Dr. Delaware: She was especially scary.
CS: Because the other two—Willa and Hank—at least they said they cared, they had a reason for being crazy, some sort of crazy moral judgments, their work, I don’t know. But at least they gave me a reason. With her it was clearly a joke, she couldn’t care less. A mean joke, she’d come in, bring the food, that was her job, bringing the food and emptying the toilet but she’d always do it in a mean way. Spill food. Spill you-know-what out of the toilet and make sure I saw it and I had to clean it up because with Rambla crawling around it was disgusting. And she’d always make sure it was just far enough so I could clean it but I had to stretch and hurt my ankle, you know?
Dr. Delaware: Sadistic.
CS: Definitely. Also, what she’d say to me was sadistic. I mean with Willa and Hank it was always a test. The test, that’s what they actually called it. I was being examined. To see if I was fit. That gave me hope. At least at first. That I’d pass and they’d let me go. But of course …
(2 minute pause)
CS: I’m sorry, I was just thinking about what could’ve happened. I try not to think about it. Even though you tell me it’s okay to think about it, Dr. Delaware, it’ll get better. I mean I believe you, I trust you, from the moment I met you I had a good feeling about you. And now … thank you so so so much. And you, too, Lieutenant Sturgis. (laughter) And you, too, Mr. Nguyen. I guess you’re all fighting for me. (more laughter) I guess I should thank you too, miss. For taking notes. For putting my words down for posterity. Anyway …
Dr. Delaware: You had hopes you’d pass the test—
CS: And they’d let me go and that would be that. But down deep I knew. I mean I knew who they were. How could they let me go? And then I’d think about what would happen to Rambla. Someone else raising her. Because they judged me. And then she’d come in. Kiara. Not only would she spill stuff including from the toilet. She’d laugh and sneer and totally ignore Rambla. And then—the second day I think it was—she told me what the real plan was. That Rambla was for her. The other two were her uncle and aunt but they raised her so they were more like parents. But they were shitty parents. That’s what she called them. Strict and controlling and shitty, she hated them, one day she was going to take care of them. And then she winked and her face turned into this evil wink. Like she meant it. But like try to prove it. And then, the second day, she said, “They want her for me.” She never even looked at Rambla or smiled or was nice to Rambla. “They want her for me.” Her uncle and aunt are figuring a child will teach her responsibility. She laughed about that. A lot. Then she did it again. That evil wink.
(14 second pause)
CS: Okay, deep breath. Like what you taught me yesterday, Doctor. Deep deeeep breath … okay. Okay … so then she tells me one day Rambla will be hers and she can do anything she wants with Rambla, she doesn’t give a shit about kids, kids are a pain, maybe she could train Rambla to do circus tricks, make some money from her. Wink wink. Then she says, So guess what, bitch? It’ll all be up to me and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Lieutenant Sturgis: Did you ever tell this to Willa or Hank?
CS: I thought about it. Then I figured she’d just say I was lying and they’d punish me, maybe by taking Rambla away. I figured I had to behave myself. For my baby.
(90 second pause)
Mr. Nguyen: Are you okay to continue?
CS: That’s really it. I mean they locked me up and tortured me and I knew they were going to kill me and take my baby and then you showed up and liberated me and I’ll forever be grateful, if I ever have another baby it’ll be named after you. If it’s a boy. If it’s a girl, I’ll figure something out … maybe Alexa. Maybe Mylie.
(Laughter from JN, AD, and MS)
CS: I mean that was as unreal as the whole experience. Being liberated. I mean it really was.
Mr. Nguyen: So they made it clear that the primary reason for abducting you was to take control of your child.
CS: Well … I mean the other two claimed it was the test. But after the beginning—maybe the first two days—they stopped coming in and it was just her.
Mr. Nguyen: Kiara Fallows.
