Canyon Crime Scene
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Carol Ericson
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16.5K
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20
Chapter One
The gates to the California Correctional Institution closed behind her, and Lori stepped on the gas as she smeared a tear across her cheek with the back of her hand. The tears always came later. She never gave in to them while sitting across from Danny.
She hadn’t been able to bring her brother any good news this time as he endured his sixth year behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. As if Danny would’ve killed his girlfriend. He’d loved Elena more than anything in the world.
He’d loved her...passionately. The little voice whispered in her ear, “too passionately?” She brushed away the words along with another tear making its way down her face.
That’s what the DA had insisted. Danny had killed Elena in a fit of passion. That’s why the DA’s office had charged him with manslaughter instead of first-or even second-degree murder. That and Danny’s confession.
He’d only pleaded guilty to get the deal. Danny had assured her he hadn’t done it and she believed him...because of the fingerprint.
She flexed her hands on the steering wheel, her palms sweaty, as she accelerated onto the freeway that would take her back to LA. The police had found a fingerprint at Elena’s murder scene that they couldn’t identify. They never did ID it but hadn’t tried too hard after Danny confessed to the murder.
And Lori had been looking for the owner of that print ever since. After college, she’d been heading for a career in forensics anyway, but the mystery of that print had led her to fingerprint analysis and a career as a fingerprint tech with the LAPD.
She’d just finished a stint on a serial killer task force where she’d made a couple of big contributions and had gotten on the radar of the new captain at the Northeast Division. She worked hard and loved her job, but her brother’s case always loomed in the background. She compared every print she came across in her line of work to the one at Elena’s crime scene.
Her former boss, Clive Stewart, had caught on to what she was doing, but then Clive had turned out to be the infamous serial killer The Player and now he was dead, so she didn’t have to worry about him. The fact that the LAPD had a serial killer working on its forensics team for over twenty years had been a source of embarrassment for the department and Chief Sterling, and they had cracked down on policy and procedure—but there was always a way around that. She should know. She’d learned it from a master—not that her workarounds were remotely in the same league as Clive’s. She’d never liked the guy. She’d grown up around enough shady characters to smell one out across the lab from her.
As she left the snow-capped peaks of the Tehachapi Mountains in her rearview, her phone rang. She glanced at the display before putting her cell on Speaker.
“Hola, Mama.”
“Did you see him?”
“Just left.”
“How does he look? Is he eating right?”
“He looked fine.” Except for the prison tat on his neck that he’d acquired since the last time she’d visited. Did he think that was going to help him land a job when he got out, even if she could prove his innocence?
Her mother released an audible, soggy breath. “Is he still too skinny? Tell me, mija.”
Lori squeezed her eyes closed for a second, seeing Danny’s slim frame and concave chest. “He’s the same, Mama.”
Her mother paused. “He still says he’s innocent?”
“He doesn’t have to say that to me.” Lori’s temples throbbed. “I believe him.”
“Okay. It’s okay, mija. I know you do.” Her mother’s voice soothed like a pat on the head.
Then she started talking about her other children—the ones that mattered—Lori’s older brother, Raymund, who was a police officer in San Antonio, and her older sister, Rita, who lived in the Netherlands with her husband, who worked at the State Department.
They’d all given up on Danny when he’d confessed to Elena’s murder, and Mom had moved back to Mexico to take care of Abuela, although the old lady didn’t really need the help. Dad would’ve stood by his son, but he’d died two years before Danny’s arrest.
That left Lori to fight for him, although some days, like today, Danny didn’t seem to want the help.
Lori let Mom ramble on for several miles. What else did she have to occupy her time? The landscape that rolled past her window presented a stark view. The snow from the mountains that had made it down to this elevation had all melted away with the coming spring, and a brown, drab color scheme painted the rolling hills waiting for the greenery of new growth.
Southern California had suffered a hot, dry summer the year before and several wildfires had blasted the region. Those splashes of green in this area might be a long time coming.
She blinked when she heard her mother say her name. “Lori?”
“I’m sorry—what did you say?”
Mom sighed. “I asked if you were still doing okay after finding out your boss was a killer.”
“I told you, Mama. It didn’t affect me. I wasn’t in any danger from Clive.”
Her mother tutted. “You always told me he didn’t like you.”
“He didn’t, but he didn’t want to kill me. He saw me as a threat to his job.”
