Bones

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Huck said, “I was going to tell Simon. If.”

  I said, “If what?”

  “I told anyone.”

  Reed said, “If. Longest word in the dictionary.”

  “I thought about it,” said Huck. “Telling Simon. But she’s his daughter, he loves her. I do errands.”

  “So you did nothing,” said Reed.

  “No, I . . . I phoned him, to hear his voice, maybe his voice would tell me what to do. He didn’t answer. I kept trying. He didn’t answer. I e-mailed. He didn’t answer. I switched to Nadine’s e-mail, she didn’t answer. Then I started worrying. Then those other women got . . . I heard about them and said, ‘Those are the women you go to.’ ”

  I said, “So you ran.”

  “I killed someone, I pay for sex. I knew Selena. Everyone else is rich.” Turning to Wallenburg. “You told me to come back, I disobeyed.”

  “Travis, it’s not a matter of dis—”

  Milo got up, walked to the front of the desk, focused on Huck.

  “That the whole story, pal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Some yarn.”

  “Put me back in a cage, sir. I deserve what you want to give me.”

  “That so?”

  Wallenburg shot to her feet, thrust her arm between Huck and Milo. “That was not an admission of guilt.”

  Milo said, “Selena, the hookers, one big setup just to frame you. Convenient.”

  “For God’s sake, can’t you see it?” said Wallenburg. “Superficially, he’s the perfect scapegoat.”

  “Superficially?”

  “Look at his core: a man who was railroaded but harbors no anger. Who’s led a totally nonviolent life—who saved a baby, for God’s sake.”

  “I didn’t save her, Debora. I just lifted her from the sidewalk and—”

  “Shut up, Travis! You’ve seen how Brandeen looks at you. If you hadn’t found her, that bastard might’ve come back and beat her to death the way he beat her mother to death.”

  “Debora—”

  “Don’t Debora me, Travis. It’s about time you got smart and started looking after yourself. You were stupid to run, stupid not to return when I told you to. Now you’re being a total blithering idiot.”

  “I—”

  “Life sucks, fine, we all get that, Travis. But you are not to blame for this particular disaster and if you stick to the facts, the police will believe you.”

  Looking at Milo.

  He remained silent.

  Huck said, “I let it all happen, Debora—”

  “You were their gofer, Travis. You are not a cosmic watchdog. If you’d said anything negative about Simone, you’d have lost your job and she would’ve remained free to charm her father and go about her plan.”

  “What plan are we talking about?” said Reed.

  “A hundred-and-thirty-three-million-dollar plan,” said Wallenburg. “That girl would never have been deterred. Never.”

  Milo said, “Pretty precise figure.”

  Wallenburg’s smile was icy.

  Milo said, “If that’s the case, we’re talking about a real long-term plan. Killing prostitutes over a fifteen-month period, dumping them in sequence, just to set up the Vanders as a thrill kill?”

  “We’re talking about a hundred thirty-three million worth of incentive, Lieutenant. Selena’s murder got you focused on the Vanders, which led you to Travis. The three women made all of it look psychopathic. That conniving little bitch spoon-fed you Travis. Given his history, she knew you’d put on your blinders.”

  “Garsh,” said Milo. “Can someone tell me the way to Keystone?”

  “A hundred and thirty-three million, Lieutenant. A year’s worth of planning doesn’t seem too much for that pot of gold.”

  “Be a great movie.”

  “Oscar for documentary, Lieutenant.”

  “We’re supposed to buy it because of Mr. Huck’s feelings. In here.” Massaging the swell of his belly.

  “You’re supposed to buy it because it’s true and it makes sense and you haven’t a shred of evidence tying Travis to a single act of violence.”

  Milo flashed his happy-wolf grin. Bent over the desk and put his face inches from Huck’s.

  Huck licked his lips.

  Wallenburg said, “There’s no need for physical intimida—”

  “Travis, I like your stories. Now tell me another one.”

  “About what, sir?”

  “The blood we found in the drain of your bedroom sink.”

  Huck’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “I . . . maybe I cut my hands . . . I go off balance. Headaches, maybe I got a cut and washed it.”

  “Got any scabs?”

  Inspecting Huck’s hands. “Nope, clean.”

  Huck said, “Put me in a cage, I don’t care.”

  “What’s your blood type, son?”

  “O positive.”

  “AB’s what we found in your drain.”

  Huck turned white.

  Milo placed his paw atop Huck’s left hand. Huck’s fingers clasped Milo’s, like a child wanting security.

  “Tell us about AB, son.”

  “Simon,” said Huck. “It’s rare. He always gets asked to donate.”

  “Looks like he donated some to your drain. Tell me another story, son.”

