“Shell casing?”
“Nope. If our man used an automatic, he picked up the brass.”
“Why didn’t the kid bolt? He was right down the hall from his parents’ room. There must have been a lot of noise when the killer busted in. Shouting, screaming… something.”
“Maybe the kid was too scared to do anything but hide,” I offered.
Long picked up my photos and flipped through them again, stopping on one of Susan Larson. “Go on,” he said.
“Chang listed the husband’s cause of death as ligature asphyxiation. The hyoid bone was still intact, with the larynx and trachea bruised but not crushed, suggesting a soft type of strangulation-probably to prolong the torture. Chang thinks the husband was repeatedly choked into unconsciousness and then allowed to recover, which explains how the killer managed to cut off Mr. Larson’s eyelids while he was still alive.”
Long shuffled to a close shot of Charles Larson’s face. “Jesus. The guy was alive when…”
“Yeah. The cuts were made with a low blade-angle instrument like a scissors. No damage to the orbits. The guy was careful. The tissue distention and degree of bruising indicate that most of the wife’s wounds were antemortem, too. By the way, in our press release we didn’t mention the eyelids or that the murder knife came from the victims’ kitchen. We also held back the plastic handcuff ties.”
Long nodded his approval. In well publicized crimes, investigators are often inundated with phony confessions, and the descriptors I had withheld could prove invaluable as a means of elimination. “What did Chang get on the woman?” Long asked.
“Extensive blunt trauma to the face and head, but the cause of death was exsanguination,” I answered, still working from memory. “Most of the cuts on her face and chest were window dressing-the guy just having a little fun before the main event. A number of deep abdominal thrusts ended her life. One nicked her aorta, at which point she probably bled out in minutes. The incision angles indicate a right-handed assailant. Several missing tissue parts-a portion of her left earlobe and skin from her neck-were never recovered. I’m assuming he either ate them or took them with him.”
“Semen?”
“Nope. The woman’s anus and vagina were torn, though. He could’ve used something like a dildo, or maybe he wore a rubber. We’re checking for the presence of a prophylactic lubricant.”
“How about the bites? Anything on them?”
“The lab results aren’t in yet, but if the guy’s a secretor we’ll get a blood type. Bob Wolcott over at the UCLA Dental School is studying the bites,” I added, referring to a forensic odontologist who often worked with the LAPD. “He says he should be able to tell whether we have more than one killer, and because the bite wounds go all the way through in some places, he may be able to fabricate plaster casts.”
“Prints?”
“We’re still comparing the latents we lifted against those of the victims, the maid, the woman who found the bodies, and anybody else who might’ve been in the house. A couple of prints not matching anyone’s have turned up. No hits yet on any of the database systems yet. I have a hunch the guy wore gloves. Everything that we know he touched-doorknobs, power panel, knife, and so forth-turned up negative.”
Long took a final look at my photos, then slid them back. “So what’s the good news? Or is there any?”
“Not much,” I answered. “The neighborhood canvass was unproductive. Nobody heard or saw anything. We got hairs from the bathroom, beside the bed, and from pubic combings on the wife. All blood traces are being typed and compared with the victims’ to see whether any came from the killer. We’re trying to get a shoe size and make from the bloody footprints, too. I’m not optimistic, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe. In the meantime, how are you proceeding?”
I paused to marshal my thoughts, then continued. “First, we’re running a toxicology analysis on the husband and wife to see whether they were using drugs. I found a small amount of cocaine in the upstairs dresser and a quarter ounce in an office safe downstairs.”
Long raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The wife’s brother opened the safe,” I explained. “Seemed surprised at finding the coke there,” I added. “It’s slim, but if there’s a chance the killings are drug related, we need to check it out. Second, because we didn’t find matching candles, rope, pipes, or Ace bandages in the Larsons’ house, I’m assuming the killer brought those items with him. We’ll run that down with local markets and hardware stores. We’ll also compare the candles and any other similar materials to those found at the Orange County murder scene. Third, one of the Larsons’ cars is missing. A 2010 Infiniti. I have an APB out in the hopes the guy took it after he killed the family. Last, I plan to go through the victims’ records, searching for some personal tie-in. We’ll also round up all known sex offenders in the area, interview friends and coworkers for the possibility of an ex-boyfriend or jealous lover, and see what the word is on the street. The funeral’s set for later this week, so we’re going to post an undercover van there and video everyone who shows up. Plus, family members will be watching for strangers. Speaking of which, sometimes these fruitcakes like to come back for another look. How about getting surveillance on the Larsons’ house?”
“Good idea. I’ll set it up with Metro.”
“In addition to talking with the Orange County investigators, I’ll be contacting NCIC to check for similar crimes in other states,” I went on, referring to the National Crime Index Computer, a system created in the mideighties to facilitate communication among disparate law-enforcement agencies across the country. “It’s another long shot, but in the absence of informants or witnesses, it’s worth a try.”
Again, Long nodded.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” I said, winding it up. “I get the feeling I’m missing something. I’m not sure what, but there’s something. Anyway, I let the brother clean out the fridge and take the bunny home, but I’m keeping the scene sealed for the time being.
“Fine. What other ongoing cases do you have?”
During my earlier recitation I had proceeded without reference to either notes or the crime report. Again I answered from memory, giving updates on a half dozen cases-some mine, some being handled under my supervision by other members of the squad-rattling off dates, personnel allocation, and court appearance schedules for the entire unit.
Long stared at me, then shook his head. “I’m constantly amazed by that memory of yours. You remember everything?”
I shrugged. “Mostly.”
Long stared a moment more, then moved on. “As I said earlier, we have a problem brewing. Mayor Fitzpatrick, Chief Ingram, and our very own Captain Lincoln have been tying up my phone all morning. They want this investigation closed, and closed fast. With the exception of court appearances on pending cases, you and Deluca are on this full-time.”
“Right.”
“And if it turns out you’re right and there is a connection with the killings last month in Orange County, and I mean even a hint of a connection, I need to know immediately.”
“Agreed,” I said. “About that-I got in touch with the investigator handling things down there. Some guy named Barrello. I’m meeting him this afternoon.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not much. The switchboard had to patch me through to his car, and he didn’t want to talk over the radio,” I replied. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’d better get on the road-try to beat the traffic.”
“There is something else. Something I don’t want going outside this room.”
“What?”
Long considered his next words carefully. “I’ll tell you something, Dan,” he said, lowering his voice. “I command a lot of good men in this department. You may have more than your share of faults-your screw-ups with the press, your disdain for anybody wearing gold braid, your abrasive-”