless LA," Yale said.
Dalton scratched his head. "Well, now that we have two vics, at least we can rule out a personal attack on Nance."
"I don't know," Yale said. "We gotta cross-check records, see if there's any patients both Nancy and Sandra Yee treated. Could make sense. Nurse and doctor. Maybe they fucked someone up, pissed him off."
"They're reading like crimes of opportunity to me. We've found no evidence to show he stalked either of the victims. And believe me, me and Jenkins dug hard for any unusual shit in Nance's life." Dalton picked a loose string off his shirt. "I think anyone who stepped through the ER doors into the ambulance bay at that moment was gonna catch the faceful of lye. Yee just got unlucky."
"Smoking kills," Yale said.
"I think he would've hit anyone."
"Male or female?"
"Crimes like this, I'd guess he's at least sex-specific."
"Yeah." Yale nodded. "Yeah."
Dalton pushed a hand through his hair, leaving his bangs sticking up on one side. "Maybe he's got a vendetta against the hospital."
"Or nurses, or doctors. Or professionals, for all we know. Like you said, he's not picky with who he's hit so far. Tall Caucasian nurse and a short Asian doctor. Sounds like a porn." Yale popped a smile, then lost it at Dalton's glare. "Gallows humor. The one saving grace of the job. Lighten up. I want to bust the piece of shit as much as you do."
"You may want to bust the POS," Dalton said, "but I got three years in uniform with her brother, and I've eaten food off her table after more than one graveyard shift. I'm looking forward to losing a few
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