“Dermestid beetles aren’t household pests, they’re specialists, Prema.”
“At what?”
“They consume flesh. Quickly and cleanly. Scientists use them to clean bones.”
“That’s disgusting! Why would I want something like that?”
Her hands shook. The paper rattled.
I’d given her the perfect opening but she’d made no attempt to weasel out by offering a plausible explanation.
Oh, those beetles. I forgot, they were part of the kids’ science project. I’m big on teaching them science, you saw that yesterday.
She said, “Beetles? Scalpels?” She turned white. “You’re saying someone cleaned Mel’s bones? Or Adriana’s—omigod—”
“Mel was shot and left intact. Same for Adriana. Is anyone else authorized to contact Kevin Dubinsky on your behalf?”
“I keep telling you, I don’t know any Kevin Dubinsky. My life—you delegate, things get … away from you.”
“Who has access to your email account?”
“No one has access to my personal account. I don’t use it much, anyway, try to stay off the computer because the Internet’s nothing but mental pollution. I’m into reading. Books. Never had much school, I need to catch up. So I can be smart for the tribe, already they know stuff I don’t. Especially K.J., he knows so much math.”
“Are there other email accounts at your home?”
“Of course, for the household,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many or who uses them—I sure don’t. We have a computer company, they set it up. For day-to-day things.”
“Would those household accounts be used for shopping?”
“For food, toilet paper. Not bugs!”
“Who’s on your staff?”
“Total? If you mean people coming in and out, like gardeners, pool service—those pest-control people—I couldn’t even tell you, there’s always someone around fixing something.”
“Who lives on the premises, like Mel?”
“It used to be crazy, we used to have an army,” she said. “After I stopped working I began to pare down. Mel is—was the overall manager. I used to have a personal assistant but I let her go a few years back, the only reason most people have P.A.s is they’re afraid of being alone. I relish being alone.”
“Does Donny have an assistant?”
“Always,” she said. “They come and go. Girls, always girls. The latest one I couldn’t even tell you her name, we live … Other than that there’s just the housekeepers. Imelda, Lupe, Maria, I need three to keep the place clean, it’s a big undertaking, they’re lovely. Religious ladies, cousins. That’s it. Oh, yeah, a cook. For healthy food.”
“Plus Adriana.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Plus her. She was also religious. I could tell because she kept a Bible by her bed and sometimes I’d see her praying. Personally, I’m not into that but I respect it. Are you saying the same person who killed her killed Mel?”
“Too early to tell,” I said. “Have you moved to replace Adriana?”
“I’m not sure I need to, Boo’s growing more independent. More interactive, hanging out with the tribe more.”
“Do you have chauffeurs?”
“We used to have two, one for him, one for the rest of us, but that was a waste, we don’t go out much, I switched to a car service.”
“Did Donny keep his driver?”
“No … I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
She exhaled. “We don’t exactly live together.”
“Where does he live?”
“Next door. The adjoining property. I mean it’s one property, I bought it years ago, but it’s three separate parcels. I was going to develop it as one big estate but then … things changed. The tribe and I use the big lot. Seven acres, a main house, some outbuildings, tennis court, pool, stuff.”
“And Donny?”
“He took the middle one, around three acres. The smallest one is a little less than an acre. No buildings on it, no one goes there.”
She thrust the JayMar form at me. “Take this back, it’s freaking me out.”
I pocketed the paper. “When you heard about Adriana, did you talk about it to anyone?”
“No.”
“Not Mel?”
“Why would I discuss it with him?”
“People work together, they talk to each other.”
“Mel and I weren’t like that,” she said.
“No socializing.”
“We talked when there was something to talk about. Don’t get the wrong picture, I didn’t snob him out but it’s not like—wasn’t like we were friends, a friend is someone who likes you for yourself. Mel wouldn’t have stuck around for a second if I didn’t pay him.”
Her smile was grim. “I don’t have friends, Dr. Delaware. I have people I pay.”
Thinking of all the women Robert Sommers had spotted parading in and out of Wedd’s apartment, I said, “How was Mel’s love life?”
“He had none that I knew about.”
“No girlfriend?”
She smiled. “Mel was gay.”
“You know that because—”
“He told me. Like I said, when there was something to talk about, we talked. One time Mel was looking upset and I asked him what was wrong and he told me. I have to admit, I had no idea, he never gave off any gay vibe. What was bothering him was he has—had a brother, some macho cowboy-type, and they hadn’t seen each other in a long time because Mel had run from who he was. Now Mel wanted to … what’s the word he used—resurrect, he wanted to resurrect the relationship, was worried once the brother found out it would screw things up permanently. Why is his love life important?”
“Someone gets murdered, it’s good to know about their relationships.”
“Mel may have had some but I’m unaware of them. Why did you show me that beetle thing?”
“The night Adriana was killed, something else was found in the park. The skeleton of a two-month-old. The bones had been cleaned by dermestid beetles.”
She gasped, made a retching sound, bent low. “I’m supposed to be connected to that? That’s insane.” She clawed her hair. “This can’t be happening!”
“Who’d want to set you up, Prema?”
