She nodded. “Your report said there was a party on the state park side that night, lots of music, lots of dancing. Beer and lots of pot, too, I bet. Not the kind of party where everyone knows everyone else. He picked a good night for killing her.”
Daniel said, “I went back every night for a week and talked to anyone who showed up. A couple of nights I even took a six-pack of beer to get them to believe I wasn’t there to bust them. But nothing.”
They walked back outside into the bright sunlight, Cam mourning the young, vibrant life, violently ended with no perpetrator in sight. There was no sign of Lance and the other two starving actors.
15
* * *
“Camilla DuBois! My darling!”
Daniel turned to Cam. “I know about Camilla, but who’s DuBois?”
“Don’t go there.” A big smile bloomed on Cam’s face. “Speaking of key local informants, there’s one of them—my mom, Lisabeth Wittier. Come on, Daniel, let’s go talk to my folks.”
Cam jogged down the road to meet the woman walking toward them. She hugged her and waved back at Daniel. Daniel drove the Crown Vic, parked it, and stepped out, watching them. Her mom was talking nonstop, laughing and patting Cam’s face, her shoulder, her hair, whatever part she could reach, since Cam topped her by a good eight inches. An older man tall enough to be a forward for the Warriors back in the day came loping out of the house behind them. Both of them were handsome, fit and full of life, probably knockouts when they were younger. Daniel recognized them from a few movies and TV shows.
He was introduced, his hand pumped enthusiastically. “Call me Lisabeth, please, Detective Montoya, otherwise I’ll feel like your mother, and believe me, one adult child is enough.”
Cam’s dad gave him an appraising look and a firm no-nonsense handshake. “And I’d like you to call me Joel, otherwise I’ll feel like my dad, who made all six of us boys call him Mr. Wittier. Makes me shudder to think of it. I recognize you from the time of Constance’s murder, Detective Montoya. You were here so often, I wanted to offer you a bed. I bet some of the neighbors did, too. It’s a pity the killer hasn’t been caught. We know it was you who identified him as a serial killer, that there were two other women he’d killed before Constance. It’s still hard to accept that something like this could happen here in the Colony.”
“Or anywhere at all, Joel,” Daniel said. “I’m sure you’re glad your daughter’s here to help us now.”
“You’ll see soon enough she’s got a very good mix of our two brains, makes her unstoppable.” Joel paused a moment. “It would have made her a great actress, but never mind that.”
Lisabeth said, “Cammie, we’ve got iced tea and sugar cookies ready for you, made with Splenda of course, on the back porch. Come in, come in. You can take the time, can’t you? We can fill you and Detective Montoya in on everything going on here.”
“Do call me Daniel.”
Lisabeth beamed at him. “A very good name, solid and trustworthy.”
Cam took her mother’s arm. “Come on, guys, you’re not going to try to quarterback this whole business, are you? Dreyfus already told me he’d ordered you to keep out of it.”
“Of course not, dear, but your father and I see things here, of course, how could we not? We hear things, too, and we love to talk to people. I guess I never should have told Dreyfus that Joel slept out under the palm tree the night after Connie’s murder, hoping the killer would return to the scene of the crime. He had a prop Beretta.”
Cam’s blood froze. “Mom, Dad, this isn’t the silver screen with a scripted ending, this is real, and this guy—this serial killer—he’s a cold-blooded murderer. So keep out of it. No more sleep-outs. Okay? Don’t listen, don’t see, don’t talk. If I have a question, I’ll ask you.”
“Dear, you know your dad and I are always careful. But Connie’s murder was a huge shock here, and all our neighbors want to talk about it, trade theories, you know how it goes.”
Lisabeth looked at Daniel for support. He started to open his mouth, and closed it. Better to let Cam deal with her parents.
“We’ve only got a few minutes, Mom, then it’s off to LAPD headquarters to meet with the detectives involved with the four cases here in California.”
“Sure wish I could be there with you, princess,” Joel said. “I’ve had roles playing LAPD before, but can you imagine what I’d pick up at a meeting like that? Have you thought about how you’re going to handle those detectives who are focused on throwing you off a cliff? I mean, a Fed prying into their business. You sure Detective Montoya is going to have your back? Is he on your side?”
She turned to Daniel. “Are you on my side?”
He grinned back at her. “Depends on whether you’ve decided I’m not a worthless yahoo.”
Good shot, Montoya. Cam said, “It’s still a little soon, but I’ve got to say I’m leaning in your direction.”
Lisabeth said, her beautiful mouth curving up to show a dimple, “Not to worry, that means she likes you, Daniel. Cammie—no, Cam—I think Detective Montoya will make an excellent guard for you. I’m right, aren’t I, Daniel?” Lisabeth Wittier cracked her knuckles.
“Ah, okay, sure. I’ll guard her back.”
Daniel wasn’t about to admit he still wished she was anywhere but here, in his face, in his business. But you didn’t argue with someone’s parents. It was rude, possibly dangerous.
The Wittiers’ house was open, as inviting and colorful as they were—with a few theatrical distractions, like a five-foot-tall giraffe standing by a window. His name was Oslo, and he’d appeared in Bumper Shute, a movie they’d made fifteen years ago, Lisabeth told him over iced tea and sugar cookies made with Splenda. Daniel listened to Cam’s parents volleying their neighbors’ opinions and ideas back and forth, bringing Cam up to date with them, and he soon realized Cam was right—they seemed to know most everything about most everyone who lived in the Colony. He remembered the two other officers assigned to interview the neighbors he hadn’t had time to do himself, and they’d reported nothing of any help. How could that be? He was learning as much about the victim as he had in several weeks of investigating her murder.