Serpentine

by Jonathan Kellerman

  She threw up her hands.

  I said, “Terrible.”

  Milo sighed.

  Both of us hoping not to be pressed for wisdom we didn’t have.

  “Okay,” said Dara Guzman, “might as well get on with your business.”

  Not asking for I.D. the way Greg Alomar had. We’d passed some kind of test.

  Milo said, “Whatever you can tell us about Dudley Galoway would be helpful.”

  “How about he’s a total asshole? What’d you find out about me and him? And where did you find out?”

  “Newspaper clipping.” He summed up the zoning dispute.

  She said, “That says it all. Look, I’m not claiming he was the only reason I lost. I was young, stupid, had worked for the farmworkers out of college, went to law school but hated it and dropped out and moved out to the boonies with someone I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.”

  She shrugged. “Not your problem. Anyway, Piro seemed like a sweet little town, I thought I’d grow vegetables and mellow out. No idea what it’s like now but it was close to some serious real estate so for all I know it’s like Calabasas.”

  I said, “Lots of golf courses there now.”

  “Figures. When I was on the council it was agricultural and depended on seasonal workers. Their living conditions were appalling. Falling-down shacks near the town garbage dump, no indoor plumbing, outhouses that overflowed, raw sewage, you get the picture.”

  Milo said, “Nasty picture.”

  She studied him, assessing sincerity. He sat there, calm.

  Dara Guzman twiddled her fingers and continued. “The heirs to one of the old-time families tried to sell some land to a developer who wanted to build Section 8 housing. It sounds crazy, me siding with a developer, but given how the workers lived, lesser of two evils. The property was vacant, on the outskirts, being used for nothing. From all the uproar you’d think convicts were going to be bused in. I pushed for it, everyone piled up against me, I didn’t stand a chance. But that’s not what bothered me about Galoway and his wife. It was the way they went about it. Attacking me personally during council meetings. No raised voices, just sarcastic insinuations that I was a spy for some radical group, out to ruin the town. The other council members didn’t agree with me but they were decent about it. The issue stayed civil until those two entered the picture. They actually got reprimanded by the other members of the council, but that didn’t change the vote.”

  She opened a desk drawer, pulled out a box of staples, removed one and played with it. “I licked my wounds and tried to figure out my future. Then they killed my dog.”

  “Geez,” said Milo.

  “Geez Louise. Baxter was sixteen years old, big old husky with gorgeous blue eyes. Not doing great, he probably had a year or two. Despite all that coat, when he got old, he got cold. Liked to sit outside and snooze and sun himself. One evening, he’s been out there enjoying himself for a few hours, I come out to take him for his wee-walk and find him on his back, stone-cold.”

  Her mouth twisted. A single tear ran down her right cheek. “I figured he’s old, had a heart attack. Then I see white crusty stuff around his mouth and it kind of smells of almonds but it still didn’t register. I bring Baxter to the vet for cremation and she smells it. Didn’t say anything at the time but took it upon herself to do a necropsy gratis and found a big chunk of hamburger in Baxter’s tummy, laced with what turned out to be cyanide. She asks me do I lay down rat poison, I say no way, I’m totally organic. She says do you have apricot trees, cherries, has he been known to chew a lot of pits. I say all I’ve got is one scraggly tangerine and Baxter didn’t stray. She says, then I’m afraid someone killed your dog. I told the sheriffs, including who I suspected, lot of good that did. My property was unfenced, anyone could’ve walked in and fed the meat to Baxter. He loved his food. He had no protective instincts.”

  “You told them it was Galoway.”

  “Or her. Maybe only her, to my eye she was meaner than him. One of those hard-body types, the formfitting jeans, the cowgirl boots, big blond hair, full of herself. Never smiled. He did but it was sleazy. The two of them were a pair. Are they still in Piro?”

  “No.”

  “Where, then?”

  “The Valley.”

  “Big place,” said Dara Guzman.

  “It is.”

  “You’re not going to be specific? Fine, I couldn’t care less.”

  I said, “Did they own land in Piro?”

  “They lived on a couple of acres, big old house, not much in the way of flowers or trees. Most of it was used for their horses.”

  “Ranch situation.”

  “More like a house with horses, four or five,” said Guzman. “You’d see her prancing into town, tall in the saddle. Using a whip too much for my taste but what do I know? Never rode myself.”

  Milo showed her the Azalea photo with Dorothy/Martha’s face isolated.

  She said, “She was older when I knew her but could be…yeah, kick it up to probably. Notice the eyes? Mean. They really were a pair.” To me: “There’s probably a name for that. People building on each other’s meanness.”

  I said, “Hooking up with the wrong people.”

  She laughed, looked at Milo.

  He said, “Should’ve warned you. He hates jargon.”

  “Well,” she said, “that’s a plus. You interested in volunteering from time to time, Dr. Delaware?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Noncommittal? He says you’re only part-time with him. What else do you do?”

  “Private practice and teaching.”

  “So you make good money, why not give back? We could use some teaching, here. In-service seminars for staff, maybe counsel some of the kids.”

