25

The next day I overslept and had time for only a quick shower. Kate had long since gone to work by the time I left to hand over the newest GPS tracker to DeShay, and I was relieved not to have to face her this morning, knowing what I now knew.

I checked under my car bumpers before I pulled out, but found nothing. I decided it was long past time to organize the garage so I could actually fit my car in there. Leaving the Camry in my driveway had obviously created serious problems. It really boiled my water that someone had been lurking around and stuck those things on my car whenever they wanted. I still suspected Kravitz, no matter what he said to the contrary.

I drove downtown, and DeShay was ready for me, since I’d called ahead-if ready meant a morose man sitting in his cubicle up to his hairline in paperwork. I was a welcome distraction. He wore a navy suit, a silver-and-blue tie and a starched shirt. I guessed correctly that he had court today.

“This afternoon,” he told me.

“Bummer,” I said. The one thing DeShay hated about working homicide was the dress-up part. I gave him the plastic grocery bag containing the second GPS device.

“You think you can find any prints on this besides mine?” I asked.

“Doubt it, but we’ll try. Even the batteries had been wiped clean on the other one. I talked to tech this morning, and they said whoever planted the thing buried the e-mail address they used to connect to the Internet and watch where you went.”

“Having both devices might be more helpful, especially if tech can find a common link,” I said. “E-mail is very tricky, yes, but if you search-”

“Abby, what did you call me and Jeff once? Luddites?”

I laughed. “Yes. You remembered the lingo. That’s a step in the right direction.”

“I know how to write reports, check databases and stuff like that on my computer, but I’m still a Luddite and don’t plan on changing until the bosses make me. Jeff told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said technology is a great tool, but us homicide investigators have to deal with the people first. Murder is a people problem, and you learn the most from the humans, whether they’re dead or alive.”

“Jeff’s right. Now, get ready to hear some good news in the people department. I found Christine’s friend-the ex-prostitute.” I summarized yesterday, told him Loreen, aka Fiona, was holed up with Jeff. I also gave him the info on the notebook. “After I deal with my aunt, who is probably feeling very neglected since I started working this case day and night, I’ll call Emma, see if she remembers any notebook like the one Loreen described.”

“White can handle that,” DeShay said.

“No, I can do it. I’ll go over to the storage unit with Emma and-”

“Abby, handing over the GPS monitor is one thing, but that notebook could lead us directly to whoever might have killed Christine. We could use it in court, and we don’t want to mess with the chain of evidence.”

I knew he was right. “It’s just that I promised Loreen no police. If White does find the notebook, then-”

“Let’s not play what-if. You got us a lead. That’s what’s important.”

I checked my watch. “I’ve only got ten minutes to get to Aunt Caroline’s house-not enough time. You can bet I’ll pay for this by having to endure an extra dose of hostility. Gotta run.”

“The real drama queen in your family is your aunt?” He grinned.

“Are you implying I’m a drama queen, too?”

“Nope. You are the busiest, most headstrong person I’ve met besides my granny. Now get out of here.”

I nodded, hurried out of the offices to the elevator and jogged to my car.

My aunt lives in an older, established neighborhood with big, expensive houses, where she knows everyone on the block. And they probably know her better than she knows herself. This time of morning, the streets were wonderfully quiet compared to the frenzied freeways. But when I turned onto her street, a good twenty minutes past the time we agreed on, I saw that the chaos of an emergency had disrupted the peace.

An ambulance, a patrol car and my aunt’s open door and shattered front window made my stomach lurch. A uniformed policeman tried to wave me away, but I called out the window that my aunt lived at the address where obviously something very bad had happened. He told me to pull over to the curb.

“What’s your aunt’s name?” he asked when I met him on the sidewalk.

“Caroline Rose. Is she okay?”

Just then the paramedics pulled a stretcher out the front door and onto the walkway.

My hand went to my mouth and I pushed past the cop, starting to run toward them. Aunt Caroline’s neck was immobilized, and I could see blood on her forehead.

But when I heard her shout, “Abigail, you’re late!” I almost laughed with relief. She sounded strong, not to mention as furious as a bear with a sore ass.

The stretcher had been pulled into the ambulance before I could get to her. Then the cop caught up with me and took me by the arm.

“Please, ma’am. Your name?” he said.

“Abby Rose. I need to go with her.”

“I’m Officer Rowe. First off, they don’t much like riders in the ambulance, plus she only has minor injuries-bruises and a cut. Because of her age-”

“What about my age?” I heard Aunt Caroline shout before the smiling paramedic closed the back ambulance door.

“Anyway, you understand. We could use your help here for a few minutes. Then you can catch up with her in the ER. We need to figure out what went on here.”

“I don’t get it. She can talk. She must have told you.” Aunt Caroline may be the most irritating woman on earth ninety percent of the time, but I felt an urgent need to be with her now. She was the closet thing to a mother I’d ever had.

“Your aunt wasn’t exactly making a whole lot of sense. Maybe you can tell us if anything is missing. She kept saying, ‘He took it,’ over and over, but she never said what it was.”

I tried to clear my head as I watched the ambulance drive off. Coming upon this scene had hit me like a two-by-four upside the head, and I had trouble forming any coherent thoughts.

“Ma’am?” the officer said.

“Sorry, what?” I answered.

“Can you come inside the house?”

“Sure, yes.” But I had no idea if I could give him a clue as to what might be missing. My aunt’s goal in life is to collect as many expensive material objects as she can before she dies. She has three sets of English china, lots of silver, figurines from Germany, oil and water paintings, antique spoons-hell, antique everything. And then there was the jewelry. Diamonds and emeralds, pearls from the Orient. One of her Prada purses was probably worth a couple thousand dollars alone.

When we walked into the foyer, an older man wearing a yellow polo and khaki shorts who looked vaguely familiar was sitting on one of a matching set of padded antique benches. A female patrol officer had her notebook in hand.

Rowe said, “This is Mr. Desmond. He lives two doors down. And this is Officer Price.”

I walked over to them, nodded at the other officer and said, “Hi, Mr. Desmond. Remember me? Abby?”

He stood and took both my hands in his. “Abby, they say Caroline will be okay, so don’t you worry.”

Officer Price said, “Mr. Desmond is our hero. Sent the burglar packing.”

“This was a robbery, then? And you guys came because of an alarm?” I couldn’t imagine my aunt opening her door to a stranger. There must have been a break-in.

“Actually, Mr. Desmond called nine-one-one,” Officer Price said.

“I’m confused. What exactly happened?”

Mr. Desmond said, “Paperweight came flying through a front window while I was taking my walk. I heard Caroline scream, ‘Get away from me.’ I went to the window and saw her fending off this man using a crooked walking stick. She had blood on her head, and I yelled, ‘Hey!’ That’s when he took off-came barreling out the front door and ran down the block.”