Gated Prey (Eve Ronin #3)(28)

“Yes, sir,” Biddle said. He and Garvey got up and rushed out of the squad room.

Shaw looked back at Eve and Duncan. “I read up on the home invasion case. Where are we, Detectives?”

“No further than last night, sir,” Duncan said. “Give us until lunch and we may know a lot more.”

Shaw nodded. “I’m buying. Pizza work for you?”

“Always,” Duncan said.

“If you need extra manpower, or a push with any warrants, let me know. The sheriff wants this closed yesterday.”

“Will do,” Eve said. “Thank you, sir.”

“See you at lunch,” he said and walked out.

Once the door closed, Duncan looked at Eve. “I think I’m going to like him.”

“You’re a dog,” Eve said. “You love anyone who gives you food.”

“Woof, woof,” Duncan said, then swiveled to face his desk and get to work.





CHAPTER TEN


Captain Shaw came back into the squad room at 1:00 p.m. with two large thin-crust sheet pizzas from Barone’s in Westlake Village. He set the boxes on the conference table and opened them up. The smell immediately drew Eve, Duncan, Ross, and Clayton away from their cubicles to eat. The pizzas, a Meat Lovers and a Fire Roasted Veggie, were sliced into rectangular pieces and rested on plastic screens that kept the crust from touching the bottom of the cardboard boxes and the dripping grease.

Duncan took a slice of the Meat Lovers. “I’m impressed, Captain. This is the good stuff. Frankly, I was expecting a delivery from Domino’s.”

Shaw took a slice of Fire Roasted Veggie. “My first priority when assuming a new post is to find the best pizza in the vicinity.”

“You succeeded,” Eve said and took the smallest slice of the Meat Lovers she could find and then got as far away from the boxes as she could without leaving the room. Her fear was that if she stayed within reach of the boxes, she’d eat half the pizza herself.

The two deputies went out to the break room and brought back paper plates, napkins, and soft drinks. Everyone spent a moment eating in comfortable silence, then Duncan grabbed another slice and went over to the dry-erase board, where he’d filled in more details on the three assailants and had added a new column under the DMV photo of Sherry Simms.

“I did a deep dive into Joel Dalander, Paul Colter, and Greg Nagy,” he said. “But here’s the executive summary: They all are from the West Valley. They are all the same age. And they are all white.”

“So they definitely wouldn’t have drawn any attention in Calablackless,” Deputy Clayton said, then seemed to remember that Shaw was black, and added, “No offense intended, sir.”

“None taken, Deputy. Facts are facts. I’m aware of the racial makeup of this community and I think you’re right—being lily-white and clean-cut served these home invaders well.”

Duncan used the interruption as an opportunity to eat two more big bites of pizza. When he spoke again, it was with his mouth half-full.

“The guy who acted as ringleader of the crew and took a swan dive onto the patio was Joel Dalander. He grew up in Woodland Hills, went to Taft High School, and spent two years at Pierce College, where he got an associate degree in business administration and became night-shift manager at a Burger King in Reseda.”

Duncan tapped Sherry Simms’ picture. “Dalander’s girlfriend, Sherry, is from Santa Clarita and also went to Pierce, which is where I assume they met and when they moved in together. Her parents wouldn’t talk to me.”

“They are protecting her,” Eve said.

“That’s a parent’s job,” Duncan said. “Sherry left Pierce with a skills certificate in small business entrepreneurship, which she put to use to create her online store It’s A Steal to sell stolen goods.”

“Can we prove that they’re stolen?” Shaw asked.

Deputy Ross answered. “We’re still reaching out to the robbery victims with photos of the merchandise that has been recovered from the homes of Dalander, Colter, and Nagy. Nothing has been ID’d yet.”

“But CSU determined that the shredder at Dalander’s place was full of credit card smithereens,” Eve said. “That strikes me as highly suspicious.”

“Agreed,” Shaw said, and gestured to Duncan to continue.

“Greg Nagy, the guy I shot, grew up in Canoga Park, went to Canoga Park High School, then on to Cal State, Northridge, where he studied creative writing. He was working as a freelance script reader for Pinnacle Studios and was an aspiring writer. I read one of his screenplays to see if there might be a clue in it. All I learned is that he was better at robbery than he was at writing.”

“He got killed robbing a house,” Clayton said.

“That’s true,” Duncan said. “I stand corrected. He sucked at both. His family also refuses to talk to me and suggested that I submit any questions we have in writing to their lawyer so he can refuse to answer them.”

Shaw said, “Did you get anything from his computer?”

Eve answered his question. She’d been watching videos all morning, the monotony broken only by the calls she fielded from CSU.

“Not yet, sir. CSU is taking the MacBook to the morgue so they can unlock it biometrically with his fingerprint. They’ll do the same with Colter’s laptop.”