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“Haven’t you paid for this place?”
“Just for one more night. Tonight. But I can work it out.”
“Cool. Then let’s move already.” She slid her mother another look as she changed the channel. “Maybe being at Sarina’s will inspire you and you’ll figure it all out.”
“I wish,” Pescoli said. She had a couple of hours to do some research on the Internet before they packed up.
Chapter 7
“What’s this?” Paterno asked, looking up from his work as Tanaka, in tight jeans and a tunic that reached midthigh, entered his office. She was carrying what looked to be a plastic-wrapped knife in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
“Maybe nothing, but I’m taking it to the lab.” She set the knife on his desk and through the plastic he could see it was a butcher knife, one that looked as if it had come from a kitchen set.
“The Lathams’?”
“One was missing from the set on the counter. I checked. All accounted for except a butcher knife.” She took a sip of the coffee.
“How’d you get it?”
“One of the Lathams’ neighbors, Jerome Forrester? The old guy who lives across the street? Right next door to the park? He found it when he went out to get his paper this morning. Thought it might be important.” She leaned a jean-clad hip against his desk.
“Or it might not have anything to do with the murders as the victims were shot,” Paterno said, eyeing the blade. No visible blood. “But yeah, good to check it out.”
“Maybe the killer dropped it while running away.”
He rubbed his chin. “Any luck with cameras in the area?”
“Not yet. But we’re still checking. There aren’t many traffic cams up there, but a house two doors down has a security setup with a motion detector/camera, so that might help. And”—she pointed to the knife—“the entrance to the park near where the neighbor found that? There’s a camera there. We’re checking with the parks department.”
He nodded. “The killers—”
“Or killer. Not sure about more than one yet.”
He scowled. Tanaka could be so anal at times.
“Whoever it was had to have a getaway vehicle somewhere,” he thought aloud. “They, or he, or she, or whoever, wouldn’t
want to be caught packing around all those weapons and whatever else they cleaned out of the safes. Too much to haul for any distance without looking suspicious. They’d want to put distance between themselves and the victims.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She yawned, then disguised it with a quick sip from her cup.
“Maybe.” Paterno didn’t put much stock in luck.
Tanaka walked to the window and peered outside to the gray day beyond. “We’ve still got people canvassing the area.”
“You got anything else?” he asked, and saw that she was stifling a yawn.
“Still waiting for results from the crime scene techs. And I’ve pressed for a rush on the autopsies but that takes time and . . . well . . .” She shrugged and he noticed dark smudges under her eyes, circles that her makeup couldn’t quite hide, discoloration brought on by a late night of work. “It isn’t like we don’t know cause of death.” She took a final swallow from her cup. “I’ve done some checking on the MIAs, the Latham kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Not exactly perfect citizens. Even for as young as they are, nineteen and twenty.” Plopping down in a chair, she said, “Macon dropped out of college. Not to just take some time off, but because he was kicked out. Bad grades. Oh, he’s smart enough. I checked. IQ off the charts actually, but he got involved with anarchists and was protesting everything he could. A privileged kid who got off on protesting against the privileged.”
“He got a record?”
“Nothing serious. Picked up for MIP as a teenager, then was involved in protests that turned into riots, and there’s footage of him caught on a reporter’s camera, but he wasn’t involved in any violence, at least not that we know of. I e-mailed you my notes before I came in here.”
Turning to his computer, Paterno found the e-mail and clicked it open. A photograph of a man in his early twenties appeared. Unkempt dark hair, sullen deep-set eyes, and a scraggly beard that didn’t quite cover a strong jaw. Macon Paul Latham. “And we still can’t locate him.”
