by Saul Black
Reluctantly, she conceded that she was going to have to start looking—carefully—into Dan Kruger. Without him knowing. Great.
Twenty minutes later Rachel appeared, pulling into the dock at the helm of a nifty cabin cruiser, a forty-footer in gleaming white with a pale green trim. Not, as Hester had said, a big boat, but big enough, Valerie estimated, to have set Adam Grant back upwards of $300,000. Rachel was wearing a red baseball cap and aviator shades. Elspeth sat in the stern in a white T-shirt and yellow life vest, staring back out at the water. The breeze lifted a single lock of her long dark hair, dropped it again. She looked as if she were gazing into an alternative dimension only she could see.
Valerie watched them tie up, gather up their backpacks, disembark. They didn’t exchange a word. She went to the end of the gangway. Rachel saw her, started slightly. Took off her sunglasses as she approached.
“What is it?” she asked Valerie. Then quickly to Elspeth: “Go wait in the car, honey.” She went into her purse and brought out the car keys. “Here. Go on.”
Elspeth didn’t move. She was staring at Valerie. The dark puppet eyes and full lips had a terrible look of blocked life. It occurred to Valerie that she’d never once heard the girl speak.
“Elspeth,” Rachel said. “Wait in the car, please.”
Elspeth still didn’t move. For an awkward moment the three of them stood there, Rachel holding out the keys, Elspeth apparently oblivious to everything except Valerie.
“Actually,” Rachel said, going back into her purse and pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, “here. Go get yourself something from the stand. Wait for me on the bench.” There was a hot dog and ice cream concession over to their left. “Come on, sweetheart, the detective is waiting to speak to me.”
Elspeth turned to her mother, slowly, as if the movement were tearing her from an invisible membrane. She took the twenty and moved away like a sleepwalker. Valerie watched Rachel watching her. Every atom of the woman was charged with anxiety. Elspeth ignored the concession. Instead drifted to one of the benches with her hands hanging loose by her sides, the money clutched. She didn’t sit down. Seagulls walked back and forth in front of her on the decking as if in compressed collective outrage at her intrusion.
“What’s happened?” Rachel said, turning back to Valerie.
“We found Dwight Jenner.”
Rachel didn’t answer. The only indication that the news had gone in was that her fingers tightened their grip on her purse.
“You found him?”
“Dead. His body was discovered in Nevada nine days ago. We got confirmation of his identity this morning.”
Rachel looked away, out over the glittering water. The disappointment Valerie had imagined wasn’t immediately apparent. For a few moments neither of them spoke. Then Rachel said: “I don’t understand. How can he…” She shook her head, eyes closed. Here, perhaps, was the disappointment. It had taken time to filter through.
“He was murdered,” Valerie said. “And I’m afraid it looks connected to Adam’s death.”
“What? How?”
“Back in 2001, Adam worked a prosecution case against a murder suspect, Grayson Webb. Both murders of which Webb was accused carried a distinctive MO—I mean, a distinctive signature, marks left on the victims’ bodies. But while Webb was in custody, a third victim, also with the distinctive marks, was found, more or less establishing Webb’s innocence. The charges were dismissed, and four years ago Grayson Webb died of cancer.” Valerie took the folded sheet of paper from her pocket and opened it. She showed the “Lucifer” sigil to Rachel. “This is the mark found on all three bodies,” she said. “The same mark we found on the body of Dwight Jenner.”
Rachel stared at the “Lucifer” sigil. Struggling with incomprehension.
“Does it mean anything to you?” Valerie asked her.
“No. Nothing. What is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. But it’s too much of a coincidence that it’s shown up again on the body of Adam’s killer. Adam ever discuss the case with you?”
“I don’t … Adam didn’t talk about his work. I don’t know what any of this is.”
Rachel glanced over to make sure Elspeth was still there. She was. She didn’t appear to have moved an inch. Valerie resisted the urge to ask how the kid was doing. And further resisted asking to speak to her.
