could be measured, if records were kept on a fuck-up’s size and weight and the number of people ruined
or lost, this was the mother load.
Lena and Rhodes legged it around the corner onto the bureau floor at Parker Center. It was a Friday night in mid-December and no one was here. She spotted Barrera’s jacket on his desk
chair. Rhodes pointed to the captain’s office, the overhead lights still burning. When they reached the door, they found Barrera at the conference table with an open three-ring binder and a
can of Diet Pepsi. He looked up as they entered. Lena could see the worry in his eyes.
“That background check was good,” he said. “It may have been total bullshit, but everything about it was good.”
He turned around the binder and pushed it across the table, then got up from his chair like he had just been served rotten food. Lena didn’t say anything, her eyes zeroing in on the
binder. It was a murder book. They had made the call to their lieutenant as they sped back into town. Barrera had been able to pull the files on the bank robbery in North Hollywood—the case
so grisly that it had been bumped up to RHD a long time ago. She scanned through the case summary, but already knew the details because Pamela McBride had shown them press clippings from her
scrapbook. Her daughter had been twenty-three when the robbery went down. Making a deposit while on a lunch break from her job at a local ad agency. She had been shot in the back as she tried to
run away. Even though the three men wore ski masks and couldn’t be identified, the bank manager and two tellers were led into the vault and murdered as well. One shot each with a .38 revolver
to the back of the head.
“Where’s Tito?” Rhodes said.
Barrera loosened his tie and opened his shirt collar. “Upstairs working with SID. We have a decision to make. If we release the video the witness sent us in the next thirty minutes, the
stations have agreed to run the story on the eleven o’clock news.”
Lena glanced at her watch. It was 9:00 p.m.
“How are they making out?”
“I checked an hour ago,” Barrera said. “I don’t think it’s going very well.”
“Are they trying to enhance the entire video or a single frame?”
“They’ve pulled a frame, but it’s still blurry. I wouldn’t be able to ID the son of a bitch if he was my brother.”
“What about the driver’s license,” Rhodes said.
“It went to Questioned Documents after it was dusted for prints. Irving Sample says it’s legit.”
Irving Sample began his career as a document analyst for the Secret Service. When he took a job teaching at U.C. Berkeley, the department actively recruited him to move to Los Angeles and run
the unit. Sample had played a key role in Lena’s last case. If he called the driver’s license legit, then there had to be some other explanation.
“I’ve got some calls to make,” she said. “Can I take the murder book?”
Barrera nodded and they broke up, Lena and Rhodes heading for their desks on the floor. Any closer look at Joseph Fontaine would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight was about favors. Cashing in
on past relationships because it was a Friday night. Rhodes knew someone at the DMV. Lena had only worked out of Bunco Forgery for six months while in Hollywood, but managed to make some
friends.
She opened her computer and switched it on. While she waited for the machine to boot up, she dug into her briefcase and pulled out the credit report and rental application the victim’s
landlord had given them. The documents were one year old, but even at a glance Lena could tell that Jones had made a thorough sweep of his tenant in apartment 2B. All three credit agencies had
issued reports. Jane Doe No. 99, aka Jennifer McBride, had a checking account and credit card over at Wells Fargo. A little less than ten thousand in cash. A little more than five hundred on the
card.
Lena flipped over the credit report. When she picked up
or lost, this was the mother load.
Lena and Rhodes legged it around the corner onto the bureau floor at Parker Center. It was a Friday night in mid-December and no one was here. She spotted Barrera’s jacket on his desk
chair. Rhodes pointed to the captain’s office, the overhead lights still burning. When they reached the door, they found Barrera at the conference table with an open three-ring binder and a
can of Diet Pepsi. He looked up as they entered. Lena could see the worry in his eyes.
“That background check was good,” he said. “It may have been total bullshit, but everything about it was good.”
He turned around the binder and pushed it across the table, then got up from his chair like he had just been served rotten food. Lena didn’t say anything, her eyes zeroing in on the
binder. It was a murder book. They had made the call to their lieutenant as they sped back into town. Barrera had been able to pull the files on the bank robbery in North Hollywood—the case
so grisly that it had been bumped up to RHD a long time ago. She scanned through the case summary, but already knew the details because Pamela McBride had shown them press clippings from her
scrapbook. Her daughter had been twenty-three when the robbery went down. Making a deposit while on a lunch break from her job at a local ad agency. She had been shot in the back as she tried to
run away. Even though the three men wore ski masks and couldn’t be identified, the bank manager and two tellers were led into the vault and murdered as well. One shot each with a .38 revolver
to the back of the head.
“Where’s Tito?” Rhodes said.
Barrera loosened his tie and opened his shirt collar. “Upstairs working with SID. We have a decision to make. If we release the video the witness sent us in the next thirty minutes, the
stations have agreed to run the story on the eleven o’clock news.”
Lena glanced at her watch. It was 9:00 p.m.
“How are they making out?”
“I checked an hour ago,” Barrera said. “I don’t think it’s going very well.”
“Are they trying to enhance the entire video or a single frame?”
“They’ve pulled a frame, but it’s still blurry. I wouldn’t be able to ID the son of a bitch if he was my brother.”
“What about the driver’s license,” Rhodes said.
“It went to Questioned Documents after it was dusted for prints. Irving Sample says it’s legit.”
Irving Sample began his career as a document analyst for the Secret Service. When he took a job teaching at U.C. Berkeley, the department actively recruited him to move to Los Angeles and run
the unit. Sample had played a key role in Lena’s last case. If he called the driver’s license legit, then there had to be some other explanation.
“I’ve got some calls to make,” she said. “Can I take the murder book?”
Barrera nodded and they broke up, Lena and Rhodes heading for their desks on the floor. Any closer look at Joseph Fontaine would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight was about favors. Cashing in
on past relationships because it was a Friday night. Rhodes knew someone at the DMV. Lena had only worked out of Bunco Forgery for six months while in Hollywood, but managed to make some
friends.
She opened her computer and switched it on. While she waited for the machine to boot up, she dug into her briefcase and pulled out the credit report and rental application the victim’s
landlord had given them. The documents were one year old, but even at a glance Lena could tell that Jones had made a thorough sweep of his tenant in apartment 2B. All three credit agencies had
issued reports. Jane Doe No. 99, aka Jennifer McBride, had a checking account and credit card over at Wells Fargo. A little less than ten thousand in cash. A little more than five hundred on the
card.
Lena flipped over the credit report. When she picked up
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