Gated Prey (Eve Ronin #3)(18)

Eve looked back at her. “His name hasn’t been released yet.”

“But it will be?”

Eve nodded, and dreaded having to inform the next of kin about the deaths of Dalander and Nagy, who might be as in the dark about their criminality as Estelle was about her son’s.

Estelle took a long, big gulp of whatever she was drinking and looked at Eve again. “How are we supposed to live with this?”

Eve had no answer for that, so she went outside, where Duncan was giving instructions to the two uniformed officers. She went to the Explorer, got inside, started the engine, and radioed the dispatcher that they were on their way to Santa Monica. Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Her agent again. She let the call go to voice mail.

Duncan joined her a moment later. Neither of them spoke until they were on the San Diego Freeway, heading south over the Sepulveda Pass into the smog-choked LA basin. The sun was setting, giving the smog a sickly glow that made the landscape look to Eve like an alien world populated by creatures that breathed radiant vomit.

She said, “Maybe Colter was the guy who cased the neighborhood and picked the homes to rob.”

“What makes you think that?”

“If he really is an Uber or Lyft driver, he could have circled Calabasas all day to pick up rides that originated or ended inside gated communities. That would give him an opportunity to get behind the gates and cruise the streets. We could get his plates and the gate logs to see when, and how often, he came into the communities where houses were hit.”

“Sure we could. But even if that is true, I’d like to know how they were getting in and out for their invasions.”

“They could have come up the ridge on foot from the golf course on Parkway Calabasas or from behind the car dealerships on Calabasas Road. All they have to do is climb the fences. A child could do it and there’s zero security. They could leave the same way.”

“In broad daylight? Carrying armfuls of Versace clothes and Chanel bags stuffed with jewelry, gold, cash, and credit cards down steep hillsides? I don’t think so. Besides, they’d be out in the open, easily spotted by people in the homes on the ridge, the car dealership, the street, or even in cars on the freeway.”

“I don’t think people pay that much attention to who is on the hillsides,” Eve said. “They could have had a getaway driver waiting somewhere, like in the Commons parking lot, for their call to pick them up when they hit the street.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Duncan said.

“But you don’t buy it.”

“Nope and neither do you.”

He was right.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Greg Nagy lived in a block of new apartment buildings on Seventh Street in Santa Monica. It seemed like everything had been torn down and replaced with apartments since Eve had last been in the area. Even the fire station next door to Nagy’s building had a sign out front announcing it would soon be razed for more apartments.

A plain-wrap Dodge Charger, a standard make for unmarked police cars, was parked in the red zone. Eve pulled up behind it. The man who stepped out of the Charger wore an off-the-rack suit that could have come from the same rack that Duncan’s suits came from at Men’s Wearhouse. He was in his forties, with a nose that had been flattened by fists more than once, a receding hairline, and a tan that matched the unnatural brown color of his hair.

Duncan got out and went straight up to the guy, his arm extended for a handshake. “This is a surprise. Since when do they call out the big guns to be babysitters?”

The men shook hands. “I’ve been waiting for my invitation to your retirement party. I thought I’d find out personally what happened to it.”

“It’s coming, Gus. Engraved with a red ribbon.”

“Good, because I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Gus said. “Where’s it gonna be? The Sizzler?”

“Nothing so swanky.” Duncan gestured to Eve. “This is my partner, Eve Ronin. Eve, meet Gus Bellows, the most decorated cop in the Santa Monica Police Department. By that, I mean colored hair, fake teeth, and contacts.”

Gus grinned and shook hands with Eve. “Pleased to meet you, Eve. Be glad that he’s retiring. Donuts’ last two partners started out thin like you and a few years later died of morbid obesity.”

Eve grinned back, unaccustomed to being greeted warmly by veteran detectives on the LAPD or anywhere else. Most of them felt that they’d met her already on TV and decided they didn’t like her. “I’ve been popping Lipitor tablets like M&M’s since our first day.”

“Smart woman,” Gus said, then tipped his head toward the building, getting down to business. “Greg Nagy lives alone in a studio apartment on the third floor. Number 301. The management company gave me the keys so we don’t have to break down the door.”

“That was considerate of them,” she said.

Gus typed in a key code that opened the door to the lobby, which was just big enough to hold the wall of mailboxes, and led them to the elevator, which was beside the door to the parking garage. Eve opened the door and glanced at the cars. No Calabasas Corollas were in sight. The trio got into the elevator and put on gloves as they rode up to the third floor.

“What’s the rent on a studio here?” Duncan asked.