True Detectives

by Jonathan Kellerman

  But this was a guy who sped through B.H. toking up.

  Maybe the boys had been here before, knew it was safe because ranger patrols were infrequent.

  If budget cuts stuck a handful of Smokeys with covering miles of wilderness, that made sense.

  What did that say about the safety of camping—something Aaron had always considered a pathetic grab at phony machismo.

  And this was Carrillo, he’d heard rumors about the place, the good old days of the Manson Family, other assorted whacks running cannibal parties under full moons. Human sacrifices, blood rites, not to mention your garden-variety sexual psychopath lurking behind every pine.

  C’mon, Jimmy and Judy! Mom and Dad have found a super-neat place to set up our little Sterno stove and cook our wienies and our marsh-mallows ...

  Even if the rumors were tall tales, what was the pleasure in waking up at sunrise with achy muscles and a mouthful of dirt, some rabid raccoon or weasel or whatever farting on your head ...

  What were Mason Book and Ax Dement doing here at close to two a.m.?

  One way to find out.

  Nope, too risky.

  Encountering the two of them would blow his cover and render him useless.

  Moe would love that...

  First Commandment of the job: Thou Shalt Not Fuck Up.

  He settled down for another bout of inactivity.

  Twenty-four minutes later, he saw two figures return to the truck— so they had taken a walk.

  The Ram backed away from the yellow gates, swung onto PCH, hooked an illegally acute left turn that took it across the double-double. Starting up the Opel, Aaron checked for ongoing traffic, completed his own iffy turn, pushed the car up to seventy.

  Moments later, with the Ram just starting to come into view, red lights flashed in his rearview.

  Wonderful.

  Before Aaron could respond, the CHP cruiser flashed its brights.

  Patience, man, what’s it been, a nanosecond?

  Next the idiot would be bellowing over his loudspeaker. Aaron pulled over at the first hint of turnoff.

  The cruiser glided to a stop twenty feet behind.

  It took a long time—way longer than usual—for the Chippie to approach. Careful to keep his hands on the wheel, Aaron watched the patrolman head his way through the side mirror.

  Young, just a kid. Big and pouty-mouthed and heavy.

  Slow, deliberate John Wayne waddle, one hand resting near his gun.

  Black man at the beach.

  The CHP officer stopped five feet behind the Opel, just stood there.

  No reason to be worried, Kiddie-cop. You’ve already taken your sweet time running the tags.

  Following proper procedure.

  Hefting his flashlight high, the way they teach you in every police academy, the Chippie advanced some more. Stopped again. Hand on his gun.

  Aaron sat there.

  Finally: “Step out of the car, sir.”

  Pasting his best guileless/harmless/aw-shucks look on his face, Aaron complied at exactly the pace he would’ve appreciated back in his uniform days.

  Smiling, as the officer blinded him with his flashlight.

  Keeping his mouth shut because anything he said would be wrong.

  CHAPTER

  24

  The Reverend Arnold Wohr had business in the city, insisted meeting at the station would be no trouble at all.

  Moe would’ve preferred to get a look at the La Puente house, maybe catch some sign Ramone W still bunked out there occasionally. But given the rev’s easy cooperation, he was in no position to argue.

  Ramone’s respectable sib showed up ten minutes early. The senior brother by two years, Arnold looked a decade younger, a trim, balding man in an unstylish, spotless gray suit, white shirt, blue tie, brown shoes.

  Moe searched for some family resemblance to Raymond Wohr, found it in skimpy chin endowment.

  Arnold’s gaze was steady and clear, his handshake cool and dry.

  Moe thanked him for coming, asked what kind of business he had in L.A.

  “This business, Detective. I didn’t want my family involved.”

  “In what?”

  “Anything to do with Ray. What’s he done?”

  “Sounds like you’re used to being called by the police.”

  “The police, the parole office when Ray was still on parole, the liquor store in my neighborhood when there’s a sudden cigarette shortfall just after Ray’s been there to purchase a stick of chewing gum. Luckily, the owner’s a member of my congregation.”

