Shadowfires

and Reese had no authority whatsoever in Villa Park, which
was two towns removed from their own jurisdiction. However, in the
vast urban sprawl of Orange County, which was essentially one great
spread-out city divided into many communities, a lot of crimes were
not conveniently restricted to a single jurisdiction, and a criminal
could not be allowed to gain time or safety by simply crossing the
artificial political boundary between one town and another. When it
became necessary to pursue a lead into another jurisdiction, one was
required to seek an escort from the local authorities or obtain their
approval or even enlist them to make the inquiries themselves, and
these requests were routinely honored.
    But because time was wasted going through proper channels, Julio
and Reese frequently skipped the protocol. They went where they
needed to go, talked with whomever they needed to talk, and only
informed local authorities when and if they found something pertinent
to their case-or if a situation looked as if it might turn
violent.
    Few detectives operated that boldly. Failure to follow standard
procedures might result in a reprimand. Repeated violations of the
rules might be viewed as a dismal lack of respect for the command
structure, resulting in disciplinary suspension. Too much of that,
and even the finest cop could forget about further promotions-and
might have to worry about hanging on to collect his pension.
    The risks did not particularly concern Julio or Reese. They wanted
promotions, of course. And they wanted their pensions. But more than
career advancement and financial security, they wanted to solve cases
and put murderers in prison. Being a cop was pointless if you weren't willing to put your life on the line for your ideals, and if you were willing to risk your life, then it made no sense to worry about small stuff like salary increases and retirement funds.
    When no one responded to the bell, Julio tried the door, but it
was locked. He didn't attempt to void the lock or force it. In the absence of a court order, what they needed to get them into the Leben house was probable cause to believe that criminal activity of some kind was under way on the premises, that innocent people might be harmed, and that there was nothing less than a public emergency.
    When they circled to the back of the house, they found what they
needed: a broken pane of glass in the French door that led from the
patio into the kitchen. They would have been remiss if they had not
assumed the worst: that an armed intruder had forced his way into the
house to commit burglary or to harm whoever resided legally
within.
    Drawing their revolvers, they entered cautiously. Shards of broken
glass crunched underfoot.
    As they moved from room to room, they turned on lights and saw
enough to justify intrusion. The bloody palmprint etched into the arm
of the white sofa in the family room. The destruction in the master
bedroom. And in the garage… Ernestina Hernandez's powder-blue Ford.
    Inspecting the car, Reese found bloodstains on the back seat and
floor mats. “Some of it's still a little sticky,” he told Julio.
    Julio tried the trunk of the car and found it unlocked. Inside,
there was more blood, a pair of broken eyeglasses-and one blue
shoe.
    The shoe was Ernestina's, and the sight of it caused Julio's chest
to tighten.
    As far as Julio knew, the Hernandez girl had not worn glasses. In
photographs he had seen at the Hernandez home, however, Becky
Klienstad, friend and fellow waitress, had worn a pair like these.
Evidently, both women had been killed and stuffed into the
Ford's trunk. Later, Ernestina's corpse had been heaved into the
dumpster. But what happened to the other body?
    “Call the locals,” Julio said. “It's time for protocol.”
1:52 a.m.
    When Reese Hagerstrom returned from the sedan, he paused to put up
the electric garage doors to air out the smell of blood that had
risen from the open trunk of the Ford and reached into every corner
of the long room. As the doors rolled up, he spotted a discarded set
of hospital whites and a pair of antistatic shoes in one corner.
“Julio? Come here and look at this.”
    Julio had been staring intently into the bloody trunk of the car,
unable to touch anything lest he ruin precious evidence, but hoping
to spot some small clue by sheer dint of intense study. He joined
Reese at the discarded clothes.
    Reese said, “What the hell is going