Chapter 5

Don pulled his SUV as close to the crime scene as he could manage, weaving it past a cluster of black and whites with their lights flashing, a crime scene unit truck, a coroner's van. He shut off the engine, fumbling on the seat next to him for his notebook, sighing with a combination of fondness and exasperation as his hand brushed a small tub of Tupperware instead. Of course he hadn't gotten away without a piece of pie, despite his protests that he didn't have time to wait for it.

"What, it's a murder, not a rescue, right? So what difference is a couple of minutes going to make?" Alan had reasoned.

"The first forty-eight hours of any homicide are crucial," Don had protested. "It's like there's this big clock ticking." He always felt that - glanced constantly and obsessively at his watch to see how much time he was losing.

"Two minutes. Two minutes won't make a difference." Alan had lopped off a generous section of the pie and hovered it over a square of Tupperware.

"Hey," Charlie'd objected. "Leave some for me. I need to keep my strength up, too."

"You're off for the summer," Alan pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm preparing for fall classes and working on my own research. Takes lots of energy."

"Summers off," Don watched his father seal the Tupperware, trying not to look impatient. "You got the good life, huh?"

"You should have gone into teaching."

"Yeah, there's a mental image." He shrugged into his jacket. "Besides, maybe it will give Mrs. Nussbaum an excuse to stop by with another one."

Alan narrowed his eyes warningly at him, then thrust the container in his direction. "It'll be a nice late night snack before you go to bed."

No point in explaining that there was no way of knowing whether or not late night would actually translate to "bed". Not without starting a whole new discussion he didn't have time for. "Yeah - thanks, Dad. And thanks for dinner." He had the door half-open.

"Say, Don - let me know if this third one brings anything - you know - that you think I could help with. Any tie-ins."

"Definitely." Don raised the hand with the car keys in farewell, juggling the Tupperware to the other hand. "Talk to you later." He hadn't added that he sure as hell hoped there were no tie-ins of a particular kind.

He pushed aside the Tupperware to grasp his notebook, shoving open the door and stepping out. Crime scene tape crisscrossed the small yard and he ducked under it, showing his badge. A figure moved from the darkness into the flood lights to meet him, and he recognized Megan's posture at once.

"Hey," she greeted him as she got closer.

He tried to read her expression in the shadows created by the flood lights, could see at once that his worst fears were realized.

"Don't tell me."

"Come on inside."

Wordlessly, he followed her over the threshold, blinking at the change from the dark outdoors to the brightly lit interior. He glanced around. "Where…?"

"Office." Megan indicated a small hallway with her thumb. The crowds clustered in activity got noticeably denser here, but they parted to let Megan and Don through. Maybe it was his imagination, but some of them seemed to be avoiding looking at him. Megan let him proceed her into the room, then almost ran into his back when he slammed to a stop just inside the door. He stared for a moment, taking everything in, then swallowed determinedly and moved forward, trying to re-focus himself into normal crime scene mode. He was concentrating so hard that it took him a second to realize that Megan was crouching next to him, reading from her notebook.

"Joseph Motta. We've had an eye on him as part of the Organized Crime Program, trying to get enough evidence for a solid link. He was discovered by a business associate - her words - but it looks like he'd been dead almost an hour - the ME says he'll be able to tell for sure after a full autopsy."

Don studied the blood drenching the carpet. "Bludgeoned."

"With a decorative figurine - we assume it belonged to the victim, but we won't be able to confirm that until after some forensic testing."

"Figurine. They already clean up the glass or porcelain shards…?"

"It was cast iron."

"Ouch." He frowned. "Business associate. What kind of business was he conducting at this hour…?"

"You or I would say 'prostitute'."

"Oh." Don almost smiled. "Where do I find her?"

"She's in the kitchen, being kept company by the LAPD. I'll show you."

Don stood slowly, forcing himself to look at the cork board above the body, then to do a 360, taking in the entire crime scene.

"So - what - um - " Megan jerked her head at the cork board.

Don looked again. Detach. Detach. Come on, detach…still, there was a twinge in his stomach and he looked away again. "High School yearbook. Kitchen?"

