Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes

by Private Eyes(Lit)

  "Guess so. He got up, walked back to the writing table, and toed a dark spot on the cream border of the Aubusson carpet. "Here's where it dropped. Her tuna and mayo, nice little grease spot."

  He faced the Goya portrait and rubbed his eyes. "Before it happened, she was telling me some of the things she'd been through-how you helped her. Kid's lived a lot in eighteen years. I was too rough on her, wasn't I? Too damn judgmental."

  "Occupational hazard," I said. "But you obviously did something right she trusts you.

  "I really didn't think it was going to turn out nasty." He turned and faced me. For the first time I noticed that he needed a shave and his hair looked oily. "What a fucking mess."

  "Who found the car?"

  "Park ranger on routine patrol. He noticed the service gate was open, went over to close it, and decided to check. The areas at the bottom are used by the dam people for taking water samples. They like to keep John Q. Public out-no peeing in the drinking water.

  The lock on this one was missing. But apparently that's not too weird.

  Sometimes the dam people forget to lock up. It's kind of a running joke between them and the rangers-he almost didn't bother to go down and check."

  "No one saw the car from the dam?"

  He shook his head. "It's a good couple of miles from the dam to that part of the reservoir, and the dam people generally keep their eyes glued on dials and gauges."

  Milo sat back down again, looked at the papers on the desk, flipped them absently.

  "What do you think happened?" I said.

  "Why she drove out there in the first place and why down that road?

  Who knows? Chickering made a big deal about her phobiahe's convinced she got lost and started to panic and was looking for a place to get hold of herself The others bought it. Make sense to you?"

  "Maybe. If she felt a need to practice her breathing and take her medicine she would have wanted privacy. But how'd the car get into the water?"

  "Looks like an accident," he said. "She parked close to the shore-the tire marks put it at eighteen inches away. The gearshift was set to neutral. For that particular model, Reverse is the parking gear, once the engine's off. She wasn't exactly an experienced driver and the prevailing wisdom was that she lost control and it rolled in.

  Apparently these old Rolls have servo drum brakes that take a few seconds to engage. If the hand brake's not set, they can roll a bit even after the engine's off and you really have to stomp on the main brake to stop them."

  "Why didn't it roll all the way in?"

  "There're these steel flanges extending several feet out from the wall of the dam. Like steps, for maintenance. The rear wheels got lodged between a couple of them. Really tight. Sheriff's investigators said it would take a winch tow."

  "Was the driver's door open when the ranger found it?"

  "Yes. First thing he did was take a look if anyone was trapped.

  But it was empty. Water was up to the seats. The doors may have flipped open accidentally they're put on backwards, attached to the center post, so gravity would have pulled them back. Or maybe she was trying to get out.

  "What's the prevailing wisdom on whether she succeeded?"

  He stopped, looked at his papers again. Gathered a handful, crumpled it, and left it balled on the desk. "Most popular theory is that she either hit her head trying to get out or passed out due to anxiety and fell in. The reservoir's deep even with the drought, over a hundred and twenty-five feet. And there are no gradations like a swimming pool-it just drops straight off. She would have sunk in seconds.

  Melissa says she wasn't a strong swimmer. Hadn't gone in the pool for years.

  "Melissa said she didn't like water," I said. "So what was she doing out there in the first place?"

  "Who the hell knows? Maybe it was all part of her do-it-yourself therapy. Confronting what scared her-that make sense to you?"

  "It doesn't feel right," I said. "Do you remember your comment after the car was spotted? We were looking at the map looking at the 210-and you thought it was unlikely she'd gone north "cause north was Angeles Crest and you didn't see her as the type to rough it?"

  "So what are you saying?"

  "I don't know," I said. "But this whole tragic accident bit is based upon the assumption that she was alone. What if someone drove her there and dumped her? Weighed the body down to make sure it sank, then tried to push the car in to make it look like an accident but was prevented by the flanges?"

  "Where'd this other person go?"

  "Into the great beyond-the forest is huge. You once told me it's a prime dumping ground for bodies."

  "Didn't know you listened so carefully."

  "All the time."

  He crumpled some more papers and ran his hand over his face.

  "Alex, all these years on the job, you don't have to talk me into seeing the worst in people. But so far nothing screams out foul play.

  Give me a who and a why."

  "Who do you usually suspect first when a rich woman dies?"

  "The husband. But this one doesn't profit, so what's his motive?"

  "Maybe he does profit. Despite what Anger and the lawyer said, prenuptials can be challenged. With an estate this size, even if he ended up with one or two percent it would be significant. And insurance policies can be taken out without lawyers and accountants-or the insured-knowing. Also, he's got another secret." I told him what I'd learned at Malibu.

