“Have you seen Pete recently?”
“No. What’s he done?”
She stood. “When we can tell you we will, Dr. Stark. Thanks for your time.” Flashing a smile. “Maybe you can call your parents and tell them we’re paying attention.”
“That might not help. They’re strong-willed people.”
I said, “Despite their suspicions, they didn’t move from the neighborhood.”
“No way,” said Stark. “They finally owned their own home.”
“Hard to beat that,” said Milo.
“You bet, Detective. It’s all about equity.”
CHAPTER
36
Byron Stark’s narrowing of time and place made the search easy.
A coroner’s file on Roger “Kimo” Bandini was unearthed in the archives at Mission Road and the fax came through to Petra by four p.m.
White male, twenty-nine, six two, one forty. A multitude of old needle tracks, fresh puncture wounds, and a tox screen that shot back a generous amount of speed and a monumental dose of diazepam had all screamed overdose, no need to autopsy. Missing was any record of where Bandini had been buried, or even if his body had been claimed.
By five thirty, Petra had gotten a Wilshire Division detective to unearth the corresponding police file, a slim affair, most of which was a photocopy of the coroner’s findings. Sergeant J. Rahab, the coordinator at the scene, noted that an anonymous call at 3:15 a.m. had prompted the call to Fourth Street.
Embedded in Rahab’s clumsy prose was mention of a “burglar’s kit” found under Bandini’s corpse.
Searches of national databases revealed a ten-year police record and several brief incarcerations for Pete Whitbread’s friend, stretching from California to Utah: three breaking and enterings, a DUI, two arrests for possession of marijuana, three for methamphetamine, an intent-to-sell crank bust dismissed on procedural grounds the year before Bandini’s death.
Neither Peterson Whitbread nor Blaise De Paine showed up on Bandini’s buddy list, but Leland Armbruster and Lester Jordan did.
Petra said, “All of them into the Hollywood dope scene. But no cross-reference to Armbruster’s homicide file so Isaac never picked it up. Boys, we are still living in the Dark Ages.”
Milo said, “Little Petey doesn’t respect his elders. They let him in the game and end up dead.”
I re-read the coroner’s report. My breath caught and jammed up in my chest. I let air out slowly.
Milo said, “Something we missed?”
“The anonymous call was never followed up on. Someone just happening upon a body at that hour is unlikely. Wouldn’t you be curious?”
“I’d follow it up,” said Petra.
Milo said, “Bandini being a low-life crank-head, no one cared who spotted him. Why do you?”
“Bear with me,” I said. “With a passerby being unlikely, the logical assumption would be a neighbor. Bandini’s body was found one building east of Patty’s duplex. Patty wouldn’t want Tanya waking up and seeing that.”
Petra said, “And Patty would know a body was lying out on the street because…”
I said, “‘Killed a man close by.’”
Milo and Petra looked at each other.
He said, “The terrible thing.”
“Hot-shotting Bandini would qualify,” I said. “Think about it: His blood was swimming with speed and Valium. He’d been shooting crank for years but there’s no mention of downers anywhere in his jacket. Valium is a common hospital drug.”
Milo rubbed his face.
I said, “Something else Isaac’s data search wouldn’t pull up because it was classified as an accidental death.”
Petra said, “What would be Patty’s motive? And how are you suggesting it happened?”
“Unless we find De Paine and he talks, we may never know the details. My guess is he and Bandini were pressuring Patty for prescription drugs. He knew she was a nurse from when she cared for his father and now that she was his mother’s tenant, he tried to exploit that. He could’ve started off wheedling, met resistance, and turned up the pressure. The most effective way would’ve been a threat against Tanya, veiled or otherwise.”
“Patty would give in to that?”
“She might’ve, out of fear,” I said. “She could’ve developed some serious suspicions—just like the Starks.”
Petra rubbed her temples. “She wondered about the missing girls?”
“If De Paine silenced Jordan because he knew about the girls, where would Jordan have found out in the first place? Patty talking to him about his wayward son.”