  “You’ve been cleaning up after him for a while.”

  “You can’t pick your relatives, Detective, but you can try to help them.”

  Moe said, “Would you consider Ray incorrigible?”

  Arnold Wohr frowned. “If I didn’t believe in change, I couldn’t stand up every Sunday and preach it.”

  “I guess you hear all the time how different you and Ray are.”

  “Not really,” said Arnold. “Few people see us together.”

  “Ray doesn’t come by much.”

  “Ray was arrested when he was fourteen, Detective. For stealing peach brandy from a supermarket, then shoplifting sneakers from a Wal-Mart. He spent a few months at a youth camp. The day he was released, Mom and Dad threw him a welcome-back party. He repaid them by emptying Mom’s purse in the middle of the night and sneaking out. We didn’t hear from him until his next arrest, a year later, also for theft. That time he got sent to adult jail and never bothered to let us know he was out. Mom and Dad were solid working people, we had plenty of discussions trying to figure out what Ray was escaping from. My parents died wondering. After I got out of the military, my search for answers led me to the ministry.”

  “Wanting to understand Ray.”

  “Ray, people like him. You turn all the facts over—the psychology, the sociology—but they don’t explain it. So you look to a higher power.”

  “The devil made Ray do it.”

  The reverend’s frown caused Moe to regret his flippancy.

  He said, “Sir, I don’t mean to make light of the situation—”

  “It’s all right, Detective. I know that faith-based notions of good and evil don’t wash in today’s society. But no one’s given me a better explanation for my brother’s behavior.”

  “You see him as evil.”

  Arnold’s eyes rose quickly, dropped to below Moe’s level. “I see Ray as misled. I’m not saying some unseen arm is guiding him—it’s not a matter of a demon with a forked tail. More like Ray’s negative energy overpowered the positive.”

  That sounded new-age. Or all faith simply boiled down to belief in the invisible.

  Moe said, “Do you have any idea why I wanted to talk to you, Reverend?”

  “I have an idea now,” said Arnold Wohr. “When I asked for you downstairs, they informed me I’d be going to Homicide. I’m terrified.”

  But he’d wanted the interview away from his family even before that—expecting something bad. Arnold Wohr suspected there was more to his brother than dope and petty theft.

  Time to soften him up.

  Moe said, “Well, I don’t mean to scare you, but we are investigating your brother’s association with a homicide victim.”

  “Association? Is Ray a suspect?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But he might be?”

  “Would that surprise you, Reverend?”

  “Ray’s never been violent. Yes, of course it would surprise me.”

  Moe slid Adella Villareal’s happy-face color photo from her murder book and showed it to Arnold. A tremor plinked the corners of the guy’s eye sockets then slow-walked to his hairline. “She’s dead? My God.”

  “You know her.”

  “I met her once. She was with her baby—in that same blue blanket. Dear Lord—what happened?”

  Moe said, “Where and when did you meet her?”

  “Ray brought her for Easter. Not last Easter—two Easters ag
o.”

  Barely a month before Adella’s murder.

  Moe said, “Easter dinner?”

  Wohr nodded. “We’d stopped inviting him years ago because he never responded. So wouldn’t you know when he’s not invited, he pops in? Holding some flowers he’d obviously picked out of someone’s yard.”

  “With this woman.”

  “That was the second surprise. Ray bringing anyone, he always came alone. The third was that she—what was her name ... something Spanish—Elena? ...”

  “Adella Villareal.”

  “Yes, that’s it, Adella. The third surprise was her not being the type of person you’d expect Ray to associate with.”

  “How so, Reverend?”

  “She was well groomed, polite—a really nice young lady. Excellent manners—she insisted on helping us serve.”

  “Different from the other women in Ray’s life.”