  “Let’s trade cards.” I handed her mine and she scrounged in her desk before coming up with a fuzzy-edged rectangle of cheap paper.

  “Got your number, Doc.”

  I said, “What name did she go by?”

  “Hmm. Don’t know if I ever knew it. He was on the council, she just hung around. I always thought of her as The Bitch.”

  Milo smiled, “Anything else you can tell us?”

  “Nah,” said Dara Guzman. “I do hope you pin something on them. Tonight I’m going to be thinking about Baxter.”

  CHAPTER

  35

  Red everywhere on Waze, as if the city were bleeding. Time to settle back for the ride and pretend it was leisurely by choice.

  Milo said, “Nasty woman, rides horses, maybe poisons a dog just for the fun of it. Add whoever was in the Caddy, the bodies she piled up with Leigh, and possibly Seeger, and she’s a one-woman crime wave.”

  He shook his head. “Despite what we said about psychopaths, people like that aren’t good at relationships, right? How’d she and Galoway manage to stick together all these years?”

  I said, “Two hammers looking for nails.”

  * * *

  —

  He hooked north on Veteran Avenue, driving through a maze of residential streets that traced the U.’s western periphery. More foot traffic than usual for L.A. as skinny-jeaned, backpacked adolescents darted across the street, plugged in and unfocused.

  Denying the concept of danger except when it came to ideas.

  I thought of Martha Maude Hopple, fifteen and focused. On all the wrong things.

  A lifetime of deception and cruelty. Making a career out of it.

  When we pulled up in front of my house, Milo said, “When’s that sushi coming?”

  * * *

  —

  An hour to go, Robin still out in the studio.

  Milo comforted himself with an orange and a banana, tossed the peel and the rind, drank water from the kitchen tap and sat down at the table. Using the time for what a corporate-type woul
d call networking.

  First, he cross-referenced police records with Dudley Galoway’s Tarzana address but found no incidents. Then he called a detective he knew in Valley Division just to be sure. No idea who Galoway was.

  Muttering, “Weekend, she won’t be in,” he tried his captain.

  Ann-Margaret Meecham was a recent transfer from Central admin, not at West L.A. long enough for Milo to complain about her.

  She answered her own phone after one ring. “Meecham.”

  “Milo Sturgis, ma’am.”

  “Lieutenant.” As if she found the fact amusing and possibly short of credible.

  “Long day, ma’am?”

  “Obviously for you, as well. What do you need?”

  “The people I asked you for, if I could have them a bit longer.”

  “Reed, Bogomil, and that rookie.”

  “Arredondo,” said Milo. “Good group. Coherent and—”

  “You need them because…”

  “There’s been a break in the case.” Keeping it as spare and clear as possible, he explained about Galoway.

  “Ex-D,” said Meecham.

  “I know, ma’am, it’s tricky.”

  “Understatement. More like messy. More like a pigsty that hasn’t been cleaned in weeks.”

  “Exactly,” said Milo. “That’s why I need to take special care. Starting with surveillance. His residence doesn’t make it easy.”

  “Give me details.”

  When he was finished, Meecham said, “All I’m hearing is theory.”

  “I know it sounds that way—”

  “Your instincts, I get it. Your stats do help you in that regard. What won’t help you is what happens if a bunch of 211s break while you’ve got your little repertory going and Bancroft and Mendoza or whoever’s on shift need personnel for real-time investigations?”

  “I understand that,” said Milo.

  “Do you, Milo?” Slipping into first-name basis. A good sign? If so, Milo’s face wasn’t reflecting it.

  “They can always be pulled off, ma’am.”

  “Not the same as being there on the ground,” said Meecham. “Speaking of your little covert deal, I got a call from downtown.”

  “Did you.”

  “Martz,” said Meecham. Not using the deputy chief’s title. Definitely a good sign. Milo perked up.

  He said, “About the case in question?”

  “In a manner of speaking. She and I were in the same class at the academy.”

  “Old friends, huh?”

  “Not a foregone conclusion,” said Meecham. “She wants me to keep an eye on you. I don’t operate that way with my people but I told her I would. Have I ever done that? Intruded?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Meg is my preferred term of address from anyone above sergeant.”

  “You haven’t intruded, Meg.”

  “Glad you appreciate it. Does Veronique know about this new development?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” said Meecham. “Something actually happens it’s going to be a West L.A. deal, not some downtown dog-and-pony with her taking credit.”

  “Got it. So I can—”

  “Unless an exigent situation evolves. You really need the rookie?”

  “Given what I’m planning—”

  “You take care of her. You make that a priority. The slightest sign she’s not cut out for the job, you let her go.”

  “I will. Meg.”

  “You learn fast. Good.”

  “One more thing?” said Milo.

  “Isn’t there always,” said Meecham.

  “Detective Binchy’s due back from vacation in two days. If he’s not needed elsewhere—”

  “Don’t get pushy,” said Meecham. “I’m going to start doubting your cognitive skills.”

  Click.

  I said, “Tough but fair, huh?”

  “I’m sure she likes to think of herself that way.” He texted Moe and Bogomil and asked them to show up tomorrow morning at ten if they didn’t have weekend plans. Added a request for Alicia to contact Jen Arredondo with the same instruction.

