“Weird,” said Alicia. “He’s so into punctual.”
Milo frowned. “Okay, onward. Buck, thanks for looking into Swanson. If you learn he was fired due to a complaint by the Boykinses, he’s probably not involved. If he suddenly quit, it gets more interesting. What’s the surveillance situation at his home, Alex?”
I said, “Not ideal. Quiet street in Simi.”
Buxby said, “Used to live there. Nice if you want to hang a flag, which I do, but yeah, too quiet, couldn’t sleep.”
Milo smiled, turned serious. “Okay, that’s about it. Any questions about anything?”
I turned to Moe. “Milo said you’d found a couple of .308 shootings.”
“I did but nothing thrilling, Doc. Both in Ohio, and a long time ago. Also, more like hunting accidents than planned-out homicides. They were filed as undetermined by the coroner but the police report says likely accidental.”
“Were they neck shots?”
“Nope,” he said. “That would’ve gotten my attention. One was to the back, pierced the spine, the other was in the brain stem.”
“Same rifle for both?”
“That would’ve also been nice, so I tried to find out but couldn’t. We’re talking small-town and no one who’s still around at local law enforcement remembers anything about either case. I tried their coroner, who turns out to be a mortician who bought the business two years ago from another mortician who’d died. No record of the bullets being preserved.”
Buck Buxby muttered, “Welcome to Mayberry.”
I said, “Where were the shootings?”
Everyone looked at me. Why’s he so interested.
Then they smiled knowingly. That’s Doc, being meticulous.
Moe pulled out his pad and flipped. “One was in a place called Shelter Lake, Ohio, the other in a tinier hamlet called Vantage.”
“Morticians,” said Alicia.
“Yup, the few times they need a pathologist they bring one in.”
I said, “How far apart are the locales?”
Milo had already worked his phone. “Twenty-six miles.”
I said, “Don’t want to keep anyone here but at some point I wouldn’t mind details.”
Milo said, “This point, we’re not speeding off anywhere. Moses?”
Reed paged some more. “The first place was Vantage, sixteen years ago, victim was a Caucasian male, forty-six years old, named Leonard Wiebelhaus, no criminal connections, worked at a tire shop. He was out shooting ring-necked pheasants in a wooded area when he got nailed. The second occurred six years later, similar terrain, victim was a Rainer Steckel, fifty-six, Caucasian male, school custodian, again no record. He was hunting deer and not wearing a proper orange vest.”
Alicia said, “Honestly, Doc, don’t see anything in common other than two middle-aged white guys. Which is your basic hunter demographic.”
Buxby said, “And six years in between ain’t exactly serial killer stuff.”
I said, “The cases may not be relevant but I think anything remotely similar needs to be looked at. I’m wondering if our guy convinced himself he’s a savior righting wrongs and that delusion began early. I’d especially be interested in the first victim — Wiebelhaus — because if his murder was a maiden voyage, the shooter could’ve been motivated by personal anger. If we’re talking someone who’s now in his thirties or forties, he’d started out as a teenager or in his early twenties. Both are peaks for criminality. And the six years between victims could be due to military service, which would fit a marksman.”
Alicia said, “Joins the service, works on his shooting, and gets rewarded for it.”
I said, “This is purely theoretical but I can see a discharged-with-personality issues deciding to turn his skills into a part-time career. Part-time, at this point, because as far as we know he hasn’t shot enough people to make a steady living.”
Petra said, “Unless he’s pulled off other hits with different weapons.”
“That’s a possibility.”
Milo said, “If not, we’re talking a day job that he augments and you know where that leads me.”
She said, “Back to Swanson.”
Buxby said, “Just what we need, a bad cop.”
“When you talk to your source, Buck, try to find out if Swanson has any roots in Ohio.”
Milo said, “Moe, try to dig a little deeper into those shootings. Not the locals, but maybe newspaper articles.”
“Will do, L.T. Anything else?”
Milo turned to Petra. “You want help on those citizen parking tickets?”
“If you’ve got the time, that would be great.”
“My time is yours, stick around and we’ll divide the chores. Meanwhile if there’s nothing else—”
The door swung open and Sean Binchy ran in.
None of his usual aw-shucks amiability. Wide-eyed, one hand clutching his phone tight enough to whiten the skin but turn his freckles darker, he raced to the empty chair but remained on his feet.
“We just got another one.”
Chapter 30
Milo recovered first. “C’mon up here and tell us about it.”
Sean stepped up to the boards, looking uneasy. First time as a lecturer.
He said, “It came in at a quarter to, Captain Shubb called me in and ordered me to take it. When she told me it was a .308, I said that sounds like it could be related to what we’re already working on, Loot needs to be informed right away. She said, ‘Forget that, he’s been seconded to Hollywood, has his hands full, we’ll see if it turns out to be relevant.’ ”
Buck Buxby said, “Sheesh.”
Everyone else kept quiet and looked at Sean.
He said, “Haven’t been there yet, no way I was going before cluing you guys in. Spoke to the uniform managing the scene, everything’s in place but I do need to go and I’m assuming someone else will want to.”
Milo said, “I’ll go with you, the rest of you can take care of the other business.”
Nods all around.
He turned to Sean. “Since everyone’s here, give us the basics.”
Sean studied his notepad, closed it, and began speaking softly. Picking up volume as he gained confidence.
“Victim is a retired schoolteacher named Emmanuel Rosales, fifty-five, lives near the border between West L.A. and Culver. Not far from here, actually. Rough estimate of TOD is twelve to fifteen hours ago but his body wasn’t discovered until two hours ago lying near his open rear gate. Gate leads to an alley and a garbage bag on the ground near him says he was taking the trash out when he got hit. Single shot through the neck, full metal jacket bullet lodged in the cushion of an outdoor chair behind him then splintering the wooden seatback and getting stuck.”
I said, “A careful shooter but he’s lax about discovery of his ammo.”
Milo said, “Meaning?”
“He doesn’t want to get caught but he does want to be noticed.”
Buxby shook his head. “Ex-schoolteacher?”
“At Hamilton High,” said Sean.
“Maybe he gave someone a bad grade.”
Silence.
Buxby said, “Sorry, it just seems so wrong, we’re not talking some scumbag sexual predator.”
Moe said, “Whitney Killeen was a solid citizen.”
“Yeah, true... I need to go and call Pacific, okay?”
“Sure, thanks, Buck.”
The old detective left muttering, “Thanks for what?”
When he was gone, Alicia said, “Does Rosales live with anyone?”
“Don’t know,” said Sean. “Don’t know anything except what I just told you.”
He shut his pad, pumped a Doc Marten boot up and down.
Milo said, “Let’s learn more.” He and Sean moved to the door.
I stayed in place. He stopped and looked at me. “You don’t have time?”