Baldwin Hills is home to 127 miles of parkland and scrub interspersed with homes, strip malls and a dam. The other thing Baldwin Hills has is seven hundred acres of oil fields studded with twelve hundred wells. Many are out of service, many others are abandoned, but that still leaves four hundred and thirty wells actively pumping away at the stores of oil and natural gas in the middle of the largest, most heavily populated county in the country.
The specific area Finn and Cori were looking for was just off Stocker Street, a winding boulevard that savvy commuters used to cut through the hills between La Cienega and Fairfax to La Brea just before the street dead-ends into the actual park. They turned off Stocker at a dirt driveway cut into the glorified shoulder on the edge of the busy, paved thoroughfare. They bumped over it for a few seconds and then passed through the long, low gate that had been swung back and left open. They continued up the dirt road, stopping beside a black and white and an unmarked unit. Just beyond the cars was a knot of three men standing between two wells and behind a small area cordoned off with yellow tape.
Cori chucked her purse under the seat and together she and Finn walked over the dry ground, sidestepping an irregular swath of wet earth that had come from a point higher than where the men stood.
One of the men wore jeans, a work shirt and heavy boots, the uniformed man was in full regalia with his proper gun belt, knife pleated shirt and badge. The third man wore brown slacks, a short sleeved blue shirt and a tie that was too wide to be considered fashionable. That man was slender but moon-faced. His thin blond hair seemed to ruffle despite the fact that the air was still. That man was the one Finn wanted.
"Detective Crane?" Finn called to the moon-faced man when they were within polite hailing distance.
Detective Crane looked up, said something to the other two men and walked around the yellow tape to greet them.
"I saw your communiqué—" Detective Crane said.
"You sent an alert when there was no jacket?" Cori muttered.
"And I thought this might be something—" Crane went on.
"Only after you knew," Finn whispered back.
"—that would interest you."
Crane shook their hands and then led them back to the others.
"This is Officer Friedman who responded and Mr. Brison."
The man in the work clothes said: "Tim. Tim's fine."
"Good to meet you." Finn introduced himself and Cori as they moved around the taped perimeter. He pushed his jacket back and put his hands on his hips. He raised his brows when he looked Tim's way. "I'm thinking it is you who found the body?"
"I did," he answered. "And I have to tell you it wasn't the way I wanted to end my day."
"I'm sure he feels the same way." Finn hunkered down to view the body lying in the shallow grave.
"That's got to be cop humor, right?" the man said without appreciation.
"A little ha-ha gets us through the hours," Cori answered, finding it interesting how civilians reacted when faced with a situation like this.
Some were so unsettled that they fell apart, were rendered speechless or became befuddled. Others wanted to be important so they dogged an investigator, plying them with information that usually had no basis in fact. By the time cocktail hour rolled around they would be boasting that they had been indispensable to a criminal investigation. Still others, like Tim, were pale and wide-eyed, ready to do their civic duty but hoping they didn't have to do it too long.
"How is it you found him?" Finn asked.
"I come out and do a couple checks once a month on the wells that are still in service. These weren't on the schedule until next month, but there's a shack a ways up where we keep paperwork and maps and stuff. It's got electricity and a bathroom.
"Anyway, I stopped to hit the John and then I was headed over there." He pointed away from the area in which they stood. "That's when I noticed the ground was wet. I thought maybe a water pipe broke, but that would have seeped up, not run down. There are other water supplies for fire hook ups and such. I saw one of them was broke, so I did a temporary fix. I start back to where I was going but changed my mind and followed the trail. I figured that it would be better to know sooner than later if the water damaged anything. Not that there's much around here that could be water damaged, but never say never. Anyway, I followed the flow and that's when I saw him. There had been just enough water to wash away some of the topsoil. I only saw his nose and part of his head and I gotta tell you, I seriously freaked out. I called you guys. I guess he's all yours now."
When Tim was done speaking, they all looked at the dead man lying on his back in the hole. Most of the dirt covering him had been cleared away but they could see that the water had penetrated the hole slightly below chest level. They could make out the precision of the grave's edges where they had not been damaged by the flow.
"Did you touch anything? Move anything?" Finn asked.
"No. I retraced my steps exactly when I went to make the call," Tim said. "I know it's dumb but I remember hearing that on T.V. You know, go back the way you came?"
