Guilt (33 page)

He saw us when we were thirty feet away, looked up from chop-sticking noodles into his mouth, wiped his mouth and drank from a glass of dark beer.

I looked around for his bodyguards, spotted a pair of cold-eyed burlies four tables over, pretending to concentrate on a platter of something brown.

“Sit down. I ordered spareribs, pepper steak, shrimp-fried rice, and some sort of deep-fried chicken thing, hopefully they won’t include the damn feet.” Glancing at Milo. “You I know will eat anything.” To me: “That sound suitable for your constitution?”

“Sure.”

“Easy to please today, Doc? Strange phase of the moon?”

He’d been trying to hire me full-time for years, had never accepted failure with anything approaching good nature.

He returned to eating, chopsticks whirling like darning needles. Excellent fine-motor coordination motivated a huge load of noodles under the mustache. He chewed, had more beer, looked around. “Damn barn.”

One of the old waiters brought tea and beer and sped away.

The chief said, “You stirred up a hornets’ nest, Doctor.”

“Keeps life interesting.”

“Maybe yours. Okay, give me a brief summary. And I mean brief. You, not Sturgis. He already went over the basics when he called and made my life complicated.”

I said, “At least three people who lived at Premadonny’s compound have been murdered.”

“Three?” he said. “I’ve got the nanny and the guy—Wedd.”

“The baby found in the park.”

“That,” he said. “All right, go on. Why do you suspect dark events at Xanadu?”

“A couple of years ago, I received a call from a man I believe to be Donny Rader, requesting help—”

“Why do you think it was him?”

“The way he spoke.”

“Like a moron.”

“Indistinctly,” I said.

“Okay, he needed a shrink for a brat, he’s an actor, big surprise. What else?”

“I set up an appointment that was canceled. I didn’t think much of it. But the death of one, maybe two child-care workers got me wondering about the family situation and I tried to learn as much as I could. That turned out to be next to nothing because the family’s basically gone underground. Moon and Rader used to be ultra-public figures. They peddled their fame. Now they’ve disappeared. No venturing out in public, no chatter on the Web, and right around the time I got that call they abruptly canceled a major film project due to ‘family issues.’ ”

“Maybe they didn’t like the script.”

The waiter returned. Platters were slammed down unceremoniously. The chief said, “So they’re miserable maladjusts. So what?”

“My experience is that extremely isolated families are often breeding grounds for psychopathology. Three people with connections to them are dead. Something’s going on there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got nothing, Doc.”

“Until recently, I would’ve agreed with you. Then I learned that Prema Moon purchased flesh-eating beetles and surgical tools. Right around the time the baby was born.”

“Show me the proof.”

I produced the form from JayMar, began explaining the purchasing process.

He cut me off. “They’ve got peons to wipe their asses for them, another big shock.” He put on glasses, read, frowned, slid the form into an inner jacket pocket.

Milo said, “Only thing missing, sir, is beeswax. If we can get access to the rest of their—”

The chief waved him quiet. “Beetles. Crazy bitch. How exactly did you get hold of the form, Doctor?”

“I called supply houses pretending to be someone from Apex, said I wanted to renew the order. Eventually, I found the right one.”

“Planning on billing the department for your time?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.”

“You just do this for fun, huh?”

“I’m a curious guy.”

“How long did it take you to find the right company?”

“A few hours.”

“You’re a persistent bastard, aren’t you?”

“I can be.”

“Deceptive, too … no telling how that’ll play into the hands of some nuclear-powered lawyer. If you’re deemed a police agent, it could open up claims of insufficient grounds, hence illegal search. Which is probably bullshit but with judges you never know. If you’re deemed to be a civilian, it could open
you
up to some ball-squeezing cross-examination, not to mention an invasion-of-privacy suit by people who can buy and sell you a thousand times over. That happens, forget any chance of a quiet life for the foreseeable future. These people are like governments, they go to war. You willing to take that risk?”

I said, “Sounds like you’re trying to discourage me.”

He put his chopsticks down. “I think long-term, Alex.” First time he’d used my name. “That separates me from ninety-nine percent of the population. Even at Harvard.”