“Did you find anything out about the woman?” Rachel asked. Her tone changed for this, for Sophia, for her husband’s lover. “Is she involved in this, too?”
“We don’t have anything on her,” Valerie said. “The fact is, we don’t know who she is.”
“It’s not enough,” Rachel said. The familiar bitter smile. “It’s not enough that he’s dead. I wanted … I wanted…”
“I know,” Valerie said. Then amended: “I can imagine.” Redundant to trot out the line about Jenner dead being better than Jenner lingering indefinitely on death row. Reasonable, yes, but Rachel wasn’t interested in reason.
“And now that’s it, I suppose,” Rachel said sadly. “Line drawn under. Case closed. Someone’s life—gone.” She turned her head away again to look out into the bay. “You must be pleased.” Delivered with a mix of sarcasm and disinterested understanding.
“I wish we’d gotten to Jenner before someone else did,” Valerie said. She left other things unsaid. That they still didn’t know why Jenner killed Adam. That Sophia remained a mystery. That there was no explanation for Adam’s phone calls to his killer. That the unanswered questions still vastly outnumbered the answered ones. That as far as Valerie was concerned the murder of Adam Grant was just one bloody corner of a much bigger—and bloodier—picture.
“It was my fault,” Elspeth said.
Both women started. Rachel spun around. They hadn’t heard the girl approach. She stood there still holding the twenty-dollar bill. Still, apparently, seeing the other dimension.
“Elspeth, for God’s “sake,” Rachel said. “I told you to wait.” She put her arm around her daughter, shook her slightly. “Jesus Christ.” Rachel turned to Valerie. “I need to get her home,” she said. “This is— We can’t. It’s enough. It’s enough.”
Without another word she turned and hurried Elspeth away.
Valerie watched them go, Rachel clutching Elspeth as if afraid the girl might bolt.
It’s my fault.
You don’t look done, Sadie had said earlier that day. At the time, with the Lucifer killing fresh to the equation, Valerie had admitted to herself a wretched burgeoning interest in the serial case it reopened.
But she’d been wrong.
Never mind the serial case.
She wasn’t done with this one yet.
36
“The truth is I’ve been worried about that girl for a while now,” Dina Klein told Valerie. “And not just about her. Julia’s impressionable. I mean, don’t get me wrong: Elspeth’s super-smart. She’s a sweetheart. But then all this craziness started and I was worried some of it would rub off.”
From the marina, Valerie had driven over to see the Kleins in Presidio Heights, where Elspeth had been for a sleepover with her friend Julia on the night of Adam Grant’s murder. The grand house on Cherry Street couldn’t have been further from the Grants’ in style—classic 1930s Mediterranean Revival—but it wouldn’t be much lower down the price chain. The sitting room into which she’d been shown (by a cheerful young Eastern European maid) had a dark walnut floor, double-height ceiling, plenty of paintings, and a curved teal suede couch that could have seated eight. But for all that, the feel of the place was comfortably lived-in.
Dina Klein was early forties, tall and tan, with no-nonsense breasts and hips around which all the weight that could conceivably be gym’d and dieted away had been. Wildly highlighted light brown hair pinned up haphazardly, a face that said intelligence, humor, and an ironic approach to life. She’d lost the weight, Valerie thought, but with an eye roll and a shrug, knowing it would probably come back, and if it did she might not bother
to lose it again. She and her husband, Marty, had started one of the world’s first wedding websites in the mid-nineties (when, incredibly, such things barely existed) and had sold it less than ten years ago for a sum that catapulted them into the good life. They’d both since been headhunted by Google, where Marty was now, according to Dina, doing blue-sky research just for fun. She, on the other hand, had used the financial security to give something back, and now worked pro bono on web content for various nonprofits.
Marty wasn’t home. Julia was upstairs in her room. It was her Valerie really wanted to interview, but she needed the mother on board first. She hadn’t mentioned Elspeth’s suicide attempt, and from Dina’s tone it was obvious she hadn’t heard about it.
