his early forties. He was lying on the path faceup, his head cradled in a puddle of blood.
No one she recognized. She felt immediate guilt for the wave of relief that brought her.
Metcalf, who was kneeling next to the body, stood and turned toward Kendra and Lynch as they approached. “Campus security found him at about six thirty A.M. One shot to the head, execution-style.”
“Like our friend Hayes,” Lynch said.
“Exactly like that. We found a shell casing that looks like a match. It’s a .44.”
Kendra studied him for a moment longer. She could see that his hands were stained with fingerprint ink. “You took prints to ID him?”
“Yes,” Metcalf said. “He had no wallet, no identification on him.”
“Get a match?” Lynch asked.
“Yes.” Metcalf lowered his voice as he stepped away from the other investigators. “His name is Victor Cardona. Unlike the first two victims, he has no connection with this place as far as we can tell. He’s a known drug trafficker.”
“A very successful one,” Kendra said. “At least judging from his choice in clothing. Armani shirt, tailored pants, Gucci loafers. And that Yurman bracelet doesn’t exactly come cheap.”
“Which is unusual in itself,” Metcalf said. “Since he must have arrived here in the speedboat we found pulled up a little way down the shore. You’d think he would have been dressed more casually.”
“Do we have a time of death?” Lynch asked.
“The M.E. puts it between two and four A.M., based on body temp.”
Kendra nodded. “And I take it no one saw or heard anything?”
“We’ve just started a canvass of the resident students and staff, but no one reported anything. We’re trying to talk to everyone while they’re still here.”
“Here? What do you mean?” Kendra asked.
“The administrator just told me that they may close the academy down until this case gets wrapped up. They’re still weighing their options, but no one’s especially anxious to keep a couple hundred special-needs kids around when murder victims are dropping all around them. I’m surprised they’ve kept this place open as long as they have.”
Kendra nodded. “This is probably going to be the last straw. Allison told me that she was having problems.” And of course, until they knew they could keep the kids and faculty safe, evacuating the campus was the only reasonable thing to do. “She’s going to have to concentrate on getting her students to return when it’s safe.”
“Dietrich is also involved in the narcotics trade,” Lynch said. “Is Cardona a known associate of his?”
“Not as far as our records show, but details are sketchy.” Metcalf pulled out his phone and zoomed in on a document he’d already opened. “Victor Chase Cardona worked for the Gonzales cartel in Mexico. We believe he facilitated the transport of hundreds of tons of heroin across the border. Mostly in Hidalgo, Texas, but lately there’d been indications that he moved his operation west, moving product through Southern California.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Through this school?”
“I don’t know.” Metcalf turned and looked out at the ocean. “We did find a kilo of heroin under the seat of that motorboat. I’ve been thinking…What if the merchandise was being transported up by boat? This might be the last spot you could land before you hit the waters off Camp Pendleton. The marines keep a tight net over there. But here…” He shrugged. “Just a theory.”
“A theory without any actual proof,” Kendra said.
Metcalf gestured toward the corpse. “Unless you count the dead guy over there.”
Kendra walked back over to Cardona’s body. His face had a bright, uneven tan. His left loafer was almost entirely off, revealing a sunburnt foot and ankle with no tan line. She could imagine he’d spent a lot of time on a boat.
She knelt beside him, brushing aside a pair of pesky flies buzzing around the corpse.
Come on, Cardona. Give me more.
A hairline that was too symmetrical, plus some tiny healed scars that indicated at least one hair replacement procedure. Possibly to alter his appearance, but most likely just for vanity’s sake.
Nicely manicured fingernails, expensive haircut, and eyebrows that appeared unnaturally sculpted. Which all confirmed her impression that he was a looks-obsessed man of means, but little else. Except…
Kendra took a closer look at the Gucci loafers. Something coated the soles of both shoes. “Glove.”
Metcalf handed her an evidence glove and she slid it on. She pressed her fingers against the soles. Tacky.
“What is it?” Lynch asked.
“Looks like some kind of oil.”
“Motor oil?”
“Not the kind you put in a car. This is stickier.” She glanced