Page 32 of 25 Alive

“Really? Might have?”

Alvarez said, “Don’t stop now, Richie.”

“Yeah. So, while I was waiting for our orders to be ready, I took the stool next to Greely,” Conklin said. “He told me thatearly yesterday morning there was a Mexican gardener in work clothes and a banged-up truck parked across the street from the judge’s house. Greely went over to check him out, since he was on protection detail. Greely says the gardener didn’t seem able to speak much English, but when he asked the guy his business, he got a name, registration, license, and tag numbers. Everything was registered to a Luis Perez.”

“Hunh. A pretty common name.”

“True,” Rich said. “There are a few million Luis Perezes in California, but only one truck with those VIN and tag numbers. And Greely has now learned that that particular Luis Perez has been dead since Alvarez was in grade school.”

I sighed. “Suspicious, true. But I can think of a dozen reasons this gardener might use someone else’s ID. What makes Greely think this guy was the killer? Did he act suspiciously? Was the guy’s truck seen somewhere it shouldn’t have been? Did Greely see him enter or leave the house?”

“Nope. It was cop’s intuition,” said Rich. “But just in case, I’m thinking we check to see if any of the neighbors have security cameras and caught a photo of the gardener. Even if they don’t, Greely can describe him to the sketch artist.”

“Once he sobers up.”

“I’ll make that happen,” Rich said.

CHAPTER52

WE DUMPED THE remains of our lunch into the trash, and Conklin, Alvarez, and I changed gears back to trying to get a handhold on the ‘I said. You dead’ killer.

Cindy’s story about the murders had run above the fold on page 1 of theChronicleand now tips were coming in. I was combing through them—hoping for a good lead, praying for one—when Bob Nussbaum called me from the front desk to tell me to pick up line three.

I answered the ringing phone with my name.

Brady said, “Christ, Boxer. I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour.”

“I’ve been on the tip line, nonstop.”

“Find anything?”

“So far just a giant-sized desire to punch the wall, but at least I’m crossing names and bum leads off of the list.”

“For instance?”

I sighed. “Okay. A woman calls the tip line and leaves a message. She has a hot lead. I call her back. She says shewas at the seafood counter in the grocery store last night. The guy ahead of her in line says to the fish on ice, ‘I said. You dead.’”

“Oh, jeez.”

“She almost got to me. Instead of yelling, ‘Real people died,’ and hanging up, I thanked her for calling the tip line.”

Brady said, “The way I feel, I would have blasted her andthenhung up. Good job, Boxer.”

The boss told me that he was still at the control center near the Orlofsky murder scene. Gene Hallows was keeping him in the loop, but the CSIs hadn’t yet found anything forensically useful.

Brady said, “Boxer, I got a call from Section Chief Craig Steinmetz of the local FBI office on Golden Gate Avenue. You know Steinmetz through Joe, right? He tells me there’s a field agent in town from the Boston branch who wants to come in and talk to you. His name is James Walsh, and he says he has a lead into the ‘I said. You dead’ murders. He’s about ten minutes out from the Hall.”

Walsh was there even faster than that. I’d barely had time to even tell Conklin and Alvarez about Brady’s phone call when Nussbaum called me from the desk to say that a Special Agent Walsh was here to see me. I asked Alvarez and Conklin to stand by, then crossed the floor to the front desk.

James Walsh and I introduced ourselves and shook hands. Walsh was six feet tall, had short grayish-blond hair and big hands and feet, and wore blue trousers and a blue pin-striped jacket. Looked like a former college quarterback now dressed as a white-collar insurance guy.

I brought him directly to the war room. The Jacobi andRobinson murder books were sitting on the table in there next to a folder of articles and photos about Sadie Witt.

This morning’s Orlofsky horror show had not been taped up. There was no evidence that they were connected.

Walsh spent some time looking carefully through the Jacobi and Robinson crime-scene and morgue photos until I said, “Agent Walsh, I’m interested in your thoughts.”

He nodded and said, “Call me Jim.”

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