“Susanna Galvez,” he said. “That Hatzler woman told you Derrick and his brother had a thing for Mexican girls.”
“Nostalgia,” I said. “Exactly. This whole thing’s about reliving the good old days.”
38.
THE SPOT WHERE Heidi Ott had been executed wasn’t hard to find.
The rosy incandescence of Highway Patrol flares was visible half a mile away, starbursts fallen to the horizon.
As we got closer, a tapering row of red cones cordoned off the right-hand lane. Milo drove between them, showed his badge to a uniformed officer, received a wary appraisal. Two CHP cruisers, a CHP bike, and a sleek, nonregulation Harley-Davidson were parked on the turnoff.
The officer said, “Okay.”
“MikeWhitworth?”
“There.” A thumb indicated a huge man in his thirties standing near an embankment.
Several arc lights cast focused glare on a taped-off area. The white body outline was at the far edge of the turnoff, inches from the merging of asphalt and dirt embankment. Full-scale version of the morgue gift-shop logo; life imitates art.
Whitworth stood just outside the cones. Young and in good shape, but he looked tired. His ruddy baby-face was centered by a small, blond mustache. His hair was buzzed so short the color was hard to determine. He wore a peanut-butter-colored leather jacket, white shirt, dark tie, gray slacks, and black boots, and he carried a motorcycle helmet.
Milo introduced himself.
Whitworth shook his hand, then mine. He pointed at the ground. Several ruby blotches, the largest over a foot wide. “We found some bone bits and cartilage, too.
Probably part of her nose bone. We get gore all the time, plenty of bad stuff in garbage bags, but this kind of damage…” He shook his head.
Milo said, “I think the guys who did her are about to do another one.” He gave
Whitworth a breakneck account of Derek Crimmins’s history, Peake’s escape, Heidi’s possible involvement, ended with Christopher Soames’s account. The recruitment of
Suzy Galvez.
“Out in the Tehachapis?” said Whitworth.
“Best guess. The Tehachapis behind his hometown. It’s a place called Fairway Ranch, now. Know it?”
“Never heard of it,” said Whitworth. “I live in Altadena, do most of my work closer to the city. Before Grapevine or past?”
“Right there,” I said.
“Crimmins probably has some climbing experience,” said Milo, “but Peake doesn’t, and if they’ve got the girl with them, it’s not gonna be any Everest thing. They could even be right on the development-commandeering someone’s house. The private cops who patrol Fairway say no, but that doesn’t convince me. If they are in the mountains,
I’m figuring right at the base, maybe some kind of sheltered spot-a cave, an outcropping. Either way, we’ve got to take a look.”
“Who’re the private cops and what’s their problem?” said Whitworth.
“Bunker Protection, out of Chicago. Every time I try to convince them there’s something to worry about, they don’t wanna know. Keep handing me this public relations crap- ‘Nothing ever goes wrong here.’ ”
“Till it does,” said Whitworth, massaging his belt buckle. “Okay, let’s get going. I don’t know about the jurisdictional aspect, but to hell with all that.” He glanced back at the body outline. “We’re just about wrapped up, so I can get you these four troopers right now, call for more with ETA’s of less than half an hour. I’m on my bike-I was going off duty when the call came in; I’ll ride solo, meet you there. If the Bunker yahoos give you a hard time, we’ll bulk-intimidate them. What about choppers?”
Milo turned to me. “What do you think? Would noise and lights stop him or egg him on?”
“Depends what’s in the script,” I said.
“The script?” said Whitworth.
“He’s following some sort of story line. In terms of how he’ll react to a direct threat, the problem is we don’t know enough about his arousal level to predict safely.”
“Arousal? This is a sex thing?”
“His general physiological state,” I said. “Psychopaths tend to function at a quieter level than the rest of us-low pulse rates and skin conductance, high pain thresholds- except when tension builds up. Then they can be extremely explosive. If we confront Crimmins when he’s still relatively calm-scheming, planning, taking control-it’s possible he’ll fold his tents and run, or just give up. But if we catch him at a peak moment, he might just go for the big ending.”