“Who says it’s your fault?” I said.
“No one,” she said. “And everyone, implicitly. Lose a child to an accident or an illness, everyone feels sorry for you. Lose a child to suicide and people look at you as if you were the most horrible parent in the world.”
“How did Barnett react to the suicide?”
“I wouldn’t know, we never spoke about it.” Her eyes clenched and opened. “He had Lara cremated, never had the decency to have a service. No funeral, no memorial. He cheated me— the bastard. Can’t you tell me what he’s suspected of? Is it something to do with drugs?”
Milo said, “Barnett used drugs?”
“Both of them smoked pot. Maybe that’s why Lara couldn’t get pregnant— isn’t that supposed to do something to your ovaries or whatever?”
“How do you know about their drug usage?”
“I know the signs, Detective. Lara was a pothead when she was in high school. I never saw any evidence she’d stopped.”
“The bad crowd she fell in with,” I said.
“Bunch of spoiled kids,” she said. “Driving around in their parents BMWs, booming that music and pretending they were ghetto. Neither of my other two went for that nonsense.”
“You figure Lara continued using after she was married.”
“I know she did. The few times I visited their apartment— the few times they let me in— everything was a mess and you could smell it in the air.”
Milo said, “Did they ever use anything stronger than marijuana?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Balquin eyed him. “So this is about drugs. Is Barnett pushing?”
“Have you known him to sell drugs?”
“No, but I’m being logical. Don’t users become pushers to pay for their habit? And all those guns he keeps— Lara wasn’t raised with that, we never had so much as a BB gun in our home. All of a sudden they’ve got rifles, pistols, horrible stuff. He kept them out in the open, in a wooden case— the way sophisticated people display books. If you’re not doing something shady, why do you need all those guns?”
“Ever ask him?”
“I mentioned it to Lara. She told me to mind my own business.”
I looked for bookshelves in her front room. Nothing but pickled oak paneling and the photos on the back wall.
She said, “Lara used one of his guns to shoot herself. I hope he’s happy.” Her hands tightened into fists. “If he is a pusher, I hope you catch him and put him away forever. Because the last thing my daughter needed was another bad influence.”
She scraped an incisor with a fingernail, raised her glass to her lips, and drank slowly but steadily. Finished off the refill without taking a breath.
Milo said, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, ma’am?”
“I shouldn’t say this but . . . oh, what the hell, she’s gone and so is Kristal and I need to concentrate on rebuilding my own life.” She tightened her face again, held the tension so long that even the refashioned muscles of her cheeks and chin gave way.
“I always wondered if drugs had something to do with Lara losing sight of Kristal. She insisted it was only for a second, the store was crowded and she turned her head and she was gone. But doesn’t dope slow your reflexes?”
Milo uncrossed his legs. He took his pad out but didn’t write.
Nina Balquin said, “It’s a terrible thing to say about your own child, but how else can you explain it? I raised three kids, and as a toddler Mark was a hellion, all over the place, you couldn’t get him to sit still. But I never lost him. How do you just lose a child!”
Her voice had risen to a near scream. She plopped back heavily, massaged her left temple. “Damn cluster headache . . . the last thing I’d want to do is blame my daughter, but objectively . . . maybe that’s why Lara felt guilty enough to do what she— oh, spit it out, Nina! Maybe that’s why she killed herself!”
Both her hands began shaking violently. She sat on them, shut her eyes. A high-pitched keen made its way from behind closed lips.
Milo said, “We know this is hard, ma’am. We appreciate your being so frank.”
Nina Balquin opened her eyes. Her expression was vacant.
“Insight,” she said, “can be a bitch.”
* * *
As Milo thanked her, I walked to the back of the room and looked at the photos. A couple in their thirties with two kids under ten— the accountant son and his family. A woman who resembled Lara Malley, wearing a cap and gown. Heavier face than Lara’s, red hair curling from under the mortarboard. Sister Sandy.
