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what's important.
     
    "Negative." His eyes widen and although Pitt can't be sure, they seem to start watering. "We've taken a statement from some of the neighbors. Victim's name is Evelyn Crest, seventeen years old. She was raised by a single dad. He's a truck driver. Dispatch got a hold of him in Bullhead City, Arizona. He was pretty tore up about it."
     
    Pitt absorbs all of the information for a moment. "And the Chief?"
     
    "Dispatch says he ain't even been in the office yet."
     
    Pitt runs his hand through his hair for a moment. "Dammit Geoff, where the hell are you ever," he mutters. "Okay, well... obviously we've got the scene protected and secured until Riverside gets here. I don't know about you, but I'm not going back in there -" he gestures to the bedroom- "until they need to be escorted in. It's like being led through a nightmare in there."
     
    Leonard Robinson- whom Pitt had thrown off a couch at the first murder scene- is assigned to the phones back at the station, while Officer Munsell performs his grim duty for a second time, photographing the graphic murder scene. Munsell is one of the oldest officers on the force, and Pitt knows him well enough to detect an unusual amount of tension in his face as he walks through a relentless procession of flash photography, with each explosion of light that accompanies every snap of the shutter eerily reminiscent of lightning.
     
    The Latent Prints Section of the Riverside Sherrif's Office spends at least two hours dusting the house for prints; a total of fifty lifts are taken from the residence. The County Coroner's office asks the police not to touch the body until a rep from their office has examined it. Pitt sighs heavily as he watches the coroner's people cover and place the body on a stretcher cart and mutters to Clarence. "It's like we've got two picture puzzles here, neither one of them complete." Pitt shoots him a glance, his anger at not being contacted long gone. "Come on, I need some air."
     
    Both men are immediately verbally assaulted- from a distance- by a gaggle of reporters, a gathering much larger than the one from a few weeks ago. Pitt stands stunned and angry for a moment, taking in their relentless insensitivity. His eyes dart around and spot- among other things- a cameraman from KNXT in Los Angeles, a reporter with a microphone flag from KXFM, and the reporter he knows through the Lion's Club. 
     
    "How old is she? Was anything stolen? Detective Pitt, what do you think the motive is? Was she smoking?"
     
    Pitt can do little more than shake his head in disgust, and deliberately turn his back to them. Adding insult to injury, he hears the ice cream man's musical truck- usually a welcome sound, all summer long- approaching. After a moment of listening to the truck's incessant, tinny warble, Clarence manages to articulate what both men are thinking: "Looks like Marty's gonna cash in with a few rocket pops over that dead girl's body." Pitt nods his head in grim agreement- but also hopes no one else overheard Clarence's somewhat inappropriate choice of words.
     
    After a moment or so of the two men watching excited, chattering children crowding around the ice cream truck, Clarence suddenly lets loose with one of his trademark non sequiturs. "Andy, did I ever tell you about that roach coach in Fresno?"
     
    Pitt looks at Clarence, always amazed at his propensity for odd remarks at the weirdest of times. "What are you talking about?"
     
    "This was back when I lived in Bakersfield. I'd just gotten my first job as a security guard in Fresno. Even though it was a couple hours drive, it was work. It was a big construction site, and durin' the day I'd do some light work helpin' pick up the place, then at night I'd work a security detail." As Clarence settles into his storytelling rhythm, J.C. saunters over, his arms folded, apparently drawn in by Clarence's monologue.
     
    "It was kinda stupid, but I guess the contractors didn't want nobody messin' with