Page 46

CHAPTER 46

DETECTIVE WILL brOGAN DROVE us to a dirt road leading into scrubby bushland at the base of Mount Wilson, an hour east of Pasadena. Two patrol cops saw Brogan behind the wheel and waved us through. There were three more checkpoints before the white Crown Vics and crime scene tape appeared through the trees. I rolled down my window and smelled smoke and motor oil on the wind.

“We shot a drone down about an hour ago,” Brogan said. “Didn’t want to do it, since it was flown by the same internet kid who’d tipped us off. He’s the one who told us that Troy left the house in the middle of the night. But I can’t have pictures of this floating around out there until I’ve got a proper ID. Then I can inform Daisy’s parents.”

“What do you mean?” I said. I felt like I couldn’t catch up, like the conversation was traveling at a hundred miles an hour while the car slowly rolled along the dirt road. “You weren’t watching Troy’s house last night?”

“Oh, we were watching the house.” Brogan glanced at me. “But Troy snuck out the back at about two a.m. He hopped a neighbor’s fence and stole his car.”

“Why?”

“To come here,” Brogan said.

“Troy snuck out of his house, stole a car, and came here?”

“Exactly.”

I forced myself to breathe.

“The kid with the drone followed him halfway here,” Brogan said. “Then he thought he better call us. So we put a new tail on Troy and told the kid with the drone to back off. Those drones are amazing. Can fly for hours, some of them.”

I held my head. “Jesus.”

“Kid wouldn’t take the hint, though, once it was clear where Troy was going. He wanted to get the scoop. So we had to bust his toy.”

I squeezed my temples.

“We knew Troy would lead us to Daisy eventually.” Brogan sighed. “They always do.”

We passed a squad car nosed into a bare spot in the brush between two large eucalyptus trees. I recognized Troy in the back seat, facing away from us. Brogan pulled into a space fifty yards down the road and we got out.

Dave Summerly was standing by a burned-out car I recognized as Daisy’s little red Honda Civic. There was a gurney beside the car with what I assumed was a body on it, already bagged and tagged and zipped up.

Most of the cops on the scene were doing their jobs — securing the cordons, taking measurements or photographs, making notes. But here and there, an officer stood crying. I’ve never gotten used to seeing cops in uniform shedding tears. I was the only civilian on-site (except for Troy), and when the officers saw me, the mood immediately changed. The tearful cops turned their backs to me. Others threw angry looks my way.

Brogan straightened and sighed and started to step away from me, a signal that his task was complete and he had to get back to work. For the second time in my investigation, the lead detective had extended a friendly hand, and I was grateful for it. Brogan could have let me find out about the discovery of Daisy’s remains from the news, but here I was, at the scene. I knew I was pushing it, but I asked anyway. “Can I talk to Troy?”

“Be my guest,” Brogan said. “The squad car’s not bugged.”

I didn’t believe that, but I nodded. “Thanks. Did he tell you how or why he came to this place? Did he say how he knew that Daisy’s body was here?”

“He did,” Brogan said. “But if you believe what he says, you’re an even bigger idiot than he is.”