Brewery Gulch, approx. 2 a.m. July 8
After this, she wrote:
Frying pan?
She tried to picture Chuck Lehman walking up the road looking for Jessica and Cary, holding a frying pan.
The phone interrupted her thoughts.
“Laura, could you come by my office for a minute?" Lieutenant Galaz asked when she answered. “Any time in the next ten minutes.”
Laura realized this was the first time she’d seen the inside of Lieutenant Galaz’s office since he’d been here.
A big man sat in the leather chair closest to Galaz’s desk. He gave the impression of toughness; blond butch cut, muscles encased in fat under a Big and Tall navy sports coat. The ubiquitous cop mustache, ginger-gray. Square, gold-rimmed glasses tinted rose that went with his square face. One black-loafered ankle rested on his knee. He did not get up when she entered the room.
Galaz, seated at his massive cherrywood desk, did rise. His smile inclusive, as if he shared a joke with her.
“Laura, glad you could make it. This is Mickey Harmon, with Dynever Security. He’s a twenty-year veteran with TPD. We go way back—grew up together.”
Laura nodded to Harmon.
“Sit down, sit down." Galaz motioned Laura to the other burgundy leather chair. Watching her with interest. As she did so, she thought how different this office looked from that of the previous owner, Larry Tuttle, who had occupied this office for eleven years. The bank of fluorescent lights had morphed into softer, more flattering light. The second-hand furniture, a lot of it cheap office stuff, had been replaced by a thick oriental carpet, cherrywood, and leather. A bookshelf full of books on DPS rules and procedures, one whole shelf devoted to criminal profiling and forensic procedures—not so different from her own library. But the biggest change was on the walls—three nature photos, blown-up big. One of them was a close-up of a hummingbird in mid-flight. The other two were spiders blown up into monsters: A black widow in a glistening web, its eyes magnified to the size of peas; a giant, hairy wolf spider against a shimmering backdrop of green.
Galaz followed her gaze. “Ah, you noticed my photos. It’s a hobby of mine. Well, more of a passion.” He pushed an Arizona Highways magazine across his desk. “Finally made the big time. Page fifteen.”
Laura dutifully turned to the photo spread: More spiders and a scorpion or two.
“Very impressive, sir.”
His smile was quick, as if he were expecting the compliment.
“I called you in here to see how the case was going. Is it true we’re close to an arrest?”
“We’re in the process of collecting evidence now. We’re hoping the forensics on the computer will pan out.”
“But the lipstick with the prints on it? That’s pretty solid?”
“The lipstick had her prints on it. It was found in his bedroom.”
Galaz frowned. “I’m glad you’re taking your time and not rushing to judgment. You remember Walter Bush.”
Walter Bush was a local businessman who had been arrested for a series of burglaries based on one witness’s identification. He was eventually cleared, but not before he attempted suicide in his jail cell. A lawsuit was pending.
Galaz leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. “Laura here is one of the best investigators we’ve got. You remember the Judd murders—guy murdered his whole family? Laura was the one who cracked it. She’s like a pit bull. Grabs on and won’t let go.”
Laura mentally squirmed.
“We’ve been having a little disagreement on what kind of killer this is,” Galaz said. “Mickey’s convinced he’s white, but I’d like him to think outside the box a little bit." He smiled and spread his hands. “You know—embrace diversity.”
Laura said, “The majority of these offenders are white—“
“What did I tell you?" Mickey said, winking at her.
Laura added, “But it’s a mistake to rule out any one race. Even though there are very few black or Hispanic offenders, I think there will be more as—“
Galaz turned to Mickey, his grin triumphant. “You see, Mickey? She agrees with me. Even though minorities are under-represented, culturally we’re catching up. More of us are joining the ranks of the middle class, are better-educated, we’re succumbing to the same pressures that the average white guy has. We’re developing a taste for it.”
Laura said nothing. It was tantamount to saying how great it was that women were catching up and passing men in lung cancer statistics.
“All I’m saying, Mickey, is it could be anybody,” Galaz said. “We don’t want to limit our options."
“I agree,” Laura said. “But likely he is Caucasian." Hoping the lieutenant wouldn’t be insulted in some weird way.
“Oh, I’m sure he is. We were talking theoretically." Galaz rolled a Mont Blanc pen in his long, tapered fingers. “I understand there’s an Internet connection to this? You think the perp got to this girl on the Internet?”
She wondered if he got the term “perp” from television. Nobody in her squad or any squad she knew had ever used the word. “We think there could be an Internet connection, but so far we haven’t been able to find it.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’ve got someone on it, but with the Cary Statler homicide—we don’t have the resources.”
His eyes were sympathetic. “I was talking about this with Mickey. This CRZYGRL thing. You really think that’s important to the case?”
“It could be.”
“I told you that Mickey here works for Dynever Security. It’s one of the top Internet security companies in the United States. Heck, probably the world.” He glanced at Harmon. “You work with the government on all levels, don’t you, Mickey? State, federal, you name it. Really impressive.”
“We’ve consulted on a number of high-profile cases for them,” Harmon said.
“I forget what all you do,” Galaz said, fiddling with his pen.
“Mostly we’re Internet security. Countersurveillance. One division creates websites and develops networks, another is strictly data management. We also offer Internet security services to small businesses.”
It sounded like a sales pitch.
“The point is,” said Galaz, “You know as well as I do we’re not equipped to handle something like this. If this guy really did lure her on the Internet. You know what our budget’s like.” He turned to Harmon. “Desert Lakes, this little podunk town in the middle of the state? They have three times the budget per capita we do. They get the shiny new cars, the cyber-cops, all the perks. Here we are, the state agency, we’re supposed to be elite, and we’re lagging behind everybody else.”
Laura smiled. There was a joke around the investigative division that “DPS” stood for “Don’t Pay Shit”.
“So we have to improvise." Galaz leveled his gaze on her. “How sure are you that this is the guy?”
“Lehman?" She paused. Not knowing what to say.
“Go on. We’re nonjudgmental here.”
Laura didn’t like the way this was going. She didn’t like the “we”—this friend of Galaz’s sitting there as if he were DPS. But she had to be honest. “Even though we’re moving ahead with Lehman, we’re looking at other leads.”
“Would it help if we could find this CRZYGRL connection?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“What if we outsourced this job to Dynever Security?”
So that was what this was about. She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. Harmon was sitting right here. She realized belatedly she’d walked into an ambush. She couldn’t tell him her real thoughts with Harmon here.
“My guess is, this is going to take some getting used to.” Galaz swiveled in his chair, back and forth, smiling at her. “Tell you what. I’m having a little get-together tonight, just a few people. I’d like you to come by, meet the folks you didn’t get a chance to last time.”
“That would be great, sir.”
“So I can count on you?”
“Yes sir.”
“I particularly want you to meet the head of Dynever Security. Great guy. He’s like a brother to me.”