Obsession (32 page)

“I’ve interviewed serial murderers. Several have told me after they pull off a few killings they start to feel invisible. The good part is it leads them to get careless and I can see these two headed in that direction.”

Petra said, “What’s the bad part?”

“Given De Paine’s sexual kinks, they could be gearing up for something really unpleasant.”

Petra said, “I’ve hand-checked the files. No one got brutalized on or near Fourth Street five years before or after the time Patty and Tanya lived there. I guess it’s possible something didn’t get reported but maybe we shouldn’t limit ourselves to Patty’s old neighborhoods because of some ambiguous message about the guy being ‘close by.’”

“I’m not wedded to geography,” I said, “but I’d at least canvass Fourth Street to find out if anyone’s still around from back then.”

“I agree,” said Milo. “It would need to be done without tipping off Mary Whitbread, and she knows my face and yours.”

Dave Saunders said, “A couple of tall, handsome African American gentlemen sauntering door-to-door isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Plus we need to concentrate on Grant.”

Petra played with black strands of hair and laughed. “Leaving guess-who. You really think it’s worth it, Alex?”

I said, “It might not help you find De Paine, but it could lead back to the original motive.”

She closed her eyes, massaged the lids. Opened them and aimed clear brown irises at each of us in turn. “Nothing else seems to be panning out. If Raul spots Mary leaving her house, I’ll give it a try. Maybe I’ll buy a Girl Scout uniform and sell cookies.”

She stood and gathered her files. “Talk about self-delusion.”

Milo said, “Hey, do the pigtail thing, you could pull it off.”

“My hair’s too short and you lie shamelessly,” she said. “For which I thank you.”

Robin’s note said she’d taken Blanche to her studio in Venice, would be back around six. I called Tanya and told her I needed to see her as soon as possible.

“I’ve got lab until four thirty and work-study at six.”

“Four thirty it is. I’ll come to campus.”

“Is everything okay, Dr. Delaware?”

“No emergency, but I need to touch base with you.”

“You’re worried about me,” she said. “My OCD.”

First time she’d put a name on it.

I said, “If that’s on your mind we can deal with it, too. But I’m talking about the investigation.”

“You caught someone?”

“Not yet—let’s talk in person, Tanya.”

Telling, not asking.

She said, “If you say so. Where?”

“Do you eat dinner before work?”

“Not a meal. Sometimes I buy junk from a machine and sit outside if the weather’s nice.”

“The weather looks fine. How about the inverted fountain?”

“Sure,” she said. “I like that spot.”

I hadn’t run for a few days and decided to walk the three miles to the U.

Before I left, I phoned Robin. She said, “Think you’ll be back by dinner?”

“Planning to.”

“Takeout okay?”

“Fine.”

“Any particular ethnicity?”

“I’m a pluralist.”

“I’m thinking Mexican. The place on Barrington that delivers.”

“Fine.”

“You’re preoccupied,” she said. “I could’ve said deep-fried cardboard.”

“I’ll try to be focused by six. Let me run something by you, babe. The more I learn about De Paine, the more concerned I am about Tanya’s safety. How do you feel about her staying with us, temporarily? She really has no one else.”

“Sure,” she said. “Even if she doesn’t make her own bed.”

“This one makes her bed. She might make ours if we don’t move quickly enough.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Anything else I should know about her?”

“She’s under a lot of stress but she’s a good kid.”

“Bring her over.”

“You’re a doll.”

“So they say.”

“Who’s they?”

“Mostly you say it. But every so often I have been known to evoke admiration from others. Back in high school I nearly made it in with the
popular
girls.”

Thinking about Blaise De Paine avoiding a police record got me thinking about Mario Fortuno. He’d said his ex-wife would be calling soon but she hadn’t. Had Fortuno ever intended to follow through? Or was the negotiation in his hotel room a pathetic distraction from the joys of protective custody?

Not my problem; Santa Barbara was a beautiful town but I had plenty to keep me busy in L.A.

I arrived at the fountain five minutes early but Tanya was already there. So was Kyle.

