Motive (13 page)

“No, that was the point.”

“The point of what?”

“I can’t speak to their lives prior to the divorce but any sexual adventurousness on Ursula’s part that he cited occurred only after the divorce. Therefore, I advised him to mind his own business.”

“How’d he take that?”

“He said he understood intellectually but it made him sad. Ursula doing that to herself.”

“Worrying about her welfare,” I said. “A caring ex-husband.”

Cohen took a dainty sip of water and got up shakily. “No more, Dr. Delaware.”

I said, “Let me just clarify: Richard implied Ursula was somehow hurting herself by sleeping around.”

Cohen pointed to the ceiling. “Time flies. I’m headed upstairs to see one of my doctors who will be of no use to me.”

I phoned Milo.

He said, “Probably no big deal, but Darius Kleffer’s back in L.A. No local address or car reg but he’s been working at an Italian place called Beppo Bippo for around a month. Got that bit of wisdom by surfing the food blogs.”

“He’s that well known?”

“No, he posted the news himself on a site called
Big-Eyes Gourmandize
. I phoned the place, it’s Kleffer’s day off. Manager said he’d give Kleffer the message. If he doesn’t, I’ll go over there. What’s up?”

“Got a suggestion for you.”

“What?”

I told him.

He said, “Meet me in front of the station. Maybe we’ll grab a snack.”

The Seville had barely come to a stop when he flung the door open and hurled himself in. He landed hard. A truckload of flour sacks hitting the pier.

“Fellinger,” he said. “He gave you that bad of a feeling?”

“I can’t help thinking my being there upset him. And guess what, he’s got a thing for elevators.”

I repeated Cohen’s account.

He said, “That couldn’t be one lawyer getting back at another?”

“I had to pry it out of Cohen and he didn’t enjoy telling the story.”

“Escorting her,” he said. “Then he decides to shoot her in the face? Why?”

“Maybe she knew something that threatened him,” I said. “Or he’s just that kind of guy. If he did Katherine Hennepin, he’s definitely that kind of guy.”

“Your basic homicidal psychopath with a good day job.”

“Unfortunately not so basic,” I said. “He’s an intelligent man. Far from a hunk, in fact he’s a conspicuously homely man. But despite that, he was able to charm a beautiful woman like Ursula into bed. Had the
arrogance and confidence to play grab-ass with her ex standing a few feet away and know she’d go along with it and enjoy it. Someone like Katherine—shy, beneath him socioeconomically—would’ve been a snap. But conquest isn’t enough. He needs to be the one who breaks off the relationship. Permanently. To put his brand on it by arranging dinner for two because that’s his way of thumbing his nose at romance. At women, in general.”

“I look like a troll but I rule.”

“Looks aren’t destiny, Big Guy, but they can be a factor growing up. Even toddlers rate their peers on attractiveness. All other things equal, cuter kids get treated better by children and adults.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Such self-pity,” I said. “Rick showed me your high school yearbook. More all-American than troll.”

“That was good lighting,” he said. “He showed you the damn yearbook? Why? When?”

“One night when Robin and I were over for dinner. You were griping about something, big surprise, and when you went to the bathroom, Rick said you always claimed to be a big outcast and he used to believe you until he found the book. Varsity football and wrestling, ROTC, couple of honor societies. He had the page tabbed with a Post-it.”

“He’s always trying to convince me life rises above the dank bog of Irish doom.” He snorted. “So that’s Fellinger’s defense? He was a poor little ape-boy? Sounds like the pop-psych stuff you hate.”

“Not a defense, just trying to understand him.”

“Because he avoided you in the lobby.”

“No one else noticed me,” I said, recounting the experience. “But he did and while I can’t prove it, I think he made sure to avoid me. I know it’s not much but what else do you have? The elevator grope combined sexuality, cruelty, and manipulation. Which is exactly the kind of person we’re looking for. Cohen also felt it looked like a game that Fellinger and Ursula had played before. That shifted my perspective. I’d imagined the killer as an underachiever. Someone who viewed
himself as brilliant but fell well short of success. Fellinger’s an outwardly successful man but feelings of inadequacy can come from all sorts of places.”

“He’s got dough and prestige, snags babes like Ursula. So what, he’s working through his childhood? Even if, how does Hennepin figure in, seeing as there’s nothing connecting her to Fellinger?”

