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in her early thirties named Amber Diaz. She was about five foot four, one hundred thirty pounds, a masculine look to her, and a bloody trail. After being shot she tried to escape and the shooter had stepped on blood droplets as he moved in. She was also chest shot and Raveneau wondered if she had then ducked her head. She made it halfway across the room and by then was bleeding badly from the trough a bullet plowed through her scalp. When the shooter caught up to her he put one through her skull, and yet it appeared from blood smears that after that she convulsed on the floor. Hers was the most affecting for Raveneau because though wounded she fought to live.
    ‘He shot all four but didn’t wait for the owner,’ Ortega said. ‘What do you make of that?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    What struck Raveneau most was the narrow window of time the shooter was operating with and the improbability of the coincidental timing. He talked with Ortega about that as they moved to where the last victim fell and the paramedics worked on him before taking him to the hospital. Pieces of alder trim were scattered. Ortega pointed at the bloody concrete where they worked on him.
    ‘He was sixteen, a boy. Wrong place, wrong time, should have listened to his mother and stayed in school. She arrived as they were loading him. They don’t live far from here.’
    ‘Where’s the owner?’
    ‘In his office down there at the end and his wife and lawyer are on the way.’
    ‘Let’s get him out of here. Let’s see if we can get him to go in with us right now.’
    Raveneau knew Ortega didn’t really want his help. It was Ortega’s to solve with Hagen, Gibbs, and Montoya. With the new way of doing things they would all work as one team, and Raveneau had a reputation of liking to work alone. No one really believed that he and la Rosa got on as well as they did.
    ‘Why don’t I go find the plywood delivery guy and bring him in,’ Raveneau offered.
    ‘We’ve already talked to his employer. We’re working on that.’
    ‘But we should have heard something more by now.’
    Ortega stopped on that. He wanted to say no, but knew it was true, and in the end Ortega probably liked the idea of getting him out of the building.
    ‘OK, Raveneau, go find him.’

THIRTEEN
    R aveneau called the trucking company owner from his car while still parked down the street from the cabinet shop. He heard an edge of exasperation and pictured a man used to giving orders, not answering questions.
    ‘You are Inspector who?’
    ‘Raveneau.’
    ‘Look, Raveneau, I understand it’s a terrible situation, but I talked to another homicide inspector an hour ago. Don’t you people talk to each other? I gave him the name of the driver and his cell number. The driver’s name is John Drury. Tomorrow is his day off, so I’m not sure where he is.’
    ‘I’ve called the number you gave Inspector Ortega and I get voicemail. Will Drury answer if you call him?’
    ‘It depends.’
    ‘Put me on hold and try.’
    Drury didn’t answer the call from his boss either, but Raveneau had a home address from the Department of Motor Vehicles. He was still talking to the owner as he started driving toward the Bay Bridge. The owner was explaining his system.
    ‘I have them report in when they reach a delivery site and as they leave. That way if there are any problems I know about it immediately.’
    ‘Do you record the time?’
    ‘It gets recorded automatically.’
    ‘Will you check and tell me what time he got to the cabinet shop and what time he left? Also, the deliveries that came after, you said he made two more and then he was off. Is that correct?’
    ‘It is. Hold on, while I get that for you.’
    A few minutes later he gave Raveneau 1:19 p.m. as the time the driver left the cabinet shop.
    ‘So when he makes that call he’s on the road.’
    ‘Yes, or just starting to the next stop. My rule is don’t call me when you’re about to leave. Call me after you’ve made the