Serpentine

by Jonathan Kellerman

  CHAPTER

  40

  Milo’s voice was tight. “Just about to give up on you. Something happened. No time to get into details, if you want to see it, come over.”

  “Where?”

  “Hollywood. Not far from Ellie’s.”

  “She okay?”

  “Yeah—” Voices in the background. A siren. “Here’s the address, gotta go.”

  * * *

  —

  At ten fifty I pulled to the curb and parked in a red zone on Western Avenue just north of Franklin. A uniform came forward shaking his head and looking pugnacious. I used my I.D. to get past him, did the same for an equally skeptical cop guarding a side street just below the climb to Los Feliz Boulevard.

  The leafy lanes of Los Feliz were yards to the north. This bumpy strip was crowded with shabby apartments. Skimpy street lighting, like on a lot of L.A. streets where the residents lack political currency.

  Most of the illumination came from four blinking cruisers, a crime scene van with its rear door ajar, and the portable streetlamps the techs position once they’ve scoped out a scene and established the angles.

  One pole was still being adjusted. Several techs played with their phones. The numbered yellow plastic right-angles used to mark evidence dotted the asphalt like corn fallen off an oversized cob. Those, the cops on the scene can do. The highest number I spotted was 12. Lots of bullets.

  Beyond the white tech van sat a dark one, smaller. Happy Maids Cleaning vinyl on the side. Another set of wheels beyond that, impossible to identify because the van was taller and all I could see was the hazy outline of tires.

  I continued slowly, inspecting the ground. To the left of the dark van were oily spots on the asphalt. Black where the light had missed, ruby where it hit.

  Milo appeared from somewhere, unlit cigar in his mouth. He dropped it into a pocket of an exhausted tweed sport coat. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loose.

  “You decided to come. When you didn’t answer, I figured you might be sleeping.”

  That hadn’t stopped him from making three attempts.

  I said, “What’s going on?”

  “Alicia and Arredondo decided to do a nighttime drive-by of Galoway’s street. Up till then, he hadn’t shown himself since the pajama thing. At nine fifteen he came out fully dressed, got in the Isuzu, and backed out. Alicia notified me and said she wanted to follow. She’s good with tails so I okayed it but told her to be careful with the rookie. Galoway got on the 101, the same maniac driving style we saw. At the 5 South, he swung three lanes abruptly to transfer, got off at Los Feliz, which put Alicia on high alert.”

  “Ellie’s house.”

  “That was her assumption. She’d been leaving four cars between her and Galoway, closed it to three, then two. Then the driver in front of her made a lane change and she was right behind. Not ideal, but why would he suspect anything?”

  I said nothing.

  He exhaled. “Exactly, best-laid plans. Alicia’s expecting Galoway to turn into Ellie’s neighborhood, instead, he keeps going and swings in here. Alicia played it by the book, making sure his taillights were a good block ahead before she followed. All of a sudden, Galoway’s brake lights go on and he’s roaring straight back at her, going thirty, forty per. Alicia thought she was gonna get pulverized, tries to back away, can’t do it in time. Galoway’s heading right at her but instead of crashing, he screeches to a stop, jumps out, and runs up to Alicia’s window. Tinted glass, he can’t see, that doesn’t stop him from producing a gun and aiming it. We’re talking seconds since they entered the street, Alicia goes for her sidearm but it’s snapped into her holster, she keeps trying and ducks as low as she can, hoping to avoid a direct headshot.”

  He sucked in air, rubbed his face.

  I said, “Trapped. Oh, God.”

  “Woulda been an oh God but the rookie jumped out on the passenger side with her service weapon and shot Galoway nine times.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Didn’t give the kid enough credit,” he said. “Unfortunately, she’s gonna find herself in an officer-involved situation.”

  “Sounds totally justified.”

