31

Lunds stormed to his car. Vaughn watched him drive away, his body still juiced with adrenalin. “Didn’t I warn you?” he muttered. “That guy is trouble.”

After her partner went back inside the station, Davie remained at the picnic table to process what had just happened. She was no shrink so she couldn’t make a diagnosis, but she knew the symptoms of PTSD included sudden outbursts of anger. Given Lunds’s past history with the condition, coupled with the murder of his friends and the attempt on his life, she wondered if all those events had triggered a relapse.

Back at her desk in the squad room, she searched the Internet for every scrap of information she could find on the Vietnam War. Over 58,000 soldiers had died, another 150,000 wounded. She found her uncle’s name on one website. Davie could still visualize his face in the photograph on the fireplace mantel of her parent’s house where the family had lived before her parents divorced and everybody went their separate ways. Her mother still had the photo but over time it had been relegated to a dresser in the spare bedroom.

She returned to the MIA website that Lunds had shown her and was shocked by the number of military personnel still unaccounted for. She pulled up John Latham’s photo again and noted that his hometown was listed as Seattle, Washington. Latham’s parents might not still be living, but he could have other relatives waiting for his remains to be found and one day returned to them. Davie had to find them.

The first order of business was to confirm if Van Kuris had entered the US in the last ten days. It seemed farfetched that he had orchestrated these murders in such a short time, but she had to start somewhere. Eliminating possible suspects was part of the job, as well. She called Quintero and filled him in on the new lead Dag Lunds had provided, and the Seattle angle.

“I’ll ask Striker to follow up with Immigration.”

She ended the call and told her partner what Quintero had said.

Vaughn threw up his hands. “Why Striker? It’s our lead. Quintero is making the Mounted Unit sound better and better.”

“Giddy up.” She grabbed her notebook and walked toward the parking lot.

When they arrived at PAB twenty minutes later, Davie checked in with Quintero and then hunkered down at her desk, searching for information on Latham’s Seattle relatives. Vaughn wandered off to take a phone call just as Detective Striker walked through the door. His jacket was off, his tie was loosened, and he was carrying a stack of papers.

He stopped at her desk and handed them to her. “You may be interested in this. It’s a credit report for Latham’s father, Robert. He’s still living in Seattle with a younger woman. Could be a second wife, but I think it’s his daughter.”

Davie thumbed through the pages of the report. “That was fast. It’s only been thirty minutes since I called Quintero.”

“No reason to sit on the information.”

Davie flipped through the paperwork. “Robert Latham has a lot of credit cards.”

Striker rolled a chair over to her desk and sat. “And a lot of debt. But the balance on each card is paid in full every month. Mr. Latham is in his eighties, and I can’t find any other sources of income except social security and a small pension from a former employer.”

“You think John Latham is sending money to help support his old man?”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. His head was bent, his eyes on the page, giving her a perfect view of his long dark eyelashes. “I ran a title search on Robert Latham’s house. He and his wife borrowed money for a second mortgage shortly after their son went missing. I’m guessing if we get a search warrant for bank records, we’ll find they wired that money to a bank somewhere in Asia right after they got it.”

“Wired it to their son?”

He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Latham was on the run and didn’t speak the language. He needed money to survive, at least until he established his new identity and melted into the population. I’d guess the parents supported him until he got settled.”

Davie kept reading. “This says they paid off both mortgages in the Nineties. Where did they get the cash?”

“Latham was probably established by then. I’m guessing he gave them the money as payback for helping him and maybe continued supplementing their income over the years, especially when they got older.”

Quintero hustled into the room and stopped at Davie’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Striker leaned back in the chair and let Davie tell Quintero about the credit report. It was a generous thing to do.

Quintero turned to Striker. “Did you contact Immigration to see if Kuris entered the country?”

“They’re checking. I’m still waiting to hear back.”

Quintero ran his hand through his hair and paced. “If Latham, or Van Kuris, is back in Hong Kong, he’s out of our reach. Even if we ask local law enforcement to arrest him, they won’t and for sure they won’t extradite him to L.A., especially if they know the death penalty is on the table.”

“If he’s our suspect,” Davie said, “I don’t think he’d leave the US while Lunds is still alive. We need to go to Seattle and interview Latham’s dad. If he supported his son until he got established and is receiving money from him now, the two are still close. If Latham is in the US, it makes sense he’d stop in Seattle for a visit. Even if he didn’t, the dad might know where his son is now.”

“Okay, Richards,” Quintero said. “You and Striker fly up there and see what you can find out.”

Davie didn’t have to look at Jon Striker to know he was staring at her with that unreadable expression of his. “It’s more efficient if I go with my partner.”

Quintero pointed his finger at her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re not in charge here.”

Striker stood, towering over both of them. “I agree with Detective Richards. She and her partner are used to working together. You should send them to Seattle. I’ll stay here and serve a search warrant for records at a local branch of Robert Latham’s bank.“

“You think you’re going to find records from that long ago?” Quintero said.

“A lot of organizations are digitizing old records,” Davie said. “Latham’s bank might be one of them.” Davie’s temple pounded with tension as she waited for Quintero’s decision.

He gave Striker a hard stare and then shook his head. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to travel with her, either.”

She wondered if Striker’s intervention was another magnanimous gesture to a colleague or if Quintero’s assessment was closer to how he felt. It didn’t matter whether Striker wanted to travel with her or not, because knowing she’d be going with Vaughn eased the pressure in her head.

“I’ll call the travel desk and get permission forms,” she said. “Then I’ll book the tickets.”