The Wedding Guest

by Jonathan Kellerman

  I fought the impulse to break in. Ah, but there is no reality. No truth. No lies…

  Milo said, “If I’m wrong, nothing really lost.”

  “No? All I need is some bubblehead reporter having an orgasm over judicial overreach.”

  “How ’bout this, Your Honor: I find nothing, the paperwork vanishes.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know…all right, but only because my family would yell at me if they find out I wimped out on a murder.”

  “Thanks a ton.”

  “You’ve also got to give me two separate applications.”

  “No prob.”

  “For you. I’m the one has to read your sparkling prose, it’s my day off and I’m just about to tee off at Brentwood.”

  “I’ll keep it simple—”

  “Just funnin’ with you,” said Boudreaux. “This prick did what you say, I want to help fuck him up.”

  * * *

  —

  As he uploaded the warrant applications, I re-read Thurston Nobach’s manifesto. “In terms of the raid, sooner the better.”

  He wheeled forty-five degrees from his desk and faced me. “Why?”

  “This.” I held out the page.

  “Yeah, yeah, more gobbledygook, no good no bad. So what?”

  “No self, no consciousness, no real death. I think there’s a message here. He’s making the case for suicide and tailoring it to depressed, impressionable victims like Cassy Booker. And now Amanda, riding her bike over to his place and sticking around. She’s isolated, depressed, has trouble relating to everyone else but worships him. Nobach sniffs that out, ropes her in by appealing to her intellect, and when the time’s right, he supplies the means—a little nip of an opioid cocktail—along with pseudo-intellectual encouragement.”

  “You think that’s what happened with Susie?”

  “Maybe that was Nobach’s intention. He figured her for a stupid stripper but she was older and toughened by life and less compliant. That could be why Nobach terminated the relationship. Or even worse, she did. In either event, she defied him and earned a nasty death. Something was supposed to happen at that wedding—a payoff, a fake reconciliation, we may never know. The important thing now is, he’s focusing on Amanda, and what Garrett just told us—shutting out her family—says he’s edging her closer to the end.”

  He rubbed his face. “What’re you saying? I don’t wait for the warrant?”

  “I’m just telling you the way I see it.”

  He speed-dialed Giselle Boudreaux, began explaining.

  She said, “Life-threatening situation? What the hell do you need me for, call it a welfare check.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  * * *

  —

  Starting with DMV, he ran a search on Thurston Nobach. One vehicle, a silver, one-year-old BMW M5. Copying the info, he stood, slipped his gun into his hip holster. “Any psychological wisdom on which place to try first?”

  I said, “Why choose?”

  CHAPTER

  44

  Ideally, approaching a violent offender is a carefully planned scheme. But no matter how well thought-out, fraught with anxiety.

  I’d demolished that by urging fast action on Thirsty Nobach’s premises. Complicated matters further by suggesting two simultaneous raids.

  It churned my guts.

  It made Milo serene.

  As if some seldom-utilized bundle of nerve-fibers in his forebrain had been activated, he stretched, yawned, and reclined in his chair as he summoned Moe Reed, Sean Binchy, and Alicia Bogomil to the interview room where we’d talked to the newlyweds.

  Three separate calls, talking to each detective in a smooth, silky tone I’d only heard when he finished a serious meal enhanced by alcohol.

  Not what the kids were used to. Binchy and Bogomil paused before saying, “Okay.”

  Reed said, “You all right, L.T.?”

  “Peachy.”

  * * *

  —

  He loped to the room, arms swinging, whistling an almost-tune, held the door open. “Go in, back in a sec.”

  While he was gone, the D’s arrived.

  I said, “He went to get something.”

  They looked at the four chairs, remained on their feet.

  “Got to save one for him,” said Binchy.

  “He okay?” said Reed.

  “Thinking mode,” I said.

  “That’s always a good idea,” said Bogomil, smiling wryly.

  Heads turned as Milo charged in toting a whiteboard on an easel. “Class is in session, kids. Some lecture but mostly lab. Sit.”

  Three butts hit three chairs. I was fourth.

  He walked up to the board. “Here’s the deal.”

  Marker in hand, he summed up the evidence on Nobach and jotted down the basics. Three pairs of wide eyes.

  “This just happened?” said Bogomil.

  “Fresh off the griddle, Alicia. We’ve got one definite residence for the suspect and one likely—a unit in that dorm his daddy owns. Judge Boudreaux says no warrant is necessary because of overwhelming evidence Nobach intends harm to Amanda Burdette. Think of this as an emergency welfare check.”

  “Because of what he wrote on his website,” said Reed.

  “Because of Dr. Delaware’s educated opinion about what he wrote. Onward: You and Alicia will be handling Strathmore after I set up entrance for you with the new manager. Do your best not to be noticed. In fact, wait in the car until I tell you. At best, the search will dud out. At worst, you’ll encounter a murderous psychopath, so be careful. Once I get you in, I’m over to the condo where you’ll go as soon as we’re finished here, Sean. It’ll take time to find side-street parking so you might not beat me by much. If you do get there early, take a stroll on Wilshire near the building but same rule: Don’t get spotted. Especially by the doormen, one of whom is ex-Pacific Division. He may be righteous but after working with rich people he may not. Once I arrive, I’ll deal with him. Next item.”