"Sometimes television gets it right," Finn assured him.
"We uncovered the rest of him," Detective Crane said.
"You got pictures?" Cori asked.
"We did. The photographer's already come and gone," Detective Crane said. "I'm assuming you'll be wanting a copy or two."
"You assume correctly. Thank you," Finn said.
Cori moved to stand behind him, her eyes on the man in the grave. One look and she knew exactly why they were there. The deceased was Hispanic, young, dark haired, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five and very dead. She leaned over Finn's shoulder.
"Is that him?" she asked.
Finn shook his head and then stood up, "No, it's not Pacal."
He reached into his breast pocket and took out the picture of Gregorio's son. He held it for Cori to see.
"Not him either," she sighed.
"But still not good. They could all be brothers." Finn turned to Detective Crane. "So what are you thinking, sir?"
"I'm thinking someone here needs to make sure that gate is locked so people can't get in and do their mischief," Crane said. "Whoever did this must have driven right up. There would be too many people passing on Stocker if the perp tried to lug a body over the fence. Even if it were midnight, there would be too many cars to chance it."
"Is that gate ever locked?" Cori looked at Tim.
"It's supposed to be." He moved from foot to foot, in an anxious little dance that took him further from the grave with each step. "Mostly it's not. There are so many warning signs we all figure nobody's going to come in here and do anything."
"Who would have reason to be here?" Detective Crane asked.
"Eight or ten people that I know of. Geologists are out here some. The oil company people. The city people – regulators – you know. I come once a month to inspect fifty wells on a rotation."
"Can we get the names of those people?" Detective Crane asked.
"I'll give you the site manager's name. He'll know them all."
Detective Crane nodded. The uniformed officer walked away to answer a call in his car while Cori and Finn huddled over the body with their counterpart.
"It was done here, in the trench. There are no drag marks, no blood trails," Finn said.
"Yeah, but look at the ground," Cori pointed out. "The topsoil would blow away so fast if there was a wind and we don't know how long the body's been out here. He could have been dragged and we'd never know it."
"Except the blood pooled under the head and shoulders," Finn pointed out. "There's plenty of it, so I'm thinking he was standing in there when someone split his head open. If he'd been moved, there would either be blood on the ground over there or he would have been drained if he'd come a distance. As it is, the blood is contained right here, in the hole."
"So you think he was forced to dig the grave and then just stood there waiting to have his head taken off?" Detective Crane asked.
"Maybe," Cori muttered, and then she looked at them. "Think about it. If he's like the two men we're looking for, he was waiting for work and someone offered it."
"Then they drive here," Finn said. "There would be no reason to be suspicious. This is a work site, he's told to dig and he does."
"And whoever had him do the digging, takes a shovel or a pick ax or something and wham." Crane put his hands together and raised his arms, bringing them down at the angle that would have caved the man's head in. "Look at the blow, how the skull is cut on an angle. I'd say whatever hit him came from above for sure. If he had seen it coming there was plenty of room to run here, lots of places to hide behind, but he didn't do any of that."
"Charming," Cori drawled. "We've got a lazy, crazy killer. Make 'em dig their own graves and do the deed while they are knee deep. Very clean. There's no struggle. No trace evidence because there's no contact."
"This one is dressed for work." Finn noted the worn jeans, the work shirt buttoned up to the chin, the heavy boots. He also saw that the man's clothes were clean underneath the bloodstains and the mess the dirt and mud had made. That meant one of two things: either this young man took great pride in his own appearance or he had someone looking out for him. A wife? A mother? A father like Gregorio? A girlfriend like Amber?
"Was he just like this? With his hands crossed that way?" Finn asked.
"Yep," Crane answered. "And that would lead me to believe he might have known his attacker. Maybe it was someone close to him like family. I don't think you'd have a random assault where the killer would take that kind of care."
Finn took a few steps to the edge of the grave and looked down the slight incline between where the digging had occurred and the well that continued to pump about fifty feet away. He looked behind him and could not see the shack. The machinery was huge and far enough from the gate to hide any activity from the cars driving by on Stocker. Still, it was close enough to the entrance that, once the deed was done, the getaway would be easy. If the person knew anything about the workings of this field, he would know that there were seldom people around. All this meant that the act had been well planned and it was pure luck that the body had been found.
"Any tracks?" he asked.
