and face time on local TV. Hot chicks dug famous people. John Chen was all about headlines.
Chen turned his back to Ganowski and Sybil, and whispered.
“Can’t talk. Surrounded.”
“Can you write?”
“Not really. I’m being watched.”
“Christopher Karbo. Donald Bender. They were murdered last night. Bender got it in Northridge. Karbo in Eagle Rock. I need the addresses.”
Chen snuck a look at Ganowski. Ganowski glanced away. Spy.
Chen cupped his mouth, and lowered his voice even more.
“Dude. Last night? The crime scenes are still hot.”
“I need the addresses, John. It’s important.”
John wet his lips.
“Headline important?”
“Important to me.”
Chen hesitated. If Pike was onto something, which he usually was, Chen could find himself back on the nightly news. This could be the extra nudge that Harriet needed. The sour-faced bitch might finally grant his promotion.
Chen whispered.
“I’ll find out. Call you in five.”
Chen gathered his gear. He smiled at Ganowski as he left. Ganowski smiled back. Ganowski had never, not once, broken a headline case.
16.
Elvis Cole
Carly let him read their texts, and airdropped Isabel’s snapshot of a murky SUV. Cole was impressed. Between their texting and talking, Carly and Isabel had been in almost continuous real-time contact from the moment Isabel learned Karbo and Bender were being released until the last text Carly received. The near-constant communication made Cole wonder if Isabel had been texting or talking with other friends.
Carly thought for a moment.
“Lauren and Gina, maybe. We’re all friends. We go out.”
“Siblings?”
Carly shook her head.
“She’s an only, like me.”
Cole took in the tired room and the aging family photos.
“Does Isabel live here alone?”
“Uh-huh. She lost her dad ten or eleven years ago. Her mom died last year, which was awful. She was like my second mom.”
“I’m sorry. What were their names?”
“Debbie and Ed. Debbie was really Debra Sue, but everyone called her Debbie. That’s her mom and dad in the pictures.”
Cole’s thoughts returned to the friends.
“Lauren and Gina. If Izzy told one of them something she didn’t mention to you, it might be important. Can you find out?”
Carly lifted her phone.
“Sure. Right away.”
Cole stood. He wanted to walk through the house.
“One thing first. I need the basics. Her full name, her cell, date of birth, things like that. You can text it to me later.”
“All right. Sure.”
“And give me the make and model of her car.”
Carly looked vague.
“Her car?”
“She left in her car. I need to know what she drives.”
“She drives her mom’s car. A green Ford. It’s old.”
“A couple of million old, green Fords are on the road. We need to narrow it down.”
Carly frowned for a moment, then brightened.
“Wait. Her mom kept that kind of stuff in her bedroom—the house stuff and bills and things. I’ll find it.”
Cole motioned her down.
“I’ll look. Talk to your friends.”
Cole followed a short hall off the living room past Isabel’s room to the master. The drapes were closed, the room was dim, and the floral spread covering a queen-sized bed sagged from a lack of use. Cole snapped on the lights, and opened the drapes. A two-drawer file cabinet sat in the corner. Cole opened the top drawer, and found it packed tight with hanging folders. The folders were alphabetically organized, and identified by neat, handwritten labels. AUTOMOBILE, AUTO INSURANCE, and AUTO SERVICE were the first three folders.
Cole smiled.
“Good job, Debbie.”
Debra Sue Roland had purchased a green four-door Ford sedan twelve years earlier. Cole copied the VIN and registration numbers, but found no mention of a LoJack having been purchased or installed. So much for finding her the easy way.
Cole closed the cabinet, and studied several framed pictures on the dresser and chest. Izzy with her high school prom date. A very young Debbie and Ed at the Hollywood Bowl. Little girl Izzy on her dad’s shoulders at Angel Stadium, Ed wearing a Houston Astros baseball cap. A second picture taken at the stadium showed an older Izzy and her parents with the scoreboard behind them. Angels 4, Astros 3. Cole found nothing helpful in the dresser or chest, and moved to the nightstands.
A black 9-millimeter Sig Sauer pistol was in the first nightstand he opened. The pistol was partially covered by skin cream and moisturizer, but the pistol’s black shape filled the drawer like a waiting snake. Cole didn’t touch it. He bent close and sniffed, but smelled no gun oil, solvent, or powder. The weapon probably hadn’t been touched or handled in years. Cole closed the drawer and moved around the bed.
The opposite nightstand must have been Ed’s. It was empty except for a handwritten note