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Keeping busy allowed her to work out what they’d discovered so far. Both Anna and Mack had lots of family baggage. Anna had her unsavory brother with ties to Las Vegas mobsters. On the other hand, Mack’s parents had changed states, cities, professions, even their names. Who or what was the Lombardi family running from? Why had they started over as the Dolworths?
Brogan racked her brain to come up with different scenarios. The only thing that made sense was witness protection. But why would anyone wait years to exact revenge? And for what? What had the Lombardis/Dolworths done to make a killer go after their son and daughter-in-law and take away a grandchild? Why not kill Bruce and Betty Lombardi? Why leave the couple alive to rot away in a retirement home?
None of it was enough to convince Brogan that they were on the right track. Too many questions remained.
While her floors dried, Brogan decided to dive further into Anna and Mack’s social circles, hoping she could dig up an affair or two. She sat down with the box of police files, burrowing her way through Anna’s cell phone records between home, Mack’s workplace, and Northridge Medical Center. After creating a database, she made notes of all the telephone numbers. She did the same with Mack’s cell phone records, retracing his calls. Every call seemed routine. He made calls back home to Canoga Park and to Anna’s nurses’ station within the hospital, which made sense if spouses communicated during their workday. She noted calls to various local businesses, restaurants, grocery stores, and even a hardware store. The trail of numbers back to New Jersey stood out because of its two-oh-one area code and the frequency of calls made. All the calls to the trucking company seemed to occur during the early morning hours or late at night. But what did that mean? Was Mack simply hiding the calls from Anna? There was no way to confirm that.
She tried calling the number and got a message that it was no longer in service. She resorted to looking it up online and discovered it wasn’t the traditional landline mentioned in the police report. Instead, the number had been assigned to a mobile phone, specifically a burner type. Could it have belonged to someone who wasn’t in New Jersey at the time of the calls? Perhaps the owner of the mobile phone was in California and hadn’t changed their area code. What did that mean? Two hundred phone calls to the same number might indicate Mack was having an affair with someone who had once lived in New Jersey. If only the police had bothered narrowing down the information using the pings or at least asked for a cell phone dump around Lynley Circle.
The doorbell ringing broke her concentration. But as she went out to answer the door, she was enthusiastic about sharing the newfound information.
Kelly stood on the porch. “You’ll never believe what I discovered.”
Brogan grinned. “Same here. Come on in, and we’ll compare notes.”
Eager to share her news, Kelly couldn’t wait. “I think Anna was having an affair with one of the cardiologists at the hospital.”
Brogan sputtered with laughter as she led the way into the kitchen. “I just uncovered enough information to make me think Mack hooked up with one of his old acquaintances back in New Jersey. Jack Milliken, our security expert in L.A., came up with a phone number Mack called over two hundred times before the murders. I think Mack must’ve reconnected with an old high school sweetheart because the number was registered to the trucking company,butit wasn’t a landline like the cops thought. It was a mobile phone, meaning the person who used it could have been visiting California.”
Impressed with Brogan’s research prowess, Kelly let out a whistle. “Wow. Our perfect little family wasn’t so perfect after all.”
“It’s been my life experience that no family is ever perfect. Not one. What makes you think Anna was having an affair?”
Kelly slid onto a barstool, shoving her bag into the next seat so she could bring out a stapled report. “Digging through the police notes, I saw this entry where Rivkin mentions a Dr. Aaron Deming. I got curious. It turns out Aaron is the guy who showed up at the Lynley Circle house the afternoon of the murders. Deming comes running up the driveway, calling out Anna’s name. It’s enough to get the entire team’s attention. Rivkin notes the guy’s red eyes, looks like he’s gone without sleep for days, that he’s exhausted, and loses it when he learns Anna has died. After Rivkin calms the man down, the cop learns Aaron worked with Anna at the hospital. I think an affair isn’t such a giant leap. I mean, what kind of friend jumps in the car and drives four hours up the coast like that on a Thursday afternoon? Unless it was the doctor’s day off, we have a guy freaking out when he gets the news that his work colleague has died. Or was Anna something more to him than a co-worker? What do you think?”
“Could be. I went through Anna’s phone records just now, though, and didn’t see any phone number that stood out. Some calls went back and forth from her house in Canoga Park to the hospital. Maybe that was her method of communication with the cardiologist. I created an Excel database for all the phone numbers. We could look again.”
“Oh, my God. I love how we’re so much alike. Well, other than the fact that your father was a rock legend before he died, and mine works as a park ranger.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Having a park ranger for a dad is very cool. And you get double points because your mom has been in the trenches doing everything your dad does. I thought they talked about retiring.”
Kelly smiled. “Dad would drive Mom nuts if they retired. I don’t see them sitting around the house all day, putzing with hobbies. Dad likes to build stuff. Mom likes to craft. Those two go to their separate corners and somehow make it work. Don’t ask me how. Relationships go under the heading of ‘how the hell do you keep the other person from driving you up the wall?’ Anyway, the database should make it easier to spot an anomaly.”
“Listen to you. Anomalies. I love it. Want coffee or tea?”
“Tea is what my aunts drink when they’re about to sit me down for a tarot reading to talk about my love life.”
“With Beckett?” Brogan mused.
“Don’t you start. Before Beckett, my aunts considered my love life their hobby. Coffee is the reason I get up in the morning. It’s the juice that gives me energy. And right now, I need anything that helps me think better. This case keeps pulling me deeper. I mean, what the hell happened that morning on Lynley Circle?”
“I want to know why the killer didn’t just let the kids go.”
“Exactly.”
“Your go-to coffee is a frappe if I’m not mistaken. ThankPaula Brettonfor passing that tidbit along. Everybody in town knows what everybody else drinks.”
“Tell me about it. I even know what Daniel Cardiff drinks after closing his ice cream store for the night. It seems every night since he opened, at nine-ten, rain or shine, Daniel stops by The Shipwreck. He sits back in the corner and orders the same drink—a Hemingway Daiquiri.”
Brogan frowned. “Aren’t there two ways to make that?”
“You know your drinks.”
“I didn’t grow up around a rock band for nothing.”
“And me thinking those guys drank it straight from the bottle. Who knew rock stars were that sophisticated?”
“Drinking straight from the bottle is their party mode. Once you separate them from the herd, you get the sophisticated wine snob. Is Daniel a frustrated writer? Hence the Hemingway Daiquiri?”
