Roadside Crosses

thing.”
    “A . . . what’s that, Charles?” Dance asked.
    “That guy in New York. Leaving notes, shooting people.”
    “Oh, that was a movie.” TJ was their referencelibrarian of popular culture. “Spike Lee. The killer was Son of Sam.”
    “I know,” Overby said quickly. “Just making a pun. Son and Summer.”
    “We don’t have any evidence one way or the other. We don’t know anything yet, really.”
    Overby was nodding. He never liked not having answers. For the press, for his bosses in Sacramento. That made him edgy, which in turn made everybody else edgy too. When his predecessor, Stan Fishburne, had had to retire unexpectedly on a medical and Overby had assumed the job, dismay was the general mood. Fishburne was the agents’ advocate; he’d take on anybody he needed to in supporting them. Overby had a different style. Very different.
    “I got a call from the AG already.” Their ultimate boss. “Made the news in Sacramento. CNN too. I’ll have to call him back. I wish we had something specific.”
    “We should know more soon.”
    “What’re the odds that it was just a prank gone bad? Like hazing the pledges. Fraternity or sorority thing. We all did that in college, didn’t we?”
    Dance and O’Neil hadn’t been Greek. She doubted TJ had been, and Rey Carraneo had gotten his bachelor’s in criminal justice at night while working two jobs.
    “Pretty grim for a practical joke,” O’Neil said.
    “Well, let’s keep it as an option. I just want to make sure that we stay away from panic. That won’t help anything. Downplay any serial-actor angle. And don’t mention the cross. We’re still reeling from thatcase earlier in the month, the Pell thing.” He blinked. “How did the deposition go, by the way?”
    “A delay.” Had he not listened to her message at all?
    “That’s good.”
    “Good?” Dance was still furious about the motion to dismiss.
    Overby blinked. “I mean it frees you up to run this Roadside Cross Case.”
    Thinking about her old boss. Nostalgia can be such sweet pain.
    “What are the next steps?” Overby asked.
    “TJ’s checking out the security cameras at the stores and car dealerships near where the cross was left.” She turned to Carraneo. “And, Rey, could you canvass around the parking lot where Tammy was abducted?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “What’re you working on now, Michael, at MCSO?” Overby asked.
    “Running a gang killing, then the Container Case.”
    “Oh, that.”
    The Peninsula had been largely immune to terrorist threats. There were no major seaports here, only fishing docks, and the airport was small and had good security. But a month or so ago a shipping container had been smuggled off a cargo ship from Indonesia docked in Oakland and loaded on a truck headed south toward L.A. A report suggested that it had gotten as far as Salinas, where, possibly, the contents had been removed, hidden and then transferred to other trucks for forward routing.
    Those contents might’ve been contraband—drugs,weapons . . . or, as another credible intelligence report went, human beings sneaking into the country. Indonesia had the largest Islamic population in the world and a number of dangerous extremist cells. Homeland Security was understandably concerned.
    “But,” O’Neil added, “I can put that on hold for a day or two.”
    “Good,” Overby said, relieved that the Roadside Cross Case would be task-forced. He was forever looking for ways to spread the risk if an investigation went bad, even if it meant sharing the glory.
    Dance was simply pleased she and O’Neil would be working together.
    O’Neil said, “I’ll get the final crime scene report from Peter Bennington.”
    O’Neil’s background wasn’t specific to forensic science, but the solid, dogged cop relied on traditional techniques for solving crimes: research, canvassing and crime scene analysis. Occasionally head-butting. Whatever his concoction of techniques, though, the senior detective was good at his job. He had one of the highest arrest—and more important— conviction records in the history of the office.
    Dance glanced at her watch. “And I’ll go interview the witness.”
    Overby was silent for a moment. “Witness? I didn’t know there was one.”
    Dance didn’t tell him that that very information too was in the message she’d left her boss. “Yep, there is,” she said, and slung her purse over her shoulder, heading out of the door.

Chapter 4
    “OH,