The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

flushed to a crimson hue.
    “Well, uh, it-uh, during sex... there is I guess what you call friction between the bodies?”
    “I am asking the questions, Mr. Amado. You are answering.”
    There was quiet tittering from the gallery seats. Bosch felt embarrassed for Amado and thought that his own face might be turning red.
    “Yes, well, there is friction,” Amado said. “And this causes some transference. Loose pubic hair from one person can be transferred to that of the other.”
    “I see,” Chandler said. “Now, you as coordinator of the Dollmaker evidence from the coroner’s office were familiar with the rape kits of all eleven victims, correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “With how many of the victims did the findings include foreign pubic hair?”
    Bosch understood what was happening now and realized that Belk was right. Chandler was walking into the buzz saw.
    “All of them,” Amado answered.
    Bosch saw Deborah Church raise her head and look sharply at Chandler at the lectern. Then she looked over at Bosch and their eyes met. She quickly looked away but Bosch knew. She, too, knew what was about to happen. Because she, too, knew her late husband the way Bosch had on that last night. She knew what he looked like naked.
    “Ah, all of them,” Chandler said. “Now, can you tell the jury how many of these pubic hairs found on these women were analyzed and identified as having been from the body of Norman Church?”
    “None of them were from Norman Church.”
    “Thank you.”
    Belk was up and moving to the lectern before Chandler had time to remove her pad and the rape kit protocols. Bosch watched her sit down and saw the widow Church lean to her and desperately begin whispering. Bosch saw Chandler’s eyes go dead. She held up her hand to tell the widow she had said enough and then leaned back and exhaled.
    “Now, let’s clear something up first,” Belk said. “Mr. Amado, you said you found pubic hairs on all of the eleven victims. Were these hairs all from the same man?”
    “No. We found a multitude of samples. In most cases, what looked like hair from possibly two or three men on each victim.”
    “What did you attribute this to?”
    “Their lifestyle. We knew these were women with multiple sexual partners.”
    “Did you analyze these samples to determine if there were common hairs? In other words, whether hair from one man was found on each of the victims.”
    “No, we did not. There was a huge amount of evidence collected in these cases and manpower dictated that we focus on evidence that would help identify a killer. Because we had so many different samples, it was determined that this was evidence that would be held and then used to link or clear a suspect, once that suspect was in custody.”
    “I see, well, then once Norman Church had been killed and was identified as the Dollmaker, did you then match any of the hairs from the victims to him?”
    “We did not.”
    “And why is that?”
    “Because Mr. Church had shaved his body hair. There was no pubic hair to match.”
    “Why would he have done that?”
    Chandler objected on the grounds that Amado could not answer for Church and the judge sustained it. But Bosch knew it didn’t matter. Everybody in the courtroom knew why Church had shaved himself-so he wouldn’t leave pubic hairs behind as evidence.
    Bosch looked at the jury and he saw two of the women writing in the notebooks the marshals had given them to help them keep track of important testimony. He wanted to buy Belk-and Amado-a beer.

Chapter 7
    It looked like a cake in a box, one of those novelty things custom-made to look like Marilyn Monroe or something. The anthropologist had painted on a beige skin tone and red lipstick to go with blue eyes. It looked like frosting to Bosch. A wavy blonde wig was added. He stood in the squad room looking down at the plaster image, wondering if it really looked like anybody at all.
    “Five minutes till show time,” Edgar said.
    He was sitting in his chair, which was turned toward the TV on the file cabinets. He was holding the channel changer. His blue suit coat was hung neatly on a hanger, which was hooked on the coatrack at the end of the table. Bosch took his jacket off and hung it on one of the coatrack pegs. He checked his slot in the message box and sat down at his spot at the homicide table. There had been a call from Sylvia, nothing else important. He dialed her number as the Channel 4 news began. He knew enough about the news