I smiled, realizing that although Snead had positioned himself to garner whatever glory might result from the investigation, he had obviously forgotten that if something went wrong, he would be the one taking the heat.
“You find something amusing, Detective Kane?” Snead demanded.
I shrugged. “I was just thinking that with you and Lieutenant Huff doing all the work, there won’t be much left for the rest of us poor slobs.”
Barrello, who was sitting behind me, laughed out loud.
Snead scowled, his gaze traveling between Barrello and me. As he started to respond, Lieutenant Huff broke in. “Before this is over, I think we will all have plenty to keep us busy.”
“Amen to that,” said Deluca. Several other detectives nodded in agreement.
Still glowering, Snead pushed ahead. “As Mayor Fitzpatrick indicated, we’ll have our own phones, computers, unlimited overtime approval, and a twenty-four-hour hotline. Beginning tomorrow, every member of the task force will be here promptly at seven-thirty. Briefings will be held on a daily basis; more often if needed. Attendance is mandatory. As of now, we’re all on this full-time-twenty-four hours a day if necessary. All other investigations and commitments, with the exception of court appearances, are to be reassigned. You will be given copies of the OC and LAPD crime reports. Review them and be up to speed for tomorrow’s briefing.
“Now, before I turn over the meeting to Lieutenant Huff, I want to stress the importance of teamwork. This will be a joint effort. We’ll use every available source, of which, I might add, the hotline will undoubtedly prove indispensable. Someone out there knows the killer. Through attention to detail, we’ll find him, but we’ll have to pull together to do it.” Staring directly at me, he added, “There will be no room for prima donnas.”
I held Snead’s gaze but said nothing.
“Last but not least,” Snead went on, “keeping all paperwork current is essential. Daily supplementals are a must. Anyone not turning them in will answer to me. The chief will demand regular updates, and if I look bad because one of you isn’t cooperating, I’ll pass the grief down the line. Understood?”
When no one responded, Snead picked up a pile of blue forms and handed them to me. “Get these back to me tomorrow.”
I looked down at the VICAP analysis sheets Snead had handed me, flipping through a sheaf of pale-blue FBI forms that contained hundreds of laborious, case-specific questions. VICAP, an acronym for Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, had been established years back to collect and analyze data on violent crime. Although the nationwide computer center had seemed a good idea at first, over time it had enjoyed only marginal success as a tool for apprehending criminals. I, like most homicide investigators, considered it a waste of time.
“You have a problem with this, Detective?” asked Snead.
“Nope. I love filling out worthless forms.”
Snead’s face darkened. “Good,” he said. “In that case, you can assemble the FBI profiling materials as well. In addition to the LAPD psychiatric workup, we’re giving the FBI behaviorists a shot. Have the profile packet on my desk tomorrow morning, along with the VICAP forms.”
I sighed. I had procured FBI profiles before. The process entailed a tedious assembly of victimology reports, submission materials, and case files complete with supplementals, lab results, autopsy protocols, and photos. In theory, psychological workups made sense, but in my experience, most FBI profiles, like the VICAP program, ultimately proved worthless.
“You have something more to say, Kane?”
“The lab findings won’t be ready till later today. And the coroner’s report won’t be typed for weeks.”
“Complete what you can. I’ll get a rush placed on the rest.”
I shook my head. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but will we be bringing in a psychic, too?”
“You think this is funny?”
“Funny? Not really. More like-”
“We’ve all got a lot to do before tomorrow,” Lieutenant Huff interrupted. “I suggest we move on.”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed.
“I’m done,” Snead said angrily.
“Okay, then let’s wind this up,” said Huff. “The LA Coroner’s office is reviewing the OC autopsy reports. The LA coroner will also handle new occurrences in either jurisdiction. Same for the lab work.”
“Have you thought about maintaining continuity with the investigating teams?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If there’s another family murdered, either here or in Orange County, we might consider using the same forensic team that worked the Palisades killings,” I suggested. “You know, the same criminalist, coroner’s investigator, pathologist, and crime-scene unit.”
“Good idea,” said Huff. “Anybody else have suggestions?”
When no one spoke, I continued. “Getting a few patrol officers detailed over here to man the phones would help. No offense to anyone who thinks the hotlines are going to be useful, but we’ll have plenty to do without handling crank calls, which most of them are bound to be.”
Huff glanced at Snead. “I’ll see what I can do. Anything else? No? Okay, you can all pick up copies of the crime reports on your way out. Use the rest of today to study the reports and tie up loose ends on any ongoing cases. See you here tomorrow.”
“That Snead is sure a piece of work,” said Barrello as he and I rode the elevator down.
“He’s a piece of something,” I noted.
“What’s between you and him? You two have a problem?”
“You could say that. I busted his jaw back in the days we were both working patrol. Small-minded prick’s held it against me ever since.”
“Imagine that. Did he file charges?”
“Nope. He was using his baton on some rummy who was so drunk he didn’t know which way was up. When I stepped in, Snead made the mistake of throwing a punch at me.”
“That’s not gonna make him easy to work with.”
“I’ll manage. Speaking of which, you didn’t exactly hit it off with him today, either.”
“Thanks to you,” Barrello noted dryly. “Look, whatever your beef is with Snead, I want no part of it. I’m taking an early-out next spring. I can’t afford a screw-up before then. You understand what I’m saying?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why the early retirement? A fine physical specimen like yourself, seems like you’d want to put in a full twenty-five and go for the big bucks.”
Barrello smiled ruefully. “Yeah.” He paused. Then, “My wife’s doctors aren’t sure how much longer she has. Whatever time there is, we plan to make the most of it.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I hope everything works out.”
“Thanks.” With a jar, the elevator bumped to a stop. “So what do you think of the unit?” asked Barrello, changing the subject.
“I agree with the basic idea,” I conceded. “It’ll be a clearing house for information, and it should go a long way toward preventing duplication of effort. Unfortunately, it’ll also add a whole new level of bureaucracy. Snead will be a mouthpiece for the brass, and if I don’t miss my guess, we’ll be getting a rash of orders coming down from the top like ‘Do this, Detective Kane.’ ‘Go there, Detective Barrello.’ ‘Don’t ask why, just do it.’ Bottom line, we’ll be spending a lot of time running down useless leads instead of hitting the street and following our instincts.”
“You’ve got that right. By the way, it appears you might have been correct about the stalking angle.”
“You turn up something?” he asked as we exited the building and headed toward the parking structure.
“Possibly. After you left yesterday, I checked any vantage points the killer might have used to watch the Pratts. Some construction guys on that ridge overlooking the house recalled a white truck marked ‘Imperial Valley Plumbing’ parked there days before the killings. There’s no such company, at least not in Orange County.”
“You might consider checking companies that make magnetic signs. You know, the kind you stick on. Maybe hit commercial paint shops in the area, too.”