CS: Yes. Like she’d been made the one in charge. Like it was part of her training. Bringing the food. Giving and taking. She became God. Evil goddess. And she made it clear she was in charge, she even called me that. I’m sorry, you wouldn’t know what “that” means. A problem. She called me a problem. Said they were clearing away problems so she could learn to be a good mother. Then she laughed. And spit. Not on Rambla but at Rambla. Rambla understood, kids understand. It was getting to the point where each time she’d come in with the food my baby would scream. And she liked that. Kiara. Rambla would scream. And she’d laugh.
CHAPTER
44
Milo and Nguyen agreed that Ree needed to know about Winky and Boris. That I was the one to tell her.
The day after she gave her statement, I returned to the suite at the small hotel in West L.A. that had been set up as her recuperation space. A detective named Ray Roykin sat out in the hall, playing with his iPad. No need to check my I.D., I’d been here when the refuge was set up and Roykin had received his orders from Milo.
Rambla slept in the crib set up in the living room. Ree lay on a neatly made bed reading People magazine.
I let her chitchat for a while and when I figured the timing wouldn’t get any better I told her.
Over the course of an hour, she went from shock to craving details to racking sobs to survivor guilt. Rambla woke up after twenty minutes and Ree was able to fight back her grief and tend to her child. When Rambla was back asleep Ree said she also needed to rest. I told her I’d be back later in the evening, sooner if she needed me.
She said, “For sure I will need you. I put her down at seven, she’s like clockwork. So anytime after that.”
“She’s settled back to a schedule.”
“For the most part. I guess it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Them leaving her with me, I mean.”
I wondered how long that would’ve lasted before the Nebes decided Ree had failed the motherhood test.
Maybe Ree was thinking the same thing, because when she walked me to the door, her hands were shaking.
I held them.
She said, “This is going to sound materialistic but I’m going to sue. Not just them, the whole Sheriff’s Department. And the county for running the courts like that, and anyone else we can think of.”
“You’ve hired a civil attorney.”
She blushed. “Myron called. He’s ready to take ’em all on. Can I count on you to be there for me? Just to tell them I’m a good mother and that Rambla’s a good girl and to describe what they did to me?”
“Of course,” I said. “We also need to make sure you and Rambla are doing as well as can be—”
“Therapy,” she said. “You bet. That’ll be part of the settlement.” Smile. “Maybe I’ll have so much money you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
I smiled back. “I can live with that.”
She leaned forward, planted a hot, brief kiss on my cheek. “Sorry if that was inappropriate but I feel I need to … touch you. Not in a sexual way. To connect. To thank you, I mean right from the beginning you could see the truth.”
“Glad I could help.”
Her mouth turned down. “Poor Winky. Thank God Boris is okay—I tried to call him but he didn’t answer his phone. Guess I’d be the last person he’d want to talk to.”
“Not your fault, Ree.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
“It’s true.”
“I know, I know. But I can’t help—guess it’s like you said, it’s going to take time. And we’ll have plenty of time if Myron gets what he says he can get. Not that I’ll let it change me. Getting rich isn’t the point. Living kindly and honestly is. Winky knew that. He was such a good friend. So gentle. And now I’ll never see him again.”
No mention of the othe
r murder victim.
She sagged against the doorway.
I said, “Ree, seeing as we are going to be dealing with all of this, it would help if, at some point, you could tell me everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“You just said Winky had nothing to do with any of it. I took that to mean—”
“He’s not—wasn’t Rambla’s daddy? No he wasn’t. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but Winky couldn’t have kids. So now you’re wondering if Boris was. The answer is no, again. But that begs the big question, right?”
“It does, Ree.”
Her cheeks puffed. She reached for her braid, touched air. Frowned. “I didn’t tell not because I was afraid or ashamed, Dr. Delaware. I did it to be kind. Because he doesn’t know and if he found out, it would change things. For him and for other people.”
“His family.”
Nod.
“He’s married.”
Slower nod. “A good man who”—she chuckled—“strayed. That’s how he put it. After it was over. I thought nothing of it but he felt guilty, said he’d never done anything like that before.”
“You believed him.”