  Wallenburg said, “Someone who’d slaughter people in a calculated manner would have no problem planting blood in a damn drain. Simone had access to that house—I’ll bet Weir did, too—of course he did, given his relationship with Simone, all she had to do was give him a damn key and—”

  Still gripping Milo’s hand, Huck held out his free arm. “Put me in a cage.”

  “Don’t say another word, Travis!”

  Milo said, “Counselor, looks like we’ve come to a sort of consensus. Get up please, son. We’re going to read you your rights and take you into custody.”

  “I agree,” said Huck.

  Wallenburg shot to her feet, clamped her hands on Huck’s shoulders. “On what charges?”

  “We’ll start with a whole bunch of 187s, go on from there.”

  Her turn to tremble. “You’re making a disastrous mistake.”

  Reed said, “You’re really committed to this guy. What am I not seeing?”

  Wallenburg’s mouth formed a curse. “Lieutenant, our explicit agreement was—”

  “That we’d listen,” said Milo. “We did, now we’re arresting him.”

  Wallenburg’s mouth worked. “Oh, this is great, so predictable—I promise you it’ll be futile, Lieutenant. And you’d better make damn sure he’s not abused. The moment you walk out that door, I’ll be drafting motions.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less, ma’am. Please get up, son.”

  Huck complied.

  “Please step around to this side of the desk.” Out came the cuffs.

  Wallenburg said, “Are you booking him at West L.A. or Downtown?”

  “We’ll hold him at West L.A. until appropriate transportation can be arranged.”

  “Everything according to procedure,” said Wallenburg. “Talk about average Germans—you damn well better put him on suicide watch.”

  “I’m already dead,” said Huck.

  Wallenburg raised a hand, as if to slap him. Stared at her quivering fingers and let her arm flop.

  “Thank you for everything, Debora,” said Huck.

  “You,” she spat, “are a first-class pain in the ass.”

  Riding the elevator down to the sub-lot, Huck said, “You really had no choice.”

  Reed said, “Why’s she so devoted to you?”

  Huck blinked. “Once she told me about volunteer work she does. At animal shelters. She can’t have children.”

  “You’re her kid?” said Reed.

  “No, but once you save an animal in the shelter, she said, you’re responsible for it.”

  “You’re one of her puppies, huh?”

  Huck smiled. “I think maybe I am.”

  Th
e door opened. Milo took hold of Huck’s cuffed arm, propelled him to the car. “Anything else you want to tell us?”

  “I don’t think so. You don’t believe me anyway.”

  “They teach you passivity in rehab?”

  Huck exhaled. “Life’s been long. Longer than I thought.”

  “So it’s time to give up.”

  “When there’s something to do, I do. At this point, there’s nothing left.”

  I said, “Not necessarily.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Milo stashed Huck in an empty West L.A. interview room, took his belt and his shoelaces. No booking, no printing, no mug shot. Just a tall cup of water, a coarse blanket, and a second pat-down that produced nothing.

  The first frisk, in the hallway outside Debora Wallenburg’s office, had produced lint, a seriously chewed blue Bic pen, three dimes, an LAX parking stub, a yellow Post-it with a Washington Boulevard address.

  “Where’s this, Travis?”

  “Internet café.”

  “Mar Vista?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your link to the world.”

  Silence.

  “You don’t have any cash?”

  “Spent it.”

  “Debora was going to replenish.”

  No answer.

  Milo said, “You travel light, friend.”

  Shrug.

  “Where’s your I.D.?”

  “I . . . lost it.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “You know who I am.”

  “That we do.” Milo waved the parking stub. “This gonna match to the one we found in Simon’s Lexus?”

  Huck said, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Leaving it there.”

  “To mislead us. Kind of a stale scam, pal.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Your brilliant idea or Debora’s?”

  The too-quick reply: “Mine. I’ll pay for the tow.”

  Reed and I watched through one-way glass as Milo stood behind Huck, then shifted face-to-face. Huck braced himself on the back of the chair.

  “Sit, Travis.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sit anyway.”

  Huck obeyed.

  “What else do you want to tell me, Travis?”

  “Can’t think of anything, sir.”

  Milo waited.

  Huck said, “Really, sir.”

  “Okay, sit a spell—temperature okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gets too cold, you’ve got the blanket.”

  “Thank you.”

  Milo left and joined us in the adjoining room. A milky patch marred the glass on the other side; dried sweat or some other body fluid. Huck’s position placed the splotch directly above his head.

  Man under a cloud.

  We watched as he sat there. Finally, he walked to a corner and lay down. Placing one arm over his eyes, he curled himself smaller than I’d have thought possible.

  Moe Reed yawned. “Nothing like an action film to start off the morning.”

