Bodhi nodded. We led them to the bodies. Troy shook as if palsied and a light sheen of perspiration covered his face. He staggered to a chair and sat down before he fell.
He whispered, “I didn’t realize it would be so terrible, so much blood.” This wasn’t a scene staged with special effects, and these real murders shocked the blond actor to his heels. Bodhi cried, but stayed strong as she held Amber’s hand.
I heard several sirens approaching and said, “We need to move outside.”
Bodhi turned, and without a word led us from the mansion to await the approaching police cars. While we walked, I called Wilson and told him. He cursed and said he would leave Las Vegas on the first plane back to Los Angeles. He asked, “Davenport, did he get any of them?”
“Looked like it. Two large blood pools, but the bodies aren’t there. He stood his post, Wilson. He was a good man.” We hung up, and I turned toward the sirens and lights.
At least twenty vehicles came racing through the gate and all stopped as close to the front entrance as they could, which blocked Shamu in so we couldn’t leave if we wanted to.
A tall, handsome silver-haired officer with captain’s bars led the police to us. “I’m Captain Hancock. Please identify yourselves.”
We did, and Hancock set us up for statements. He kept me close, saying, “You went through the house rather than calling us?”
“We hoped to find survivor
s and didn’t feel we had a lot of time to do it. We thought the killers might still be on scene.”
“What’s your background, Mr. Baca?” I gave him a brief one, and Hondo’s, too. He said, “What do you think the motive is behind the attacks?”
“I don’t know. It seems too vicious to be random, and too well planned. I don’t know how many people did this, but there had to be at least a half-dozen.” I paused, “Unless it has to do with the messages they wrote on the wall.”
Hancock’s eyes turned bleak, “What messages?” I took him to the scene and let him read it. He said, “In the victim’s blood.”
“I think so.”
The forensics people arrived and we left the mansion to stand in the yard. People would ask us questions, then get us to sign statements, and ten minutes later another officer or Detective would ask us more questions we would answer and sign.
The media arrived in full force. News helicopters hovered and buzzed over the mansion and grounds like so many hummingbirds after nectar, and others on foot could be seen climbing the fence to take photos and videos. Another dozen who were known to the police mingled with them and us, taking notes, videos, photos, and going live on the air with us in the background as their partner worked the camera to send the feeds to the station.
When we left eight hours later, everyone felt emotionally exhausted. Bodhi and Troy drove to her place in Venice, and Amber, Hondo, and I went to our office.
Archie stood by our door, looking grim. We parked and as we approached I saw the hurt in his eyes. I didn’t say anything, just opened the door and we all entered.
Amber went to Archie and hugged his neck, weeping in silence. His eyes glistened when she stepped back. I said, “Archie, I’m sorry–“
“You don’t need to say it.” He wiped his eyes and asked, “How’s Bodhi?”
Hondo said, “Like you’d expect, but she’s tougher than people think.”
“She takes after Derek and Sylvia.”
I said, “She does, there’s steel in her.”
“Tell me about the murders. All of it.”
I said, “It was bad, Archie.”
He said, “I still want to hear it, and yours and Hondo’s take on it, too.”
I nodded. Hondo and I alternated speaking, and Amber added comments in a few places. When I mentioned the words scrawled on the wall, Archie straightened. “Almost like they’re copying a forty-year old crime.”
“I thought so, too.”
“But why? It’s not to start a stupid revolution.”
“I don’t know, Arch. But we’re going to see if we can find out.”