“Dios mio. To be that close to a killer.”
“Definitely a creep.” Lori slowed down when she spotted a familiar fast-food sign on the side of the road. “Hey, Mom. I’m going to pull in to get something to drink for the rest of the ride home. I’ll call you later, and give my love to Abuelita.”
Fifteen minutes later with a drink in her cup holder and the radio blasting ’80s music, Lori hopped back on the freeway to LA. She’d planned her visit to Danny at the beginning of family time so she’d make it home before nightfall.
As she cruised on the highway, her phone buzzed and she tapped to answer it.
Her boss’s voice boomed through the car. “Hey, Lori. Are you anywhere near the station? Please tell me you’re not in Big Bear catching the end of the ski season or camped out poolside in Palm Springs getting a jump start on your tan.”
“I wish.” She gazed out her windshield at the barren hillsides as she swooped down into the Los Angeles basin. “Why would I be in either of those places?”
“Because two of your coworkers are, and I need someone to process prints at a possible crime scene in Hollywood.”
Her heart skipped a beat, just as it always did at the mention of a crime scene. “Possible?”
“A guy came into the Northeast Division yesterday to report his friend missing. The desk sergeant told him to come back when it had been forty-eight hours. The same guy called in today to tell us he’d broken into his friend’s house and found a mess and some blood. Now we have a possible crime scene.”
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she said, “I’m driving back into town, but I’m about forty minutes from the station. I’ll drop by and get my kit and head over to the crime scene.”
Doug said, “Possible crime scene.”
“Right.” She ended the call and put pressure on the accelerator.
She’d lied to Doug. More than an hour stretched between her and the station, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do to stay on top of her game.
BY THE TIME Lori rolled up to the neat stucco house in Hollywood, her bag of tricks slung over her shoulder, LAPD Detective Jane Falco was in the front yard directing traffic.
As Lori jogged across the street to join the gaggle of CSIs grouped around Detective Falco awaiting orders, she eyed the detective’s pantsuit and sleek ponytail, wishing she’d had time to change out of her jeans and sneakers before arriving. Visiting day at the correctional institution didn’t demand professional attire.
She sidled up to the edge of the circle, brushing her bangs from her eyes.
Detective Falco pinned her with a gaze and raised her eyebrows. “Del Valle, fingerprints?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lori’s heart didn’t pitter-patter too much at the recognition. After all, she’d worked side by side with a serial killer and hadn’t noticed a thing—until the end. Maybe the detective knew her name because she’d been clueless, not because she’d finally reported her boss for odd behavior.
Falco nodded. “I was just saying, the missing woman’s friend tried to make a report yesterday, after checking area hospitals, but Courtney had just skipped a lunch date and the friend couldn’t reach her. Knowing he had to wait another twenty-four hours before he could report her missing, he took matters into his own hands today and broke into her house through a back window. He noticed some disturbance and blood in the bedroom and called us.”
Lori asked, “Do we have the friend’s prints on file to rule them out?”
“I’m going to leave that to you, Del Valle. Do it at the station. The friend—” Falco checked her notes “—Trey Ferrar, is coming in for a formal interview. You can take his prints there.”
Detective Falco gave them a few more instructions before turning toward the house next door to Courtney’s to start her canvassing of the neighborhood. The department had just transferred Detective Falco to the Northeast Division and the gossip already had her pegged as a by-the-book stickler. Lori didn’t mind as long as the detective stayed out of her business.
Lori hitched the bag onto her shoulder and followed the other CSIs into the house. They already knew Trey had broken in through the back window, so she’d start there and get his prints.
The break-in point turned out to be a window over the sink in the kitchen. Trey had jimmied the sliding glass out of its tracks and lifted it free from the frame. He’d left a shoe print in the sink as he climbed into the house, knocking a glass to the floor on his way. Lori dusted the window frame and the counter and lifted both finger and palm prints, as he probably braced himself before he jumped to the floor.
She didn’t bother with the rest of the kitchen, as she had no interest in random visitors to Courtney’s house. She had to hit the areas where smears of blood had been found, specifically Courtney’s bedroom and the door leading to the garage.
Courtney’s car was also missing and who was to say the young woman didn’t cut herself and drive to the emergency room? Except her friend hadn’t found a record of her at any hospital emergency room in the area, and her car hadn’t been located.