“It’s starting to shape up like a whole bunch of people knew about the girls.”
Milo said, “When the Starks complained, the department flipped them off, why would anyone else come forward? Jesus.”
Petra looked as if she’d swallowed a grub. “Makes me proud to be a sworn law enforcement specialist…Alex, you really think Patty could’ve overdosed someone premeditatedly? And same question: How’d it go down?”
“Let’s say Bandini and Pete were behind the hot-prowl break-ins and that Bandini tried the same thing with Patty. Brought his kit late one night, picked her lock, started searching for drugs. Patty woke up, confronted him, used her gun to back him down. She didn’t call the police because that wouldn’t solve the problem permanently. Bandini would be out eventually, maybe return to get even. So she defused the situation by making a peace offering Bandini couldn’t refuse.”
Milo said, “I’ll dose you up now, and if you behave yourself there’s more in the future. But don’t come creeping around my place at night…yeah, a hungry crank fiend might go for that. He sits in the kitchen, she fixes a needle, Bandini’s expecting a jolt of speed, but instead she cocktails him.”
“With no extensive downer experience, that much Valium could’ve stopped his heart cold.”
Milo said, “Valium I can see her having, easy to swipe from the hospital. Where would she get meth?”
“The tox screen said amphetamine, unspecified. Any number of prescription stimulants could produce that result. Secondary tests could’ve teased out the specifics but no one saw any need for that.”
“I’m still picturing it,” said Petra. “She doses him, sits there, watches him die?”
“Bandini broke in,” said Milo.
“That’s still cold. And if she had uppers and downers ready, well planned.” The room grew silent.
Milo said, “Patty came right out and told Tanya she killed a guy. We were the ones pretending she meant something symbolic. And hell, if Alex is right about what led up to it—hot-prowl break-ins, missing girls, maybe threats to Tanya—I’m happy calling it justifiable.”
Petra said, “Whatever happened, the lady’s long gone, no sense judging…back to the scene for a sec. Bandini croaks, Patty’s got a DB to deal with, she drags him out to the street, waits awhile, calls it in…guess it fits.”
Milo said, “It sure doesn’t not fit.”
She smiled faintly. “You and your grammar, Mr. English Major.”
“Lieutenant English Major.”
The two of them bantering, so as not to think about Patty.
I said, “Here’s something else that fits: Bandini’s break-in tools were found under his body, which is consistent with someone wanting to make it look like a bad guy O.D.’ing. But there was no mention of a needle on his person in either the coroner’s or the police file. Or anyone looking for a needle.”
Petra scanned both reports. Shook her head. “Fresh needle mark in the guy’s arm and no one checks it out. Oh, man, this is law enforcement at its finest.” To Milo: “You know this Rahab guy?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe Stu does…not that it’s worth churning dust over…another question, Alex: If Patty killed Bandini, I can see her leaving his tools in order to show he was a bad guy, maybe set up a little additional distraction. But why wouldn’t she do the same for the needle?”
“Her prints were on it,�
� I said. “She might’ve worried they wouldn’t clean off totally, or there’d be some way to trace it back to Cedars and her. Or maybe she simply forgot. She was an amateur in over her head.”
“Protecting her kid…Mama bears do get aggressive,” said Petra.
Her own mother had died birthing her.
Milo said, “Let’s get back to the logic of killing Bandini in the first place. If she was out to protect Tanya, why leave Petey alive?”
“He was young and he wasn’t directly involved in the break-in,” I said. “Having someone else do his dirty work is consistent with everything else we know about him. Maybe Patty got that, figured he wouldn’t hassle her on his own.”
“Plus,” said Petra, “the personal connection to him through his father.”
Milo said, “The old mayhem hierarchy. It’s okay to shoot a coyote but your neighbor’s poodle gets nasty, you have second thoughts.”
“Or one killing took everything out of her,” said Petra.
Milo said, “Watching a guy fade out could dampen your enthusiasm.”