“I did,” she said. “I still do. It was one of those crazy things. The bar at Moonshadows. He was there because he’d had a fight with his wife. I was there because another guy had dumped me and I was feeling low about myself and we just started talking and he was such a total gentleman and a sweetie. Older, the kind of manners old guys have.”
She shrugged. “We decided to take a drive. Up Rambla Pacifico. In his car because it was much nicer than mine. What you’d call a luxury car.” Impish smile. “But don’t ask. We drove and talked, then we came to a spot with a gorgeous view of the ocean and we parked and talked some more.”
She looked to the side. “I can’t even tell you how it happened, Dr. Delaware. Both of us were surprised. He felt worse than me. Said he’d strayed. I ended up comforting him. Next month, I had no period. But I said no way. Second month, I took the test and there it was, a little pink dot. So how do I know it was him? Because that stretch of time was a famine for me. He was the only one. Plus she looks like him. Like his other kids. He showed me pictures. At the bar. They’re grown. Successful. He’s got a great situation. Loves his wife, that night they had a fight. Why should I ruin all that?”
“You haven’t talked to him since?”
“Not once,” she said. “I did do one of those stalker things. Driving by his house, I knew where he lived because he showed it to me, a real beautiful place not far from where we parked. He showed me because he was feeling sad, saying he put so much into it and now it seemed his wife was tired of it, needed a change, he hoped that didn’t mean she was sick of him. But that time, driving by his house, I saw them. Him and his wife, she’s a beautiful woman and they were walking together, arm in arm. So that’s it. He strayed and I ended up with a treasure. I love him in a certain kind of way for giving me that treasure and I’ll never do anything to hurt him. In fact, I’m proud of myself. For being there for him when he was sad. For comforting him when he said he’d strayed. I feel I helped him, was there at just the right time.”
She smiled. “I guess you’d know something about that.”
CHAPTER
45
The criminal cases against Hank Nebe and Kiara Fallows would take months, maybe longer, to prepare. Sixty-seven days after his arrest, Nebe suffered a second jail assault and was transferred to a “location unknown” that I knew to be a federal lockup in New Mexico. Matrons at the women’s wing said Kiara Fallows had become a “queen bee” on her tier and was also being considered for transfer.
Then Fallows’s lawyer phoned John Nguyen. His client was ready to “come clean” in exchange for cooperation from the D.A. That translated to a predictably self-serving summary: Uncle Hank and Aunt Willa had murdered Connie Sykes with minimal assistance from Kiara. Yes, she’d accompanied Willa during the abduction of Ree and Rambla, but no, she had no idea what was going to happen, as Willa had simply said there was “court business to take care of.”
Subsequent examination of Willa Nebe’s duty Oxfords revealed minute traces of Connie’s blood and that fit with the speck she’d carelessly left behind at Ree’s apartment. A couple of knives found in Hank Nebe’s nightstand could conceivably be the murder weapons but no definitive proof would be possible.
Nguyen told the lawyer he’d weigh his options. He told Milo and me Kiara’s chance of avoiding serious prison time was “significantly lower than arctic temperature in Hades.”
Myron Ballister wasted no time filing his deep-pockets civil suit. I was returning from my third deposition at the downtown law offices of the white-shoe firm defending the county when I spotted Judge Marvin Applebaum leaving the building with a good-looking brunette his age.
He didn’t notice me until I waved.
“This is my wife, Jean, Alex. Honey, Dr. Alex Delaware, one of our custody consultants.”
Jean’s handshake was a cool gift of fingertips.
Marv said, “Now that I think about it, honey, if you don’t mind.”
She grinned. “So what else is new,” and walked out of the building.
When the revolving door stilled, Marv said, “Our estate lawyers have offices here, we’re trying to figure out how grateful our progeny will be if we do things the right way.” He turned grim. “That Sykes woman, some mess, huh? Can’t believe Willa was involved, you work with someone all those years …”
I said, “She put on a good show.”