“Could you be a little more specific?” she asked Dina.
“I’m assuming you’ve had all this from Rachel?”
“Yes,” Valerie lied. “But I’d like a perspective from outside the family. With all due respect, most mothers think their children are wonderful.”
“Elspeth “is wonderful,” Dina said, eyes livening. “Or at least she was. Of course I talked to Rachel about it at the time, but she said she was dealing with it.”
“You said there was a shoplifting incident?”
Dina made a no-big-deal face, nodding. “Yeah. Stupid, of course. Kids go through the can-I-get-away-with-it phase. I probably shouldn’t be saying this to an officer of the law, but I did it myself when I was her age. You know, CDs or glitter pens or candy. Dumb stuff just to prove you’ve got the balls. I hope I’m on the right side of the statute of limitations?”
“I used to break into public buildings,” Valerie said. “So your secret’s safe with me.”
Dina smiled. “The difference was we didn’t want to get caught. We really didn’t. I mean stores back then, not all of them had cameras and whatnot. It was a calculated risk. But these days? Elspeth’s bright enough to know you pretty much can’t get away with it, not in a goddamned mall. Three times she got caught with high-end gear. Just tried to walk through the door. She knows all that stuff’s tagged, so the conclusion’s obvious.”
“She wanted to get caught.”
“Which means it’s not about getting new stuff—of which she’s not short in any case. It’s about something else.”
“You don’t want to get caught unless you want to be seen to be guilty.”
“It wasn’t just that, either. She stopped eating. Well, no, she ate, but according to Julia she started making herself throw up.”
“Did Rachel know?”
“I told her. She said she was getting Elspeth help.”
I’m not a fan of shrinks. Valerie wondered what sort of help Rachel had commissioned.
“What happened with the thefts? Were the police involved?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure Adam pulled some strings. Rachel implied as much. Nothing happened to Elspeth, as far as I know.”
The maid brought in coffee on a tray.
“Oh, thanks, Kristina. Detective? How do you take it?”
They waited for the maid to exit.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dina said, having taken a sip. “Shoplifting and an eating disorder—it’s Teen Girl 101.”
“Well, it’s not unusual.”
“Half of Julia’s friends are so messed up she’s starting to feel neurosis-poor. Like she’s missing out on some essential rite of passage. And this obsession with social media—Christ. As it is she goes on as if her life depends on likes and thumb ratings. Followers.”
“But she’s okay. You’re not worried?”
Dina laughed. Confidence in her own motherhood. The knowledge that the groundwork had been done. “No, I’m not worried. She’s okay. We make too much fun of her for her to take herself that seriously. Deep down she knows what’s what. But she does think Elspeth’s dangerously cool. I think there might even be a little crush there. Which is why I was worried, really. Not in case she’s gay, you understand. I don’t care about that. I just don’t want puppy love landing her in Juvenile.”
A disarming ease to this woman, Valerie thought. She’d been hard enough on herself in her youth to afford wry self-gentleness now. The moral life was established, had yielded happiness without smugness. She had no need for concealment. Meanwhile here I am, Valerie conceded. Secretly pregnant and investigating the murder of someone I secretly almost fucked. And while we’re at it, secretly flirting with the late perp’s half brother. Fabulous.
“There’s something else,” Dina said. “And I only know a little. It must’ve been seven or eight months ago. Rumor started that Elspeth had been sleeping with boys. Boys, plural—and older boys at that. Julia says it’s completely false, vicious gossip started by this little posse at Drew who’ve got it in for Elspeth for whatever reason. But I know Rachel got involved. There were meetings with the principal and the other girls’ parents. It seems to have died down, but I’m sure I don’t know the whole story. Rachel made light of it when I brought it up.”
“You’re close to Rachel?” she asked.
Dina made a noncommittal face. “I wouldn’t say close,” she answered. “Rachel’s very private. We can make each other laugh, but there’s a definite boundary there. She’s one of the few people I know who doesn’t talk about herself. At all. It’s embarrassing. She comes over for coffee and by the time she’s gone I feel like a raging narcissist.”