Lori crouched down to study the blood smears and sucked in a breath. She called out to anyone within shouting distance. “I found a patent print in the blood on the garage door.”
Lori hadn’t even heard Detective Falco return to the house, but she hovered over her shoulder now and said, “Good job, Del Valle.”
“Ah, you can call me Lori, and Clive Stewart may have been a serial killer but he taught me well.” She twisted around to retrieve a tool from her bag, and her gaze collided with Detective Falco’s piercing green eyes.
“That’s not funny, Del Valle.”
“No, ma’am.” Lori returned to her task, rolling her eyes. Falco had better learn to lighten up if she planned to work with Jake McAllister and Billy Crouch, the two hotshot detectives at the Northeast Division who played fast and loose and still managed to solve four copycat killer cases and nail the original, her boss, Clive Stewart.
When she finished taking the prints from the house, with the prerogative to return if she needed more, Lori packed up her tools and drove back to the station. There, she’d take Trey’s prints and eliminate his and Courtney’s from the one she took at the house. She hoped neither of theirs matched the patent print left in the blood. She didn’t even know whose blood that was yet, but she’d bet on it being Courtney’s.
When she got back to the station, she noticed Trey Ferrar already sitting at a desk, his head in his hands. Lori hesitated and raised her eyebrows at Detective Falco across the room, who gave her a slight nod.
Lori approached Trey and cleared her throat.
The young man’s head jerked up, and he swiped a hand across his eyes.
“Hi, Trey, my name’s Lori Del Valle, and I’m going to take your fingerprints just so we can rule them out at Courtney’s house. Is that all right?” Not that Trey had a choice, but it sounded nicer to ask.
He gave her a jerky nod and said, “Here?”
“I’ll take you to the machine.” She waved her hand over her shoulder. “We don’t have to roll prints these days. We can do them electronically.”
He rose to his feet and followed her to a small room where they handled the prints. While she instructed him where to put his fingers, Lori peppered him with questions. “Why did you suspect something wrong when Courtney didn’t show up for lunch?”
“Court’s always on time and she never misses a date—not with me, anyway.” He flicked a black curl from his eyes.
“Are you two...dating?”
Trey’s nostrils flared. “I’m not into girls. Court’s my BFF. We’re each other’s confidantes.”
“Has she confided anything to you recently about going away or meeting someone new or being scared?”
“She’s been...”
“Are you finished in here?”
Lori glanced up at Falco filling the door, her head cocked to one side. What Courtney had been doing, Lori would never know now.
“Yep, all done.” Falco must be great at interrogations. She could make you feel guilty with one look from those cat eyes, but Lori didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment for questioning Trey. Maybe he’d let something slip that he wouldn’t tell a detective.
She ushered Trey out of the room and went to the CSI lab. Not all LAPD divisions had their own CSI labs, but the Northeast Division had been remodeled recently and the station had gotten a fancy one. The lab handled work for smaller LAPD divisions, and she could count on a steady stream of techs in and out of the room during the week. Sundays tended to be slower, so she and the team that had worked Courtney’s house today had the place to themselves.
Lori processed the prints from the house, labeling both Courtney’s and Trey’s prints for comparison. Her heart thumped a little faster when she realized the print in the blood didn’t match either of theirs. Maybe Courtney’s kidnapper had been sloppy.
She put together an impression of the print to email to IAFIS but as this was still a missing person and not a homicide, she didn’t expect speedy results. She’d send out the email tomorrow morning.
She waved to the remaining tech in the lab, as she left and walked down the hallway. She passed the conference room that had doubled as the Copycat Player task force room, now back to its sedate oval table and chairs, the electricity gone, ready to host the next meeting of the brass on finance or citizen complaints.
She jogged downstairs to the reception area, a loud, irate, totally male voice disrupting the typical somnolence of a Sunday evening. She hid a smirk as the man looming over the front-desk sergeant pounded his fist on the counter.
His voice rose. “I don’t care if it hasn’t been forty-eight hours. I know my sister.”
Not just the words but the set of the man’s broad shoulders and the sweep of his dark blond hair gave Lori pause, and she stumbled to a stop and turned toward the commotion.
Sergeant Cerda glanced at her past the irate citizen and lifted one eyebrow.
The imposing figure turned, and Lori pressed her hand against her chest as she met the smoldering blue gaze of the man who’d stolen her heart.
She’d repaid him for that theft by deceiving him in the worst possible way.
