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“Not answering his phone, nor at his buddy’s apartment in Oakland.”
“Got a girlfriend?”
“Not currently that we know about. He’s a bit of a mystery man.”
“What about a job?”
“Doesn’t seem so. Like I said, ‘privileged.’ As in the silver spoon clamped firmly between his orthodonti-cally straightened teeth.”
“While he protests the system.”
“You got it.” Her smile held zero warmth. “We’ve got a BOLO for his car—get this, a classic BMW.”
Paterno leaned back in his chair until it squeaked in protest.
Tanaka went on, “As for the second Latham son, he’s doing a little better. At least he’s still in school and doesn’t have a record. Not a stellar student by any means and has been known to party hearty, but he’s never been picked up. Keeps his nose clean. Both of Paul’s sons are into firearms, just like Daddy, but Macon is more into it than Seth.”
Paterno straightened to look at the monitor again and scrolled to find Tanaka’s notes on Seth Latham. He, too, sported a scrubby beard, but it was a little trimmer, his hair straight and combed, lighter in color though his eyes were the same brooding brown of his brother’s, deep-set and slightly suspicious in the picture on the screen.
“He’s got a roommate and a steady girlfriend. Been dating her for a couple of years. Supposedly, he’s going to come into the office early this afternoon.”
“You talked to him?”
“Briefly.”
“He shaken up?”
She shook her head. “Hard to say. He seemed more mad than sad, but definitely upset. Accused the department of letting out the names of the deceased before the next of kin were notified. Apparently he doesn’t count his stepaunts as that tight in the family. Claims he or his brother or his grandfather are next of kin.”
“He has a point.”
“We talked to Paul Senior. In Arizona. Scottsdale. Had a deputy go to his house and deliver the news. He called, so . . .”
“We’ve covered our asses.”
She lifted a shoulder, finished her coffee. “Seth’s also got an alibi. He was in Vegas and his girlfriend was with him. I encouraged him to locate his brother and bring him into the station with him.”
“Does he know where the brother is?”
“If he does, he’s not copping to it.”
“What about Brindel’s daughter. Ivy?”
“Still running down her friends to see if they know anything. Social media, so far, has given no clues, all of her pages on Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat went dead.” Dead. That thought was chilling. He was worried about Brindel’s daughter.
He scrolled down and saw the picture of a striking girl. Smiling into the camera, Ivy was blond and fresh faced, a dimple in one cheek, green eyes that seemed warm and friendly.
“Boyfriend?” he asked. Where the hell was she? Alive? Held against her will? Dead? His stomach churned at the thought.
“The maid, Dona Andalusia, said there was some boy who came around. Couldn’t remember his name. Something that started with a T. I called the aunt, Sarina Marsh, and she said his name was Troy Boxer, so I’m working on that now. Trying to track him down. All I know so far is that he is a little older, goes to school part time, and works for a shipping company, according to the aunt. So we’ll see.”
“Maybe she’s with him.” God, he hoped.
“But she should have come forward by now. This story is all over the news.”
He nodded, had already thought as much, and as he stared at the girl on the computer screen, he couldn’t help but worry. Had she met the same fate as her parents, or was she involved in something else, something dark? Once more, he considered all the horrors that could befall her, from kidnapping to human trafficking, to rape and forced prostitution.
He didn’t like the turn of his thoughts. In fact, he didn’t like much about this case. “Got to find her.”