  Arnold sat back. “I’ve never met any other women in Ray’s life, Detective, it’s just... it seemed as if she and Ray didn’t fit. Not that Ray wasn’t trying to be on his best behavior. When Ray shows up it’s always for money. That day he didn’t ask for any. Was dressed decently, collared shirt, clean jeans. I told myself maybe she’s a good influence.”

  “You saw them as a couple.”

  “I didn’t know what to think. But there he was, with her and baby. So yes, of course, I assumed. I remember thinking Poor baby, if Ray’s his dad. Lord forgive me.”

  Moe produced a mug shot of Alicia Eiger.

  Arnold said, “Who’s that?”

  “Another friend of your brother.”

  “This would be more what I’d expect.”

  “How did Ray introduce Adella to your family?”

  “Just, ‘Hi, we’re here, this is Adella.’ My wife ran off to set extra places. No point embarrassing the girl.”

  “You assumed Ray was the baby’s father but at some point that changed?”

  “There was nothing romantic going on. Ray and Adella hardly talked to each other—mostly she talked to my wife about the baby. Mostly, she focused on the baby.”

  “And Ray?”

  “Not the least bit interested. When Adella got up to nurse him—he was a boy, cute little thing, lots of hair—Ray just kept shoveling food into his own mouth. The way he learned in prison.” Hooking his arm and hunching.

  “Protecting his food,” said Moe.

  “Exactly. Do you have children, Detective?”

  “No, sir.”

  “In the early stages it’s all about physical caretaking. Feeding, burping, changing, then more of the same. Adella seemed to relish that. She ate so little at the table that we prepared her a little care package.” Frown. “Ray cleaned his plate then moved on to hers. Said something like ‘She’ll never get to it, no sense wasting good grub.’”

  “When Ray and Adella did interact, how did he treat her?”

  “You think he killed her.”

  “Reverend, where the case stands right now is Ray knew her and because of his criminal record, he needs to be looked at.”

  “He’s never been violent.”

  “Sometimes people do things they never get arrested for.”

  Arnold didn’t answer.

  “Would it totally shock you if Ray did kill someone?”

  Arnold Wohr’s eyes trampolined. “You just said you have no evidence.”

  “That’s true. I’m just asking.”

  “Detective, the idea that my brother ... no, I really can’t see it. Ray’s never been violent. Never ...”

  “But...”

  “But nothing.”

  “Sorry,” said Moe. “I thought I heard a but.”

  Arnold Wohr crossed his legs, tugged at a lapel. “If you had evidence, of course I’d ... no, no, I just can’t believe Ray would ever go that far. But if he did something like that, of course I’d want him put away where he could never hurt anyone else.”

  “Anyone else,” Moe echoed. “Is there something you need to tell me about your brother?”

  Arnold’s eyes zipped to one side, like a shotgun slide. He stared at a spot on the wall. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Detective.”

  Sounded clear to me.

  “Reverend, I could be totally off base here, but I’ve been picking up some serious concern on your part. Maybe because you know something about your brother that no one else does?”

  Silence.

  “Reverend, I understand about family loyalty, but protecting the innocent is what we’re both about.”

  Arnold stared at him. “You look young but you’ve been doing this for a while, haven’t you?”

  You are my new best friend.

  Moe smiled. “You look a lot younger than your brother.”

  “The virtues of clean living,” said Arnold. Then he laughed. “My wife says that. I tell her it’s more the absence of dirty living.”

  His attention shifted to the floor. “Yes, I do need to tell you.” Deep breath. “What you picked up isn’t concern about Ray being violent. Not in the strict sense of causing physical harm ...”

  Moe waited.

  “I feel like Judas, Detective.”

  “Judas betrayed a savior. Doesn’t sound as if your brother fits into that category.”

  “The savior,” Arnold corrected. “Are you a religious man, Detective?”

  “Depends what day you catch me.”

  “Fair enough ... I know it’s my moral obligation to be truthful. But this is ... I guess if I could be sure it was relevant, but I can’t.”

  “Ray’s hurt someone in your family.”

  “No!”