  He pushed the chair back to the bookshelves, stretched without appearing to achieve comfort. "Old macho Don. Living in a big old walk-in closet."

  I said, "It could explain why he was so hostile when he first met you.

  He knew who you were from TV, was worried you might possibly know about him."

  "Why would I?"

  "Common contacts in the gay community?"

  "Yeah, that's me," he said. "Mr. Activist. Direct line to the gay community."

  "He'd have no way of knowing unless he himself was involved in the gay community. Given the fact that he serves food to San Labrador folk, I think that's unlikely. Or maybe it wasn't rational. Maybe it was just a gut response your being there threatened him. Reminded him of his secret.

  "Threatened," he said. "You know, it occurred to me, too that he knew something about me. I thought he was just being a homophobe fascist, came this close to saying fuck you and walking. Then he just seemed to forget about it, so I did, too."

  "Once he could see you were focusing on Gina and not him, he figured his secret was safe."

  He gave a sour smile. "Didn't take long to bust his secret. "Now that I think back, it was probably on his mind from the beginning. He was the first one to mention the beach house. Called over there himselo Twice. Figuring that would take care of it. He had no way of knowing I'd go out there. Even after I did, it was a fluke I found out. If Nyquist hadn't overdone it with those two girls and if I hadn't run into them later, I wouldn't have suspected a thing."

  "What's this Nyquist like, besides being an overacter?"

  "Blond, good-looking, pumps iron, surfs. The girls said he has guys in and out all the time. Claims to be training them."

  "Golden hustler," he said. "What a cliche'."

  "That's exactly what I thought," I said. "Back when I suspected Gina of fooling around with him.

  That raised his eyebrows. "When was this?"

  "Right at the beginning, but I didn't put it into focus till yesterday.

  The first time I was here, Gina and I were downstairs, looking for Melissa, after their blowup. Ramp and Nyquist came in from playing tennis. Then Ramp left to shower, and Nyquist hung around for no apparent reason. Kind of casually snotty. He asked Gina for something to drink and somehow made it sound lascivious.

  Nothing explicit it was the way he said it. She must have heard it, too, because she put him in his place right away. He didn't like it but he kept his mouth shut. The whole interchange took less than a minute-I forgot about it until I saw Nyquist play stud with the beach bun
nies. Then the girls told me about him and Ramp and I realized it was just a front."

  "Maybe it wasn't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maybe Todd's a creative fellow."

  "Playing both ends?"

  He smiled. "It's been known to happen."

  I'd been standing since we'd entered the room. Realized it and sat down in an armchair.

  "Money and jealousy and passion," I said. "A whole slew of classic motives for the price of one. Remember how Melissa said Gina told her she prized kindness and tolerance in a man? Maybe what she liked about Ramp was that he was tolerant of more than her phobia.

  Maybe she was referring to his acceptance of her fooling around with Nyquist an&or some other sexual explorations. But what if that tolerance wasn't mutual? Infidelity's one thing-crossing sexual preference lines is another. If Gina found out she was sharing Todd with Ramp, it could have blown her mind."

  "Even if she and Nyquist had nothing going, learning Ramp was gay or bisexual could have blown her mind," said Milo.

  "Whatever the specifics, she learned something that led her to decide she'd had enough. Time to make her escape, psychologically and physically. Take a giant step through an open door."

  "Big change for Ramp if she boots him out."

  I nodded. "No more mansion, no more beach house, no more tennis court-people do get accustomed to a certain standard. And if her reason for divorcing him ever got out, he'd lose a lot more than luxuries. He'd be finished in San Labrador."

  "Outing him," he said softly.

  "What?"

  "Dragging him out of the closet whether he wanted it or not. It's something angry people do, and hell hath no fury."

  "True," I said, "but the only thing is, I haven't picked up any exceptional hostility between Gina and Ramp. Neither has Melissa, and you can bet she'd be looking for it."

  "Yeah," said Milo, "but both of them used to act, right? They'd be good at faking marital bliss. Isn't that the San Labrador way?

  Heavy starch on the upper lip?"

  "True. So where do we go with it?"

  "Go?" he said. "If you're asking, could I convince Chickering or the Sheriffs to investigate Ramp on the basis of his having a secret sex life, you know the answer to that. Should I do a little research on him and Golden Boy? What could it hurt?"

  "Another day at the beach?" I said.

  "Remind me to bring my boogie board."

  "Did you get over to see McCloskey again?"

  "This afternoon. He was sleeping when I got there. The priest didn't want me to bother him, but I snuck up the back way, went to his room.

  He didn't even look surprised to see me-resigned, the way old cons get.

  "Learn anything?"

  He shook his head. "Just the same old religious crap. I tried all my cop tricks. Nothing fazed him. I'm starting to think the guy's a genuine head case." He tapped his cranium. I Nada aqui."