  He listed the tags and description of Thurston Nobach’s M5. “All of you look out for it. You see him driving to or from one of his cribs, initiate a tail and let me know.”

  Clicking on three cellphones as the car data got copied.

  “Any questions?”

  Binchy looked at Bogomil, who looked at Reed.

  Reed flexed massive arms and smiled. “One thing, Prof. Is this going to be on the final?”

  * * *

  —

  When we were all out in the hall, Binchy looked at me. “Doc going to be part of it, Loot?”

  Milo said, “Protected and served by me.”

  Bogomil said, “Good. This piece of shit sounds whack.”

  CHAPTER

  45

  Milo lead-footed it to Westwood Village, drove around the corner from the Strathmore complex, and then drove an additional half block and parked. Once out of the car, he hitched his trousers, patted his holster, then patted a jacket pocket swelling just above the Glock.

  I said, “Second gun?”

  He said, “Once a Boy Scout, always prepared. I don’t need to give you the drill, do I?”

  “Hang back, stay safe, don’t get in the way.”

  “Bet you were always a good student.” Leaning into the breeze, he began walking.

  * * *

  —

  Another prolonged push on the doorbell to Building B.

  Darius Cutter said, “If this is some sort of—”

  “It’s Lieutenant Sturgis again, Mr. Cutter. We need to talk.”

  “You’re kidding—hold on.”

  Cutter was at the door within seconds. Once it opened, Milo charged in, covering the lobby and stepping into Cutter’s office.

  Cutter turned to me. “H
e looks pissed. What’s going on?”

  “He’ll fill you in.”

  “Great.”

  By the time we got to the office, Milo had positioned his bulk to the left of Cutter’s desk, blocking access to the desk chair.

  “Sit, Mr. Cutter.”

  Cutter stared. “It’s kind of blocked?”

  Milo stepped back, allowing Cutter just enough room to pass. When Cutter sat, he moved in closer.

  Cutter looked up at him. “You’re making me feel like I did something.”

  “God forbid.” Wolf-teeth. “You’re going to do something now: Tell me which unit is Thurston Nobach’s.”

  “He’s involved? Oh, God.”

  “Which unit?”

  Cutter gulped. “He’s the boss’s son.”

  Milo got taller.

  Cutter said, “He doesn’t really live here, he just keeps a place for management. Not that he manages anything.”

  Milo leaned in, inches from Cutter’s face, big hands flat on the desk, as if bracing for a leap. Cutter had tried to personalize the room. Blotter, iPad, a couple of framed photos. Milo lifted one of the frames. Cutter and an older woman. “Your mom? Looks like a nice lady. What unit?”

  “This building,” said Cutter. “Top floor. B-four-twenty-five. At the back.”

  “Is Nobach here now?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Since when?”

  “Um…I guess yesterday? Around…I guess five p.m.?”

  “Coming in or out?”

  “Out.”

  “Any idea where he was going?”

  Cutter shook his head. “He just wheeled his bike out of the elevator.”

  “He has a bike.”

  “Nice one.”

  “What color?”

  “Silver. He left dirt tracks in the lobby. Like I’d complain.”

  “What way did he turn once he got outside?”

  “Right.”

  “East.”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “When did you go off-shift?”

  “Seven, I had stuff to do. Setting up—”

  “He could’ve returned without your noticing.”

  Cutter nodded. “You can’t tell me what—”

  “What I can tell you is you’re going to walk out of the building with us. Two other detectives will meet us and you’re going to give them the key to B-four-twenty-five.”

  “This is some kind of a raid? You don’t need a warrant?”

  “Everyone asks that, too much TV,” said Milo, clapping Cutter’s shoulder. Cutter shuddered. “In fact, give me the key right now.”

  “All I have is a master, sir.”

  “Does it work for all three buildings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even better.”

  Cutter fished a jangling ring out of a desk drawer, removed a stainless-steel key, and handed it over. “You’re sure this is okay?”

  “Better than okay. Let’s go, Mr. Cutter. Take a walk into the Village and get yourself a latte and don’t return until I tell you.”

  “I’m on the job,” said Cutter.

  “Your job right now is staying safe and being discreet. That means no calls to anyone.” Flicking the photo frame. “Even Mom. You seem like a good person. Don’t get yourself involved.”

  “Oh, God,” said Cutter.

  Milo walked to the door, texting. Cutter sat there for a second, then followed him out.

  * * *

  —

  Reed and Bogomil met us outside the glass door.

  Milo said, “This is Mr. Cutter. He manages the building and has furnished us a master key, which will get you access to Unit B-four-twenty-five. As well as to C-four-eighteen, where you-know-who lives.”

  Cutter said, “Who?”

  Milo winked. “Mr. Cutter has been super cooperative and now he’s going to get himself a latte.”

  Bogomil said, “Enjoy, sir.”

  Cutter said, “Actually, I’m a tea drinker.”