  Moe shifted closer, spread his shoulders, establishing dominance. “What, then, Reverend?”

  Head shake.

  “Reverend, there’s no morality in delaying. This is a homicide case. Adella Villareal was strangled and dumped. Her baby hasn’t been seen since.”

  Wohr’s hands covered his face. “My God.”

  “I think we both know what God thinks about that—”

  “Ray never hurt her,” Arnold blurted. His hands dropped. “But he frightened her. My daughter. My younger daughter, Sarah. She’s thirteen, caught him watching her through a window.”

  “Her bedroom window?”

  Nod. “The girls share a room. Eve was out with friends.”

  “Sarah caught Ray peeping.”

  “Dear Lord, yes.”

  “When did this happen, Reverend?”

  “Six months ago. Ray was back to his usual—filthy T-shirt, baggy shorts, the rubber sandals. He stank of alcohol.”

  “Back to asking for money,” said Moe.

  “This time he had a story. He’d turned his life around, was now a ‘great investment.’ I gave him everything in my wallet—a hundred and ten dollars. He asked for more, I said no, he cursed and left.”

  “Is that when you gave him your car?”

  “My car—oh, the Toyota. No, that was donated to the church last year. I thought my wife could use it so I paid the church full blue-book value. But it wasn’t practical. I’ve got a second job, I install prefab cabinets and sometimes Francine and I need to deliver materials to a site. We purchased an old Suburban and gave the Toyota to Ray.”

  “Instead of money.”

  “I was short on cash, figured he’d sell it.”

  “You never signed over the pink slip.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Oh ... did Ray do something with that car—hit someone while drunk?”

  “No, Reverend. Back to your daughter. You helped your brother out and he repaid you by snooping on Sarah. Was that before he asked for a handout or later?”

  Arnold’s jaws clenched. “Sarah didn’t tell me until several days later. She’d been looking upset and I finally got it out of her. I thought it was something about school, friends. I never expected to hear that.”

  “What did she say happened?”

  “She was in her room, getting
ready for bed, spotted movement from the window, caught a clear glimpse of Ray’s face. Then he disappeared. She was sure it was Ray. That mustache of his is pretty distinctive. Fortunately, she’s a modest girl, wears a long nightgown. But just the fact that he was out there ... Sarah was more angry than scared.”

  “And you doubted it was a onetime thing.”

  “We talked about it as a family and my older daughter, Eve, said she’d always gotten a strange feeling from Ray. He never actually did anything but his presence made her feel uneasy. Eve’s a bright, perceptive girl.”

  “Makes you wonder about a darker side to your brother.”

  “Was Adella ... was there that kind of assault as well?”

  Instead of answering, Moe said, “Is there anything else in Ray’s history you want to tell me—sexually speaking? Like when you were growing up?”

  “No, no, nothing that I know—will he be charged with snooping on Sarah?”

  “Do you want him to be?”

  “The reason I didn’t report it in the first place was I didn’t want to put Sarah through anything traumatic. And she insisted that’s what she wanted. We talked about it as a family and came to a decision. Ray was to be barred from the house forever. It seemed the best solution. Now you’re telling me Ray may have committed an act of perversion—”

  “No, sir, I never said that.”

  “But you didn’t deny it when I asked you if Adella was assaulted.”

  Moe took pity on the guy. “She wasn’t, Reverend Wohr. And to be honest, I don’t see how Ray can be charged for snooping.”

  “Too much time has passed?”

  “Even if you’d reported him at the time, I doubt he would’ve been charged. Being spotted on the other side of a niece’s window when she’s fully clothed when he wasn’t trespassing can be explained away easily. He was out there smoking, just happened to pass by.” Looking straight at Wohr. “If he’s never done anything along those lines before.”

  “He hasn’t,” said Wohr. “Not with my girls.”

  “Then no cop would’ve busted him, sir—not here or in La Puente.”

  But the sexual element was definitely worth looking into.

  “Thank you,” said Arnold. “For trying to make me feel better.”