Evidence (15 page)

Del
said, “No sweat, Big Guy. Good luck.”

A
uniform drove Bryczinski back to Borodi. I scanned the poly results.

Milo
said, “You see something?”

“Nothing
but truth,” I said. “Especially given the anxious baseline. He’s not a cold
psychopath able to fake the machine.”

Milo
said, “But he is overinvolved with that site. Him and Charlie Rutger.”

“Must
be the edifice complex.”

We
returned to his office, where he picked up a fresh message slip. “Well, well,
well, Professor Ned Holman wants to talk.”

He
returned the call. “Professor? Lieutenant Sturgis … yes, sir, of course I
remember… that so? No prob, I can be at your house in—all right, yes, I know
where it is. An hour would be fine.”

Dropping
the receiver in its cradle, he said, “First time we met him, he was all mellow.
Now just the opposite, definitely something on his mind. Wonder what
his
baseline is.”

Ned
Holman had chosen to meet at a public parking lot in Playa Del Rey, the
westernmost tip of the district where the neighborhood turns to a village and
the ocean washes past dreamily.

Just
a few miles past the Bird Marsh, where the bodies of four women had shown up last
year, minus right hands, and facing east. Milo and Moe Reed had closed that
case, solved two other homicides in the process.

Not a
word about it as we sped past. Like a lot of driven people, he prefers the
agony of living in the moment.

Holman’s
van was pulling into a handicapped slot just as we arrived. Other than us, no
other vehicles. The van’s door glided back, a ramp slid out. By the time we
were out of the unmarked, Holman had rolled down in his chair and was watching
the breakers.

He
wore gray sweats that accentuated the heft of his upper body and tried to do
the same for wasted legs. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair plastered down
hard, to resist the breeze.

We
positioned ourselves between his chair and the sand.

“Thanks
for coming, gentlemen. This is a place I go to relax.”

“What’s on your mind, Professor?”

Holman
watched a solitary beachcomber parallel the tideline, fishing through sand with
a metal detector. Stopping to inspect something shiny, the man tossed it back.

Holman
said, “I see them out here all the time. No one ever finds anything.” Smiling.
“Maybe everything’s already been discovered.”

“Oh,
I don’t know, sir,” said Milo. “My job, I’m learning new stuff all the time.”

“Good
for you.” Holman licked his lips. “This is extremely difficult, but I feel I
need to.”

Thick
fingers drummed the wheels of his chair. “I want to be clear, at the outset: I
love my wife. She takes good care of me.”

Tightening
up on the last three words. “Why should I complain if she has needs?” Holman’s
barrel chest heaved. “Like many people in our situation, Marjie and I engage in
mutual deception. She pretends not to miss what we had, I pretend not to know
she’s pretending.” Inhaling. “Thirty-eight years has cemented our
relationship.”

“Makes
sense,” said Milo.

“So I
don’t blame her,” said Holman. “I won’t claim it doesn’t bother me, but I’m not
tormented.”

The
beachcomber picked up something else. Held it to the light. Discarded it.

Holman
watched with satisfaction. Grew grim. “The ones that peeved me were so-called
friends of mine, and even there, I know I’m being irrational. Two guys, in
particular, part of our social group. After my accident, my relationship with
them changed because it had been based on tennis, basketball, squash, all that
good stuff.”

A heron
soared west. Needle-nosed, blue-gray pterodactyl with a six-foot wingspread.
Stalking my koi pond, the bird would be the enemy. Out here, a magnificent
creature.

Ned
Holman said, “I’m running on because I want you to understand Marjie. She’s not
some slattern, she’s a fine woman.”

A
button-press rotated the chair away from us. We shifted to face him. Western
light limned his bulky frame with a bright silver aura.

“Sometimes, when she goes out, I follow her,” he said.
“Not every time, not even most of the time. I don’t know why I do it. Perhaps
its because when she leaves, the house grows silent in a rather repugnant way.
Somewhat like a mortuary, I suppose, and being alone makes me feel moribund.
Marjie makes it easy, she’s a creature of habit, always ends up in the same
place. Places.”

Milo
looked at me.

I
said, “Where’s that, Professor Holman?”

“In
the common parlance, no-tell motels,” said Holman. “Washington Boulevard, near
the Marina, any of four classy establishments. I station myself across the street.
Used to convince myself I was doing it for Marjie’s sake. So she’d be safe. Of
course, that’s rubbish, I do it for the illusion of control, though I will say
I’m tiring of it. Perhaps someday Marjie will tire, as well.”

I
said, “Four motels, but there was an exception.”

Holman’s
bright blue eyes fixed on mine. “I’m rambling along and you already know the
punch line. Yes, there was an exception, I’d decided not to say anything but
then it bothered me and I felt incumbent to tell you.”

“We
appreciate that.”

“I
hope so … I’d already known about him and Marjie. I’m referring to Backer, of
course. How did I know? Because I’m not an unperceptive dolt. There was an
office get-together for the firm, cheap wine and stale crackers. Marjie thought
it would be good for me to get out. While nibbling, I caught her and Backer
exchanging a glance. Nothing flagrant, but I’ve had training in picking up
nuance and men who’ve been with Marjie get a certain look. Does that sound
paranoid?”

I
said, “There’s paranoia and there’s reasonable anxiety.”