I said, “And prey on your mind forever. Shortly after Bandini’s death, she moved to Culver Boulevard, a big comedown. Right after, Tanya came to me for the second time. She talked about Patty being nervous, cleaning compulsively in the middle of the night.”
“Anxiety,” said Petra.
“Part of the move could’ve been moving away from Pete’s sphere of operations but maybe there was an element of self-punishment, as well. Eventually, she made some kind of peace with it. Then a decade later, Pete reincarnated as Blaise De Paine shows up in her E.R., recognizes her, tells her something that frightens her. I’ve been assuming verbal menacing of Tanya but what if De Paine threatened to expose her for Bandini’s murder?”
“‘I know what you did that summer’?” said Petra. “But De Paine and Patty were the only two people aware of what happened and self-preservation shut both their mouths. So why would De Paine shake that up?”
“He’s gotten away with crimes his entire life, is impulsive and egotistical enough to think he’s invulnerable. Coming face-to-face with Patty triggered his mouth, he couldn’t resist harassing her. It brought back all those memories she’d fought hard to bury. And terrified her. If De Paine chose to incriminate her, her life would fall apart. Everything she’d worked for would be history. Or even worse, it’s possible De Paine decided to take revenge by coming after her and Tanya. Maybe she tried to ward him off with a counterthreat. ‘I know what you did that summer—the missing girls’—and he laughed it off. She realized he was a total sociopath, couldn’t be counted on to be careful.”
“Risky move bringing up the girls,” said Milo. “Be easier just to shoot him.”
“But when De Paine showed up in the E.R., he wasn’t alone. Patty may have eliminated a hungry speed freak but stalking and murdering three apparent bad guys was way out of her league. Maybe she even contemplated ways to do it. But then she got sick. As a nurse, she knew she had very little time left, had to prioritize getting Tanya’s future in order. Once she did that—when her strength had waned to almost nothing—she tried to warn Tanya. Refused her pain meds so she could cling to consciousness. She managed to direct Tanya to me, but I was a stop along the way. It was you she wanted involved.”
“Aw, shucks,” said Milo, grimacing. “Getting terminally ill right after being reminded of your big sin, a religious person could see that as divine retribution. What was Patty’s take on faith?”
“We never discussed it,” I said. “But whatever views she started off with, knowing death is imminent changes everything. She had so much to do in so little time, struggled to sort out what to tell Tanya. Whatever her cognitive state, her worries stayed with her because she was obsessive. Pinpricks in a fading brain.”
He winced at the image.
Petra said, “As she’s trying to figure it out, Tanya brings her those magazines, she leafs through, spots De Paine hobnobbing. That could’ve been seen as Cosmic Fate. She decides to tell Tanya about the terrible thing with an eye to warning her, but is too sick to get it all out?”
“That and she didn’t want Tanya handling it alone.”
“She sows, we reap.”
Milo said, “Let’s talk about Brandy and Roxy. Two girls vanish from a nice neighborhood without being missed?”
Petra said, “I put a call in to Stark’s father, haven’t heard back. Stark Junior does seem to be right about no MP report being filed. So what do we do now, put an ad out about two strippers who haven’t been seen for a decade? Girls in that business can lead transient lives. Maybe they did move out in the middle of the night—escaping debt. Left the Vette behind for the same reason. For all we know, the car was days from the repo man.”
“Maybe they weren’t strippers,” I said. “Became Mary Whitbread’s tenants through a work connection.”
“Porn actresses.”
“It would explain the irregular hours.”
“Daytime shoots,” said Milo, “and nighttime’s the right time for some extra-cash escorting. Being a Hollywood person, you know anyone in the biz, kiddo?”
Petra said, “Hey, that’s Valley stuff.”
“If the two of them made films ten years ago,” I said, “they might be listed on some video Web site.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “The rigors of research.”
Petra said, “I don’t think I should do that on the department computer. Things are so jumpy around here since Fortuno went into protective that even a righteous porn search is going to look sleazy.”