“If she visited Fellinger’s building, she figures in nicely. I photoed down his co-tenants on the seventh floor. If we can tie her to any of them, it’s a big step.”

I showed him the snaps.

“You’ve been a busy lad.”

“Anything for a friend.”

He breathed in deeply. “Ape-Man Meets the Accountant. Speaking of which.” He phoned Katherine Hennepin’s bosses. They were in, agreed to meet. Again.

RM-Accu Accounting operated out of a storefront on Woodman just south of Magnolia. Their strip-mall neighbors were four ethnic restaurants: Mexican, Thai, Israeli, Lebanese. Each one seemed to be thriving, with lines forming outside entrances.

What if food really was love and world peace could be a reality?

The firm was a fifteen-by-fifteen room set up with three desks and half a dozen file cabinets. Interior design consisted of flyers spelling out IRS small-print regulations; surrealism for the twenty-first century.

Ralph Gross boomed, “What, you expected Ernst and Young?”

It sounded like something he said all the time. Milo’s weak smile confirmed that.

Ralph was in his eighties, tall and thickset with a hound-dog mien. Maureen looked to be slightly younger with a pie-face and rosy cheeks.

She said, “Lieutenant, nice to see you again. You brought a handsome friend.”

Milo said, “This is Alex Delaware.”

“You’re lieutenant but he’s first-name basis?” said Ralph. “We talking a civilian? Something you don’t want to tell us?”

Clever man attuned to details; this might turn out to be useful. Milo laughed. “Sorry, it’s Dr. Delaware. He’s our consulting psychologist.”

“Yours, as in he works
for
you? Or he’s a Hessian—a freelance.”

“Freelance.”

“Really,” said Ralph Gross. To me: “That must be interesting, Dr. Hessian.”

Maureen said, “A psychologist! I knew it! You think we’re nuts!”

Milo said, “Hardly, ma’am. I’d like to talk to you again about Katherine.”

“Kathy was killed by a nut?”

“We’re exploring all possibilities.”

“Love how you avoid a direct answer,” said Ralph. “You could work for the government.”

Maureen said, “He already does.”

Ralph said, “I meant the geniuses in Washington … but yeah, you are a civil servant. I hear you people get great pensions. Part of the reason the state’s going broke but heck, don’t feel guilty.”

Milo said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Hope you’re investing it wisely.”

“Doing my best.”

“If you have any pension questions—simple ones—call and I’ll shoot you a freebie, Lieutenant. Show of appreciation, and all that. You may not have solved the case but at least you take the job seriously.”

Maureen said, “We were certain it was that maniac chef but you insisted no.”

“He was definitely in New York, ma’am.”

“Too bad. What a nut.” To me: “You should’ve seen him in action. Crazy.”

“Nasty temper,” said Ralph. “He barged in here twice, trying to
bully Katherine. Demanding she talk with him. The first time, he left quietly. The second time I had to get in his face, as the kids say.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a hairless but bulky forearm.
Semper Fi USMC
tattoo.

Maureen said, “I thought they’d come to blows. That wasn’t smart, Ralph.”

“He got the hell out of here, didn’t he? Okay, so what do you want to know, now, Lieutenant? And Dr. Psychologist.”

Milo said, “Could you describe Katherine’s job for us?”

“Her job?” said Ralph. “She was a bookkeeper. She kept books.”

“For any particular client?”

“For anyone we told her. We do the returns but she collated and filed the data. To some it might sound boring but Kathy was very happy here. She was a good employee.”

Milo read off the address of the building on Century Park East. “Do any of your clients have offices there?”

“Century City?” said Maureen. “We do mostly individual accounts. A few small businesses but nothing fancy-shmancy.”

“That crap is too rich for our blood,” said Ralph. “Like sugar diabetes; you indulge but you pay. We had enough of the Big Four, met at Ernst, left that world forty years ago. Why’re you asking about Century City?”

Milo avoided an answer. “Did Katherine run errands for you?”

“What, like gofering?” said Ralph. “No, her value was sitting right there.” He pointed to the left-most desk. “Excellent employee, we’ve replaced her with a girl who comes in part-time. Good enough but Kathy was better.”

Milo said, “So she never left the office.”

Maureen said, “Never? That I wouldn’t say. Occasionally she’d go out for us. Infrequently.”

Milo said, “For what?”