No image of Lara, but below her sibs hung a cheaply framed, three-by-five snapshot of Kristal. Infant photo— less than a year old from the way she needed support to sit up. Wearing a pink cowgirl dress and matching hat. Bucking broncos and cacti in the background, a tiny moon above the plains, airbrushed slick. Probably one of those kiddie-photo outlets. The kind you find in every mall.
Smiling baby girl, chubby, rosy-cheeked. Big brown eyes engaged the camera. Moisture on her chin— teething drool.
Nina Balquin said, “I got that when I dropped in on them and brought Kristal a Christmas present. They had a stack. I had to ask for that one.”
* * *
We left her standing in her doorway, new drink in her hand.
Milo drove away, muttering, “Sometimes my crazy family doesn’t seem so bad.”
I said, “Mom hates Barnett’s guts but she never considered that he might’ve murdered Lara.”
He said, “That woman’s so fragile I kept waiting to pick up shards. Wonder how she’ll cope if we find out Barnett’s a much badder guy than she imagined.”
* * *
He chose surface streets over the freeway, took Van Nuys Boulevard north and connected to Beverly Glen. As we curved through the canyon, he said, “Just like Malley’s neighborhood, huh? Except for gazillion-dollar houses, tennis courts, foreign cars, a lot more greenery, and no trailer parks.”
“Perfect match,” I said.
“Anything Balquin say illuminate Malley psychologically?”
“If she’s credible, he isolated Lara from her family, was closemouthed about his origins, used dope. We know the part about gun-hoarding is true. Toss in the way he reacted to us and there’s potential for ugly.”
“Don’t guys who isolate their wives also abuse them?”
“It’s a risk factor,” I said. “If Malley’s basic approach to life was us against the world, Kristal’s murder would’ve buttressed that.”
“The world’s a rotten, dangerous place so stay armed and vigilant.”
“And strike back. What interests me is Nina’s suspicion that Lara was negligent due to drugs. That’s a tough place to get to when it’s your own kid. No matter how much therapy you have.”
“There’s Barnett’s reason for blaming Lara. Even though he’s also a doper.”
“Lara was the mom,” I said. “Mothers always get blamed. After Troy and Rand were sent away, Lara and Barnett started examining their own lives. Here’s a couple who had trouble conceiving. Finally, they produce a child only to have her ripped away in the worst manner possible. Talk about stress on a relationship. Maybe tension escalated to unbearable, the wrong things got said. A history of isolation and drugs and abuse would’ve added more heat. Maybe Lara stopped putting up with the abuse.”
“Got too assertive with the cowboy.” He aimed a finger gun at the windshield. “Kapow.”
“Kapow, indeed.”
CHAPTER 19
For most of the ride back to the city, Milo waded through LAPD bureaucracy in order to get hold of the complete file on Lara Malley’s suicide.
I let my mind run, ended up in some interesting places.
He pulled up in front of my house. “Thanks. Onward. Somewhere.”
“Are you in the mood for more speculation?”
“What?”
“Nina Balquist suspects Malley was involved in the dope trade. If that’s true, he’d be likely to know unple
asant people. The kind who’d be able to get something done behind bars.”
He twisted and faced me. “The hit on Troy Turner? Where’d that come from?”
“Free association.”
“Turner was written up as a gang thing. He assaulted a Vato Loco.”
“And maybe it even happened that way,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t it be righteous, Alex?”
“Why would a thirteen-year-old kid hang in a supply closet for an hour bleeding before anyone noticed?”
“Because C.Y.A.’s a mess.”
“Okay,” I said.
He shoved the seat back violently and stretched his legs. “Malley puts a hit on Turner a month into Turner’s sentence but waits eight years to take care of Rand?”
“That is problematic,” I said.
“Sure is.”
“I can offer an explanation but it would be broad conjecture.”
“As opposed to wild speculation?”
“Malley craved immediate vengeance for his daughter’s death. He saw Troy Turner as the primary killer so Troy paid quickly. After that satisfaction, Malley’s rage subsided. It’s possible he hadn’t even decided that Rand deserved the ultimate penalty. But the two of them got together and something went wrong.”
