like bri and selma?
yeah they'd be softer but you'd probably need a new blade anyway
John Nguyen said, "No deal, no way. I've got a bisected corpse, if anything's a death penalty case this is it."
No one gets executed in California, but prosecutors collect lethal-injection sentences like baseball cards.
In the end, a deal was cut. Guilty pleas to first-degree murder and life sentences, but with the possibility of parole because both killers were young, had no prior criminal record, and were potentially "redeemable."
Milo said, "Coupons are redeemable."
One file that didn't show up on either Elise's computer or Fidella's was an indication of where four years of SAT scam money had gone. With fees of fifteen thousand a pop and the possibility that Trey Franck, wearing a variety of wigs, had gamed the system over two dozen times during a three-year period, the total was significant.
One day after the plea bargain hit the news, Dr. Will Kham called Milo from Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara and asked for an appointment. We met him at Cafe Moghul, where Milo was making up for lost time with a mountain of lamb.
Kham wore a dark blue suit and a matching shirt and tie, entered the restaurant furtively.
A physician, but his black bag today was a wheeled carry-on.
Out of it came a sheaf of papers. Eighteen months of investment records from a Citibank subsidiary in Santa Barbara.
Nine hundred and eighteen thousand dollars joint-accounted to Kham and Elise Freeman's sister, Sandra Stuehr.
Milo kept eating as he read. When he turned the last page, he said, "Value stocks and corporate bonds, you guys haven't done too badly, considering."
"I want out," said Kham. "I can tell you exactly what's mine and what's hers."
"Tell me about it, Doc."
"The figures will speak for themselves."
"Tell me anyway."
Not a talkative man, but after some struggle, Kham got the story out.
He and Sandra had planned to be married, though the scandal had changed everything, no way would his family tolerate that kind of thing. And he'd been having doubts, himself.
"Too rushed. The fact that she was so eager was starting to concern me."
A year ago, Sandra had insisted on a joint account to "prove the strength of their relationship."
Kham had contributed five hundred and twenty thousand, Sandra a bit over three hundred thousand. Investments purchased at the bottom of the meltdown by Kham had added nearly a hundred in profit.
"Looking back," said Kham, "I know she used me to launder the money. Because prior to that, she'd been claiming financial hardship, her ex was withholding all sorts of assets from her. All of a sudden, she presented me with a cashier's check for three oh nine. When I asked her where it came from, she said savings and changed the subject. Back then, I was love-stupid so I let it go. But I held on to the receipt--it's in here. Drawn on a bank in Studio City. When I heard about what her sister had done, I figured you should know."
"We should, Doc. Thanks very much."
"Thank me," said Kham, "by helping me get my five twenty back. She can keep the interest, it's dirty money, I don't want any part of it."
"Sounds like your parents raised you right."
"So they'd say, Lieutenant."
CHAPTER
40
A week after Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover bargained for their lives, the police chief gave a press conference describing the arrest as "the product of meticulous investigation and precisely the type of corruption I'm committed to eradicating."
Among the cadre of suits surrounding him was Captain Stanley Creighton. Milo was nowhere to be seen.
I called and asked him about it.
"If I wanted to be an actor, I would've learned to wait tables."
The following morning, at eight a.m., an aide to the chief got through to my private line and asked me to "confer" with her boss in three hours.
"At his house, Dr. Delaware, if you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"Great, I'll give you the address."
I already had it, but no sense editing her script.
When she hung up, I gave Milo another call.
He said, "Rick and I are going over travel stuff. We were thinking Hawaii, but maybe the Atlantic deserves us. Ever been to the Bahamas?"
"Never. My travel plans extend to Agoura. Want to drive together?"
"I would if I was invited, Alex."
"Oh."
"Guess I'm the lucky one."
"I wonder what he wants."
"Maybe he'll sweeten the job offer."
"There ain't enough sugar in Hawaii," I said. "Same goes for whatever they grow in the Bahamas. Okay, keep you posted."
"Here's my post: John says Tristram's lawyers are panicking for a quick transfer to Corcoran."
"That's a tough place. County Jail decor doesn't cut it?"
"Getting the shit beat out of you by some resident County gangbangers doesn't fit young T's lifestyle. The fervent hope is isolation with the snitches and the child molesters and the white-collar mopes will help."
"There you go," I said. "Everything's about connections."
In the daylight, the chief's spread was scragglier but more appealing. Like the set of an old western movie.
Hot day in Agoura, despite impending autumn. He sat in the same rocker, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and red tie that had to be cooking him. The three metal folding chairs to his left soaked up full, punishing sun.
Three young men occupied the chairs: a husky Latino kid with his arm in a sling wearing a South El Monte High letterman's jacket, a smallish but muscular guy, slightly older, in cutoffs and a Zuma Jay T-shirt, and a beanpole with a humongous Adam's apple, awkward mannerisms, and fuzzy red hair protruding from a beige Huntington Gardens cap.
I bypassed the chief and walked up to Cutoff. "You're Garret Kenten?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good to meet you."
"Same here."