“Picking up lunch next door at Thai Temple, they get an A from
the health department. Sometimes we’re in the mood for Mexican but we don’t like Don Pepe since they got a C, so she’d drive to La Fiesta Buffet on Fulton.”

Ralph said, “Mo, they don’t care about our eating habits. Once in a blue moon, we’d ask her to deliver papers to a client.”

“Nothing in Century City.”

Maureen said, “I don’t think so …”

Ralph barked, “What, Mo?”

“Remember that lawsuit, honey?”

“Be specific, Mo.”

“That landlord, the Iranian—Hooranian, Hoorapian?”

“Frivolous,” said Ralph.

“Sure was,” said Maureen, “but weren’t the other side’s attorneys in Century City?”

“Heartless developers,” said Ralph. “Who remembers?”

Milo said, “What was the lawsuit about?”

Maureen said, “Clients of ours, the Hoor—no Har—the Hargarians, that’s it, the Hargarians, a nice couple, they owned a couple apartment buildings in North Hollywood, some developer bought up the rest of the block, tried to force them to sell by going to the city claiming they were neglecting the property, causing a public nuisance.”

“Frivolous,” Ralph repeated. “And nasty.”

I said, “What was the outcome?”

“What do you think? The bastards made life miserable for the Hargarians and they sold.”

Maureen said, “I think the other side’s lawyers
were
in Century City. Or maybe it was the developers. Ralph and I only got involved at the end, when they were negotiating the terms of the sale, the other side wanted a look at tax records to verify rental income.”

“Katherine Hennepin delivered the records?”

“I’m not saying that, Lieutenant, I’m only saying it’s possible.”

Ralph Gross said, “I didn’t deliver them and you didn’t.”

“True,” said Maureen.

“Who does that leave, Mo?”

Maureen said, “Hold on,” and began tapping computer keys. “Hmm, nothing on Hargarian … no listing for Hargarian.”

Ralph said, “You probably got the name wrong.”

Maureen silenced him with an outstretched palm. Tap tap tap. “Here it is, three months ago …
Sha
grarian … ah, yes, three hours’ billing for Katherine’s services—ah, I remember, she was so sweet, she volunteered but I insisted on including it on her hours worked.”

She beamed. “Maybe I could be a detective, Lieutenant.”

“Apply and I’ll give you a recommendation,” said Milo.

Ralph said, “Why the dickens is this building so important?”

Maureen said, “Obviously dark deeds are going on there.”

They both looked at Milo.

Milo said, “Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh c’mon,” said Ralph.

“It’s probably nothing sir, just being careful.”

“Ha. You’ll probably never want to retire, the job being so juicy and all.”

“Good for him, retirement is death,” said Maureen.

“More like death is a
form
of retirement,” said Ralph. “Still, that pension’s something to think about.” Squinting at Milo. “At your age.”

Milo said, “Who specifically did Kathy deliver the papers to?”

Maureen tapped some more. “Says here Dublin Development.” She copied down the name and handed it to Milo.

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Gross.”

“You bet, Lieutenant.”

Ralph said, “Thank us by solving the case. And think about this: The Shagrarians retired. She worked for Warner Brothers, had a good pension.”

Dublin Development occupied a quarter of the ninth floor of Grant Fellinger’s building.

I said, “She rides down after delivering the papers, it stops at seven,
Fellinger gets on, works his charm. Be good to know if any other women in the building had the same experience.”

“If they did, it didn’t end the same way. One of the first things I looked into when I worked Hennepin was to check for any other nasty cases with a food connection. Lots of domestic violence goes down in the kitchen—heat, knives, not enough salt in the stew. Mostly assaults, but I found a few homicides. Including an idiot who shotgunned his wife because she cooked liver for dinner and while he used to like it, he’d changed his mind. But nothing unsolved and nothing remotely similar.”

“Maybe dinner for two was a later development.”

“And?”

“And the crucial link is still the building. Women who worked there or visited.”

He stared at the paper with Dublin’s address. Phoned Binchy and said, “This will not be a fun job, kid, but if anyone’s up for it you are.” He outlined the parameters. “You can start with the computer but don’t stop there because we’re not talking actual crime scenes, it’s not likely to make it into the computer. You need to talk personally to the Hom lieutenants at every division and see if they remember anything related to the damn place or can send you to someone who does. A work address, visiting someone who’s got an office … what’s that?… I’m glad, Sean. Everyone has their own definition of fun.”