FOLLOW THE LEADER Chapter 5

Chapter 5



At SFPD Homicide Division, Chief Howell still needed the name of the murdered girl.  Two weeks had passed. Then he received new information from the Intelligence unit.  One of the photos of twelve missing girls showed facial features that closely resembled the dead girl’s.  The missing girl was Katherine Ann Rollins. After a few days they were able to procure her dental charts. Howell assigned Detective Eric Chavez to ask the medical examiner to send him X-rays of the dead girl’s teeth. He would then compare those to the dental charts of the Rollins girl.  On a dark Wednesday morning the X-rays came.

         Chavez put the two together.

         They were a perfect match.

         “Bingo!” Chavez exclaimed.

         “What took you so long?” asked Spears.

         “Don’t you have work to do?”

         “Unlike you, I work fast.”

         “But what do you do? You always got your thumb up your ass.”

Chavez headed for Howell’s office.

         The Chief waved for Olsen, who didn’t see him.

         “Slim!” he called.

         “What’s up?” Olsen asked.

         “My office.”

    

        

         Howell handed Olsen a one-page record, which is all they had. Katherine Rollins had never been arrested.

         Olsen scanned it.

         Name: Katherine Ann Rollins.

         Age: Seventeen.

         Parents: Michael and Joy Rollins.

         Siblings: None.

         School: Lowell.

         Olsen knew that Lowell was the best prep school in the city.

 The Rollins lived in in the leafy and exclusive St. Francis Woods.

         He also knew that Howell was about to assign him to a Death Call. Again. The hardest duty of them all. He would rather walk in on a heated family quarrel. The next worst.

         “What do I need to know about Michael Rollins?” asked Olsen.”

         “Highly successful real estate agent. And remember, Katherine was an only child.”

         Olsen quickly pictured his own brood: three daughters and two sons. He could not bear losing any of them.

         “You’ll do fine said Chief Howell,” and sent Olsen on his way.

         What the Chief did not tell him was that Michael and Joy Rollins would call him personally every weekday. They were more than overwrought parents. They were a pain in the ass.

        
Olsen left the Seventh Street station and drove into St. Francis Woods. Every streetlamp pole and stop sign pole had a sign. He glanced around at the stately homes and perfectly tended lawns and gardens. This was paradise. No cop could afford to live here.

         He watched a gardener trimming a big bush.

         No way in for him, either, he thought.

         Olsen parked his cruiser curbside in front of a big white clapboard two-story with dark green old-fashioned shutters. The house shone brightly in the sun. There was a shiny gnome near the entrance.  A classic rooster weathervane perched on the roof. Traditional. Classic. The kind of home he had always dreamed about.

         The dark green door swung open at once. They had seen him coming.

         Olsen nodded his head but did not smile. As he drew closer he saw that Michael Rollins was wearing a thick knitted woolen sweater vest, the kind he had seen in England. She was blonde. In her long sleeved sweater and perfectly fitted slacks, she reminded him of a movie star. What’s-her-name, with a cute pug nose and friendly, open face. Her face contorting in sorrow now.

         Suddenly her knees buckled. Her husband struggled to hold her up. Rollins motioned with his head for Detective Olsen to come inside.

         No one spoke.

         Olsen entered and the shiny green door closed gently behind him.