  Within seconds Huck’s mouth had fallen open and he was sleeping.

  Reed said, “Pretty mellow for a guy supposedly all guilty and torn up.”

  I said, “Or he’s escaping reality.”

  “Maybe he got duped, but you can’t think he’s totally clean.”

  “I think his mind works differently.”

  “Isn’t that the point, Doc? He’s a nut, easy to prime.”

  “I know the obvious suspect’s usually the right one, but the way we were led straight to Huck via your brother always bothered me. Huck’s account of Simone’s hatred for her family fits the mutilated pictures Aaron found in her trash. Her lie about despising Buddy Weir also syncs with what Aaron saw, as does the fact that Simone and Weir are in a relationship.”

  “Blood and toys,” said Reed. “Some relationship.”

  I said, “Sparse food in Simone’s trash fits bulimia, so do her upbringing and her body mass. Overall Huck’s account has the ring of truth. And minus his wig, Buddy Weir could be the bald guy Selena’s caretaker saw. He’s also a better fit than Huck to the charming, dominant man DeMaura Montouthe described. After meeting her at a sex party, Weir could’ve known where Selena lived through dating her, or he found out from Simone. Either way, it would be easy to take her computer. But make sure to leave the toys he found in her drawer.”

  Reed said, “The bald guy could just as easily be Huck. The way he was talking about Selena—coming in with Simone giggling, low-cut jeans. To me that sounded like he lusted for both of them. Guy like that, doesn’t get it unless he pays for it, coupla hotties show up, his mind starts revving. Finally he can’t take it and boom. And one more thing, Doc, he’s growing his hair out. Perfect if he was planning to disappear. Which is something he’s good at.”

  “But he came in voluntarily.”

  “Because he knew we were closing in on him.”

  I said, “He says Simone shaved his head. Perfect move if she was trying to provide cover for Weir.”

  Reed rubbed his crew cut. “He says. Everything depends on us believing him.”

  Milo said, “Weir generally wears his wig. Had it on when he paid off Duboff.”

  “That’s another thing,” I said. “The payoff. What motive would Huck have to kill Duboff? When I mentioned Duboff’s name there was no recognition and I couldn’t spot a tell. Weir, on the other hand, has a link to Duboff—passed him cash in the parking lot. Had to be payoff for access to the secret garden.”

  “Fifteen grand for picnics and Duboff’s not suspicious?”

  “Pure L.A.,” I said. “The VIP room. Weir fit Duboff’s notion of a major donor: Beverly Hills lawyer, backs environmental causes, Duboff figures the guy’s racked up a lot of billable hours, is spreading the joy. Given Duboff’s shoestring budget, he’d have been thrilled. And likely to trust Weir when Weir said he’d discovered something about the marsh murders.”

  “The west side,” said Milo. “Okay, something turns up there, I’ll adjust my attitude.”

  Reed said, “Exactly. Till then, I like Huck.”

  I said, “I can be fooled as easily as anyone, but I don’t see Huck as sufficiently dominant. If he’s been putting on a performance, why not spin it so he ends up in the clear? As in I Never Knew Anything. Instead, he told us he suspected impending violence, didn’t report it, feels guilty. The guy just about invited you to arrest him.”

  Reed said, “That could be another ploy. Setting up a double-jeopardy thing—we charge him prematurely, Wallenburg plays lawyer games, gets him out, we can’t touch him ever again.”

  Milo watched Huck sleep. “I can see Wallenburg building a castle like that. Huck . . . I don’t know. He really ain’t no smooth dude, Moe.”

  “She coached him, Loo.”

  “No doubt, she did. But there’s a limit. Something about the guy . . . he disappeared for years, could’ve evaded us a lot longer than he did. The question is, can we believe Simone’s that bad of a girl?”

  I said, “At the risk of introducing psychology . . .”

  He smiled. “What?”

  “A taste for pain—giving and receiving—is consistent with Simone’s makeup.”

  Reed said, “She cuts herself. Supposedly.”

  “She cuts and starves herself, grew up with an impaired mother, had aspirations she couldn’t achieve. That could lead to a seriously distorted body image and emotional numbness. Sometimes people like that need extreme stimulation.”

  “Feel no pain, feel no mercy, either?” said Milo. “We’re talking big-time cruelty here, Alex.”

  “Aaron did find that photo.”

  Reed muttered, “Her not paying Aaron was a big-time mistake.”

  I said, “Let’s say Simone met Selena at a party, ended up playing sex games with her and Weir, eventually introduced Selena to her family. It could’ve started out as finding a friend a job and earning her father’s approval. But later, when she and Weir devised the
ir plan, Selena was the perfect victim.”