The murder of Jane Doe was suddenly more complex.
Lena may have been green, but she had enough experience to know that the art of closing any case was to keep things simple. To let her imagination and gut instincts light the way, but only move forward with what she knew.
Dr. Joseph Fontaine was trying to hide the fact that he knew the victim. When questioned about the murder, he lied, threatened to hire an attorney, and rented two bodyguards. Jane Doe had stolen an identity and deposited fifty thousand dollars into her checking account six days before her murder. The source of the money had been intentionally hidden, pointing to blackmail. Based on a series of computer-generated images, the man who abducted her from the parking lot didn’t necessarily resemble Fontaine. Yet, the man who actually committed the murder and cut up the woman’s body shared Fontaine’s medical background and military experience.
Lena spotted the neon rooster on the roof as she swept around the exit ramp. After getting an update from his partner, Rhodes closed his cell phone and leaned against the passenger door.
“Tito just left Fontaine’s house. The doctor refused to talk.”
“Did he see him?”
Rhodes shook his head. “Fontaine wouldn’t let him on the property. He didn’t get past the front gate.”
“How did he think Fontaine sounded?”
“He couldn’t get a read. Fontaine’s neighbors told him that they used to be friends, but something happened a couple years back. He got weird and dumped everybody. The wife next door remembers walking into the kitchen at a party. Fontaine was having a full-blown conversation with himself. Tito says she used the words, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
“Then everybody in the neighborhood thinks he’s crazy.”
“Sounds like it,” Rhodes said. “Have you thought about what could happen when Klinger releases that photo of our witness and the TV stations pick it up?”
He didn’t need to ask. It had been on her mind ever since they left Parker Center and she still felt uneasy about it. They were giving the killer a heads-up. Once the photograph of the witness was made public, the kid’s life would be in jeopardy. It was unintentional, of course. The only real way of locating him unless they got lucky and either caught him using the ATM card again or driving the victim’s car, which remained unaccounted for.
“He’s not coming in on his own,” she said.
“No, he’s not. There’s too much money in that bank account.”
She could hear the worry in Rhodes’s voice, but tried to ignore it. They were passing the Cock-a-doodle-do on the other side of the street. She drove down to the end of the lane divider, then made a U-turn and floored it back up the block. The property was hidden away from the world, nestled in between Prairie Avenue and the 105 Freeway. As she pulled into the entrance and glided down the hill, the place seemed more like a family restaurant than a brothel. It wasn’t until she pulled forward and noticed a second building behind the restaurant that she realized Klinger had been right. It looked like a low-end motel without a triple-A rating. And the girl leading a man into a room on the second floor wearing stiletto heels and a sheer top didn’t appear to have luggage or a maid cart.
“The best chicken pieces in LA.,” Rhodes whispered.
He wasn’t watching the couple enter the room. He was reading the words on the neon sign over the restaurant. But she caught the smile and laughed, guessing that he was trying to make her feel better. Then she turned and spotted the Dumpster underneath the trees at the rear of the parking lot. Her file was on the seat between them, and she pulled a copy of the still photograph taken from the witness’s video clip. Glancing at the image, she measured the angle and passed it to Rhodes as they got out.
The lot was nearly empty. The air, cool and breezy. She looked up into the sky and saw a jet trying to find its balance in the wind. Its wheels were down, the airport just a few miles west. As she moved around the car and gazed back at the buildings, she had all the verification she needed.
This was the site of the abduction. All the pieces were in the right place. Everything was in focus now.
Rhodes passed the photograph back, reaching for his cell phone. “Looks like we need SID.”
She didn’t say anything. While he made the call, she walked over to the Dumpster. The lids were open, the container empty. Taking a step back, she calculated the approximate location of Jane Doe’s body. She knelt down and examined the broken asphalt, the patches of weeds and dead grass. The trash had probably been picked up every day since the abduction and murder, but the ground could still yield enough trace evidence to confirm that the crime started here.
“They’re on their way,” Rhodes said.
She looked up and saw the detective standing in the sunlight.
“Klinger was right,” she said quietly.
“I guess everybody gets it right once in a while.”
The door to the restaurant opened. When they turned, a young waitress was staring at them from the top of the steps and appeared concerned.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she said. “There’s no loitering here, and we’re not really open yet. This is private property.”
“This is a crime scene,” Lena said.
“It’s a what?”
She stood up and called out, “A crime scene. We need to talk to you.”
The waitress’s face changed. Even from across the lot, Lena could see her body freeze up. Returning to the car for her file, she slipped the photograph inside and joined Rhodes and the girl at the top of the steps.
“I’m only a waitress,” she said in a shaky voice. “That’s all I do. Just wait on tables.”
Rhodes glanced at Lena, then back at the girl, everything nice and easy.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re not here for that. Let’s go inside and talk.”
The girl searched their faces. Lena wondered if she didn’t see a sense of expectation in her blue-green eyes. A certain reach as if she already understood why they were here and always knew that they would come.
“What’s your name?” Lena said.
“Natalie Wells.”
“Let’s talk inside.”
Rhodes swung the door open. As they entered the restaurant, they were met with a rush of warm, fragrant air. Lena could smell the chickens roasting from the pit behind the counter. To the right she noted a wood-burning fireplace, already lighted as they prepared for lunch, and dinner, and whatever came after that. A row of booths lined the far wall. Another two waitresses were setting the tables in the center of the room.