“No one.”
I said, “One more thing. After the bones were cleaned they were coated with beeswax.”
She clutched my arms. Looked me full in the face. Shrieked.
Springing to her feet, she backed away from me as if I were diseased. Ran toward the house, made it to the kitchen steps but didn’t climb them.
Instead, she began pacing the yard. Fast, robotic, tearing at her hair. Great workout companion for Milo.
On her ninth circuit, she sped to the rear of the yard where tall trees blacken the grass. Leaning against the trunk of my oldest coast redwood, she sobbed convulsively.
Just as I’d decided to approach her, she straightened her shoulders, sucked in breath, and returned to the teak bench.
“The park where she—where they were both found. If they mentioned it on the TV, I didn’t hear, I really wasn’t paying attention until I heard Adriana’s name. Was it Cheviot?”
“How’d you know that, Prema?”
“Oh, I know.” Gripping her knees with both hands, she put herself in an awkward crouch. As if prepping for a leap off a cliff.
Nowhere to fly. She remained frozen. Moaned. “I know all sorts of things.”
CHAPTER
50
Milo was at his desk. “You did what?”
“It started out as surveillance,” I said. “Things progressed.”
“You told her everything?”
“I told her enough to get through to her.”
“She’s your new pal.”
“She’s not the offender.”
“You know that.”
“I’ll put money on it.”
Silence.
I said, “You need her and at this point she thinks she
needs you.”
“Needs me for what?”
“Keeping her kids safe.”
“All of a sudden Devil Princess is a saint?”
“Think of it this way,” I said. “You may get out of garbage detail.”
“She came to your house alone? No paparazzi in the bushes?”
“Not her style, anymore,” I said.
“Just a simple gal. Your new best friend.”
“Love to chat, Big Guy, but you need to get over here.”
He grumbled. I heard a door slam. “On my way.”
“Good man.”
“So few of us left.”
Back in the office, I poured Prema herb tea, gave her some playtime with Blanche, allowed her to drift into abstract discussions on child-rearing. Then I got back to the questions.
She offered no resistance, was answering freely when the bell rang.
She blinked. “That’s him? We really need to do this?”
“We do.”
“Only time I’ve ever dealt with the police was in London, a bunch of us got busted for smoking hash in a park. Rich little twits, everyone had connections, we got off with a warning.”
“You’ve got connections, again.”
“Do I …?”
“Prema, there’s a reason you decided to come here.” I got to my feet. “Ready?”
Standing slowly, she teetered for a second, hooked her arm in mine.
“No red carpet,” she whispered. “But here we go.”
Introductions were brief. Both of them were wary. When they shook hands, Prema used both of hers, as if wanting to prolong contact. Milo offered only his fingers, pulled away soon.
I led Prema to the living room sofa, sat down next to her. Milo settled in a facing chair. His suit was one I’d seen for years, a baggy green-brown hopsack worn over a white shirt and a muddy blue tie that Prozac couldn’t fix.
One thing was different: He’d slicked down his hair. Two-hundred-forty-pound kid waiting for communion.
Prema said, “You look just like a cop should.”
Milo said, “You look just like a movie star should.”
“I meant that as a compliment, Lieutenant. I find it reassuring.”
“So taken.” His expression was unreadable. “What can I do for you, Ms. Moon?”
She turned to me.
I said, “Just go for it.”
She inhaled. “Okay … all right … Donny Rader smokes meerschaum pipes.”
“Does he.”
“Do you know what meerschaum is?”
“Some kind of carved stone.”
“It’s a mineral, Lieutenant. It washes up on the beach and people carve it into smoking pipes. Donny Rader has lots of carved meerschaum smoking pipes, I don’t know how many. He smokes weed in them, not tobacco. He’s a compulsive collector, loves things. To my mind, it’s just greed. Like cars: He’s got a dozen, maybe more, even though he hardly ever drives them. He has more clothing than I do.” One hand kneaded the other. “He collects women. But we don’t need to go there.”
“Sounds like your husband leads a busy life, Ms. Moon.”
She flinched.
I said, “There’s another collection.”
“Yes,” she said. “There is. He has a closet full of guns. When we were living together I made him lock them up in a big safe. That I paid for. For the children’s safety.”
“Where are the guns now, Ms. Moon?”
“At his place.”
“You don’t live together?”
“He lives in the adjoining property. I bought all of it years ago but I only use part of it.”
“You know about his gun closet because—”
“I saw it. Not recently, we don’t have much … I stay at my place, he’s at his.”
“When did you see the gun closet?”
Her chest heaved. “Maybe half a year, I really can’t be sure.”
“You went to visit—”
“Not a visit, an obligation. He needed to sign a tax form from our accountant. Our life is complicated, you can delegate a lot of things but at some point you still need to sign your name to papers. All the financial forms come to me because he’d neglect them.”
“So around six months ago—”
“Could be seven months, eight, five, I don’t know. What I do recall is he was still in bed, the place was a mess, as usual. There was a woman. I asked her to leave for a moment. So he could sign the tax form. The safe’s in a closet in his bedroom. The closet door was open, there were also loose guns. On shelves. And big ones—rifles—propped up on the floor of the closet. I got out of there.”
