We reached the street. Santa Barbara police cars were parked at the curb, sandwiching the Seville. Neighbors were pressing up against the crime scene tape, and a TV van was driving up. I looked in vain for Milo’s Fiat or an unmarked.
“Where’s your car?”
“Back in L.A. I took a chopper.”
“To where?”
“The airport.”
“How’d you get here from there?”
“Santa Barb uniform picked me up.”
“Status,” I said. “Hoo-hah.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sally used to live in Mar Vista. I was the detective on her ex’s toe job.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. Now you drive me. Let’s split before the press leeches start sucking.”
I headed down Cabrillo. He said, “Are you too wiped out or grossed out to eat?”
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I can probably hold something down, or at least watch you.”
“Voyeur–this looks okay, pull in.” He pointed to a small seafood place tucked next to one of the beach motels. Inside was a scattering of oilcloth-draped tables with abalone-shell ashtrays, sawdust floors, netted walls, a live bar, and a self-order counter. The special of the day was salmon and chips. Both Milo and I ordered it, took a number, and sat down at a window table. We tried to look through the traffic at the water. A young waitress inquired if we wanted anything to drink, brought us two beers, and left us alone.
I called Robin again, using a phone at the back, next to a cigarette machine.
Still out. When I got back to the table, Milo was wiping foam from his upper lip.
“Katarina was pregnant,” he said. “Coroner actually found the fetus hanging out of her.”
“God,” I said, remembering the mess and the bloated abdomen. “How far along was she?”
“Five to six months. Coroner could tell it was a boy.”
I tried to push aside my revulsion. “Harrison said she never married and she lived alone. Who could the father have been?”
“Probably some med student with a Mensa membership. SDI stands for Seminal Depository and Inventory.”
“A sperm bank?”
“This particular one claims to screen its donors for both brains and brawn.”
“Designer babies,” I said. “Yeah, I can see Katarina going for something like that. Artificial insemination would give her total control over the child rearing, no emotional entanglements…. At five months she’d probably be showing. That’s why the killer concentrated on her belly–focused his anger there. Wiping out de Bosch’s line.”
He frowned.
I said, “Maybe the sperm bank’s card was chosen for the message for that same reason. The way it was pinned under the murder weapon was deliberate–setting the scene. It’s all a big ritual for him.”
The waitress brought the food. A look at our faces erased the smile on hers.
I said, “He’s trying to obliterate everything associated with de Bosch.
And once again, he used a weapon he found on hand. Turning the victim against herself–insult and injury. Trying to reverse what he thinks was done to him.
But he must have brought another weapon with him, to intimidate her.”
“His fists could have been all he needed for that. Lots of bruises around her eyes.”
“Did he hit her hard enough to knock her out?”
“Hard to tell without an autopsy, but Sally said the coroner didn’t think so.”
“If she was conscious, why didn’t anyone hear her scream?”
“Sometimes people don’t scream,” he said. “Lots of times they freeze and can’t get a sound out. Or the head blows could have stunned her.
Even if she did scream, it might not have helped. Neighbors on both sides are away, and the ocean blocks out lots of sound to begin with.”
“What about other neighbors? Didn’t anyone see someone enter the property?”
“No one’s come forward yet. Sally and Steen are gonna do a door-to-door canvass.”
“Sally said the house was a mess. Did she mean poor housekeeping or a toss?”
“A toss. There was overturned furniture, ripped upholstery.”
“Rage,” I said. “Or he could have been looking for old school records.
Something that might incriminate him.”
“Getting rid of the evidence? He’s been bumping off people for years, why start covering now?”
“Maybe he’s getting more nervous.”