What struck Lena most about the place was that it didn’t meet her expectations in any way. Large black-and-white photographs of the city from the 1950s lined the freshly painted white walls. The floor was planked hardwood, buffed and finished to match the fireplace mantel and the molding around the doors and windows. And the tablecloths and napkins the waitresses had set down weren’t made of paper. They were linen. As she took a step to her right, she spotted a Hammond B-3 organ, a set of drums, and three mike stands. By any standard the Cock-a-doodle-do wasn’t a dive. The place was clean and inviting and they played jazz here.
A door opened from the kitchen and a middle-aged woman stepped out in black slacks and a white blouse. She appeared well groomed and well kept. Although her features were fine, even delicate, Lena could tell from the expression on her face that she made them for cops even before the door rocked back and closed. As she approached, her gaze shifted to the waitress.
“What is it, Natalie? Is there a problem?”
“We’re from Robbery-Homicide,” Rhodes said. “Are you the manager?”
The woman turned to him. “Catherine Valero,” she said. “I own the restaurant. How can I help you?”
Lena opened the file, displaying their photograph of the victim. “Last Wednesday night this woman was abducted from your parking lot. You may have seen it on the news. Her body was found in Hollywood.”
Valero studied the picture and appeared concerned. “I take Wednesdays off, but Natalie was here.”
Lena turned to the waitress. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her body, even tighter than before. And that reach was still burning in her eyes.
“I waited on her,” she whispered.
Lena traded a quick look with Rhodes, feeling the adrenalin kick through her bloodstream. Then Rhodes turned to Valero.
“We can talk later,” he said. “Would you mind if we spoke with Natalie alone?”
“Of course not. Sit down and relax. Would you like something to drink?”
“We’re fine,” he said. “Thanks.”
Valero walked back through the kitchen door. Rhodes glanced at the other two waitresses and pointed to a table out of earshot by the fireplace. As they sat down, Lena opened her file to the photograph and noticed that Natalie Wells was trembling. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Her body was small and curvy. Her hair, the kind of brown that lightened in the summer. Sizing her up, Lena couldn’t help but notice that there was something soft and exceedingly gentle about the girl.
“Why are you so frightened?” she asked.
“I’m not.”
“Did you know her?”
Wells shook her head, lowering her gaze with her arms still shielding her breasts. “I just waited on her.”
“This is more than a restaurant, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” she whispered.
“Was she a regular?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. She seems familiar, but I don’t think so.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“A couple of months.”
“Just in the restaurant?”
Wells paused, her eyes dancing over the place setting before her. “No,” she said finally. “Not just in the restaurant.”
The words hung there for a moment, along with the image of that second building off the parking lot and what went on there.
“Okay,” Lena said. “You were working on Wednesday night. You were waiting tables.”
Wells’s eyes finally rose up from the place setting. “She ordered a cup of coffee.”
“She was by herself?”
Wells shook her head. “She came in alone. Then some guy sat down with her. When I brought the coffee over, he ordered a glass of ice water with lemon. He called her Jennifer.”
“Did she use his name?”
“No. But I got the feeling that they knew each other and had been together before. That happens a lot. Guys wanting the same girl.”
“Did you overhear anything they were saying?”
“Just small talk.”
“Were they here for very long?”
“Maybe half an hour. They got up like they were ready to leave, but then he changed his mind and said he wanted to finish his ice water. She walked out and he stayed for a while. It looked like he enjoyed making her wait.”
Lena glanced at Rhodes. He was sitting back in the chair, quietly taking notes. A ray of muted sunlight from the window brushed against his face and she could see a certain degree of emotion in his eyes.
She turned back to her file and found the DMV photo of Fontaine that Rhodes had added to the stack before they left Parker Center.
“That’s not him,” Wells said. “He was younger. Better looking.”
Lena flipped the photograph over to the shot of their witness stealing money from the ATM. Wells paused for a moment, her mind going.
“I’ve seen that face before,” she said. “But that’s not him.”
“We think he was here that night,” Lena said.
Wells glanced back at the photo. “Like I said, we were busy.”
Lena pushed it aside for later review and pulled out the six-pack Rollins had created on his computer. “What about any of these?”
The girl’s eyes drifted over the six faces. “They look familiar, too. But I can’t place them.”
“All of them look familiar?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Lots of people come through here. None of these look like the guy she was with.”
Lena set the six-pack beside the shot from the ATM. Remaining quiet, she let the din of the room take over and gave Wells a long look. The girl was still nervous. Too nervous. After ten minutes any embarrassment over what she did for a living should have subsided. Yet her arms were still wrapped tight around her chest. Her body remained stiff and locked up.
“You’re holding something back,” Lena said finally. “You’re not telling us the truth. When you walked outside ten minutes ago, you knew who we were and why we were here.”
Wells stared back at her in silence.
“Are you afraid you’ll lose your job?” Lena asked. “Did you see the abduction? Is someone pressuring you?”
“No,” she said. “I saw the story on TV, but didn’t call in.”
“Okay, so you feel guilty. But this is more than that. A lot more. You’re holding something back. Something that you know is important.”
Without a word Wells got up from the table and crossed the room. Her purse sat on the counter beside a cup of tea, a paperback, and a newspaper that had been read and folded in half. Retrieving the paper, she returned to the table, found the business section and opened it. Lena gave Rhodes a quick look, then watched as Wells set the paper down in front of them and pointed to a photograph.
“That’s who she was with,” she said. “Him.”