Angel of the Dark

Someone said, “Maybe they were too heavy? The guy was on his own.”

“We’re quite sure about that, are we?” asked Danny.

“Yes, sir,” said Detective Henning. “Forensics confirmed there were only one set of prints found in the house besides those of the family and staff. But in any case the paintings weren’t heavy. All three were small enough for one man to carry and they had a combined value of over thirty million dollars. But our guy chose the miniatures, just about the only antiques in Jakes’s collection.”

“Were they valuable?” asked Danny.

“It’s all relative. They were worth a couple hundred thousand each, so maybe a million bucks in total. They’re family portraits from the nineteenth century, mostly European. The market for them is pretty small, which makes them our best bet by far on the tracing-stolen-goods route. I got the name of a local expert. He lives in Venice Beach. I’m meeting him this afternoon.”

“Good,” said Danny. “Anyone else?”

The rest of the team reported their “progress,” such as it was. The climbing ropes used to bind the couple were a generic brand that could have been purchased at any camping or sporting-goods store. The knot the killer used to bind the couple together was complicated—a double half hitch—another sign, if they needed it, that they were looking for a professional criminal. But other than that there was precious little physical evidence of any worth. The blood and semen tests didn’t match any in the nationwide database.

“What about Jakes’s background? Anything circumstantial that might help us?”

The short answer to that was no. Andrew Jakes’s business dealings had been clean as a whistle. He was a prominent philanthropist, not to mention a significant donor to the LAPD’s Policemen’s Benevolent Association.

Danny thought, I knew I’d heard the name somewhere. Strange a charitable guy like that left nothing to good causes in his will.

The old man had no known enemies, and no family, close or otherwise, other than an ex-wife he’d divorced more than twenty-five years earlier who was now happily remarried and living in Fresno.

The door opened suddenly. Officer John Bolt, a shy redhead and one of the most junior members of Danny’s team, burst into the room clutching a piece of paper. Everybody looked up.

“Mrs. Jakes’s lawyer just released a statement.”

The mention of Lyle Renalto made Danny’s shoulders tense. Detective Henning’s background search on Renalto had come up with nothing out of the ordinary, but Danny’s suspicions lingered.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Bolt. What does she say?”

“She’s giving away all the money she inherits from her husband’s estate to children’s charities.”

Danny said, “Not all of it, surely?”

Bolt handed Danny the paper. “Every penny, sir. Over four hundred million dollars.”

Reading the statement, Danny felt a strange sense of elation.

I knew she wasn’t a gold digger. I just sensed it. I gotta learn to trust my instincts more.

AN HOUR LATER, DANNY PULLED UP outside the gates of a large, neo-Tudor mansion in Beverly Hills. Twenty-twenty Canon Drive was the address Angela Jakes gave when she was released from the hospital. It belonged to a friend.

“I can’t go back to Loma Vista, Detective,” she’d explained to Danny. “It’s too painful. I’ll stay with a friend until the estate is sold.”

A uniformed maid showed Danny through to a warm, sunny sitting room filled with overstuffed couches and big vases of heavily scented freesias and lilies. It was a feminine room, and Angela Jakes looked quite at home in it, walking over to greet Danny in bare feet and jeans. It was now two weeks since the attack and the bruises to her face had mellowed to a soft apricot yellow. For the first time Danny could see the color of her eyes: a rich, liquid brown, like melted chocolate. No woman had a right to be that beautiful.

“Detective.” She shook his hand, smiling. Danny felt his mouth go dry. “Is there any news? Have you found him yet?”

“Not yet.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face and Danny felt disproportionately upset. Angela Jakes was the last woman on earth he wanted to disappoint.

“We’re still in the early stages of our investigation, Mrs. Jakes,” he assured her. “We’ll find him.”

Angela sat down on one of the couches and gestured for Danny to do the same. “Please, call me Angela. Can I get you anything? Some tea perhaps.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Danny loosened his tie. Is it me, or is it hot in here? “I wanted to ask you a couple more questions if I may. About your marriage.”

Angela looked perplexed. “My marriage?”