the candy in the victim's pockets. I
wouldn't have even thought of it as evidence with Larsen, but
with this victim, it looks like it is."
"Banderas didn't really look the sort to carry a
chocolate bar in the pocket of an expensive suit, true, but I
don't know that I'd count it as a clear mark of a
serial."
"We'll see."
"Christ, I hope not," Kate said fervently. Two was quite
enough, and she'd just as soon leave a question rather than have
a third body to confirm Al's theory. However, the question was
further complicated just before noon when the preliminary results from
the Banderas car search came up with an empty insulin pen, found in the
back of the glove compartment, with no name on it of either patient or
pharmacy. They had planned on searching the Banderas apartment later
that afternoon, but with the possibility that a diabetic had been found
in the possession of a chocolate bar, they called Marin to let them
know that the SFPD was serving a search warrant in their jurisdiction,
put on their coats, and left.
Banderas had lived in a condominium north of Mill Valley, a modern
apartment complex filled with successful young singles and childless
couples where both partners worked. Parking was in a three-story garage
connected to the buildings by walkways, not outside the apartment
doors, and the Banderas apartment was near the complex's
entrance; none of his neighbors would ever know when he was home or not.
His apartment was unrevealing, the living quarters of a bachelor who
ate out a lot and brought work and women home. There was an assortment
of exotic condoms in the table beside the bed, a stack of the classier
kinds of frozen dinners in the freezer, and a set of copper cook-ware
that looked as if it had never been used. He wore expensive clothing,
with a flashy taste in suit lapels, shirt collars, and neckties, and
owned five more pairs of shoes as expensive as those he had died in,
plus an assortment of loafers and athletic shoes. The paintings on the
wall were splashes of bright color that did not mean much of anything
except that he knew walls needed to have them, a painting in the
bedroom showed a well-endowed naked blond woman either making love with
or struggling beneath a clothed man, and he owned a lot of very
hard-core pornographic videos, some of them violent, with one player in
the living room and another in the bedroom. The room did not have a
mirror on the ceiling, but the place looked as if Banderas might have
thought of it.
Kate stood with a copy of a video entitled
She Really Wants It
in her hand and called to her partner in the next room, "Al, do we have to like this guy?"
"No, Martinelli. So far as I know there's no law yet that says we have to like our victims."
"Good thing," she told him, and went back to work.
The most interesting discoveries, however, were those the search
team had already found in the bathroom. Two different discoveries,
actually, although the detectives could have predicted the presence of
a pouch of fragrant leaves and a small vial of white powder, with the
attendant paraphernalia for marijuana and cocaine. The other find was
even more interesting: a small machine for testing blood sugar, used by
diabetics, and two disposable needles in the wastebasket. There was
also a multi-use insulin pen like that found in the car, only this one
was half full and had Banderas's name on the pharmacist's
label.
Matthew Banderas had indeed been a diabetic; a diabetic who died with a candy bar in his pocket.
Professionally, Banderas was a computer man, in software sales.
Going by the bank statements in his desk drawer, he was good at his
job. Kate copied down the telephone number for the company, and its
Santa Rosa address.
The last incoming call had been from a woman, who had left a message
on the answering machine. A series of messages, in fact. Her name was
Melanie, and she had started out teasingly inquiring where he was and
ended up, five messages and six hours later, just
wouldn't have even thought of it as evidence with Larsen, but
with this victim, it looks like it is."
"Banderas didn't really look the sort to carry a
chocolate bar in the pocket of an expensive suit, true, but I
don't know that I'd count it as a clear mark of a
serial."
"We'll see."
"Christ, I hope not," Kate said fervently. Two was quite
enough, and she'd just as soon leave a question rather than have
a third body to confirm Al's theory. However, the question was
further complicated just before noon when the preliminary results from
the Banderas car search came up with an empty insulin pen, found in the
back of the glove compartment, with no name on it of either patient or
pharmacy. They had planned on searching the Banderas apartment later
that afternoon, but with the possibility that a diabetic had been found
in the possession of a chocolate bar, they called Marin to let them
know that the SFPD was serving a search warrant in their jurisdiction,
put on their coats, and left.
Banderas had lived in a condominium north of Mill Valley, a modern
apartment complex filled with successful young singles and childless
couples where both partners worked. Parking was in a three-story garage
connected to the buildings by walkways, not outside the apartment
doors, and the Banderas apartment was near the complex's
entrance; none of his neighbors would ever know when he was home or not.
His apartment was unrevealing, the living quarters of a bachelor who
ate out a lot and brought work and women home. There was an assortment
of exotic condoms in the table beside the bed, a stack of the classier
kinds of frozen dinners in the freezer, and a set of copper cook-ware
that looked as if it had never been used. He wore expensive clothing,
with a flashy taste in suit lapels, shirt collars, and neckties, and
owned five more pairs of shoes as expensive as those he had died in,
plus an assortment of loafers and athletic shoes. The paintings on the
wall were splashes of bright color that did not mean much of anything
except that he knew walls needed to have them, a painting in the
bedroom showed a well-endowed naked blond woman either making love with
or struggling beneath a clothed man, and he owned a lot of very
hard-core pornographic videos, some of them violent, with one player in
the living room and another in the bedroom. The room did not have a
mirror on the ceiling, but the place looked as if Banderas might have
thought of it.
Kate stood with a copy of a video entitled
She Really Wants It
in her hand and called to her partner in the next room, "Al, do we have to like this guy?"
"No, Martinelli. So far as I know there's no law yet that says we have to like our victims."
"Good thing," she told him, and went back to work.
The most interesting discoveries, however, were those the search
team had already found in the bathroom. Two different discoveries,
actually, although the detectives could have predicted the presence of
a pouch of fragrant leaves and a small vial of white powder, with the
attendant paraphernalia for marijuana and cocaine. The other find was
even more interesting: a small machine for testing blood sugar, used by
diabetics, and two disposable needles in the wastebasket. There was
also a multi-use insulin pen like that found in the car, only this one
was half full and had Banderas's name on the pharmacist's
label.
Matthew Banderas had indeed been a diabetic; a diabetic who died with a candy bar in his pocket.
Professionally, Banderas was a computer man, in software sales.
Going by the bank statements in his desk drawer, he was good at his
job. Kate copied down the telephone number for the company, and its
Santa Rosa address.
The last incoming call had been from a woman, who had left a message
on the answering machine. A series of messages, in fact. Her name was
Melanie, and she had started out teasingly inquiring where he was and
ended up, five messages and six hours later, just
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