the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) by Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell Page B

yard around to the side where the smaller bullet had been uncovered. There, built into the eaves of the trash shed, was a new-looking video surveillance camera in a waterproof box that was so well hidden that everybody had missed it the night before. If it had a wide-angle lens, it would cover the entire pool area.
    "Hello, hello," I said, standing under the camera and sighting in the genera] direction it was pointed.
    "I love it when we catch the killing on tape," Hitch said. "It really fucks with the defense attorneys head."
    We followed the hidden ground cable to where it led into the mansion through a small hole drilled in the stucco at the base of the exterior wall.
    "Video deck's inside the main house," I said. "Call Jeb and see if he can get us a warrant, or better still, to save all that trouble, maybe somebody from the Dorothy White Foundation will come out here and just open this up for us. Give us verbal permission to go inside."
    While Hitch made the call, I walked around the side of the mansion and looked through every available window.
    I hadn't done it the night before because I was positive that the house was deserted. I should have, because by the light of day, even though the windows were dirty, I could now see that the mansion still had some furniture inside, unusual for a deserted house.
    Making this discovery even more intriguing was the fact that through one window I could just barely see a fully decorated Christmas tree standing on the far side of the solarium in the living room. The tree looked to be about seven feet tall and there were a lot of unopened Christmas gifts underneath.
    Hitch came back after making his call and found me peering through the big round solarium window. "Jeb already called the lawyer at the foundation last night. They're gonna open this up for us without a warrant. What ya got?" he asked.
    I pointed and he looked through the dirty glass at the sparsely furnished room and the fully decked-out tree and presents barely visible in the living room beyond.
    "Thought nobody lived here," he said.
    "Somebody's sure as hell all ready for Christmas," I said.
    "Act One was on life support but its sure got a nice heartbeat now" Hitch replied.
    "We've gotta go through this house," I said. "If somebody's in there then they could be a witness to the shooting." "Right."
    "Why would everybody lie about this?"
    Jeb Calloway arrived in about an hour, followed a few minutes later by Stender Sheedy Sr.
    The legendary letterhead partner of Sheedy, Devine & Lipscomb turned out to be a seventy-year-old gray eminence in a charcoal suit with hair the color of roadside snow and such a pale complexion that it looked like he never got into the sun.
    His manner indicated he was accustomed to being treated with deference. The only cops he'd ever dealt with had probably been holding traffic citations.
    "I don't have much time," he announced abruptly. "I came personally because I conversed with Thayer Dunbar in Houston this morning and he's getting extremely annoyed. He doesn't want the house involved with all this."
    What that had to do with a triple murder escaped me.
    Stender Senior had a large ring of keys in his hand and walked past the pool where Chrissy and Paula had died without even bothering to glance at the blood-tinged water. Then he pulled up the ball of keys and, like a school janitor about to open a delinquent's locker, started trying keys in the heavy Yale padlock.
    "We were told that nobody lived here," I said.
    "Nobody does," he replied curtly.
    "There's a Christmas tree in the living room with unopened presents under it."
    He didn't bother answering as he continued to search for the right key.
    "It's almost Christmas," I persisted. "That tells me somebody is living here."
    He finally found one that worked, slipped it in, and twisted the padlock open. Then, once it was off, he turned and grimaced at me, exposing teeth almost the size and color of yellowing piano keys.
    "Nobody lives in this