“Has he ever threatened you with a firearm?”
“Not yet.”
“You think he might.”
“At this point, Lieutenant, I don’t know what to think.”
I said, “About the meerschaums …”
Milo’s eyebrows rose.
Prema said, “Yes, of course. The meerschaums. The lovely meerschaums … when you collect them, the big deal is to get them to color gradually as you smoke them. From white to amber. For that to happen, the pipes are coated after they’re carved. Then the owner recoats them from time to time.”
Her hands clenched. “What’s used for the coating, Lieutenant, is beeswax.”
Milo’s lips pursed. “Really.”
“Specifically, confectioner’s beeswax, Lieutenant. With all those pipes, Donny Rader must go through the stuff like crazy because he buys pots of confectioner’s beeswax. Back when we were living together, I saw it in his workshop. He builds things. Birdhouses, ashtrays. Not very well.”
“You’ve seen him work with beeswax.”
Nod. “One time he called me in to watch him work on a pipe. Showing off. He heated up the beeswax, brushed it on, waited for it to cool, then buffed it shiny. About a month ago, he ordered six fresh pots of beeswax. I know that because instead of going through his purchasing assistant—a gopher at Apex, our management firm, we each have one—he ordered it online himself. Using my personal credit card, the package ended up on my desk. It came from a baking supplies outfit, my first thought was the cook had bought it, someone had screwed up and used my personal card instead of one of the household cards. Then I opened it and realized what was inside and called him to take it. We met at the gate to his place. I asked him why he’d bought it using my name. He didn’t really have an answer, was pretty much loaded on weed or whatever. As usual.”
“He say anything at all?”
“He mumbled something about not being able to find his own card. Which made sense, he’s always losing things. It didn’t explain why he hadn’t gone through Apex, but I didn’t push it, this was wax, no big deal, and frankly the less contact we have with each other the better. I forgot about the whole incident until I learned today that he’d bought something else saying it was for me. Only this time he had contacted my purchasing assistant at Apex, probably using one of my email addresses, and bought … those terrible things.”
“You know the order came from him because—”
“Because I didn’t buy them, Lieutenant. He’s obviously trying to cover his tracks. By casting suspicion on me.”
Milo studied her.
She said, “I know it sounds crazy, but, Lieutenant, I will take any lie-detector test you want me to take. I have never once in my life bought beetles or surgical tools. Or beeswax. Nor have I ever asked anyone to buy those things for me. Check out every single computer in my house including my personal computer. I’m sure you’ve got specialists who can do that.”
“Do you know for a fact that he bought the wax online?”
“How else?”
“Maybe he got on the phone and ordered.”
She thought. “Okay, good point, maybe—so examine our phone records, we’ve got I don’t know how many lines between us, go ahead and trace them all. Then do the same thing for his phones and see what you learn.”
Milo rolled his tie up to his collar, let it
drop. “Any idea why your husband would need beetles and surgical tools?”
Her hands clenched. “Do I have to say it?”
She turned to me.
I gave her my best therapist smile.
She said, “Fine, I’m afraid—I’m terrified that it had something to do with that poor baby in the park. And that’s another thing. The park. Like I told Dr. Delaware just before you got here, Donny Rader has a connection to that place. He used to work as a caddie at the golf course right next door. Back when he was a nothing.”
Milo’s bulk inched forward. “This is all very interesting, Ms. Moon. Thanks for coming forward.”
“What’s my choice, Lieutenant? He’s obviously trying to ruin me.”
“So you believe your husband is—”
“Could I ask a favor, Lieutenant? Please don’t call him that, he’s my husband in name only.”
“You believe Mr. Rader had something to do with the baby in the park.”
“I don’t know what else to think, Lieutenant. Those bones were treated just like he treats his stupid pipes. After he sicced those horrible bugs on them.”
“Any idea why he’d do such a thing?”
“No,” she said. “I mean he’s not a caring person, quite the opposite. But I never imagined … not until Dr. Delaware told me about the beeswax.”
“No idea at all what Mr. Rader’s motive might be?”
The question I hadn’t gotten to when the bell rang.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I have an idea. But not one that makes sense.”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
“It’s not rational. Not in terms of normal people, anyway,” she said. “I mean how can you ever explain things like that?”
“Explain what, ma’am?”
She pulled at her hair. “This is … even for him it’s—let me ask you one thing, Lieutenant. Was the baby in the park black?”
Milo looked at me. “Why would the baby be black, Ms. Moon?”
“Because the only baby I can think of who lived at my house since Boo—my youngest—was born was black. The mother was someone who worked for us. She went into labor early, actually delivered in her room in the staff house. Needless to say I was shocked. One day she’s pregnant, the next she’s got a baby. She said she delivered it herself. Her, a little girl. I wanted to get her to the hospital, she said no, she was fine. I thought that was absolutely crazy but she insisted and she seemed fine. Even though the baby was small. Not abnormal small, not a preemie. Everything seemed okay. Except for the blood and crud on her bed.”
Guilt Page 30