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She, too, was pulling a late night at her office in the hospital.
“We’re going through the dispensary computer’s history, byte by byte,” she said in her crisp, self-assured tone. “The hospital is completely invested in getting to the truth.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“If Dennis was screwing with the computer system, he’s a killer and he was acting alone. The police can have him,” she said. “We’re happy to help.”
We still had no proof that Garza had killed anyone at Municipal. I wished we could subpoena the hospital’s computer records ourselves, but I knew what the DA would tell me.
You want us to scrutinize three years of Municipal’s computer records? With what staff, Lieutenant? We don’t have the time, the money, or the manpower to go fishing.
But with the hospital backing her up, maybe Engstrom could pin a tail on our killer.
I said, “Sonja, for God’s sake don’t burn, shred, alter, or delete anything. Call me if you detect a pattern or find anything I can take to the DA. Please.”
I’d just wished her good luck when the next call came in. It was Conklin. His voice was triumphant, almost giddy.
“Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m looking at Garza’s car.”
Chapter 134
I LEANED FORWARD in my seat, slapped the desk to get Jacobi’s attention. I put Conklin on the speakerphone.
“Garza’s Mercedes is in the Park ’n’ Fly lot,” Conklin told me. “We haven’t touched it.”
“Excellent. What do you see?”
“Car’s clean and empty, Lieutenant, except for a newspaper on the floor of the passenger side. The doors and trunk are locked.”
“Stay where you are. Don’t touch anything,” I said to Conklin. “We’re doing this a hundred percent by the book.”
I still had friends in the DA’s office, and I found one who was young, persuasive, and not afraid to call a judge after the dinner hour. Forty-five minutes later, I had a search warrant in my hand.
I called Conklin.
“Open up the trunk,” I told him. “I’ll hold while you do it.”
I heard Conklin talking to McNeil in the background, the metallic crack of a crowbar snapping the trunk lock, McNeil barking, “Oh, shit. Goddamn it.”
“Conklin? Conklin?” I was gripping the edge of my desk, white-knuckled by the time Rich got back on the line. He was breathing hard.
“There’s a frickin’ body in the trunk, Lou. Wrapped up in a quilt.”
I stared at Jacobi, not having to say what I was thinking because I knew he was thinking it, too. The missing body had turned up. But whose body was it?
“You checked for a pulse?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. He’s dead. White male. Brown hair. Looks to be in his thirties. He’s covered with blood, Lieutenant. Soaked with it.”
“Lock down the scene. Stay with that car until the ME and CSU arrive,” I said. “I want that car brought back to the lab. And, Richie, make sure it’s handled like a newborn baby.”
Chapter 135
IT WAS AFTER 11:00 P.M. on what was turning out to be one of the longest days of my life. Jacobi and I were in the box with Garza, the three of us stinking of sweat. The flat overhead light was making shadows dance dizzyingly against the gray tile walls.
I figured that I felt like Garza looked.
And he looked like a gargoyle, a monstrous, murdering gargoyle. And like a gargoyle, he wasn’t talking.
