anyone had taken the keys or been inside the car other than the investigators. No one had. The car would be in the same condition as it was when it was towed in.
“They’ve been waiting for a requisition from the chief’s office to clean it up. They have to send it out. You know there are companies that specialize in cleaning houses and cars and stuff after somebody’s been killed in them? Some fuckin’ job.”
I think Wexler was talking so much because he was nervous now. We approached the car and stood there looking at it. The snow was swirling around us in a current. The blood sprayed on the inside back window had dried to a dark brown.
“It’s going to stink when we open it,” Wexler said. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this. This is going no further until you tell me what is going on.”
I nodded.
“Okay. There are two things I want to look at. I want to see if the heat switch is on high and if the security lock on the rear doors is on or off.”
“What for?”
“The windows were fogged and it was cold but it wasn’t that cold. I saw in the pictures that Sean was dressed warmly. He had his jacket on. He wouldn’t need the heat on high. How else do windows get fogged when you’re parked with the engine off?”
“I don’t—”
“Think about surveillances, Wex. What causes fogging? My brother once told me about the stakeout you two blew ’cause the windows fogged up and you missed the guy coming out of his house.”
“Talking. It was the week after the Super Bowl and we were talking about the fucking Broncos losing again and the hot air fogged everything up.”
“Yeah. And last I knew, my brother didn’t talk to himself. So if the heat is on low and the windows are fogged enough to write on them, I think it means there was someone with him. They were talking.”
“That’s a long shot that doesn’t prove anything either way. What about the lock?”
I gave him the theory: “Somebody is with Sean. Somehow he gets Sean’s gun. Maybe he comes with his own gun and disarms Sean. He also tells him to hand over his gloves. Sean does. The guy puts the gloves on and then kills Sean with his own gun. He then jumps over the seat into the back where he hides down on the floor. He waits until Pena comes and goes, then he leans back over the seat, writes the note on the windshield and puts the gloves back on Sean’s hands—now you’ve got the GSR on Sean. Then the doer gets out the back door, locks it and splits into the cover of the trees. No footprints, ’cause the lot’s been plowed. He’s gone by the time Pena comes back out to watch the car like he’s told to do by his supervisor.”
Wexler was silent a long time while catching up.
“Okay, it’s a theory,” he finally said. “Now prove it.”
“You know my brother. You worked with him. What was the routine with the security lock? Always keep it on. Right? That way no mistakes with prisoners. No slip-ups. If you take a nonprisoner you can always disengage it for them. Like you did on the night you came for me. When I got sick, the lock was on. Remember? You had to switch it off so I could open the door to puke.”
Wexler said nothing but in his face I saw that I’d struck home. If the security lock was off in the Caprice it wouldn’t be rock-solid proof of anything. But he would know in the way he knew my brother that Sean hadn’t been alone in the car.
He finally said, “You can’t tell by looking at it. It’s just a button. Somebody will have to get in the back and see if they can get out.”
“Open it. I’ll get in.”
Wexler unlocked the door, flipped the electric locks and I opened the rear passenger side door. The sickly sweet smell of dried blood hit me. I stepped into the car and closed the door.
For a long moment I didn’t move. I had seen the photos but they didn’t prepare me for being in the car. The sickly smell, the dried blood sprayed over the window, the roof and the driver’s headrest. My brother’s blood. I felt the cloying grip of nausea in my throat. I quickly looked over the seat to the dashboard and the heater control panel.