He loved putting down the Ivy League, rarely missed the opportunity to bring up his graduate degree from the iviest of all.

I said, “You think I was wrong to dig up the information.”

“I
think
this could get nasty.”

“What happened to that baby was beyond nasty.”

He glared. “I got a white knight here.” Lifting a sparerib with his fingers, he chewed down to the bone, ingesting meat, gristle, and fat. “Take one, Sturgis. You not stuffing your face scares me. It’s like the sun stopping mid-orbit.”

Milo spooned some fried rice onto his plate.

The chief said, “Not into ribs, today, Lieutenant?”

“This is fine, sir.”

The chief smirked. “Establishing your independence? That makes you feel like a grown-up, be my guest.” To me: “This is a mess.”

He reached for the plate. Another rib got gnawed to the bone.

I said, “Another thing I did—”

“Another thing? Jesus Almighty, you figure you’re running your own investigation?” His eyes shifted to Milo. Milo’s head was down as he shoveled rice into his maw.

The chief turned back to me.
“What?”

I told him about the morning’s hike. “None of the principals entered or exited the compound but I did learn that it’s a pretty busy place. In the space of three hours, I saw a seven-man groundskeeping crew, a grocery delivery, a repairman from a home-theater outfit, and a plumber. I copied down the tags—”

“Why?”

“I figured it might offer a possible way to get in—”

“Sturgis pretends to be a gardener or a plumber?
Habla español
, Sturgis? Know how to unclog a sink?
I
do, my
father
was a plumber, I spent my summers elbow-deep in rich people’s muck. You ever do that, Sturgis? Wade in rich folk shit?”

Milo said, “Frequently, sir.”

“Don’t like the job?”

“Love it, sir. It is what it is.”

The chief looked ready to spit. “Don Quixote and Sancho Panza … so, being a psychologist, Doc, you figure a crafty way to gain entry would be to hitch a ride with one of the peasants who services the castle, once you’re inside, you just mosey around at random in the hope of stumbling across definitive evidence?”

“I was hoping to catch Moon, Rader, or any of the kids leaving. But when I saw the volume of traffic, it occurred to me there might be an opening.”

“If Moon or Rader had left, you figured to tail them.”

“Discreetly.”

His face darkened. “Dr. Do-A-Lot. You talk to animals, as well?”

“If I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry.”

“Overstepped?” He laughed. “More like you’ve invented new dance moves. What day does the garbage get taken out at that place?”

Milo said, “I’ll find out.” He walked to the dining room doorway, talked on his cell.

The chief returned to his ribs, tried some pepper steak. Pincer-grasped a plump little pink shrimp out of the fried rice. “Not hungry, Doc?”

“Actually, I am.” I tried a rib. Greasy and delicious.

“Just like you,” said the chief.

“Pardon?”

“You’re like the damn ribs. Unhealthy but satisfying. Congratulations, Sturgis plodded along but you’re the one who learned something.”

“He—”

“No need to defend him, I know what he is, he’s good at what he does, as good as I’m gonna get. You, on the other hand, are a different animal. You piss me off without trying. You also make me wonder what the department would be like if everyone was super-smart and psychotically driven. Don’t tell Sturgis I said that, you’ll hurt his feelings.”

He and I ate in silence until Milo returned.

“Garbage collection’s in two days, sir.”

“Be there before the trucks arrive, Sturgis. Wear comfortable clothes and bring enough empty barrels to haul away every bit of trash. Don’t be noticed. Separate anything with DNA potential and run a match to the baby bones. Maybe this Qeesha character is still alive and shedding cells, we find an eyebrow pencil, a tampon, whatever, that links her to the bones, we’re a step forward. We also get an accurate victim count, two not three, and think of her as a homicidal bitch who killed her own kid.”

Milo said, “DNA analysis could take a while.”

“I’ll speed it through to the max.”

“Until then—”

“Until then you and your geniuses try to do what the doctor, an allegedly
untrained civilian, was apparently able to accomplish: Watch the goddamn place without being seen. Prema or Donny or Qeesha appear, they get tailed. With finesse. Seduction, not rape, Sturgis.”

“Got it, sir.” Milo started to rise.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting back to work.”