"Impressive and entertaining, Doctor," said the chief. "One day you can take the show to Vegas."
Charlie removed his cap. "Da-ad."
"Sorry, son." Different voice. Subdued, embarrassed, unsure. I'd heard it from countless parents of adolescents.
"Forgive me, Dr. Delaware. As you can imagine, it's been a bit challenging around here."
"Shouldn't be, Dad," said Charlie. "Seeing as we did the allegedly right thing."
Garret Kenten high-fived him.
Martin Mendoza smiled.
I shook his left hand, continued to Charlie.
The chief said, "Please sit down, Dr. Delaware. No sense drawing this out. Garret and Charlie have been hiding Martin Mendoza since shortly after Elise Freeman's murder. Technically, when Marty was a fugitive, that was illegal. But given how things have unfolded, I'm sure you recognize the need for discretion."
"Of course," I said. To the trio: "Good work, guys."
"No big deal," said Garret Kenten.
Marty Mendoza said, "To me it was, dude."
"The fugitive," said Garret. "We should've filmed it."
Charlie hadn't taken his eyes off me. "It was a clear matter of right and wrong, unsullied by those inane moral dilemmas they keep tossing at us so they can feel good about themselves. As if theoretical situations are relevant."
Garret Kenten said, "What matters to me is my grandfather doesn't get hassled." Talking to me but looking sidelong at the chief.
The chief said, "That'll be no problem."
"I know you can't stand him, sir, but you need to forget about that."
"Your grandfather and I--we've had our differences. He's obviously a good man but there are... differences."
"I don't care about that, sir. I just don't want you to hassle him."
"No problem."
Charlie said, "No reason for there to be, Dad."
His father glared. Pulled at his mustache. "Not a single hair on your grampa's head wi
ll be touched."
Garret grinned. "Good, he doesn't have too many left."
Marty laughed. Charlie remained serious.
"We had to do it," he said. "We don't deserve credit because there was no other logical choice. They made explicit threats against him."
The chief said, "Son, there's no need to get into--"
"They hated Marty because they're insubstantial posers and his abilities threatened them. It was a matter of life and death."
Marty said, "Maybe not that bad. At least I got to learn surfing."
Garret said, "You learned to flop on your ass."
I said, "So you stayed in Malibu."
"Yes, but not at my grandfather's estate because we knew... we just figured it wasn't a good idea. My grandfather rents me my own place in Trancas, I'm taking a couple of years off to do a documentary on surfing. Probably come to nothing, but I'll give it a try then maybe head to UC Santa Cruz." To Marty: "At least you're neat, dude."
"Like you'd know the difference."
I said, "Nice setup. You even got him his own surfboard."
All three boys stared.
"Your grandfather's house was under surveillance, Garret. You were seen bringing a board out and the following day you left with a guy in a beige cap."
Garret Kenten said, "Whoa."
Charlie shrugged.
The chief said, "Okay, everyone got to share feelings, now go inside, guys, I need to talk to the doctor alone."
Martin Mendoza stood but the other two hesitated.
"Don't push it," said the chief.
Garret and Charlie flanked Marty. As they turned to leave, I walked up to him. "I'm glad you're okay."
He said, "History class there was all that talk about good Germans saving Jews. I wasn't sure I believed it."
The three of them trudged to the house.
The chief said, "You know what I'm going to ask you now."
"Not really."
"This mess, every single application from Prep is being looked at like a slice of freeze-dried dogshit. Charlie earned his way into Yale. I want you to write him a letter of recommendation and make it good."
"How does he feel about that?"
"Look, Doctor, anything from his teachers and that asshole Helfgott's gonna be poison. You, on the other hand, still stand for truth, justice, and all that good stuff. And you've got that professorship at the med school, they like that kind of thing."
"Be happy to do it," I said. "After I talk to Charlie."
"About what?"
"For me to write a good letter, I need to know him."
"I'll tell you what you need to know: 4.0 GPA and he takes the hardest classes--honors, APs. His extracurricular activities are off the chart, I'm talking a broad range of--"
"Not that," I said.
"Then what?" he barked.
"I want to know him. Not his circus tricks."
CHAPTER
41
Charlie slouched out of the house with the look of every other teenager pushed into doing something he despised.
I said, "Let's walk."
"Why?"
"I feel like it and you're too young to have sore feet."
"Whatever."
We began circling the motor court. He jammed spidery hands into his pockets, stared at the ground.
"You know what your dad wants."
"Emphasis on 'your dad.' As opposed to what I want."
"That's why I'm talking to you."
"He's utterly obsessed."
"With you?"
"With me getting into some weenie emporium."
"He said you chose Yale."
"That's like saying I hate cheese and someone says your choice is Gruyere or Cheddar."
"You couldn't care less."
"No," he said, "if I said that, I'd be just another phony cretin. Sure, I care. I've been conditioned to care."
Two steps. "Sometimes I think about going to junior college. Just to show them how stupid the whole thing is."
"That would be something," I said.
"Where'd you go to school?"
"The U."
"No pressure from your parents?"
