The prostitutes ball

Chapter 29

"Me and Eddie also thought the murder-suicide angle was bogus," McKnight began. "There were a lot of little things that were pointing in the other direction. Like Vulcuna killing his daughter with a fucking hammer. I don't see the guy beating her bloody like that. Everything we found out said he doted on that kid. He was devoted to her. His wife too.

"And the bullshit suicide note the Divine Comedy thing. Who leaves that kind of suicide note? In my opinion, that passage was picked by somebody to make it look like he killed himself."

We were all thinking the same way.

"Then there was the bedroom where he died. Vulcuna bled all over the bed but other than that it was a very clean crime scene. Me and Norris also suspected he mighta got shot elsewhere then was moved upstairs, where he bled out. If not that, then somebody came in and cleaned up the bedroom cause there was no blood spatter on the headboard or wall near where he died."

"So why did you write it up as a murder-suicide?" I asked.

"We didn't. We were working it as a triple 187, and we told our supervisor, Lieutenant White in Hollywood station, that's how we saw it. Nine hours into the investigation, while we were still doing our initial evidence pull, we get called back in to see the Loo and he takes us to Parker Center. We go into the Chief of Detectives' office where we're told that the case was over and that the coroner has just ruled it a murder-suicide. We're also told that the super chief himself has taken an interest in the case and also wanted it booked as self-inflicted."

This memory troubled him. He took another pull off the bottle of beer before going on.

"There was some guy in an expensive suit standing there a big, lean, black-haired duck with a pale complexion looked to us like some kinda power player. He was never introduced, but me and Ed thought he was maybe from Eagle's Nest Studios or maybe even the mayor's office."

"Stender Sheedy?"

"Don't know his name. Never found out. Never saw him again. But it was real clear to us that a lot of people high up didn't want this case worked and the mayor and super chief were definitely among them. It was closed that same night and we got reassigned. There was nothing me and Ed could do about it. We weren't happy, but we moved on."

He reached into the open box containing the bloody clothing and pulled out a frilly, bloodstained blouse in a cellophane bag.

"Look at this. His daughter was wearing it. Beat the poor girl's face flat. No dad did that, 'specially one who loved his daughter like Vulcuna did. Whoever did this didn't know that little girl. The killer was a cold-ass impersonal monster."

"So if you and Norris were right, and Vulcuna didn't kill his wife and daughter and then shoot himself, that makes this a triple murder with the killer still at large," Hitch said.

McKnight dropped the bloody blouse back into the box and then picked up the bag holding the Luger. "You're right. And you're also right about that razor thing. Guy who's about to kill himself doesn't reload after a test shot. That's fucking ridiculous."

We all sat in silence thinking about it.

"But you got almost no chance of proving what really happened," McKnight finally continued. "It was more than twenty-five years ago. Lieutenant White has gone to the angels, the old mayor and police chief are retired. Nobody will talk to you about Vulcuna. Case has frostbite."

"There's still a few things we can do now, that you and Norris didn't have available back then," I said. "Like, we could go into that house and spray the bedroom with Luminol. Doesn't matter if somebody came in later and cleaned the headboard and wall. As you know, these new forensic methods will pick up blood traces and cerebral spinal fluid in the walls and floors even after twenty-five-plus years. If Vulcuna got shot in the backyard like we think, then the bedroom won't fluoresce when we Luminol it, making his death a murder."

We all looked at one another. Finally McKnight broke the silence.

"This case has pissed me off for over a quarter century," he said. "It wasn't that me and Eddie were afraid to work it but once it was closed we had no way to proceed. If I can do anything to help you now, I'm in."

"We may need you to say some of this to our captain," I told him. "He's a straight shooter."

"You tell me when and I'll be there."

We shook hands all around and Hitch and I gathered up the evidence boxes. McKnight told us we didn't need a key to open the gate from the inside so we left him with his beer and carried the boxes up the ramp.

As we were loading them into the Acura, Hitch turned to face me. "Luminol. That's a good idea, homes."

"Then let's do it."

"How?" he said. "Stender Sheedy Sr. will fight a search warrant. If we make an illegal entry and find something that could reopen Vulcuna, we'll lose it all in court on the bad search."

"Stender Sheedy may not want us in there, but he's not the owner of the Skyline property," I said. "Neither is Thayer Dunbar. The owner of record is the Dorothy White Foundation, and if I recall, the legal proprietor and sole beneficiary is Brooks Dunbar. Let's get little Brooksie to agree to the warrant. I don't think he much cares what his father or mother think at least not since they cut him off."

"He's a punk. I doubt he's gonna help us," Hitch said.

"I think he will. He just needs the right kind of motivation."