  “Since when does truth have anything to do with it? I’m hoping her dad’s well thought of. Anyway, Galoway’s done for, crypt wagon just took him away. I had an ambulance cart Alicia and Arredondo to Hollywood Pres for evaluation. They claimed they were okay but I said observe them for shock. At the least, playing the sympathy card could help with the shooting board. You weren’t involved I’d ask you to certify them traumatized.”

  Talking had shortened his breath. His eyes looked unfocused as his right hand rose to the left side of his chest and stayed there.

  I said, “You okay?”

  “Peachy. Funny thing is, I’d decided to take it easy tonight because Rick was off-shift. We made some spaghetti, had the wine uncorked, then I get the call.”

  I laughed.

  He said, “What the hell is funny?”

  “Synchronicity.”

  I explained about Robin and my dinner. Normally, he’d be amused by that kind of thing.

  He said, “Weird…at least you got to eat…what I’m having trouble with is why would Galoway risk trying for Ellie? Unless you can see another reason he’d drive all the way here from the Valley with two guns—there was also a rifle with a nightscope on the backseat. And then after figuring out he was being tailed, he pulls that cowboy move on Alicia?”

  I said, “No other reason. He was either after a kill or just planned to scare her off with some shooting. The motive’s the same as when he bumped Phil Seeger off his bike.”

  “Clearing the deck.”

  “Hammer–nail.”

  “It’s crazy-risky, Alex. And for what? Screwing up an investigation that as far as he knows is going nowhere?”

  “Lying to you about everything is crazy-risky,” I said. “We can’t eliminate the possibility that Galoway got off on it. Or he looked up your solve rate and got nervous. Told Dorothy—imagine their pillow talk—and she dispensed him on an errand.”

  “Dispatched by the evil queen…if that’s the case we could be talking kill your own daughter. Or not…okay, putting that aside, how did Galoway get Ellie’s address? That I know I never told him.” A beat. “You remember different?”

  “You never mentioned it.”

  “Then how, Alex?”

  I thought about that. He lit up his cigar, blew a single gelatinous smoke ring, and began tapping his foot.

  I said, “If he was a real estate agent, he could have contacts with rental agencies.”

  “Real estate’s cutthroat,” he said. “The enemy calls you’re gonna cough up client info?”

  “With enough motivation, you are.”

  “A bribe.”

  “Something more subtle. Like telling the agency Ellie had contacted him wanting to rent a bigger, more expensive place, if they agreed to help terminate the lease, he’d split commission. He tosses out big dollars, the other agent says let’s talk. Once it got to that point, it would’ve been easy enough get the address. He needed it for verification. Or better yet, he had another client for that property and they could pull off a two-fer.”

  “Devious,” he said. “I’m always impressed by how quickly you don that hat.”

  “Nothing like a few years in academia,” I said. “So what’s next?”

  “Besides handling this mess? Obviously the main thing is getting into Galoway’s house but the one night-owl judge I can count on is on vacation. I’ll start again in the morning, could have a warrant by noon.”

  I said, “How about a victim’s warrant? Quicker.”

  “Too risky with an officer-involved and the possibility that Dorothy’s in there. Once I get paper, I need to figure out the best approach. That I could use you for. C’mon
, I’ll walk you.”

  * * *

  —

  Cool night but he’d paled and began sweating.

  At the Seville, he said, “Guess you really didn’t need to come, apologize to Robin for me.”

  “Glad I’m here,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “More time to think about tomorrow.”

  He craned his neck, as if working out a kink. Cherries in the jaw. Racing carotid pulse.

  I said, “Take it easy, friend.”

  “What?”

  “You look a little wound up.”

  “Par for the course. No prob, it always dissipates.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be fine, Alex. Know why?”

  I shook my head.

  “This feels like a turning point.”

  A white Benz coupe screeched to within inches of the Seville’s rear bumper. The driver’s door swung open, a woman got out, saw Milo, and stomped forward, arms swinging.

  Forties, short blond hair, a chin that led the way.