  * * *

  —

  Milo waited until Cutter was out of earshot. “No idea if Nobach is here, try his place first. Wait until the hallway’s clear then knock, wait, knock, give him a chance. No response, go in armed but subtly—no big announcement. He’s not there, try Amanda’s, same deal. Once you’ve covered both places, call me.”

  “Got it,” said Reed.

  Bogomil nodded.

  Milo said, “Stay safe.”

  Bogomil said, “I always try. Life is good.”

  CHAPTER

  46

  When it rains it pours: two parking spaces on Selby south of Wilshire. Milo’s unmarked nosed in front of Binchy’s current civilian drive, a grimy white Mustang courtesy the impound lot. The three of us walked toward the pink building, Milo patting both his gun bulges.

  When we were a building away from the pink tower, Milo told us to wait and kept going. Striding past the condo, side-glancing, returning.

  “Unfortunately, my boy Jeremy’s not there, just Rudy Galloway, the ex-Pacific guy, and another valet. I’ll take Rudy, you handle Other, Sean.”

  Binchy said, “Handle meaning…”

  “Make sure he doesn’t do anything heroic. Last time we were here, there was no one at the front desk and from what I could see, same thing now. But there has to be someone in charge with the keys. Ready?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he sped off.

  * * *

  —

  Rudy Galloway knew a cop when he saw one. Yards before Milo reached the portly valet, he tensed up. By the time Milo reached him, he’d shifted to a broad, collegial smile.

  Only two black Mercedeses in the porte cochere, no one waiting to come or go.

  Binchy veered to corral the second valet. I caught up with Milo. Already returning Galloway’s smile.

  Galloway was saying, “West L.A., huh? Good deal, there. Rich folk, not a lot to do.”

  “Stuff happens,” said Milo. “But yeah, I like it.”

  “I mean sure, stuff happens everywhere, but I was with Pacific for twenty years. The gang stuff south of Rose could shrink your nuts.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Milo.

  “Definitely,” said Galloway. “So what’s the deal?”

  “We’re here for an emergency welfare check, Rudy. C’mere.” Drawing Galloway to a far corner of the covered drive, he stopped next to the phone-booth-sized valet stand and underhanded a photo of Amanda Burdette.

  “Who’s that?”

  “You’ve never seen her?”

  For all his cop experience, Galloway couldn’t control his eyes as they ping-ponged from left to right. He knew Milo knew. “Oh, yeah—you know, you’re right, she has been here. She some sort of offender?”

  “Why would you say that, Rudy?”

  “You know,” said Galloway. “College kids, always with the dope.”

  “She show signs of addiction when she comes to visit Mr. Nobach?”

  Nobach’s name made Galloway blink. Running a finger around his collar, he licked his lips. “Naw naw, just, you know. College brats. They’re always playing around with the dope.”

  “She is a college student, Rudy. So how come she visits Nobach?”

  Galloway licked his lips. “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “How often does she visit Mr. Nobach?”

  Galloway looked relieved. A question he could answer honestly. “Not a lot—maybe I seen her…five times.”

  “Over what time period?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.” Resumption of eye-tennis. “It’s not like a regular thing.”

  “Unlike this person.”

  Underhanding a photo of Susie Koster.

  Galloway’s mouth stayed shut but a gur
gling noise rose from his gullet.

  “Rudy?”

  “Yeah, this one was regular. Kimbee. She lived here for a while. That’s why I know her name. She’d drive a little Honda down there and use one of his spaces.”

  “Nobach’s.”

  Nod. “What’s going on?”

  “When did Kimbee live here?”

  Galloway rotated his head. Scratched the ample flesh under his chin. “Look, I don’t wanna tell you something’s not true.”

  “Best guess, Rudy. I won’t hold you to it.”

  “A year ago? Three-quarters? They rode bikes together. That’s how I know her name. From him talking to her—turn right, Kimbee, we’ll go to Holmby. That kind of thing.”

  Galloway looked at the photo again. “She wore those tight shiny bike pants. Red.” Raised eyebrows; crocodile smile.

  “So she had her own card key.”

  “Yup,” said Galloway. “Parked herself. When she wasn’t biking. C’mon, pal, what’s going on?”

  “Like I said, a welfare check.”

  “On Nobach or the kid?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “What, a dope thing? Shit, all I need. We’ve had them before, last year EMTs came for the grandson of one of the residents. Persian kid, maybe sixteen, friendly, you’d never know. Ambulance took him to the U.” Galloway pointed to a phone in the valet stand. “I can save you trouble, call up there and see if they’re okay.”

  “Don’t,” said Milo, staying Galloway’s arm with his hand. Galloway’s eyes widened.

  Milo said, “So Nobach and this girl are both up there now.”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “You just said ‘They’re okay.’ ”

  “I was just—you said you wanted to check both of ’em, so I said I’d call about both of them.” He shrugged free of Milo’s hand. Looked at his uniform sleeve as if it had been sullied. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Rudy,” said Milo, “once a pro, always a pro, right?”

  Galloway’s “Right” was more lip movement than sound.

  “You been in situations. Now it’s us in a situation. One you’re not in. Okay?”