"This way."

He followed Megan to the back of the tidy bungalow, where it opened up into a cozy kitchen. At least, it had probably been cozy before the incongruous installation of two uniforms and a crime scene technician, Don mused. He held out his hand to the woman sitting next to one of the officers, her hair a startling shade of blonde and her face streaked with rivers of mascara. "I'm Special Agent Don Eppes of the FBI. And you're…?"

The woman sniffed and extended a porcelain nail-tipped hand. "Sheba Petts," she offered in a small voice. "Oh, Gawd, poor Joey!"

Don pulled out one of the vintage kitchen chairs and dropped into it. "I know you've had a terrible shock," he said kindly, "but I need to ask you a couple of questions. Is there anything we can get you? Coffee? A soda?"

She shook her head, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "I - I couldn't. Joey. He was so good to me…"

Don was afraid the sight of his notebook might frighten her into silence, so he gave Megan a quick sideways glance and she slid hers out of her pocket instead. He returned his eyes to the witness. "So this wasn't your - eh - first business meeting with Mr. Motta?"

"Oh, no - " she dabbed at her nose again. "Every Wednesday at eight, just like clockwork. Joey was very exact. I think it's on accounta he's a CPA. They're very efficient." She sniffed. "I told him to stay away from those guys - that they were nothing but trouble - but he thought he was smarter, you know? And now look!" Her eyes brimmed.

"What "guys" are these, Ms. Petts?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Megan's pencil poised.

Ms. Petts frowned. "You know. The mob. Ain't never safe to truck with them. Always ends the same way. I told him. But he just wouldn't listen."

"The mob," Don repeated, leaning forward on his elbows. "What makes you think Mr. Motta was doing business with the mob?"

"He said." Ms. Petts blotted her nose on the lace of her sleeve this time. "Joked about it. Thought it was funny."

"Who did he say these men were?"

"He wouldn't say. 'Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies', he'd say." She wiped her eyes, then stopped suddenly, swaying forward to look more closely at Don. "Say…say! You're - you're the guy in that picture, right? Did you know Joey?"

Don felt his ears heat up. "Ms. Petts, I'm not allowed to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation…"

"Maybe he called you for help?" She leaned in eagerly. "I kept telling him to call somebody…"

Don pushed his chair back. "Ms. Petts, I'd like you to come back to the Bureau with me - answer a few more questions. Do you have a coat somewhere…?"

"Yeah…my wrap is on the couch…Joey got it for me. Genuine fox. He said it went with my hair…" Her eyes filled again and Don gently steered her back toward the living room. "Thanks." She gulped, then looked at him again, hard. "The picture's younger, though. Maybe you were friends. Were you guys friends? I can see Joey calling a friend."

"Ms. Petts…"

"Oh. Yeah." Ms Petts nodded vigorously. "You can't say. Right. I just like the idea of Joey havin' a friend."

Don lifted a hand to gesture to one of the uniforms, who came over to stand beside them. "This gentleman is going to give you a ride in. I'll meet you there, all right?" He spotted a silver fox jacket slung over the back of the sofa and glanced at one of the crime scene technicians to see if they were done with it. The technician nodded and he held it up for her.

"Thanks!" She beamed broadly, sliding silkily into the abbreviated coat. "Joey was like that - a gentleman." She produced a card from somewhere inside the jacket's depths and pressed it into Don's palm. "You're job seems real stressful," she hissed in a strident whisper. "Call me if you need to relax. I was real good at helping Joey relax."

Don managed to maintain his polite, calm smile by avoiding eye contact with absolutely everyone, especially Megan. She was much too professional to snicker, but he couldn't help noticing her sudden and inordinately intent attention to her pad. "I'll see you back at the Bureau," he smiled, lifting his brows meaningfully at the uniformed officer, who guided her politely but firmly toward the exit.

Don watched them leave, felt Megan's presence at his side, could tell she was getting ready to speak without even looking.

"Don't even," he pre-empted. "Not even a word. I'll meet you back there."

000

"Do you suppose 'Petts' is her real last name?" Colby stopped pacing to perch on the edge of a desk.