  Two rapid replies:

  Got it. Moe.

  Had plans but boring. Will do. A.B.

  I said, “It’s so nice when the kids behave themselves.”

  Milo looked at his watch and got another orange.

  CHAPTER

  36

  Sunday. Same war room, same whiteboards, same coffee and tea and pastries in pink boxes augmented by a heap of plastic-wrapped, handmade deli sandwiches financed by Milo’s cash.

  No writing on the boards; instead, Dudley Galoway’s enlarged DMV photo, enlargements of a modest-looking single-story Spanish house taken from Zillow plus several aerial shots of the property. No vehicles in any of the images.

  Milo explained the situation.

  Moe Reed and Alicia Bogomil listened impassively. Jen Arredondo’s eyes widened with each fact. She wore loose hair, a red tee, black jeggings, red Vans, looked like a high school senior.

  When Milo finished, Alicia said, “This woman—if she is alive—is something else.”

  Milo walked to the board and pointed to one of the aerials. A wide view that covered two blocks. “Everyone’s got a double-width driveway and a garage, not much parking on the street. So we can’t just sit there, anything unusual’s going to be spotted, especially by an ex-D like Galoway. But even by an unsuspecting neighbor. We can’t afford to have Valley patrol show itself.”

  Moe Reed said, “Not safe informing them?”

  “Don’t know if Galoway still has police contacts, so no. The best alternative I can come up with is pulling off a little theater. Meaning you guys play roles. I’d be part of the repertory but Galoway knows me.”

  Using Meg Meecham’s word. Arredondo looked baffled and Milo noticed.

  “There’ll be some acting,” he told her.

  Alicia said, “All right, ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”

  Moe and Arredondo squinted at her.

  “It’s a movie, guys. Sunset Boulevard?”

  No response.

  Alicia said, “Before my time, too, but my mom watches it all the time.” Small smile. “On her VCR.”

  Milo said, “No close-ups. Let me emphasize, we’re not trying to get cozy with the suspects, need to assume Galoway’s gonna be more vigilant than a civilian and the same goes for Dorothy or whatever she’s calling herself.”

  Reed said, “What is the goal?”

  “I’d be happy with finding out who lives there. It may turn out to be simple. We know both of Galoway’s vehicles but have no idea what she’s driving. We spot a third vehicle and trace the tag to a female, big step. We don’t, I’d settle for some inkling of her presence or absence.”

  Alicia said, “When’s garbage day? We can go back at night, empty the cans, see if there’s female stuff in there or who mail is addressed to.”

  “Too risky, kid.”

  She shrugged.

  Milo turned to Reed. “For you, I’m figuring a delivery guy. There are three vans in the impound lot scheduled for the auction next month. No logo or signage on any of them, we’ll get stick-on vinyls that fit with whatever you’re delivering. Any preferences?”

  Alicia patted Reed’s colossal biceps. “How about iron anvils?”

  Reed smiled. “Whatever you choose, L.T. So I’m just driving by, not making a delivery.”

  “Correct,” said Milo.

  “Then I can alternate—plumbing, then electrical, whatever.”

  “That’s fine if you can disguise yourself sufficiently so Galoway doesn’t see the same face in different sets of wheels.”

  Jen Arredondo made a soft, mouse-like noise.

  Milo
looked at her.

  She said, “I do makeup. Did. In high school, for drama.”

  “Excellent, what can you do with Detective Reed?”

  Arredondo blushed. “Um, there’s beards, mustaches. Wigs. If you want to go to the next level, there’s putty you can add to the nose or the chin. We did that on Les Miz.”

  Alicia grinned. “You can turn him into Quasimodo?”

  “There was no one like that…”

  Milo said, “Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

  Alicia said, “Oops.”

  Arredondo said, “I mean I’m not like a professional but I could change him.”

  Milo said, “Give me a list of what you need.”

  “Is it okay if I contact my drama teacher? He knows where to get everything.”

  “Long as he’s not a felon with a big mouth.”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “Tell him you’re working on the department Christmas show.”

  “You have one of those?” said Arredondo.

  Milo smiled. “This works out, we just might. Okay, kids, let’s plan on starting tomorrow. I’ll set up the vehicles, tell you where to pick them up.”

  Arredondo said, “Um, sir? What will I be delivering?”

  “Not sure, yet. Let’s see what Detectives Reed and Bogomil come up with first.”

  “I could do one of those magazine subscription deals? Ring the bell, someone answers I give a speech about bargains?”

  “Too close for comfort, Officer.”

  “I’ll be fine, sir,” said Arredondo, not sounding convinced.

  “Did you act in the school play or just do makeup?”

  “Makeup, sir. But I did magazine subscriptions for real. Two summers, between my junior and senior years. I sold quite a few.”

  “Hmm, let me think about it. One more thing: If at any point Galoway shows himself and anyone can follow safely, do it. Any questions? Okay, then—”

  “Actually, sir,” said Arredondo, fidgeting.

  All eyes on her.

  “Yes, Officer.”

  “It’s not a question, sir, it’s something that maybe is relevant?”