  "But that doesn't preclude his hiring someone to get her."

  He didn't answer, looked preoccupied.

  "What is it?"

  "You got me going-on Ramp. It would be nice to know how much Gina actually knew about his sexuality. Think she discussed it with those therapists?"

  "Quite possibly, but I don't see them breaking confidentiality."

  "Are dead people entitled to confidentiality?"

  "Ethically, they are. I'm not sure about the legal end of it. If foul play was suspected they could probably be forced to open their records eventually. But without that, I don't see them being too forthcoming.

  Any publicity can only hurt them."

  "Yeah," he said. "Patient in the lake doesn't shout Nobel Prize for medicine.

  My mind drifted to black water and stayed there. A hundred plus feet of muck. "If she is at the bottom of the reservoir, what's the chance of finding the body?"

  "Not terrific. Like the diver said, visibility's lousy, the area's huge you can't drain it the way you could a lake. And a hundred and twenty-five's getting close to maximum scuba depth before you need to get into deep-sea equipment. We're talking major expense, major time commitment, with little chance of success. The Sheriff's guys weren't jumping to fill out the requisition forms."

  "Sheriff's got sole jurisdiction?"

  "Uh-huh. Chickering was happy to punt. The prevailing wisdom was to let nature take its course."

  "Meaning?"

  "Wait for her to float."

  I thought of a gas-filled, suppurating lump rising to the surface of the dam. Wondered what comfort I'd be able to dredge up for Melissa if and when that happened.

  Wondered what I'd tell her when she woke up "Despite the prevailing wisdom," I said, "do you think there's any chance she escaped from the car and made it back to shore?"

  He gave me a puzzled look. "Abandoning your murder/mayhem scenario?"

  "Exploring alternatives."

  "If that's the case, why didn't she just wait by the side of the road until someone came by? It's not well-traveled, but eventually she would have been found."

  "She might have been in shock, disoriented-maybe she even suffered a head injury, wandered off, and lost consciousness."

  "No blood traces were found."

  "Closed head injury. You don't need blood for a concussion."

  "Wandered off somewhere," he said. "If you're searching for a happy ending, that ain't it. Not if the copters don't find her damned soon.

  We're talking fifty-plus hours of exposure. If I had a choice of which way to die, I'd opt for the lake."

  He stood again. Paced.

  "Can you handle more ugly?" he said.

  I spread my arms, thrust my chest forward. "Hit me."

  "There are at least two other scenarios we haven't considered.

  One: She got to shore, waited by the road, and someone did pick her up.

  Someone nasty.

  "Psycho motorist?"

  "It's an alternative, Alex. Good-looking woman in a wet dress, helpless. It would appeal to a certain... appetite. Lord knows we see it often enough-women stranded on the freeway, Good Samaritans turning out not to be."

  I said, "That is ugly. No one deserves to suffer that much."

  "Since when has deserving had anything to do with it?"

  "What's Two?"

  "Suicide. Gautier-the sheriff brought it up. Right after you and Melissa left, Chickering started explaining to everyone that you were her shrink, got into this little monologue about Gina's problems-bad genetics. About San Labrador having lots of eccentrics. He may guard the rich folk's palaces, but he doesn't have much affection for them.

  Anyway, Gautier said, given all that, why not suicide? Apparently they've had other people jump in the reservoir.

  Chickering loved it."

  "What did Ramp have to say about that?"

  "Ramp wasn't there Chickering wouldn't have mouthed off in front of him. He didn't even realize I was listening."

  "Where was Ramp?"

  "Up on the highway. He started to look queasy-the paramedics took him to the ambulance for an EKG."

  "He okay?"

  "EKG-wise he is. But he looked pretty shitty. When I left he was still getting tea and sympathy."

  "Acting?"

  He shrugged.

  "Chickering's psychological insights notwithstanding," I said, "I don't see suicide. When I talked to her there was no evidence of depression not even a hint of it. On the contrary, she was optimistic. She had twenty years of pain and misery to contemplate doing away with herself.

  Why would she do it just at the point where she was looking forward to some freedom?"

  "Freedom can be scary."

  "Just a couple of days ago, you had her getting high on freedom-driving to Vegas to whoop it up."

  "Things change," he said. Then: "You always have a way of complicating my life."

  "What better basis for friendship?"

  We went to check on Melissa. She was lying on her side, face to the sofa back, the blanket twisted around her i
n a tight cocoon.

  Madeleine sat at the foot of the sofa, only a small portion of her substantial buttocks making contact with the cushion. Crocheting something pink and formless and concentrating on her hands. She glanced up as we entered.

  I said, "Has she been up at all?"