“And Adam? Did you know him well?”
“Hardly at all. Neither did Marty.”
“But they were okay together, Rachel and Adam?”
“There was nothing to make me think otherwise, but that’s not saying much. And given Elspeth’s recent shenanigans you’ve got to wonder— Oh, hey, sweetie.”
Valerie turned to see a young girl—Julia, obviously—observing them. Barefoot in cut-off denim shorts and a white vest top, tawny hair in a plait. She had her mother’s gray-blue eyes and leonine features. Her mother’s look, too, of lively curiosity, albeit overlaid right now with what Valerie was coming to think of as standard teenage suspicion.
“Come and say hello,” Dina said. “This is Detective Hart, who’s investigating what happened to Elspeth’s father. I think she might want to talk to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes, come on.”
Julia entered (putting on a face of exaggerated incredulity Valerie knew was for her benefit) and took a seat next to her mother on the couch.
Valerie was mentally drafting how she might ask to speak to the girl alone, but Dina anticipated her. “I’ll leave you ladies to it,” she said. “I’ve got some calls to make.” Then to her daughter: “Jules, no nonsense, okay? Answer straight.”
For the most part, as far as Valerie could tell, Julia Klein did answer straight. At least insofar as she confirmed what Dina had said about Elspeth’s shoplifting and eating disorder. But there was clearly, as Dina had suggested, a wall of adoration that wouldn’t be breached easily. When Valerie asked her about the rumored promiscuity, Julia was less forthcoming.
“That was just some mean girls trying to spread dirt,” she said. “Pathetic.”
“What exactly were they saying about Elspeth?”
“It was stupid,” she said, looking away. “Just stuff so idiotic no one believed them anyway.”
“No one?”
“No one worth bothering about.”
“Did they say Elspeth was having sex with boys? Several boys?”
Julia pulled her knees up to her chest and sank back into the couch. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess.”
“Do you know which boys?”
“What’s the point? It wasn’t true. It was a lie.”
“I know that,” Valerie said. Then, after a pause: “You know everything in this room is just between us, right? No one apart from your mother will know about this conversation.”
“Okay…?” Julia said, intoning it as a question to imply: Why should that make any difference? I’ve got nothing to hide.
“So who w
ere the boys they were saying Elspeth was involved with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly. I mean I know one of the names, but I don’t know him, personally. He doesn’t go to Drew. Why d’you need to know, anyway?”
“It’s nothing, really,” Valerie said. “Just background. But to tell you the truth I think Elspeth’s still very unhappy—not just because of what happened to her father. I imagined you’d be the best person to talk to about it. I wonder if she’s over it, lie or no lie. You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to. It’s fine.” She would get the names from the principal, if she had to.
Julia looked out of the window.
“Listen, Julia,” Valerie said. “I’m going to level with you. And I hope the confidentiality can go both ways here?”
Julia looked back at her. Uncomfortable, yes, but excited, too, to be involved. And a little flattered to be adultly leveled with. She nodded.
“I think Elspeth blames herself for something. I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it’s making her extremely miserable, and if we don’t get to the bottom of it it’s going to make her worse. I think in some bizarre way she even feels responsible for her father’s death. That’s how confused she’s feeling right now. I know you care about her. And I hope you can trust me. If there’s anything you think I should know, it would be a good idea to tell me.”
Julia looked worried. “If I knew anything I would tell you,” she said. “But I don’t. Honestly I don’t. She’s barely talked to me since her dad died. I know she’s miserable but she doesn’t want to see me. I’ve tried.”
Genuine, all of this, Valerie saw. There was no concealment. Only the pain of having lost the beloved. Dina Klein was justified in her confidence: She’d raised a good kid.
“I’m sorry,” Valerie said. “That must be lousy for you. But she’s been through a terrible time. If I were you I’d keep trying, gently. She’ll come around.”