I said, “Speaking of which, Fortuno might remember the girls.”
Petra pulled out S.A. Wanamaker’s card, punched the number. Hung up. “Disconnected. If I have time, I’ll try his superiors and if that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to Stu. But my gut says the Feebies have cooperated as much as they’re going to. You guys mind surfing a few dirty sites?”
“I’d do it,” said Milo, “but my delicate constitution and all that. Also, there’s actual detecto-stuff I’d like to try, like harassing various Vice personnel around town to find out if Brandy and Roxy ever got busted on their turf.”
They both looked at me.
“Sure,” I said.
“Hey,” said Milo, “if you enjoy it, all the better.”
At seven thirty, I took Robin out to a quiet dinner at the Pacific Dining Car in Santa Monica. By nine, we were back.
She said, “Want to play Scrabble or something?”
I said, “Sorry, got to look at filthy pictures.”
Vivacious Videos’ Web site had logged five million viewers during the last three months. Videos and DVDs on sale, special offers if I acted NOW!
User-friendly site, just plug in the names and catch an eyeful.
Brandee Vixen and Rocksi Roll had co-starred in eleven movies, all girl-on-girl, filmed during a one-year period.
Ten years ago.
The films were classified as “old-school classics.” The director and producer were proud enough to list their names.
Darrel Dollar and Benjamin Baranelli, respectively. Maybe Baranelli wasn’t a pseudonym.
His name pulled up twelve hits and three images. Little knob-nosed, white-haired man in his seventies, presenting the award for best oral scene at the Adult Film Convention in Las Vegas to a six-foot blonde in pigtails.
She was topless. Baranelli wore an amethyst velvet dinner jacket, tomato-red turtleneck, chest medallion the size of a dessert plate, and grotesquely wide denture smile.
I switched to various yellow-page sites. No business listing under Baranelli’s name. I tried 818 information on a lark, was stunned to get a residential hit.
Baranelli, Benjamin A., Tarzana, no address.
A wheezy, dry old man’s voice answered, “Yeah?”
I rattled off a fast, ambiguous introduction, threw in Brandee and Rocksi’s names.
Baranelli said, “Finally you idiots do something.”
“Which—”
&nbs
p; “You cops. They were gorgeous girls, what, they just walked off the face of the earth? I called, over and over, got nowhere. Because of jobism.”
“Jobism?”
“Discrimination cause by what they did for a living. This was some so-called straight actress who sucked cock and did weekly bukkake to get her sitcom job and then pretended she was born without a pussy, the SWAT team woulda come out in force. You guys are fucking puritan hypocrites.”
“What can you tell me about—”
“I can tell you those girls had a bright career. No way—no fucking way—would they just boogie off and not tell me. We did a film a month, each one doubled the gross of the last, they were making good money. Because of the E-factor. Know what that is?”
“No—”
“Enthusiasm. Every girl who walks in has the hair, the tits, the tongue. Some of them even fake you out at the audition. Then you put ’em in a scene and they generate as much enthusiasm as Hillary doing it with Bill. What I’m telling you is those two didn’t have to fake it. They were into each other. They were in love.”
“Do you know their real names?”
“Now you’re asking?”
“Better late than never.”
“Not when it comes to a money-shot, heh, heh…their real names? Brandee—with the two ee’s, that was my idea, to set her apart from the y’s and the i’s—Brandee was Brenda something. Rocksi was Renée something…don’t recall the last names. They were from Iowa. Or Idaho, something like that. One of those religious nut things.”
“A cult?”
“They told me they had to pray all day and dress up like Amishes or nuns. Which gave me the idea for the fourth picture we made—Nasty Habits.”
“Do you remember the name of the cult?”
“I don’t remember what I never knew. Why would I give a shit?”
“How old were they?”
“Legal. Don’t try to—”
“I’m just trying to get as many details as I can. What else did they tell you about their backgrounds?”
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