“She was like one of those sitcom moms from the fifties. Bringing fresh cookies. I figured she had a brood of her own back home. Turns out she didn’t. Damned lunatic. What was it, like one of those crazy ladies cuts open the womb of another woman to steal the baby?”
“Something like that.”
“Nancy Maestro’s really freaked out. But Nancy overreacts to everything. Anyway, nice to see you.”
I said, “About Singapore—”
“Pardon? Oh, that. Sorry, I should’ve told you, deal’s off, they’ve reconciled. At least for now.”
“That’s good, Marv, because I’m going to be tied up for a while on Sykes, was going to beg off.”
His eyes wandered to the revolving door. Outside, Jeannie Applebaum smoked a cigarette. “Well then everyone’s happy. Ciao.”
CHAPTER
46
Three months after the liberation of Ree and Rambla Sykes, Detective Millie Rivera called and asked to speak with me. Remembering she had a small child—Jorge—I figured she had a developmental question or two.
“Sure. When did you have in mind?”
“Actually,” she said, lowering her voice, “I’m right outside your gate.”
She came in dressed for detective work: brown pantsuit, hair pinned tight, open jacket revealing her sidearm.
In my office, she said, “Nice place. Okay, no way to soften this. Efren Casagrande’s dead. Murdered. I didn’t want you to find out indirectly and think I didn’t respect your situation. ’Cause I do. Not just for what you did for that woman. For your overall demeanor that I kept giving you grief about. He was your patient, I had no right.”
I thought: What the hell happened. My mouth wouldn’t go along with asking.
Rivera said, “And now he’s gone and I’m feeling kind of like a nasty bitch. Even though everything I said about him was true, I know you liked him, Doc, but trust me, he did a lot of terrible things.”
“I know he did.”
“He told you about it?”
“No,” I said. “But I kind of figured it out.”
“Yeah. Guess you did. Anyway, sorry for the attitude. My line of work, you kind of fluctuate between victory and frustration, know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“I mean it’s not like your situation, Doc. Working with basically good people, trying to make them better. What I do—to catch rats you have to crawl into sewers. So it changes you. Not that I’m calling
Effo a rat. Truth is, he was honorable. For his situation. An intelligent individual. In a different family, who knows what he would’ve been able to accomplish?”
“Agreed.”
“And I don’t say that about all of them, Doc. Most of them are morons. And cowards. Needing the gang because they can’t live competently as individuals. Like Ramon Guzman.”
“He killed Efren?”
“That’s the word out,” said Rivera. “Not that I can prove it. Or do anything about it because he’s dead, too. One hour and fifty-three minutes after Efren’s murder, drive-by in front of his house. Has to be some sort of payback record.”
“What happened to Efren?”
“He was at an after-hours club, Cesar Chavez Avenue, what my folks called Brooklyn Avenue back when they and the Jews were living there, tell the truth they miss the bagels. I mean it’s not like they socialized with the Jews but the Jews didn’t shoot anyone and there were great delis—whatever.”
She picked at a cuticle. “Efren was at this club. Along with his posse, partying. And then Efren doesn’t look so good, says he has to go to the bathroom, give himself a shot, and his homeboys say we’ll go with you, Jefe. Because that’s the way it always is, he was like gang royalty. But this time Efren says no, I’m fine, and leaves by himself. When he doesn’t come back for a while, they go looking for him. He’s not in the bathroom, they can’t figure out where he is, keep looking and finally go out the club’s rear door and he’s lying there in the alley, got a syringe and a vial next to him, they assume he O.D.’d on his insulin. Which is a big surprise because Efren was always careful with his dosage. Then they take a closer look and there’s blood underneath him and they turn him over. Two holes to the back of his head.”
“Ambushed and executed,” I said. “You’re pretty sure Guzman did it?”
“Yeah, because Guzman got beat down bad by Efren and then he got shot right after Efren. It’s all in-house, Doc, the typical craziness I deal with day in and day out.”
Killer: An Alex Delaware Novel Page 28