"The Ivies weren't in my universe. I was just glad to get the hell away from Missouri."
"What's wrong with Missouri?"
"Absolutely nothing."
He stared at me. "Oh. Anyway, don't feel you have to do anything that contradicts your principles."
"Writing a letter for you doesn't," I said. "On the contrary."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
"Whatever--if I say don't write it, you won't?"
"Not a comma."
"He doesn't take well to being told no."
"I've told him no before."
Brown eyes widened. "In what context?"
I said, "He's been bugging me for years to give up my practice and work for the department. Keeps tossing more money and better titles my way."
"Yeah, that's his style. So what, you shine him on because you don't like him?"
"I could deal with him, Charlie, but the money still sucks and always will and, more important, I prize my independence. You can relate to that."
His look turned sour. Don't Patronize Me.
I said, "Don't get all sensitive, I'm stating a fact. No need for me to kiss your ass."
The follow-up look, saucer-eyed and confused, said Who Is This Space Alien?
We walked a bit more before he said, "It's utterly absurd, his thinking I deserve a prize. I just did what was necessary."
"Were you and Marty friends?"
"I don't have any friends," he said. "Neither did he, at Prep."
"Common enemy's as good a reason as any for rapport."
First smile of the day. "True... he used to sit by himself, a couple of times I went over and talked to him. He was polite but didn't have much to say. After he hurt his shoulder he wasn't much for any kind of sociability, I could see he wanted to be alone, so I stayed away. But then I heard some of their clique trash-talking about Marty killing Ms. F., I knew I had to do something. Planting lies is so typical. They live to deceive."
"T and Q," I said.
"They take no responsibility and the system feeds their narcissism."
"Finding scapegoats."
"Finding and tossing them over cliffs. That's the original concept. Of scapegoat, I mean. It's from the Old Testament, used to be literal. When the community deteriorated to utter corruption, they picked two goats. One was designated godly, the other was the Azazel and they tossed it over to atone for everyone's sins." Huffing. "As if."
"They teach Bible at Prep?"
"Oh, sure." He snickered. "Between agonizing analysis of Malcolm X and Catcher in the Rye there isn't much time left for ancient texts. No, I've been known to read on my own. Even when I should be studying for the SAT."
I said, "You like the Old Testament."
"Old, New, the Prophets, the Gospels, the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita. The truth is, all religions promote kindness as well as incredible brutality."
I said, "So T and Q's clique had pinned Ms. Freeman on Martin. Think they believed it?"
"Who knows? Are they even capable of belief?"
"They talked about it openly?"
"No way," he said. "But one time I was being my usual asocial loser self and walking near the back of the campus--right at the back, there's a dense, kind of foresty area where no one goes, which is precisely why I do, I need peace and quiet so I can read what I want to, cut myself off from all the--anyway, I was back there. Reading Job, actually, and for the first time I heard someone else. It was T, smoking weed. Then Q joined him and he lit up. I said, Great, there goes my last refuge. I thought of leaving but didn't want them to see my--I just didn't want to deal with them. So I stayed, I was behind some thick bushes, it's a place I always go, just me and the beetles, once in a while there's a squirrel. They had no idea. I had no interest whatsoever in anything they had to say but they were cl
ose by and talking loud enough for me to hear. Then some of their clique joined them and they all started talking about it."
"Ms. Freeman."
"Yes. No one was exactly grieving. Mostly because they're superficial. But in T's case and Q's, there was anger. 'Ding dong the bitch is dead,' that kind of thing. Then T started going off on Marty, blaming him for it, saying he was going to call in an anonymous tip to the police and name Marty. Everyone thought that was a great idea. Then everyone lit up and the air started stinking of weed and I wanted out of there but I waited until they were gone, then took out my cell and texted Garret and he called his grandfather and he called the Mendozas. They decided they needed to keep Marty safe until it became clear if those threats were real. Mrs. Mendoza packed up a suitcase and drove Marty to Garret's."
"You texted Garret first because you and he are friends."
"I already told you: The concept of friendship is alien to me. I knew him from surfing. He surfs at County Line and I do, too, because the waves are usually good and I can just drive over the canyon from here." Second smile of the day. "Bet you didn't see me as a surfer. I can't play ball worth shit and I spaz out in basketball but on a board my balance is pretty good."
"You're full of surprises, Charlie."
"Going to put that in your letter?"
"Am I writing a letter?"
"Far as I'm concerned, there's no need. The entire process is utterly absurd, not to mention corrupt and despicable. Look where it led."
"Bad people can turn anything rotten."
"The system's rotten," he said. "The haves keep getting more, the have-nots keep getting ripped off. Don't think I'm a socialist or an anarchist--any kind of ist. Those systems inevitably sink into corruption, as well. I just work at seeing things the way they are."
We walked some more.
I said, "What made you decide T and Q might be guilty themselves?"
"My long-term analysis of their personalities plus the anger--rage, really--that I heard in their voices when they were discussing Ms. Freeman. It all made sense, when you knew about the SAT scam."
"Did everyone at Prep know?"
Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel Page 26