lie. Went right out the front, probably in broad daylight.
Probably raped the old lady too. I'd bet money."
I didn't offer any. When Schaeffer decided to go outside for a break, I was only too glad to follow. We sat on the hood of his car and waited for the coroner while Schaeffer adjusted his pants back over his belly. I thought about the way a corpse would look after a week and a half. A corpse I knew.
"So what was the favor?" Schaeffer asked.
"I want the Cambridge case done right," I said. He squinted at the sun coming down through the pecan trees. He said: "That's not a favor. That just happens."
"But I want some leeway."
Schaeffer stared at me. "Now it's starting to sound like a favor. What kind of leeway?"
"I want to know what you've found out, and I want until Friday."
"Until Friday for what?"
"I don't want the FBI knocking down Rivas's investigation just yet. Making people nervous. If Lillian is still alive, I need a few more days to look."
"And if she gets not alive between now and Friday?"
"She's been gone for a week already. You're the expert. If she's not dead yet, what are the chances?"
Schaeffer didn't like conceding the point.
"Still no deal," he said.
"Then you look," I said. "I've tied it to homicide. Take it to the CID chief that way."
"And by Friday when the Feds are into it anyway?"
"I'll have to make it work by then."
Schaeffer almost laughed.
"What exactly are you expecting to make work, Navarre? From all I can see you've been making about as much progress as a pinball. You going to solve this by getting bashed back and forth a few more times?"
"You'd be surprised," I said.
"I'd be very surprised."
He stared at me for a minute longer. I tried to do my winning smile. Finally he shook his head.
"All right. The corpse that got driven through Sheff"s office wall, Eddie Moraga - we traced the Thunderbird exactly nowhere. Switched plates, the engine block number placed it as stolen from Kingsville. It doesn't get any more nowhere than that."
"A big stop off for the cocaine trade. Might connect it to White."
"Maybe," Schaeffer said, but he didn't like the tie-in.
"The fatal shot was through Moraga's heart, close range, angled down, like he was sitting and the killer was standing right over him. The bullets in the eyes happened postmortem. Weapon was a 9mm Parabellum."
"Glock, maybe?"
He shrugged. "Looks professional. Everything wiped clean. Moraga probably knew the guy who killed him, never even saw it coming."
"If it was a professional job - "
"It means Moraga really pissed somebody off, up close and personal. This bullet-through-the-eye shit--you have to screw up pretty bad to rate that."
"But you still don't like it. "
He twisted the edge of his napkin. "It's too showy. The methods, yeah, professional. But these guys - they're like fucking actors."
"Like somebody imitating what they think a mob killing would be."
He didn't like that idea either, but he didn't offer another.
"Garza?" I asked.
"The trailer he rented six months ago. Wife and kids live in Olmos Park, knew nothing about it. He was killed on the scene, sometime that morning, probably around ten."
"Right after I talked to him on the phone."
"Looks that way. Garza was sitting down when he got stabbed, and he was drugged. Heavy valium in his system, couldn't put up much of a fight. You saw the blood. Slice the artery and it was over. Same problem--looks professional, too flashy."
"Karnau?"
"Not the same. Not a very smart killer, and definitely not a pro. Near as we can tell Kamau just opened the door, bought it instantly, then got displayed. Different M.O.; I'd bet money it's a different killer from Garza and Moraga."
"But the display?"
Schaeffer shook his head. "Kamau was laid out neatly, like he was sleeping. They didn't want a mess. Usually means your killer wants to convince himself nothing happened here. It's like - 'I'll just comb the dead guy's hair, tuck him into bed, wash my hands, and everything's normal.'"
I thought about Dan Sheff, what he'd said about wanting to hold the wound closed on Karnau's head.
"You said the killer wasn't too smart."
"Stupid choice of guns. Very clear striations from ballistics. A pretty rare little .22 this guy used."
"A Sheridan Knockabout," I said.
"How the hell did you know that?"
I told him about the deer blind in Blanco. Schaeffer thought about it, then nodded.
"Top of the class, Navarre."
I watched the coroner's car arrive. Then two more squads. On the porch next door, the