mean.’
Domingo continued, ‘We cordoned off the site last night and went back this morning once it got light. Found where he fell: scraps of material from his shorts snagged on a couple of branches and some blood traces.’
‘Sounds reasonable. Did you establish cause of death?’
‘That might take a while.’
‘On our two it seemed at first that they died of natural causes. Cardiac arrest. But I saw the ME this morning and he tells me both their bodies were full of a drug cocktail. Roofies, LSD and coke. Massive doses.’
‘Jesus,’ said Domingo. ‘ODs?’
‘Clearly. But I can get my head round one person taking a massive OD, but two ? Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘Hmm. Maybe they were at the same party. Same age range. Maybe they were drunk.’
Leroy shook his head. ‘No alcohol in their bodies.’
She sat back and scratched the back of her head.
‘Anyway, my vic might be a little different.’
‘How so?’
‘He must have rolled down the hillside. We found him on the freeway shoulder. But not before a thirty foot rig had finished with him.’
‘Oh, Christ. What was left of him?’
‘He was still intact, if that’s what you mean, but there was severe body trauma. And I mean severe. The rig must have been going at over seventy - it was around eleven on a Sunday night – and according to the driver, this figure just appeared on the road. Wandering from the shoulder. The driver wouldn’t have had time to react. Just knocked him twenty feet in the air. The body hit the top of the rig as it came down, bounced off the roof and landed back on the shoulder.’
‘It was the truck driver who called it in?’
‘Yes. He pulled over and called us.’
‘Alcohol? The driver I mean.’
She shook her head. ‘Dry as a bone. The captain wants us to follow up on his speed. By his own admission, he was over the limit.’
‘What is it on the I-5? Seventy?’
‘Fifty-five for trucks, so the driver’s in deep shit just for that.’
‘Wouldn’t have made any difference; at fifty-five, the impact would still have killed him.’
‘Probably.’
Leroy nodded. ‘Probably.’
They both sat for a few seconds in silence until Leroy said, ‘So what now? What’s your next move?’
‘While Connor’s not here I thought I’d just finish off all the paperwork. The body’s at the ME’s so I’ll wait for his report.’
‘Even with the trauma, Hobson will still be able to establish what was in his system. I’ll take book that it’s the same cocktail as mine. Clearly cardiac arrest won’t apply.’
‘No. Where were yours found?’
‘Mine was in a parking lot in Century City; Farmer’s was off Hollywood Boulevard.’
‘Are we treating them as separate cases?’ she asked. ‘Or one investigation?’
‘Had no instructions to say one investigation. I guess that’s up to our new lieutenant. I ran into Patterson on the way in: he said Perez starts tomorrow.’
‘Swell.’
‘Well, in the absence of any such instructions, we’d better get on with our individual cases. Best to keep each other up to date, though.’
‘Sure thing, Sam.’ Domingo got up and returned to her desk. Leroy turned back to his monitor. His screen had gone into lock-up, so he typed in his password again, clicked OK on the password change pop-up again, and returned to the missing persons database. Tabbed down to the last entry he looked at. A comparison of the photographs of the next three missing persons showed they were not his victim.
The next one down, however, was a different story.
The missing person report was for a Lance Riley. White male, aged thirty-one. Lived Vorhees Avenue, Redondo Beach, with partner Michelle Alexander, who filed the report. There was no mention of any children. The photograph was one of the two of them with an ocean as a background, both happy and smiling. Leroy clicked on the photograph, and enlargened it. He carefully studied the larger image and the image from the
Domingo continued, ‘We cordoned off the site last night and went back this morning once it got light. Found where he fell: scraps of material from his shorts snagged on a couple of branches and some blood traces.’
‘Sounds reasonable. Did you establish cause of death?’
‘That might take a while.’
‘On our two it seemed at first that they died of natural causes. Cardiac arrest. But I saw the ME this morning and he tells me both their bodies were full of a drug cocktail. Roofies, LSD and coke. Massive doses.’
‘Jesus,’ said Domingo. ‘ODs?’
‘Clearly. But I can get my head round one person taking a massive OD, but two ? Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘Hmm. Maybe they were at the same party. Same age range. Maybe they were drunk.’
Leroy shook his head. ‘No alcohol in their bodies.’
She sat back and scratched the back of her head.
‘Anyway, my vic might be a little different.’
‘How so?’
‘He must have rolled down the hillside. We found him on the freeway shoulder. But not before a thirty foot rig had finished with him.’
‘Oh, Christ. What was left of him?’
‘He was still intact, if that’s what you mean, but there was severe body trauma. And I mean severe. The rig must have been going at over seventy - it was around eleven on a Sunday night – and according to the driver, this figure just appeared on the road. Wandering from the shoulder. The driver wouldn’t have had time to react. Just knocked him twenty feet in the air. The body hit the top of the rig as it came down, bounced off the roof and landed back on the shoulder.’
‘It was the truck driver who called it in?’
‘Yes. He pulled over and called us.’
‘Alcohol? The driver I mean.’
She shook her head. ‘Dry as a bone. The captain wants us to follow up on his speed. By his own admission, he was over the limit.’
‘What is it on the I-5? Seventy?’
‘Fifty-five for trucks, so the driver’s in deep shit just for that.’
‘Wouldn’t have made any difference; at fifty-five, the impact would still have killed him.’
‘Probably.’
Leroy nodded. ‘Probably.’
They both sat for a few seconds in silence until Leroy said, ‘So what now? What’s your next move?’
‘While Connor’s not here I thought I’d just finish off all the paperwork. The body’s at the ME’s so I’ll wait for his report.’
‘Even with the trauma, Hobson will still be able to establish what was in his system. I’ll take book that it’s the same cocktail as mine. Clearly cardiac arrest won’t apply.’
‘No. Where were yours found?’
‘Mine was in a parking lot in Century City; Farmer’s was off Hollywood Boulevard.’
‘Are we treating them as separate cases?’ she asked. ‘Or one investigation?’
‘Had no instructions to say one investigation. I guess that’s up to our new lieutenant. I ran into Patterson on the way in: he said Perez starts tomorrow.’
‘Swell.’
‘Well, in the absence of any such instructions, we’d better get on with our individual cases. Best to keep each other up to date, though.’
‘Sure thing, Sam.’ Domingo got up and returned to her desk. Leroy turned back to his monitor. His screen had gone into lock-up, so he typed in his password again, clicked OK on the password change pop-up again, and returned to the missing persons database. Tabbed down to the last entry he looked at. A comparison of the photographs of the next three missing persons showed they were not his victim.
The next one down, however, was a different story.
The missing person report was for a Lance Riley. White male, aged thirty-one. Lived Vorhees Avenue, Redondo Beach, with partner Michelle Alexander, who filed the report. There was no mention of any children. The photograph was one of the two of them with an ocean as a background, both happy and smiling. Leroy clicked on the photograph, and enlargened it. He carefully studied the larger image and the image from the
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