Page 76

CHAPTER 76

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING about?” Baby studied Dave Summerly’s face in the dim blue light from Jamie’s machines.

“You know about the trophy box, right?” he said.

Baby nodded.

“Well, I just came from Dorothy Andrews-Smith’s daughter’s place,” Summerly said. “The daughter looked at Dorothy’s bag — the missing-person article, the little oil-painting kit. Then she said she just couldn’t understand it. I said, ‘You can’t understand what?’ She said, ‘That oil-painting kit wasn’t my mom’s.’ ”

“What do you mean?”

“The little oil-painting kit belonged to Dorothy’s daughter, not to Dorothy. And it wasn’t even anything, ah” — he waved his hand — “ special . It wasn’t a treasured personal item. She said she’d been at her mother’s place one afternoon and wanted to do something crafty. She bought it but never used it.”

Baby stared at him. Jamie’s clicking and tapping was like a soundtrack to her thoughts turning and ticking around.

“Why would a serial killer take an item from a victim that didn’t even belong to that victim?” Summerly asked.

“Maybe, you know, he just assumed ... ” Baby struggled. She was speaking her thoughts as they came to her, the urgency making her talk faster and faster. “Maybe he stalked Dorothy, went in, killed her, and grabbed whatever was nearby as a memento. Just because the kit meant nothing to Dorothy doesn’t mean it meant nothing to the killer. That’s why they take things, isn’t it? So they can, like, go back and relive the moment?”

Summerly and Baby fell into their own thoughts. Jamie slurped his energy drink and ignored them both.

“See, there’s more to it.” Summerly shifted. “When I started unpicking the Dorothy-painting-kit threads, I found I could also unpick other threads about the other items in the box. I called Jarrod Maloof’s parents. Jarrod, the crazy homeless kid from down on Venice Beach?”

“Yeah. I know who you mean.”

“Jarrod did have a special football jersey for his team, the Torrance Titans. It was a beloved personal item, the kind of thing you’d expect a serial killer, hunting and stalking and choosing his victim, would take as a trophy. But you know what?”

“What?”

“The Maloofs still have it.”

Baby stared at him. The hairs on her arms were standing up. “What?”

“Jarrod had two jerseys,” Summerly said. “The one he wore during games and a newer, cleaner one he wore for team photos and stuff. The kid was superstitious. He always wore the same jersey for the actual game. It was stained and torn in places. He kept the nice one at home in a drawer and pulled it out only for photographs or videos or whatever.”

Baby’s throat felt tight.

“If you were going to fake a serial killer’s trophy box,” Baby said slowly, “and you saw the article in the paper about Jarrod Maloof being missing ... what item would you guess best represented him?”

“The football jersey,” Summerly said. “Football star — football jersey.”

Baby felt her thoughts ticking faster and faster.

“It’s the same with Dorothy,” Summerly said. “She was an eccentric. The muumuus she wore, the jewelry. Her house had all kinds of dingle-dangles and wind chimes and stuff. If you didn’t really know her but wanted to grab something of hers that you thought she loved, the oil-painting kit would be a good guess.”

“The hairbrush,” Baby said, her thoughts racing. “From Maria Sanchez. It was in all of her Instagram tutorials.”

Summerly and Baby stared at each other.

“The box is fake,” Summerly said.

“But who faked it? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who would have had access to all those places connected to the missing people in the box?” Baby asked. “To their houses, their bedrooms, their drawers?”