see was seated right beside him, talking to someone on the phone.
His workstation came with a small fluorescent light, a hanging coatrack, and double set of plastic file holders. An official LAPD calendar, along with a list of department phone numbers, was tacked to the partition above the phone. As he looked the cubicle over, he wondered who might have invented it and what kind of person they were. Someone in the sciences, he guessed, like Ron Harris. Someone who worked with lab rats. Someone with a long list of issues.
He shook it off and unlocked his cell phone, skimming through his list of new e-mails. When he didn’t see a reply from Henry Rollins, he picked up his desk phone and entered his number from memory. He was surprised that he hadn’t heard anything from Rollins after e-mailing the surveillance video more than six hours ago. The phone rang seven times before the SID analyst finally picked up.
“It’s Matt Jones, Henry. How’s it going with my video?”
“Do I really need to say it?”
Matt leaned back in his chair. “No, you don’t have to say it. I thought it was a lost cause when I sent it over. I just wanted you to take a look. Just in case. So what, three seconds in and you bailed out?”
“No, I’m still on it,” he said. “Let’s see what happens.”
“You’re saying there’s a chance?”
“No question I can clean up these images,” he said. “Maybe a little. Maybe more than that.”
Matt was stunned but didn’t want to get his hopes up. Lane had tainted his perspective more than he realized. Although Frankie couldn’t make a single connection between Hughes’s murder and the death of Faith Novakoff, Matt couldn’t draw a line in ink from Hughes’s murder to the three-piece bandit either. They didn’t have a single witness or a single lead. Just fifteen shell casings from a Glock 20 and a slug that would take time to analyze and carried no guarantees.
“That video’s all we’ve got,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”
Rollins laughed. “I know it’s all we’ve got. We just finished reviewing the street cams. We went through every image within ten blocks of the crime scene. Your shooter isn’t there. He entered the parking lot the same way he left it.”
From the north, Matt thought, because the killer was smart enough to know that there weren’t any cameras north of Hollywood Boulevard until you reached Franklin Avenue. By the time he made it to Franklin, he would have been behind the wheel, his car indistinguishable from any other car immersed in a sea of traffic.
“What do you think?” Matt said. “How much time?”
“Let’s see what happens over the next couple days.”
Matt had been thinking that it would be a matter of hours, not days. Still, he thanked Rollins and hoped for the best. As he hung up the phone, he turned and found Cabrera staring at him. He must have been listening.
“We’ve got a shot?” Cabrera asked with raised eyebrows.
Matt nodded. “Maybe.”
“Well, you’re having better luck than I am. I just got off the phone with Orth at the crime lab. Everything’s backed up. They’re not even gonna get started on the SUV until late tomorrow.”
“I thought we were at the top of the list.”
Cabrera shrugged. “Orth says that is the top of the list. If we were on the bottom, it could take six months.”
“What about the slug?”
“Same thing. Late tomorrow.”
“Because we’re at the top of the list.”
“Right,” Cabrera said. “We’re first in line.”
Matt glanced at Cabrera’s laptop and could see that he was working on the chronological record and had begun to put together a murder book. A blue binder with Hughes’s name on it was leaning against a stack of files.
Matt listened to the din of muffled voices for a moment, then turned back to Cabrera. “Does Leo Rodriguez still work here?”
“Grace’s old partner?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve
His workstation came with a small fluorescent light, a hanging coatrack, and double set of plastic file holders. An official LAPD calendar, along with a list of department phone numbers, was tacked to the partition above the phone. As he looked the cubicle over, he wondered who might have invented it and what kind of person they were. Someone in the sciences, he guessed, like Ron Harris. Someone who worked with lab rats. Someone with a long list of issues.
He shook it off and unlocked his cell phone, skimming through his list of new e-mails. When he didn’t see a reply from Henry Rollins, he picked up his desk phone and entered his number from memory. He was surprised that he hadn’t heard anything from Rollins after e-mailing the surveillance video more than six hours ago. The phone rang seven times before the SID analyst finally picked up.
“It’s Matt Jones, Henry. How’s it going with my video?”
“Do I really need to say it?”
Matt leaned back in his chair. “No, you don’t have to say it. I thought it was a lost cause when I sent it over. I just wanted you to take a look. Just in case. So what, three seconds in and you bailed out?”
“No, I’m still on it,” he said. “Let’s see what happens.”
“You’re saying there’s a chance?”
“No question I can clean up these images,” he said. “Maybe a little. Maybe more than that.”
Matt was stunned but didn’t want to get his hopes up. Lane had tainted his perspective more than he realized. Although Frankie couldn’t make a single connection between Hughes’s murder and the death of Faith Novakoff, Matt couldn’t draw a line in ink from Hughes’s murder to the three-piece bandit either. They didn’t have a single witness or a single lead. Just fifteen shell casings from a Glock 20 and a slug that would take time to analyze and carried no guarantees.
“That video’s all we’ve got,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”
Rollins laughed. “I know it’s all we’ve got. We just finished reviewing the street cams. We went through every image within ten blocks of the crime scene. Your shooter isn’t there. He entered the parking lot the same way he left it.”
From the north, Matt thought, because the killer was smart enough to know that there weren’t any cameras north of Hollywood Boulevard until you reached Franklin Avenue. By the time he made it to Franklin, he would have been behind the wheel, his car indistinguishable from any other car immersed in a sea of traffic.
“What do you think?” Matt said. “How much time?”
“Let’s see what happens over the next couple days.”
Matt had been thinking that it would be a matter of hours, not days. Still, he thanked Rollins and hoped for the best. As he hung up the phone, he turned and found Cabrera staring at him. He must have been listening.
“We’ve got a shot?” Cabrera asked with raised eyebrows.
Matt nodded. “Maybe.”
“Well, you’re having better luck than I am. I just got off the phone with Orth at the crime lab. Everything’s backed up. They’re not even gonna get started on the SUV until late tomorrow.”
“I thought we were at the top of the list.”
Cabrera shrugged. “Orth says that is the top of the list. If we were on the bottom, it could take six months.”
“What about the slug?”
“Same thing. Late tomorrow.”
“Because we’re at the top of the list.”
“Right,” Cabrera said. “We’re first in line.”
Matt glanced at Cabrera’s laptop and could see that he was working on the chronological record and had begun to put together a murder book. A blue binder with Hughes’s name on it was leaning against a stack of files.
Matt listened to the din of muffled voices for a moment, then turned back to Cabrera. “Does Leo Rodriguez still work here?”
“Grace’s old partner?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve
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