think it’s legit?” she asked.
“Hard to tell,” Keri answered evenly, despite her elevated heart rate, as she punched the generating station into Google Maps. “We’ll check where the call originated from later and have tech try to scrub the message to see what else can be gleaned from the voice and background noise. But I doubt they’d be able to determine much. Whoever made this call was careful.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Castillo agreed. “No name given, clear attempt to mask the voice, distracting noise in the background. It just felt…different from the others.”
Keri was only half-listening as she looked at the map on her screen. The generating station was located on National Boulevard, just south of the 10 Freeway. Checking satellite imagery, she verified that there was a warehouse across the street. Whether it was abandoned, she didn’t know.
But I’m about to find out.
She looked at Castillo and felt a rush of gratitude toward her—and also something she hadn’t felt in a very long time for a fellow officer: admiration. She had a good feeling about her, and was glad she was here.
“Good work, Castillo,” she said belatedly to the young officer, who was also staring at the screen. “So good that I think I better go check it out.”
“You need company?” Castillo asked hopefully as Keri stood and gathered her things to head out for the warehouse.
But before she could answer, Hillman poked his head out of his office and yelled across the bullpen to her.
“Locke, I need you in my office now.” He glared at her. “We’ve got a new case.”
CHAPTER TWO
Keri stood frozen in place. She was consumed by a flood of conflicting emotions. Technically, this was good news. It looked like she was being put back on field duty a day early, a sign that Hillman, despite his issues with her, felt she was ready to resume her normal responsibilities. But part of her just wanted to ignore him and go straight to the warehouse this second.
“Today, please,” Hillman called out, snapping her out of her momentary indecision.
“Coming, sir,” she said. Then turning to Castillo with a little half-smile, she added, “To be continued.”
When she stepped into Hillman’s office, she noticed that his typically wrinkled brow was even more scrunched up than usual. Every one of his fifty years was visible on his face. His salt and pepper hair was mussed as usual. Keri could never tell if he didn’t notice or just didn’t care. He wore a jacket but his tie was loose and his ill-fitting shirt couldn’t hide his slight paunch.
Sitting on the old, beat-up loveseat against the far wall was Detective Frank Brody. Brody was fifty-nine years old and less than six months from retirement. Everything about his demeanor reflected that, from his barely competent attempts at politeness to his disheveled, ketchup-stained dress shirt, nearly bursting at the buttons against his formidable girth, to his loafers, which were splitting at the seams and looked like they might fall apart at any moment.
Brody had never struck Keri as the most dedicated and hard-working of detectives, and recently he seemed more interested in his precious Cadillac than in solving cases. He usually worked Robbery-Homicide but had been reassigned to Missing Persons with the unit short-handed because of Keri’s and Ray’s injuries.
The move had put him in a permanently foul mood, which was only reinforced by disdain at potentially having to work with a woman. He was truly a man of a different generation. She’d actually once overheard him say, “I’d rather work with bricks and turds than chicks and birds.” The feeling, though maybe stated in a slightly different way, was mutual.
Hillman motioned for Keri to sit in the metal folding chair across from his desk, then took the caller off mute and spoke.
“Dr. Burlingame, I’m here with the two detectives I’m going to be sending to meet with you. On the line are Detectives Frank Brody and Keri Locke. Detectives, I’m speaking to Dr. Jeremy Burlingame. He’s concerned about his wife, whom he hasn’t been able to reach for more than twenty-four hours. Doctor, can you please repeat what you told me?”
Keri pulled out her notebook and pen to take notes. She was immediately suspicious. In any case of a missing wife, the first suspect was always the husband and she wanted to hear the timbre of his voice the first time he spoke.
“Of course,” the doctor said. “I drove to San Diego yesterday morning to help perform a surgery. The last time I spoke to Kendra was before I left. I got home very late last night and ended up sleeping in a guest room so as not to wake her up. This morning I slept in since I didn’t have any patients to see.”
Keri wasn’t sure if Hillman was recording the conversation so she scribbled furiously, trying to keep up as Dr. Burlingame continued.
“When I went into the bedroom, she was gone. The bed was made. I assumed she’d just left the house before I got up so I texted her. I didn’t hear back—again, not that unusual. We live in Beverly Hills and my wife attends a lot of local charity functions and events and she typically silences her phone for them. Sometimes she forgets to turn the volume back on.”
Keri wrote everything down, evaluating the veracity of each comment. So far nothing she’d heard sounded warning bells but that didn’t mean much. Anyone could hold it together on the phone. She wanted to see his demeanor when confronted in person by LAPD detectives.
“I went to work and called her again on the way in—still no answer,” he continued. “Around lunchtime I started to get worried. None of her friends had heard from her. I called our maid, Lupe, who said that she hadn’t seen Kendra today or yesterday. That’s when I really started to worry. So I called nine-one-one.”
Frank Brody leaned in and Keri could tell he was going to interrupt. She wished he wouldn’t but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She typically preferred to let an interviewee go on as much as they liked. Sometimes they got comfortable and made mistakes. But apparently Brody didn’t share her philosophy.
“Dr. Burlingame, why didn’t your call get routed to the Beverly Hills Police Department?” he asked. His gruff tone carried no sense of sympathy. It sounded to Keri like he was wondering how he’d gotten stuck with the case.
“I guess because I’m calling you from my office, which is in Marina del Rey. Does it really matter?” he asked. He sounded lost.
“No, of course not,” Hillman assured him. “We’re happy to help. And our missing persons unit would likely have been called in by BHPD anyway. Why don’t you return to your house and my detectives will meet you there around one thirty. I have your home address.”
“Okay,” Burlingame said. “I’m leaving now.”
After he hung up, Hillman looked at his two detectives.
“Initial thoughts?” he asked.
“She probably just ran off to Cabo with some of her girlfriends and forgot to tell him,” Brody said without hesitation. “That or he killed her. After all, it’s almost always the husband.”
Hillman looked at Keri. She thought for a second before speaking. Something about applying the usual rules to this guy didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
“I’m tempted to agree,” she finally
