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were a few seconds of silence, then, "No answer to the page or land line." Majors keyed the radio, and ordered dispatch to notify the Operation Center. "Advise them we'll need Management Control out here. And the Medical Examiner. Code Two." "Ten four." The Op Center would notify everyone necessary, including my boss, the crime scene investigators, Management Control, and the DNS office, who would send out their own investigators. That done, Majors retreated to his patrol car. Dr. Mead-Scolari had been a longtime family friend of his wife, a nurse at San Francisco General Hospital. I saw him on the phone, and I suspected his wife was on the other end. He blinked his eyes, and I turned away, giving him the privacy I wished for myself "You," I said to an officer standing openmouthed at the sight of his lieutenant's vulnerability. "Get on the air.
     
    I need tarps, Code Two. After that, start a crime scene log.
     
    I want the name and division of every person who shows up or who's been here."
     
    "Me?" His face registered momentary surprise at my orders.
     
    "Yes, officer. You." He looked back at the lieutenant, then me, before nodding and heading to his patrol car to make the necessary calls. I could understand his confusion. Majors should be out here doing this.
    But until he composed himself, and until I was relieved, I would do it for him. The news of the doctor's death spread quickly, and it wasn't long before the press arrived, their cameras capturing our every move.
    One or two reporters at the scene was understandable, they monitored the scanners. But the sheer numbers of reporters present told me they were aware that this was no simple homicide. I wondered who had notified them. Immediately I enlarged the perimeter of my crime scene, calling for additional units to cordon off the area with yellow tape, keeping the reporters at bay. Surveying the area, I realized there were still two officers standing in the midst of the taped-off area. I wanted the parking lot empty of all officers. I didn't want the scene contaminated.
    Coming up behind them, I tapped each on the shoulder, indicated they should follow me. Rookies. The taller of the two didn't even look old enough to shave. I recognized him from the warehouse. Robertson, the officer who reminded me of my brother. "Weren't you working day shift?"
    I asked him when I'd gotten them away from the Range Rover and out of sight of the cameras. "Overtime." Judging from the pallor of his face, I was surprised he got that much out. Seeing a frozen body was one thing, a fresh murder another, especially to the uninitiated. It wasn't that experience brought immunity; rather, that I'd learned to shift into autopilot. I figured what he needed was a task to keep busy, keep from picturing the morbid scene. He'd see it enough when he went to bed. "I want each of you to get your notebooks, canvass the area, and write down every license number and VIN on every vehicle within a two-block radius.
    That means every driveway, parking lot, alley, and anywhere else a car is parked." Robertson's hand went to his back pocket, feeling for his notebook. "VINS too?" he questioned, undoubtedly thinking of the extra time. "If the suspect vehicle's out there, they could've changed plates.
    We won't know until we run them all." I glanced across the lot to a narrow, dark walkway that led to Yen King's, a Chinese restaurant Scolari frequented. At the autopsy, his wife had mentioned they were meeting for dinner. Knowing it would be done anyway, I assigned two more officers to canvass each of the surrounding businesses, including Yen King s. It wasn't long before they came back with the news that Scolari had been there, and ordered takeout dinner for two. As a result, Majors deployed several radio cars to swing by Scolari's apartment to see if he'd been there. After they left, and while I waited for the crime scene investigators, I turned on my Streamlight and began a search of the parking lot for