Erased by Jordan Marshall Page A

didn’t seem very likely, but how else could there be a connection between the Bay Bridge murder and the Fortress assassination? Plus, there were possible terrorist ties in Sara’s background.
    Neither theory left room for the possibility that Sara was an affluent yuppie with a home in Mill Valley. It just didn’t make sense.
    It was Lee’s opinion that Sara Murphy was just an obsessed fan. Judging by Sara’s neighborhood that would have made sense, but that was the only way it did. The problem with Lee’s theory was that Sara’s criminal record was way beyond the norm, even for an obsessive fan. People who stalked celebrities didn’t have connections to the IRA. They weren’t wanted overseas for acts of terrorism. If Lee’s theory was right, Sara should have had a record of mental illness and institutionalization. That was not the case. There were too many things about Sara Murphy that just weren’t adding up.
    Brandy kept her thoughts to herself as they rolled into town. She didn’t feel like arguing with Lee and she knew it wouldn’t prove anything anyway. Until they had some more evidence, everything was just conjecture. Besides, she already knew where he stood on the subject. Lee was getting pressure from high up to close the case and be done with it. Plus, there was a golf tournament Saturday morning. The man had to keep his priorities in line.
    If he could, Lee would put Sara Murphy behind bars and sort out the facts later. He’d get his case wrapped up, he’d look good to his superiors, and even get to play his golf game. Brandy had to admit his philosophy had a certain appeal. It probably explained why he’d been so successful in his career.
     
    They converged quietly on Sara’s neighborhood. They didn’t want to risk scaring her off by arriving en masse with sirens blaring. Instead, they moved in covertly, with a team of ten people all in unmarked cars. Half the team went around the back, the rest went through the front door with Brandy and Inspector Lee.
    Lee knocked on the door and called out: “THIS IS THE POLICE, WE HAVE A WARRANT!” He nodded towards one of the officers with the battering ram. In about two seconds, the door was hanging open. They entered with guns drawn.
    The stench assaulted Brandy first. She grimaced as she moved through the entryway and crossed the living room, gun held up in her line of sight, finger on the trigger. She blinked rapidly against the dark interior of the house, forcing her eyes to adjust. She glanced at the wall covered in nazi propaganda and posters, and for the moment, ignored it.
    “Living room clear,” she called out, trying not to gag. Brandy heard the other cops moving through the rest of the house, clearing the rooms one by one.
    Sara Murphy wasn’t home. Brandy holstered her Glock and wandered out to the lawn to give the house a few minutes to air out. Most of the others followed her lead.
    When the air was breathable, they went back inside. Brandy had been through a lot of crime scenes in her two years of probation, but never anything like this. Sara Murphy had been living like an animal. In the quiet, upper-crust neighborhood of Mill Valley, Murphy’s house seemed surrealistically out of place.
    Brandy returned to the living room and stared at the collage of swastikas and images of Fortress with bulls-eyes painted on them. John appeared at her side.
    “I’m going out on a limb to say Murphy’s our girl,” he murmured. “The kitchen’s full of empty ammo boxes and the rest of the house looks like a landfill. I’d say Murphy’s been planning this for a long time.”
    Brandy stroked her chin. “Tell me, how does a psychopath afford a house in a neighborhood like this?”
    John shrugged. “Maybe she had a good job. Anybody can go crazy. Does it really matter?”
    “I’ve been through this entire house and I haven’t seen one thing to indicate why this woman would snap. Where are the books, the movies? Where are the things that drove