  She wore a knee-length plum-colored coat over a matching dress and shoes, pearls, heels, full makeup. None of that detracted from the image of an infantry soldier marching to battle.

  She stopped within inches of Milo’s face. All that was missing was the tire squeal.

  “What happened?”

  Milo said, “Dr. Delaware, this is Deputy Chief Martz.”

  Martz looked at me as if I was a flu-carrier who’d broken quarantine. Back to Milo. “What. Happened.”

  He told her.

  She said, “When you decided to take the case on you were supposed to be careful.”

  “I decided?”

  “Who else?” said Martz. “This is the era of modern policing. No one forces anything on anyone.”

  “Except for the criminals,” said Milo. “Oh, yeah, not always that, either.”

  “Cut the humor, irrelevant,” said Martz. “Any way you cut it, tonight’s outing was at your behest. And now we’ve got a DB.”

  “Who was a prime suspect in multiple murders.”

  “So you say. I’m expecting backup and verification of any fact you purport to be in possession of. Understood?”

  “And comprehended.”

  Martz said, “I’m not talking your usual level of data memorialization. Details.”

  “Got it.”

  She looked up the street. “What a disaster. Does Ernie Arredondo know about his daughter?”

  “Not from me,” said Milo.

  “You didn’t think to inform him?”

  “My concern has been preserving the scene and making sure Officer Arredondo and Detective Bogomil are okay psychologically.”

  Martz turned to me. “You came here to certify their mental health?”

  I said, “I’m sure Hollywood Pres will do a thorough job. I know the psych staff, if you’d like I can liaison.”

  “Why are you here, Doctor?”

  “I’ve been consulted on the case.”

  “Have you…well, we’ll go over all of this once the full data set is in place. In the meantime, Lieutenant, the officer-involved team will be assigned and you’ll both be cooperating with them fully.”

  Milo said, “Dr. Delaware wasn’t involved.”

  “Really?” said Martz. “He just said he’s your consultant—uh-uh, no more debate.” Martz looked at the dark van. “Nine shots? Really?”

  “He was armed and dangerous. No sense taking chances.”

  “Of someone surviving.”

  “He was out to kill both of them.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I do,” said Milo. “Far as I’m concerned she’s a hero. Do you see it differently?”

  Martz’s chin edged farther into his personal space. “I’m not here to answer questions. I was at a bar association dinner, had to leave just before my husband’s speech.”

  “So sorry.”

  No sarcasm in his tone; a feat of acting. Martz studied his face, anyway, hoping to pick out a shred of insolence. Failing, she settled for a withering glance.

  Milo said, “What was the speech about?”

  “Eminent domain, Ismail’s a specialist in land-use law—what’s the difference.” Another glance at the scene. “Nine bullets.”

  “How many times have you had to actively fire your weapon, ma’am?”

  Martz blinked hard, rocked back on her heels. “No times. Not that it’s your concern but I view that as a testament to good judgment.”

  “I’m sure it is, ma’am, but it’s tough to be in someone else’s shoes unless…”

  “So,” she said, “when can we hope to wrap up your little adventure with Ms. Barker?”

  “We’re getting there.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Hopefully a few days.”

  “Hopefully,” said Martz. “Empty word.”

  She turned, sped back to her car, backed up, roared away.

  Milo grinned. He’d stopped sweating. Inert jaw. The racing neck pulse was gone.

  I said, “The power of fantasy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re thinking about all sorts of unpleasant ends for her and it’s kicked in your parasympathetic nervous system and mellowed you out.”

  “Moi? Engaging in cruel and vindictive and bloodthirsty thoughts? Perish the notion.” He chuckled. Welcome sound.

  As I got in the Seville, he said, “Be nice, though, if some other perishing would go down.”

  CHAPTER

  41

  Milo had expected a warrant by noon Tuesday but the day passed without my hearing from him. Probably tied up with the shooting board.