Don didn't lift his eyes from the monitor, where he was watching Megan question Ms. Petts. "About as likely as that her mother named her 'Sheba'."

"Yeah. I guess nobody plans for their kid to grow up to be a prostitute."

Don shifted. "Ms. Petts is a call girl, not a prostitute. Maybe not a high class one, but a call girl nonetheless."

Colby rumpled his forehead. "What's the difference?"

"About two hundred bucks an hour," David cracked.

"What do you guys think about the mob connection?"

David frowned. "Maybe that's what somebody wanted to let you know about, and that's why they used you to tie the crimes together. ValCom had some pretty shady dealings."

"And Alderman had to have come into contact with the mob while he was working ATF," Colby suggested. "It's the closest thing to a tie we've got so far, except - "

"Except me," Don finished for him. "Yeah. David, since you're already deep into ValCom why don't you dig at that angle, and Colby, you take a harder look at Alderman - " He stood up as Megan entered, looking frustrated.

"I don't think she relates well to women," she explained dryly. "She wants to talk to Joey's friend."

Don sighed. "Okay, I'll see what I can get, but I hope she doesn't ask me anything personal about the guy since I've never seen him before in my life. Somebody come get me if the crime scene materials get here?"

"I will." Megan stood shoulder to shoulder with him, both watching Ms. Petts jiggle restlessly on the other side of the wall. She dropped her voice to a murmur. "Who knows - maybe she just wants to help you relax."

Don also dropped his voice, keeping his eyes on Ms. Petts. "You know, I'm keeping count of those - just in case you were wondering. I'll be evening the score."

Megan chuckled. "Big threats."

Don smiled as he reached for the door leading out of the viewing room. "I'm saying it's just a matter of time. So watch your back!"

Megan waited until the door closed behind him and his image appeared on the monitor screen before she turned to David and Colby. "Okay - this is bad. I almost lost my lunch when I saw that picture there - he has to be wigging."

Colby grimaced. "Yeah. I know how I felt when I saw that card. What was it this time?"

"Page from his High School yearbook."

"There's everybody's worst nightmare, huh? Having your High School yearbook photo show up in public?" David gave a weak smile.

"Yeah. Some things should stay dead and buried." Megan winced a little at her own choice of phrasing. "You guys have anything?"

"Don has us working on the mob connection. We thought whoever it is might just be trying to draw his attention to something like that."

"Maybe." Megan turned her eyes back to the monitor, watching Don question Sheba Petts. "Somebody sure went to a lot of trouble, though." She frowned. "Tell you what, while you guys work on finding a mob connection to all three, I'm going to start combing through Don's High School and college classes and Stockton Rangers team - see if there's any overlap there - anybody at all that shows up in all three places. At least we've all got an eye out for it now, and we'll get the call if another Don Eppes image shows up at a crime scene."

"They send around an APB with Don's photo?"

"Yeah, but so far - " Megan paused, thinking. "That's interesting. So far, Don's name appears on all the images anyway, in places where you can't miss it. I just can't get a sense of what it could mean."

"Not just his name," Colby interjected. "Personal stuff. His baseball stats, his college major and activities, High School info too, I'm guessing. Not exactly private since it's been published somewhere, but personal."

David let out a frustrated breath. "What about this one? Was it defaced at all? Slashed or written on?"

Megan shook her head. "No - neatly razored out of the book, and looked like an original, not a copy. How hard is it to get a copy of an old yearbook - if it's not your own? Guess that falls under my digging."

"So no sign of rage or anger."

Megan hesitated. "I don't know," she said at last. "Might be just - controlled anger. Obsession. Stalking. Something. No matter how you look at it, there's something not-too-benign about picking through somebody's past and then posting the images over a series of violently murdered bodies."

Colby made a face. "Which means whoever it is knows about the murders and has access to the crime scenes…"

"Or is doing the murdering." David finished.

They all turned automatically to stare at the monitor, just watching, having totally lost the thread of Don's line of questioning with Ms. Petts.

Colby slumped against a tabletop. "So either somebody's trying to tell him who did it…"

"Or somebody's holding him responsible," Megan finished quietly.

TBC