missing. What we’re seeing isn’t necessarily what’s really there.”
A moment passed—utter silence—while both of them gazed through the glass at an endless ribbon of cars breezing down the Hollywood Freeway.
“I know what you’re saying,” Vaughan whispered. “And now I know why you didn’t want to say it over the phone. You want to take another look at Lily Hight’s murder. You want me to go through the trial and figure out how Bennett and Watson built their case.”
“And there’s no way to keep it a secret from anyone we work with.”
“I’ve got that press conference this afternoon. At least I can keep it from them.”
She nodded, but remained quiet.
“We sure caught a good one, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “We’re fucked.”
16
It was more than the number of loose ends. It was their size and scope and potential to ignite.
Lena sensed that she had found a new one the moment Dan Cobb walked out the door and greeted her in the lobby with his hands in his pockets. He settled back on his heels, staring at her with open suspicion.
Cobb had been the lead detective investigating Lily Hight’s murder. Lena had made the drive across town to the Pacific Station and walked in unannounced. He had asked to see her badge, which seemed unnecessary and ridiculous. He already knew who she was.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
The watch commander was on the phone behind the front desk. People were milling about within earshot. Lena glanced at the door leading to the homicide section.
“Any chance we could talk back there?”
He needed a moment to think it over. More time to stir the change in his pocket.
Cobb was a big, barrel-chested man in his mid-fifties. His hair was cropped short, a wild mix of gray on gray. His goatee was even shorter and could have just as easily passed as stubble lost within the creases of his leathery skin. Although he was staring at her, even measuring her at close range, she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were because he wore a pair of glasses that grew darker in sunlight. The lenses were set in clear plastic frames, the shape as outdated as his clothing. He must have been looking out the window about the time she arrived.
“I guess we can talk,” he said finally. “As long as it doesn’t take too long.”
He pulled open the door and walked off, letting her follow in his wake. His attitude was unmistakable. His contempt for her, his rudeness, was over the top.
Lena ignored his behavior because she knew that she had to. Her concerns for the case outweighed everything else and provided some degree of immunity. But even more, she wanted Cobb’s cooperation.
They crossed the section floor. Lena didn’t see a familiar face; the place was nearly empty. When they reached Cobb’s desk, he waved her off.
“Not here,” he said. “We’ll talk in one of the rooms.”
He grabbed a pad and started searching for a pen. There was nothing personal on his desk except for an old snapshot taped to the surface. Curiously, it wasn’t a picture of a person, but of a place. A discolored photo of the sun setting into an ocean behind a grove of palm trees.
“Where was this taken?” she asked.
Cobb didn’t look up, still rummaging through his drawer for a pen. “Hualalai,” he said without interest. “Fifteen years ago. I was working a case. I’ve been trying to get back ever since.” He finally spotted a pen and grabbed it. “Now let’s get this over with.”
He led her over to an interrogation room, flipped on the overhead lights, and pointed to a seat bolted to the floor. But as he started to sit down, he tested the pen on his legal pad and realized that it was out of ink.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
It seemed clear enough that Cobb was dogging it. That his act was intentional. Unless he’d been dead for the past twelve hours, he had to have some idea as to why she was here. She turned and looked through the doorway. The
A moment passed—utter silence—while both of them gazed through the glass at an endless ribbon of cars breezing down the Hollywood Freeway.
“I know what you’re saying,” Vaughan whispered. “And now I know why you didn’t want to say it over the phone. You want to take another look at Lily Hight’s murder. You want me to go through the trial and figure out how Bennett and Watson built their case.”
“And there’s no way to keep it a secret from anyone we work with.”
“I’ve got that press conference this afternoon. At least I can keep it from them.”
She nodded, but remained quiet.
“We sure caught a good one, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “We’re fucked.”
16
It was more than the number of loose ends. It was their size and scope and potential to ignite.
Lena sensed that she had found a new one the moment Dan Cobb walked out the door and greeted her in the lobby with his hands in his pockets. He settled back on his heels, staring at her with open suspicion.
Cobb had been the lead detective investigating Lily Hight’s murder. Lena had made the drive across town to the Pacific Station and walked in unannounced. He had asked to see her badge, which seemed unnecessary and ridiculous. He already knew who she was.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
The watch commander was on the phone behind the front desk. People were milling about within earshot. Lena glanced at the door leading to the homicide section.
“Any chance we could talk back there?”
He needed a moment to think it over. More time to stir the change in his pocket.
Cobb was a big, barrel-chested man in his mid-fifties. His hair was cropped short, a wild mix of gray on gray. His goatee was even shorter and could have just as easily passed as stubble lost within the creases of his leathery skin. Although he was staring at her, even measuring her at close range, she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were because he wore a pair of glasses that grew darker in sunlight. The lenses were set in clear plastic frames, the shape as outdated as his clothing. He must have been looking out the window about the time she arrived.
“I guess we can talk,” he said finally. “As long as it doesn’t take too long.”
He pulled open the door and walked off, letting her follow in his wake. His attitude was unmistakable. His contempt for her, his rudeness, was over the top.
Lena ignored his behavior because she knew that she had to. Her concerns for the case outweighed everything else and provided some degree of immunity. But even more, she wanted Cobb’s cooperation.
They crossed the section floor. Lena didn’t see a familiar face; the place was nearly empty. When they reached Cobb’s desk, he waved her off.
“Not here,” he said. “We’ll talk in one of the rooms.”
He grabbed a pad and started searching for a pen. There was nothing personal on his desk except for an old snapshot taped to the surface. Curiously, it wasn’t a picture of a person, but of a place. A discolored photo of the sun setting into an ocean behind a grove of palm trees.
“Where was this taken?” she asked.
Cobb didn’t look up, still rummaging through his drawer for a pen. “Hualalai,” he said without interest. “Fifteen years ago. I was working a case. I’ve been trying to get back ever since.” He finally spotted a pen and grabbed it. “Now let’s get this over with.”
He led her over to an interrogation room, flipped on the overhead lights, and pointed to a seat bolted to the floor. But as he started to sit down, he tested the pen on his legal pad and realized that it was out of ink.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
It seemed clear enough that Cobb was dogging it. That his act was intentional. Unless he’d been dead for the past twelve hours, he had to have some idea as to why she was here. She turned and looked through the doorway. The
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