much. The park is pretty isolated, and with the cold and rain, I doubt anyone was outside or had their windows open to hear anything.”
Although it was a relatively low-crime neighborhood, Sinclair had handled a few calls in this area when he worked patrol years ago. Burckhalter Park was a small community park between the 580 Freeway to the north and Edwards Avenue to the west. A chain-link fence and heavy vegetation separated the park from homes with spacious backyards on the other two sides. Edwards Avenue was a busy thoroughfare during commute hours when drivers exited the freeway and took the winding two-lane road down the hill to MacArthur Boulevard and into the heart of east Oakland, but it was a quiet road at night. It was a perfect place to dump a body—easy access to a freeway for a fast escape, yet dark and isolated once the sun went down.
Sinclair pulled up the collar of his black London Fog and trudged through the rain to the parking lot with Braddock. The engine of one patrol car was running, its wipers flicking back and forth intermittently. Sinclair tapped at the window. The officer behind the wheel lowered it a few inches and said, “Morning, Sarge.”
“You took the statement from the man who found the body?”
The officer handed two sheets of paper to Sinclair, which he tucked under his raincoat to keep dry. “Sir,” Sinclair said to the man sitting in the passenger seat, “why don’t you join me in my car.”
A gray-haired black man got out of the patrol vehicle and followed Sinclair. Sinclair opened the passenger door for him, and Braddock climbed in the back. Sinclair grabbed a handful of paper towels from the glove box and dried his hands and the sleeves of his raincoat to prevent water from dripping on the statement. “Beautiful weather, huh?”
“I’ve seen worse,” the man said.
“I’m Sergeant Sinclair and behind you is my partner, Sergeant Braddock. We work homicide.”
“Bobbie Hines.” He held out a calloused hand. A firm grip.
“Give me a minute to read your statement, Mr. Hines.”
“Take your time.”
The statement contained the basics: Hines left his house on Sunkist Drive at 5:10 AM and walked his dog to the park. He saw the woman hanging from the tree and called 9-1-1. He checked for a pulse and determined she was dead. He waited in the parking lot until a fire truck, ambulance, and police cars arrived. He escorted them to the woman. They checked the woman and confirmed she was dead. The officer asked him to wait, so he called his wife, who came and took their dog home.
“I see here that you’re retired,” said Sinclair, looking at the information on the statement form.
“I do some volunteer work, but no longer have to work for a paycheck.”
“Isn’t it a little unusual to be walking a dog at five in the morning in the rain?”
“The Navy taught me to be an early riser. I’m awake by five every morning. Never need an alarm clock. Buster’s bouncing up and down and spinning in circles the moment I put my feet on the floor. I get dressed, start the coffee, and out the door we go, rain or shine. We walk straight to the park, where I let him off leash. I know it’s against the law, but we’re alone this time of the morning, and I always carry some poop bags just in case Buster decides to do his business in the park.”
“So, you were walking through the park and saw the woman?”
“Not exactly. We walked through the parking lot and Buster stopped to sniff that wet sweater I pointed out to your CSI lady. Then we walked down the path going toward the basketball court. Buster was off in the trees, sniffing and peeing on bushes like he always does. He picked up something, maybe some sweatpants or something. There’s always abandoned stuff lying in the park. I told him to drop it, which he did.”
“Where was that?” asked Sinclair.
“To the right of the path, maybe ten or twenty feet. It was dark, so I don’t exactly know.”
“What happened then?”
“We continued up the path. We normally walk through the old basketball court, then loop around the rest of the park back to the parking lot, where I put him on the leash for the walk home, but he started barking up ahead of me. That’s not like him. I ran up to him and shined my flashlight. I saw the woman hanging