The two of them sat thigh-to-thigh, his arm around her shoulder, her hand on his knee. Book bags on the ground, talking earnestly. Tanya listened to something Kyle said, smiled, tilted her head back. He touched her chin, her cheek, played with her hair. They rubbed noses. Kissed lightly. Got lost in each other’s eyes. Lip-locked for a good thirty seconds.

I stood back until they came up for breath. Waited as they dove into a grinding kiss.

When they broke for air, I said, “Afternoon, guys.”

They both stiffened. Two hand-in-the-cookie-jar stares.

I sat down next to Kyle. He wore his Princeton sweatshirt, grubby jeans with non-intentional rips, the shameful yellow running shoes. Sparse black stubble dotted his chin. His fingernails were gnawed ragged.

Tanya’s jeans were pressed. Her pale blue sweater was spotless. Tiny seed pearls glinted from her ears.

I said, “What I’ve learned about Blaise De Paine and Robert Fisk makes me concerned about your safety, Tanya. If De Paine suspects your mother told you something incriminating, he could come after you. That’s far from certainty, but we are talking about someone who murdered his own father. I know you’re careful but I don’t like the idea of your living alone and it’s time to be flexible. Moving’s a hassle but it wouldn’t be long-term, what do you think?”

Tanya looked at Kyle.

He said, “We’re way past that. Tanya’s moving in with me.”

“It’s the optimal solution,” she said. “Hancock Park is an extremely safe neighborhood, Kyle’s got a premium security system, and I’d never be alone because someone’s always in the house. It wouldn’t even be a major change. I used to live there.”

Smiling at Kyle.

He said, “Every single door and window is alarmed and the system is maintained regularly.”

He tightened his grip on Tanya’s arm. She shifted closer, put one hand on the back of his neck, kept the other drumming his knee.

He said, “I’m talking alarm screens and infrared motion detectors that can be switched on in multiple zones and motion-triggered perimeter lighting all around the property.”

“Sounds like state-of-the-art,” I said.

“Grandpa was always safety-conscious but he upgraded years ago after a neighbor—a diamond dealer on June Street—was murdered. We’ve never come remotely close to being broken into.”

“Wilfred Hong,” I said.

“Who’s that?”

“The diamond dealer.”

“The police investigated that as a link to Ms. Bigelow?”

“They looked into every unsolved homicide that occurred near any of Tanya and her mom’s residences.”

“And?”

“Nothing, so far. For the moment, we’re going to narrow it to the Fourth Street area, possibly a crime that wasn’t reported. Do you recall anything new, Tanya?”

She shook her head.

Kyle said, “You’re concentrating on Fourth because Pete lived there.”

“Yes.”

“You might want to consider a computerized database, some kind of algorithm that could classify crimes based on multifactorial indexes. Give me access to the data and I could set it up reasonably quickly.”

“We’ve got that.”

“Oh,” he said. “And still nothing?”

“Afraid not.”

“So Pete got away with something…why do you think you can get him now?”

“We’re drawing the net tighter,” I said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Well,” he said, “until that bright shiny day, Tanya stays with me.”

Not asking, telling.

I said, “Sounds like a plan.”

“It’s a great plan. I’ve also got weapons. Grandpa had a huge gun collection, there’s a special room in the basement for them.”

“Do you shoot?” I said.

“No, but how hard can it be?”

Tanya said, “There are seven bedrooms, I’ll have my own space.” Blushing.

Like a chameleon on a leaf, Kyle’s face soaked up her color. “She’ll be safe, I’ll see to it.”

I said, “Tanya, do your best to be reachable. And when you’re on campus, be especially careful.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “As in walking to and from the library.”

Tanya lifted her hand from his knee. “We’ve been through that. I need to work.”

“I don’t see why you can’t take a temporary leave—”

“Kyle—”

“—fine, fine. Just be careful.”

“I always am.”

He grazed the ends of her hair with his fingers. “Sorry. I don’t mean to patronize.”

She patted his thigh.

He sighed.

I said, “Do you remember what De Paine and Fisk look like?”

Reaching into her book bag, she withdrew a thin, glossy magazine.
National Insider
. Garish colors, suggestive headlines, the cover attraction a close-up of a starlet’s derriere insured for ten million bucks. Above the prized mounds, the actress looked over her shoulder and come-hithered the camera.