“This
is
work, Sturgis. Amusing the boss. Now don’t let me down, I want to see some calorie consumption.”

A
musing the boss translated to a quarter hour of near-silent scarfing. The chief was a lean man but he had a staggering capacity for intake. We watched him polish off the ribs and pick all the shrimp out of the rice before he shot a French cuff and smiled at his Patek Philippe. On cue, the burly duo got up and headed toward us. The chief got to his feet, buttoned his jacket.

He looked down at Milo. “Who’s paying for this repast?”

Milo said, “If you’d like—”

“Just kidding, Sturgis, I don’t exploit the workingman. Or in your case, Doc, the theorizing man.”

He threw bills on the table. “Stay as long as you like. Just be gone in ten minutes so you can resume what the city pays you for, Sturgis.”

Before his minions could reach him, he race-walked out of the room.

Milo looked at the picked-over rice. “Would your Hollywood buddies call that a good meeting?”

“My buddies?”

“Contacts, whatever.”

“Well,” I said, “depends on whether the picture gets made.”

We left the restaurant, headed to a parking lot across Hill Street.

Milo said, “He talked a good case but what I got out of it was ‘let’s stall.’ ”

“Why’d you call him?”

“I didn’t, I called Maria. She listened, hung up, two minutes later his secretary informs me where to go for lunch.”

I said, “He’s got to know he can’t forestall the inevitable.”

“Maybe, but he’ll sure try. So with Prema getting the bugs and the tools, what’s our theory?”

“Maybe competitive culling.”

“Meaning?”

“One female eliminates another’s offspring in order to maintain dominance and eliminate competition for the desirable male. Big cats and primates do it all the time, and where polygamy exists, humans do it, too.”

“Donny’s the baby’s daddy?”

“Movie star, attractive younger woman with a penchant for manipulation?”

“Yeah, that’s a recipe. So what, Donny was big-time naughty with Qeesha—Simone, whatever—but Prema wants to hold on to him anyway?”

“Prema wants to avoid public humiliation.”

“Manipulation,” he said. “If it’s true, think Qeesha planned to get pregnant?”

“Could be. A baby with Donny Rader could kick up her lifestyle.”

“If she held on to her life.”

I said, “Maybe Qeesha wanted more than generous child support. Maybe she thought she could actually replace the Queen Bee. Unfortunately for her, the Queen figured it out and took care of business. That could explain why the bones were treated so cruelly: deconstructing
the competition, reducing the problem to a lab specimen in a coldly efficient way. It would also serve as a warning to Donny. Look what I’m capable of when I’m threatened.”

“Where does Wedd fit in?”

“To me he still looks good as Adriana’s killer, because even with doping her up, I don’t see Prema managing to physically restrain another woman, drive her to the park, shoot her. Plus, Wedd’s car was spotted near the scene. Wedd could’ve also dispatched Qeesha—talk about your efficient estate manager. But at some point he turned expendable.”

“Queen Bee tying up loose ends.”

“She’s a tall woman,” I said, “might fit the seat position on the Explorer. Getting Wedd to drive her somewhere wouldn’t be a problem. Attending to her needs was his job. And the spot where he got shot isn’t that far from the compound. Laurel up to Mulholland, hook west to Coldwater, drive a few miles. For someone in good shape, no challenge walking back.”

“Shoot a guy, mosey on home, do Pilates,” he said.

“And maybe ditch the gun along the way.”

He phoned Sean Binchy, ordered him to search Mulholland Drive between Laurel and Coldwater for a .45.

I said, “Qeesha was an experienced con. Had enough street smarts to pick up on any growing tension at the compound. She called in Adriana for support because she was unwilling to give up her dream. Figured if she could hold out until the baby was born, Donny would bond with his child and protect her.”

He said, “Buzz buzz buzz goes the Queen Bee and the Drone wimps out.”

We reached the Seville. He pointed to his unmarked, several vehicles up the row. “Off to garbage patrol.”

“When will you start the surveillance?”

“After the trash reap. Why?”

“I’m kind of into hiking,” I said. “For the exercise.”

He looked at me. “Free country. Hope you get good weather.”