The shooting had occurred on a Sunday afternoon, when both the streets and beach were wall-to-wall people. Innocent people mixed with gang trash. Gainer’s calm demeanor had rubbed off on everyone as they searched for the wounded and covered ten people who were dead.

Matt turned back to the corpse in the body bag, trying to see through the coating of blood and shattered glass. The lines of the victim’s face and nose. Zeroing in on the left hand, he began searching for a wedding band that Cabrera had already told him would not be there. The joint in the victim’s fourth finger appeared broken, as if the ring had been yanked off with force. He looked back at the gunshot wound on the inside of the victim’s left forearm, calculating the odds of pulling into a parking lot and meeting the three-piece bandit on the night the robber decided to become the world’s next killer.

“You find a weapon?” he said, still thinking it through.

Cabrera shook his head. “On the victim? No. Why?”

“What about the shell casings on the ground? They stood out. They seemed long.”

“Ten-millimeter Auto rounds. Fifteen of them.”

Another memory surfaced. Matt had been reading a brochure about a Glock 20 just a few days ago. The pistol fired 10 mm Auto cartridges and had a magazine capacity of fifteen rounds. The manufacturer had described the semiautomatic as the perfect weapon to deliver a safe and accurate finishing shot when hunting big game, the 10 mm Auto rounds providing maximum ballistic performance and maximum penetrative power. The ultimate force.

The kill after the stickup had been made with a Glock 20, a virtual cannon. One shot would have been enough. This asshole had used all fifteen.

Matt gripped the stretcher to steady himself as it sunk in, his voice barely audible. “You need to call Glendale PD, Denny. Tell them to turn around. They can take the live-in girlfriend home.”

Cabrera looked back in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t her boyfriend.”

“How could you possibly tell?”

Matt turned to the victim’s face, still trying to see through the horror and form a clear picture, still trying to look back in time.

“Because I know him,” he said finally. “We were meeting here for dinner tonight.”

“You know who this is? The guy drives a black SUV?”

Matt shook his head. “He drives a silver Escalade. This must be a loaner.”

“A loaner? How can you be sure? Look at him, Matt. How could anyone be sure?”

Matt tightened his grip on the stretcher and met his partner’s eyes. “His phone, Denny. The knockout punch. The text on his phone came from me. He’s a cop. He’s a detective from North Hollywood.