“Yes…
well, I’m not anxious. Not anymore. The game’s become part of our domestic
routine and I find it calms me … comfort of the familiar. In any event, I know
a meaningful glance when I see one. I won’t say it didn’t surprise me, Backer
was younger than Marjie’s usual … companion. That I found a bit disconcerting
but as I
thought about it, what difference did it
make? This isn’t about her feelings for me, it never is, it’s about physicality
and who better than a younger man? So when she told me the following week that
she’d be staying late at the office, I said to myself, Aha, and followed. And
sure enough, Backer’s car was out back and she’d parked right next to him. The
parking lot was small, I clearly couldn’t stay there, and finding parking on
Main Street, even with a handicapped sticker, isn’t easy. Plus, my hot rod’s
not exactly inconspicuous—could I trouble one of you to fetch water from the
van? It’s in a holder just right of the arm-brake.”

I
went over and retrieved a black plastic squeeze bottle. The van’s interior was
spotless, but stale smelling. No obvious evidence of extreme cleanup. When I
got back, Holman was saying, “… so I decided to circle—thank you.” Swigging and
licking his lips. “It didn’t take long for Backer’s BMW to pull out and head
north. I followed, made sure to allow several car lengths—something I’ve picked
up from police shows. Am I right?”

Milo
smiled. “Good technique, Professor Holman.”

“Professor
emeritus, Lieutenant. That’s Latin for has-been. Be that as it may, when Backer
reached Wilshire and kept going, I was surprised. He turned east and continued
beyond Westwood, didn’t turn until Comstock, then headed north, again, to
Sunset. You see where I’m going with this.”

Milo
said, “Borodi Lane.”

“When
I saw the news this morning, I was stunned. Mulled for a while and decided I
needed to call you. Good citizen, and all that.”

“We
really do appreciate it, sir.”

“Do I
get extra points for humiliation? A psychic Purple Heart, perhaps?”

Neither
of us replied.

Holman
said, “Back to Borodi Lane. You’ll be wanting to know exactly when this
occurred, correct?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“And
I can tell you precisely. April second. Right after April
Fools’,
at nine twenty-eight p.m. I keep a log of Marjie’s adventures. But this turned
out
not
to be Marjie’s adventure. I should’ve known, she really is a
creature of habit, no reason for her to break the pattern.”

She
already had, behind a construction trailer in Santa Monica. No sense stomping
her husband’s toehold on dignity.

Milo
said, “Backer was there with another woman?”

“That
woman,” said Holman. “The one whose face was in the
news. And yes, I’m certain, because she and Backer went out to eat afterward
and I got a good look at her.”

“Not
your wife, but you continued following.”

“Because
in the beginning I was pretty sure but couldn’t be
certain
. It was dark
when they left, they hustled quickly into Backer’s car. The woman appeared
shorter than Marjie, different hair, different walk, but I wasn’t close enough
to be confident of my judgment, so I stayed on their trail.”

“Where’d
they go for dinner?”

“Beverly
Hills. Kate Mantilini, Doheny and Wilshire. Fortunately, they got a window seat
and I was able to cruise by and felt tremendous relief. Then I realized Marjie
was still out there and suddenly I
needed
to know where she was. So I
called her landline at the office and she answered, said she was working on a
proposal that would probably end up nowhere because Helga never followed
through on anything.”

Milo
said, “Backer’s car was at the office but you didn’t see the woman back there.”

“But
she must’ve been nearby, Lieutenant, because she wasn’t inside the office with
Backer and Marjie.”

“How
do you know?”

“This
morning Marjie and I were watching the news and the woman’s face came on,
Marjie didn’t react in the least. I know my wife, gentlemen. If she’d met her,
she’d have said something. And she’d also have told you when you questioned
her. So my guess is the woman was either waiting outside the office, not in the
lot or near it, or she was already at Borodi when Backer arrived.”

“Was another car parked nearby?”

“If
there was,” said Holman, “I didn’t notice. But I wasn’t paying attention to
cars.”

He
turned to watch the diminishing form of the beachcomber.

Milo
said, “What else can you tell us about Backer and this other woman’s behavior?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re
sure it was the woman you saw on TV?”

“I’m
absolutely certain. The image on TV was a line drawing, but to my eye, a rather
good resemblance. She’s—was a good-looking woman. Young—thirty, thirty-five, to
me that’s young. Good figure. Great figure, voluptuous but taut. As if she
worked out. Not too tall, I’d say around five four, well below Marjie’s five
seven.”

I
said, “When you saw her and Backer in the restaurant window, what was their
demeanor?”

“They
didn’t seem particularly enthralled. Nor were they miserable. Two people
reading menus. I guess I’d say bland.”

“Did
you ever see the woman again?”

“Never.”

“What
about Backer?”

“Him
I saw a few times,” said Holman. “At the office, coming and going.” Blinking.
“I have to say, Marjie having anything to do with him surprised me. He didn’t
seem her type.”

“How
so?”

“Shallow.”

“How
so?”

Holman’s
jaw set. His beard bristled. “No doubt my opinion is informed by the fact that
I’m fairly certain he boffed my wife. But I’d like to think I’m also a decent
judge of character. I don’t want to talk ill of the dead but to be frank, he
struck me as a superficial little twit. The type who spends too much time at
the mirror.”

Milo
said, “You didn’t like him.”

“I
didn’t know him well enough not to like him.”

Milo
studied him.