  When radio silence stretched to Wednesday, I began to wonder if complications had set in. Bureaucracy’s like untreated cancer: Once it takes hold, it ravages.

  I searched for media coverage of Du Galoway’s shooting, was surprised to find nothing but a page-32 squib in the Times about “the death of a gun-wielding felony suspect.”

  The department pulling up the drawbridge. That said nothing about how it would treat Jen Arredondo, Alicia, and Milo.

  Wednesday at nine forty p.m., he finally called.

  “I was starting to wonder.”

  “Yeah, it’s been interesting. As in a pain. Fortunately, once we got through the bullshit, the people assigned to evaluate turned out to be sane and the kid’s connections didn’t hurt.”

  “Dad’s well thought of.”

  “Big-time. Top of that, Mom’s a dispatcher at Hollenbeck, there’s a brother in Burbank PD, and an uncle is a robbery D in Saugus.”

  I said, “Police aristocracy.”

  He said, “Nothing like blue blood when you need a transfusion. What also helped was I told them about Galoway’s lies, what he was suspected of. Nothing pisses off good cops more than bad cops. So no doubt about the kid being ruled justified. I managed to put in for the phone subpoena, no guarantee when the data dump will come in. In terms of the warrant for the house, you know how it is: time-limited so I waited until today to apply, just got it. Moe’s been checking out Galoway’s street, no movement, I’m starting to think she’s somewhere else. The goal is to enter the house Friday morning, planning session’s tomorrow. Nine work for you?”

  “Tied up until ten, I can be there by twenty after.”

  “Then that’s when we’ll start.”

  * * *

  —

  The whiteboards were filled with the same shots of Galoway’s street and house. Galoway’s DMV photo had been removed.

  In the first row was an empty chair for me, flanked by Milo, Reed, and Sean Binchy returned from vacation and sporting a sunburn.

  A couple of years ago I’d saved Sean’s life. Terrifying near-
miss as a psychopath tried to toss him off a skyscraper. Tough thing to come to grips with but for the most part, we’d dealt. Still, sometimes he avoided eye contact.

  This morning he waved and smiled. Let’s hear it for sand and surf.

  In the second row sat six uniformed officers from the SWAT team, the lieutenant a six-four, brush-cut, heavy-jawed stereotype named Mackleroy Bain.

  Milo had prepped them. They stood, nodded, shook my hand.

  Bain was the last to greet me, smiling warmly and offering just enough pressure in his grip to imply power. “Really great to meet you, Dr. Delaware. You taught my wife in grad school.”

  Soft, boyish voice.

  I said, “Who’s that?”

  “Laurie Trabuco.”

  “Great student.”

  “She had wonderful things to say about your seminar,” said Bain. “Got her Ph.D. last year, works for the V.A. Long Beach doing PTSD therapy.”

  “That’s terrific. Give her my best.”

  “Will do, Doctor.”

  Milo said, “Good morning to all concerned,” and people hustled to their seats. “Alex, let’s start with your thoughts about approach.”

  I said, “Is your warrant no-knock?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then I think you should take advantage. Go in with force and clear the place as quickly as possible.”

  Milo eyed Bain and the SWAT leader got up and pointed to an aerial of the house. “We lucked out on layout, not much square footage and only two doors, front and back. A fenced-in yard and a driveway gate means limited space for escape. I’m figuring an officer stationed outside on each door and four of us doing the entry in pairs.”

  Milo said, “You planning on getting all military?”

  Bain smiled. “We’ll bring the toys—gas, concussion grenades—but I really don’t see using them unless you think she’ll be waiting for us with a firearm.”

  Milo looked at me.

  I said, “Suicide by cop? Nothing in her background suggests it but there are always surprises. She could be extremely edgy because Galoway left on Monday night and still hasn’t returned. On top of that, there was a brief mention in yesterday’s paper about an armed suspect going down and if she put it together, my guess would be she’d plan her escape rather than seek confrontation. But no guarantees.”