"Not really. The ground is dry so it would be like driving in the desert. That's why the body is in good shape. It looks like it happened yesterday, I swear."
"Maybe it did," Cori said.
"I don't think so," Tim said. "Yesterday there was a team up here taking samples. Three guys. I know that for sure 'cause I saw it on the schedule. Oh, and I saw a guy in a white truck about a week ago, maybe less. I'm pretty sure he was alone, but I don't know who he was working for. I think he was over in this area. Honest, I can't be sure."
"Do you know what kind of truck?"
Tim shook his head, "I don't. It was small. I remember that. Small and white. The guy had a hat on. Not a hard hat though, so I'm thinking one of the geologists or someone from the city."
"Was there anything that gave you pause about him?"
"No, not really. He waved. I waved back. That was kind of it. You know how it is when you're working."
"No worries, we'll sort it out. Thank you." Finn turned to Detective Crane. "Looks like you have more people to talk to than it would seem."
"A man may work from sun to sun but a detective's work is never done." Crane grimaced and his two colleagues laughed politely. "Anyway, I've scoured the area. I don't see anything that could really help me. Clean as a whistle. I'm hoping when the coroner pulls the prints we'll get a lead. Then we can work backward from there to see if he fits into your investigation."
"I wouldn't count on you finding out much about him," Finn answered. He pulled out the photographs to show Crane, but Cori didn't join them. She didn't want to see Amber in Finn's picture again so she perused the body while her partner filled Crane in.
"I can see the similarities," Crane said. "This will be a bitch of a thing to solve if we've got a serial killer who's after undocumented folks. If we can't track the victims, we can't find the killer."
"No." Cori spoke so loudly she surprised the men. She clicked her neck and inclined her head. "No, he's not thinking that there's a serial killer. There's a long way to go before we step into that pile."
Finn stayed silent. Until he saw this body and how closely the dead man resembled the other two, the possibility of a serial killer had not entered his head. Even now it wasn't top of mind but his list of possible outcomes was getting longer by the minute: gang jumps, runaways, return to country of origin, accident, new job, new woman – murder, serial murder.
"Did you see that?" Cori asked. Finn shook off his thoughts when he saw that Cori was hunkered down beside the grave again, pointing at the man's hands. "Right there, under the hands. I'll grab the sleeves if you can snag it, Crane."
"Will do."
From his back pocket he pulled an evidence bag and tweezers. Cori got on her knees. The grave was shallow enough that she could reach the corpse without disturbing the perimeter. She pinched the shirtsleeve on both the top and bottom arms, pulling up gently to give Crane enough wiggle room.
"Got it," he said and held up the tweezers. They could see that the thing he had slid from under the dead man's hands was a piece of paper. Finn moved in closer. Cori stood up to take a look.
"Excuse me, do you need me anymore?"
All heads turned. They had forgotten about Tim.
"No, you can take off," Detective Crane said. "I've got your statement. I appreciate the help. If you think of anything more, give me a call."
Tim waved a hand, not so much an expression of adieu as one of relief that he could put this behind him. Detective Crane dropped the rectangle of paper into the evidence bag.
"May I?" Finn asked and the bag was passed between them.
He held it up for a better look. The light was still decent but, as luck would have it, the water had seeped through to the body where the paper was placed. Most of it had disintegrated and there was little to see. Still, he could make out what appeared to be gold scrollwork on one edge and a spot of what had once been a red color in the middle.
"Any ideas?" Detective Crane asked.
Finn shook his head and handed back the bag even though there was a niggling thought that he did know what this was.
"Have you taken anything else off him?" Cori asked as the coroner's van rumbled up through the oil fields.
"Give me a minute," Detective Crane asked.
He went to meet the van and as he passed Officer Friedman, he said a few words. A second later the black and white was gone back to patrol. Cori and Finn stepped aside to let the coroner's assistants do their job. On his way back, Crane stopped at his car and when he got to Cori and Finn he held out two more evidence bags. Cori took one and Finn the other.
"I've got a picture of a girl in a gown." Cori said and turned it for Finn to see. The girl was beautiful and very young. She wore a full white dress but no veil. "Looks like a Quinceneara picture. You know, a coming out party for Hispanic girls when they reach fifteen. What have you got?"
Finn held up his bag. "A receipt from a McDonalds – on Chestnut Street. The same corner where Pacal picked up work."