A yellow Post-it tagged a page toward the rear. Tanya flipped.

Group shots taken at various night spots in L.A. and New York, accompanied by snarky captions.

Tanya jabbed a photo in the lower left corner. Late-night party at the Roxbury. The paparazzi targets were a washed-up rock drummer and the pneumatic slattern with whom he’d sired six kids; the supporting players, a coke-eyed clothing designer and a NASCAR driver who should’ve known better.

Behind that quartet, just right of the designer’s rusty dreadlocks, was a thin, boyish face. Eye-shadowed and mascaraed.

Black hair spiked with yellow, elfin grin, chipmunk teeth. Hint of scarlet, gold-collared tunic.

Tension around the neck as Pete Whitbread aka Blaise De Paine strained to get in the picture. He’d succeeded but hadn’t made the caption.

I said, “This was in the pile you took from the hospital?”

Tanya nodded. “Mommy must’ve seen it.” Pointing to a sharp white diagonal crease, oily remnants of fingerprint. “I decided to throw them out, was carrying a stack out to the garbage when I broke down and started crying on the back steps. All of a sudden, I was going through them. This page had been folded, it caught my attention.”

I looked at the picture again.

She said, “Seeing him like that—knowing what a terrible person he was and here he was partying with celebrities.
That’s
what made her tell me. I’m certain she was trying to protect me.”

I said, “This may have been the tipping point but De Paine was already on her mind.” I told her about Moses Grant’s E.R. visit.

“You think he threatened her?” said Tanya.

“Subtly or otherwise. Maybe something to do with you.”

Tears filled her eyes. “She must’ve been so worried. And then she got sick and couldn’t do anything about it. And then she saw
this
. Poor Mommy.”

She wept. Kyle held her.

When the tears stopped, he said, “My question, honey, is why didn’t she just come out and warn you to watch out for De Paine?”

“Maybe she planned to, then she…”

More crying. “She did what she could to
protect
me, Kyle.”

“I know, I know.”

I said, “I think she wasn’t satisfied with warning you, Tanya. If De Paine threatened you, she wanted him caught and directed you to people who could pull that off.”

“If that’s what she intended,” said Kyle, “it was borderline brilliant.”

Tanya didn’t answer.

He said, “Totally brilliant,” took her hand, laced his fingers through hers.

She didn’t move.

Kyle said, “Protecting you gave her meaning, honey. And she succeeded. You’ve got a whole army behind you.”

And you’d like to be the general.

Robin fed
arroz con pollo
to Blanche. “And here I was all prepared to nurture a member of my own species. I just finished setting up the guest room.”

I said, “Sorry. The two of them came up with their own plan.”

“This boy can be trusted?”

“He seems madly in love with her.”

“Seems?”

“He loves her.”

“Listen to me,” she said. “I’ve never met the girl and I’m meddling.”

The reflexive response never made it out of my mouth:
maternal instinct
.

Robin and I used to talk about having children. Years ago, after our first breakup, she got pregnant by a man she barely liked and terminated at six weeks. Since then, the topic hadn’t come up.

During that time I’d healed hundreds of other people’s children, considered the possibility that I might never be a father. Sometimes I was able to appreciate the irony. When that didn’t work I busied myself with the pathologies of strangers.

Blanche panted for more rice and Robin obliged. When the next gulp was followed by begging, she said, “We don’t want to stress your tummy, cutie,” and began clearing the dishes. Standing at the sink, she said, “Her staying with him is probably for the best. We’d do our best to be cool hosts but being under our roof would’ve stifled her.”

I got up and placed my hands on her shoulders.

She said, “Let’s take a drive.”

When we have nowhere to go, we usually end up somewhere on Pacific Coast Highway. This time, Robin said, “How about bright lights, big quasi-city?”

I drove Sunset east through Hollywood and the Los Feliz district, crossed into Silver Lake where she’d heard about a new jazz club.

The Gas Station turned out to be a former Union 76 outlet that still sported blue paint and smelled of motor oil. Inside were antique gravity pumps, mismatched plastic chairs and tables, photo blowups of musical geniuses.

Five other customers in a room that held forty. We sat close to the stage, under the piercing glare of Miles Davis.