Private

Copies of Detective Bruno's case notes followed, the pages stapled together and stuffed into a single sleeve. After the notes were transcripts of the interview with the only witness, Christine Castiglia, eleven years old.

Next, Justine looked over the list of stolen property, an itemized account of the contents of Wendy Borman's backpack. A piece of handmade jewelry had also been taken, a gold chain necklace with a gold charm in the shape of a star.

Toward the back of the book was a photograph of Wendy Borman wearing that necklace while she was alive. She was posed standing between her parents. She was already taller than they were, and she had looped her arms over both their shoulders. Wendy had been a grinning, blond-haired girl with an athletic build. She didn't look like she should ever die. How sad was that?

"I'm ready for the contents of the evidence box," Justine said. "I think so, anyway."

Detective Murphy offered Justine latex gloves from a dispenser, then used a pocketknife to slit the red tape around a plain cardboard box. She removed the lid, lifted out a large paper bag, and sliced the seal on that.

Justine was hit with an adrenaline high, a rush of bright anticipation she couldn't control. This was precisely the feeling that had gotten her into forensics and made her good at it. Something here might open a window into the Schoolgirl case.

Maybe it would even reveal a killer.

She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of stretch jeans, size six, and a baby blue jersey-knit top with a scoop neckline.

She plunged her hands into the bag again and brought out a pair of Nike cross-trainers and baby blue socks.

She spread out the clothing, examining where samples had been cut out of the fabric by the LA crime lab.

"I take it the blood belonged to the victim."

Murphy nodded yes.

"I need to borrow her clothes," Justine said.

"Chief Fescoe and DA Petino already okayed their release," said Murphy. "You're the man."

She pushed a form over to Justine and handed her a pen.

"Wendy's left arm," Murphy said. "It was under some garbage bags. The rain didn't soak the sleeve. I'd have your lab check it out. Technology is a lot better now. Especially at a lab like yours at Private."

"Let's keep some hope alive," said Justine.

"No, let's get this bastard," said Detective Murphy, smiling again, but also showing Justine just how tough and relentless she was.

Chapter 69

"YOU REMEMBER THE Wendy Borman case?" asked Justine.

The air smelled of fried fish, fried onions, fried potatoes. Justine sat across a small square table from Christine Castiglia in the Belmont High School cafeteria. The only witness to Wendy Borman's abduction was sixteen now. She was petite, hugging herself, looking up at Justine with big eyes half hidden under thick brown bangs.

You didn't have to be a shrink to see that Christine was afraid. Justine knew to tread carefully, and she wasn't feeling so steady herself. She was desperate for this girl to tell her something that could lead to the Schoolgirl killer before he killed again.

"I was only eleven when it happened," Christine said. "You know that, right?"

"I know." Justine swirled a straw in her plastic cup of ice and Diet Coke. "Can you tell me what you saw anyway? I need to hear it from you."

"Are you thinking those same boys-I guess they're men now-might have killed the girls around here?"

Someone dropped a tub of dishes behind the steam tables. An awful, nerve-rending clatter.

Justine waited out the kids' applause before saying, "It's possible. There was a gap of three years between Wendy Borman and Kayla Brooks. That's why no one thought to connect them. It's why what you witnessed is so important. If Wendy Borman was their first killing, they might have made a mistake."

"It was a plain black van," Christine said. "It stopped in a cross street off Hyperion, and when I looked again, two guys had grabbed this girl. Like, it only took a second? And she was like having a fit or something. They swung her into the van, and then one of them got into the driver's seat and they drove off. I told the police what the driver looked like."

"Wendy Borman was zapped with a stun gun," Justine said. "That was the fit you saw. And your mom didn't see anything?"

Christine shook her head. "I wasn't sure what I'd seen myself. It could've been a commercial between my thoughts-that's how fast it was. I froze, and when my mom turned to see what I was looking at, the van was gone. She didn't believe me-or didn't want to.

"But when it was all over the TV, she finally called the police. My mother believed the TV but not me."

Kids were passing the table, staring at the woman in a business suit having a deep discussion with a kid at their school.

"Tell me about the boy-the one whose face you saw."

"In the drawing the police made, he looked kinda like Clark Kent in the Superman movie. But he didn't exactly look like that. His nose was a bit pointy? And his ears stuck out? I mean-they definitely stuck out."