Thrill Kill (Matt Sinclair #2) - Brian Thiem Page 0,28

ruined a nice suit.”

“If you didn’t catch him, you wouldn’t know,” the officer said. “I guess he’s just one of the dickheads who likes to fuck with the whores. They think it’s some kind of a game.”

Sinclair and Braddock stopped at Tanya’s corner and told her what happened. When they got to the PAB, Sinclair went straight down to the locker room and stripped off his dirty clothes. He wiped the mud off his suit pants and was glad to see he hadn’t ripped out the knees of the Brooks Brothers suit, one of the new suits he’d bought last year with the insurance money from his apartment fire. As he stood under the shower, washing mud and strands of grass out of his hair, he wondered if he should go back to wearing cheaper suits to work.

Chapter 11

It was eight o’clock when Sinclair returned to the office dressed in a pair of slacks and an olive-and-brown plaid sport coat, which he kept in his locker for emergencies such as this. Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Braddock was at her desk eating a taco salad.

“I got you a steak burrito,” she said, pointing to a bag on his desk.

He unwrapped the foil, took a bite, and dialed his voicemail. A message from Dawn’s parents asked him to call them back day or night. He dialed the number and had Braddock listen in on her line. A man answered with a hello.

“This is Sergeant Sinclair, Oakland homicide. Is this Mr. Gustafson?”

“Eugene Gustafson, but you can call me Gene.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Gene.”

“Let me get my wife,” he said. A moment later, Sinclair heard the echo-chamber sound that indicated they were on speakerphone. “My wife, Cynthia, is here, too.”

“Hi, Sergeant,” she said. “I’m sorry we get to meet under these circumstances.”

“My partner, Sergeant Braddock, is on the line with us. Before I ask you any questions, is there anything you want to ask me?”

Cynthia asked, “Do you know why she was killed?”

Sinclair replied, “Not yet. I don’t know how much you know about Dawn’s life out here—”

Cynthia interrupted, “You don’t need to tap dance around anything for us. We know she was a prostitute—”

Gene jumped in, “She was in the process of changing her life and putting that past behind her.”

“What do you mean?” Sinclair asked.

“She was going to school,” Gene said. “Studying to be a CPA. She was doing accounting work and had stopped that other business.”

Cynthia said, “Excuse my husband, Sergeant, but Dawn will always be his little girl who could do no wrong. That CPA stuff was a cover. She was still selling her body for a living.”

Gene said, “I never said she did no wrong. But she had changed and was making a real life for herself.”

Sinclair interjected with questions about their background, which he needed for his report. Eugene and Cynthia both lived in Mankato, Minnesota, where they had been born and raised by parents who were farmers. Gene was fifty-five and managed a regional farm-equipment dealership. Cynthia was a year younger and worked part-time at the local library. They married the year Cynthia finished high school and they had three daughters, one older and one younger than Dawn. Both other daughters had attended college and were married, the oldest living in Minneapolis, and the younger living in Mankato.

“Dawn was the wild one,” Gene said. “She always wanted something more than rural Minnesota could offer. We weren’t surprised when she ran away at seventeen.”

“But to California, of all places, the epicenter of immorality?” Cynthia said. “When we got the call from your juvenile officers, we were heartbroken.”

Gene said, “But relieved that she was okay. We flew out there the next day and appeared in court for her.”

Sinclair said, “My records show she was released in your custody.”

Cynthia said, “That’s right. We brought her home. She talked about you a lot.”

“She did?” Sinclair said.

“Oh, yes,” Cynthia said. “You made quite an impression on her.”

Braddock looked at Sinclair with a puzzled look on her face. Sinclair turned his eyes back to his phone. “You mean when I arrested her as a juvenile?”

Cynthia said, “Yes, and—”

Gene interrupted, “We know you only wanted what was best for her, and we’re grateful you arrested her and sent her home to us.”

“What happened after she got back home?” Sinclair asked.

“She was okay for a while,” Cynthia said. “I think the experience frightened her. She went back to school and got her high school diploma that year. She wasn’t up for