‘I don’t know,’ Eric admitted. ‘But it’s the same guy. Maybe he wanted to take a road trip. He took the northern route, killed Patterson in Oregon on the way down south, got rear-ended in LA—’
‘The van was going north when it was hit, Eric.’
‘So he was lost. He gets back on the road and goes to Arizona to get some sun. Or, wait . . . he could be from Arizona originally and it was time to come home. Things getting too hot in Georgia the past few months. I mean, you were on the news and in the paper, what, every couple of weeks for a while? Appealing to the public, “We’re looking for a van that might be driven by a man abducting women in Atlanta.” I’d get out of town if I had you on my tail.’ Eric put the last of the sandwich in his mouth and held out the trash to Scott. ‘You still think it’s the same guy, right?’
‘Yeah. But I’ll tell you what I didn’t tell Turner. I think it’s the same guy because I want it to be him. It’s not based solely on the evidence because the evidence isn’t strong enough to say it is our guy. It’s just a perp with a Georgia license plate hauling female body parts around.’
‘What did you tell Turner?’
‘I just told him there was no need to hand off to Phoenix, wasting time bringing them up to speed. At the very least, we’ll get forensics that relate to the LA body parts and we’ll get the van’s owner, who’s either the perp or someone who’s helping him. We can tie up the LA end of the case no matter what.’
‘And Turner doesn’t care about what happened with us in Georgia?’
‘I barely mentioned Georgia. I mean, if Franks has called him from Atlanta, then Turner already knows that when it comes to that case, I’m . . . what did Angie say Franks called me?’
‘An ego-driven maverick who can’t see the forest for the trees.’
‘Right.’ Scott looked at the instrument panel. ‘Watch your speed, Ramos.’
Eric immediately glanced at the speedometer and eased up on the accelerator pedal. ‘It’s thinking about Franks that does that to me.’
‘Remember, he’s our old boss.’ Scott reclined his seat and closed his eyes.
‘Not if he’s calling Turner with bedtime stories,’ Eric replied, an edge to his voice.
‘Turner’s too smart for that kind of game. And if you’re going to be thinking about Franks while I’m getting some shut-eye, put it on cruise control.’
Eric focused on the road. It was still another couple of hours to Mesa, so he turned the radio on with the volume low. He’d just missed the news.
An hour later, Scott woke suddenly and then oriented himself. He brought his seatback up and cleared his throat. ‘How far out are we?’
‘Thirty miles.’
‘You need to switch?’
‘No, I’ll take us to the location and get in some rest when we change vehicles.’
Scott drank from a bottle of water, then pulled a file folder from the seat behind them. ‘You get a chance to look at this stuff from Phoenix PD before we left?’
Eric shook his head. ‘Not in any detail. The D who I spoke with, Czuzak, is up to her neck on a drug bust so she sent a couple of rookies to babysit the van.’
‘She sure the van’s associated with that address?’ Scott was pulling papers out of the file and putting them in some kind of order.
‘Well, it’s parked in front of that address. The rookies have seen one man emerge from the van and go into that address but not by the front door. He went down the side. Could be a side entrance, could be nothing. Could be a shortcut to a neighbor’s.’
‘Right. Says here that the house at that address is owned by a couple in their seventies by the name of Spicer. Been there since ’ninety-nine. Previous address is Burbank, California. No arrests, no convictions. No problems with property taxes or mortgage payments. No van registered in their name or associated with the house.’ Scott paused.
‘They could know the perp. Let him park at their place.’
‘I see you’re presuming Mr Spicer isn’t our perp.’
Eric gave him a look. ‘He’s too old for the description we have. Plus, how many seventy-year-old active serial killers you heard of? What about the people who live on either side of that address?’
‘Uh, let’s see.’ Scott flipped through some pages until he found the right one. ‘To the west we have a Mr Knox, the owner since ’ninety-eight, unknown to police but resident with him is one Alice Elizabeth Smith whose priors include possession, dealing, and acquiring goods through deception.’
Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘Possession of what?’
‘Ah . . . pot. Same for the dealing.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Maybe.’
‘She could be someone who crossed paths with the perp.’
‘Possibly.’
‘And on the other side?’
‘Neighbors on the other side are tenants.’ Scott yawned. ‘Phoenix hasn’t run down the info on them yet but the owner lives outside the US and that’s confirmed. Let’s give the rookies a punch list of backgrounds we need when we get to the station.’
‘Make sure they know it’s a punch list and not a wish list. It’s Saturday night, so a list isn’t going to make them happy.’
Scott yawned again. ‘They’ve been on stakeout. What makes you think they won’t be happy?’ He twisted to look at the back seat. ‘We got anything else to eat in here?’
Steelie watched Marie snip the thin branches of the mint bush and held the willow basket out for her. Then she hurried to keep up as Marie moved on to a rose bush whose flowers grew in bunches, some buds yet to open, others just past their glory.
‘I think we’ll have some of these, too.’ Marie started cutting off little bouquets.
‘You’re putting roses in the mint tea?’
‘No, dear, these are for the table.’ Then she peered at Steelie over the top of her vintage sunglasses. ‘You’re teasing me, aren’t you?’
‘Hey, I found rosemary in my scone this morning so I had to check.’
‘I would have thought that you experimented with all kinds of herbs and spices, Steelie.’
‘Why, ’cause I’m a vegetarian? As someone pointed out, we don’t just go and eat a fistful of the nearest bush. Like you don’t pick up the nearest squirrel and throw it on the grill just ’cause you eat meat.’
Marie threw her head back and laughed throatily. ‘It is always such a treat to have you around, my dear. Come on, we’ve got enough of everything now.’
They walked up the sloping lawn of creeping thyme to the Cape Cod-style house shaded by two ancient oaks. The white siding contrasted with a particular shade of blue on the window shutters to give the effect of country retreat rather than beach house. The rear porch was screened in and the wooden door slammed gently behind Steelie as she followed in Marie’s perfume contrail. The lunch table was set with tulips but Marie picked the vase up as she swept into the house.
They passed through the dining room, its long table flanked by ten chairs, and into the bright white kitchen with its woodblock counters and island.
‘Right, give me the mint and I’ll leave you the roses. Here’s a vase.’ She handed Steelie a pot-bellied ceramic jug and the pruning scissors and pointed her over to a section of counter by a small sink. She hummed as she pulled iced tea from the refrigerator and prepared to submerge the mint in it.
After a few minutes, Steelie turned around with the jug. ‘How’s that?’