“Malley does own wife quickly but cuts Rand eight years of slack?”
“If he blamed Lara for Kristal’s death, that was a whole different level of rage.”
“You only kill the one you love? I don’t know, Alex. It’s a big jump.”
“Lara’s own mother’s still angry at her. There was a picture of Kristal in her house but none of Lara. Put yourself in Barnett’s place. All those years of infertility and she blows it big time.”
“I guess,” he said.
“There’d also be a practical reason not to hit Rand immediately after Troy. Both boys dying so close together would set off suspicions about revenge. Lara was different, there was no reason to assume her death was anything other than suicide.”
“Sue didn’t suspect. And she was a smart cop. Maybe . . .”
“If Malley did kill Lara and managed to fool the coroner and the cops, that implies cunning and planning. Which is consistent with an ability to delay gratification. So is Malley’s lifestyle— ascetic. Perhaps he mulled Rand’s fate for years, decided to check out the quality of Rand’s atonement.”
“You flunk you die,” he said. “Thirty-eight revolver. Cowboy gun . . . still, eight years is a helluva long time to wait.”
“Maybe the eight years were broken up by periodic contact— an extended testing period for Rand.”
“Malley visited Rand in prison? Spent face time with the punk who killed his kid?”
“Face time or letters or phone calls,” I said. “You’ve seen it, victims and offenders making contact after the disposition. The initiative could’ve come from Rand. He wanted to unload his guilt and made the first move.”
“You see Malley responding to that? We’re not talking Mr. Touchy-Feely.”
“Eight years changes people. And just because he hoards guns doesn’t mean he’s not hurting.”
“That sounds like a defense brief.” The police band burped. His hand shot out and switched it off. “Guess I’d be a putz not to check out Rand’s visitors’ list. Which, given the fact that C.Y.A.’s a big mess, isn’t gonna be simple. As long as I’m churning paper, I’ll also try to learn what I can about Turner’s death. And let’s not forget the joy of excavating Barnett Malley’s personal history.”
“Always happy to brighten your day.”
“Hey,” he said. “It’s more than I had before you started free associating.”
* * *
Five messages on my machine. Four junkers and Allison, sounding cheerful.
“I’m free! Seven a.m. flight tomorrow on JetBlue. I should arrive in Long Beach by ten-thirty.”
I reached her cell. “Got the good news.”
“Dropped a whole lot of guilt on cousin Wesley,” she said. “My Ph.D. put to practical use. He gets in from Boston tonight. I’m packed and ready to go.”
“How did Grandma take it?”
“There were a few genteel sniffs but she’s saying the right things.”
“Seven a.m. flight in New York means a drive in the dark from Connecticut.”
“Got a car picking me up at three-thirty,” she said. “Does that tell you how motivated I am? The day after I arrive I’ve got patients, but if you have time tomorrow, we could have some fun.”
“Fun is good,” I said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“I booked a car in Long Beach, too.”
“Unbook it.”
“Ooh,” she said. “Tough guy.”
* * *
At nine p.m., my service called. I’d downed a sandwich and a beer, was ready to kick back with some journals.
“It’s a Clarice Daney, Doctor,” said the operator.
“Cherish Daney?”
“Pardon?”
“I know a Cherish Daney.”
“Oh, could be, this is Loretta’s handwriting— yeah, that could be it, Doctor. You want me to hold her number or give it to you? She said it was no emergency.”
“I’ll take it.”
She clicked me in.
“Oh,” said Cherish Daney. “Sorry, I was just going to leave a message. They didn’t need to interrupt your evening.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“I was actually trying to reach Lieutenant Sturgis, but they told me he’s out of town. So I thought of calling you. I hope that’s okay.”
Out of town?
“It’s fine. What’s on your mind, Ms. Daney?”
“After you left I realized I didn’t get a chance to talk much about Rand. My husband spoke to you but there’s something I thought I should add.”
“Please.”
“Okay,” she said. “This is probably nothing, but I thought you should know that Rand was really upset the entire weekend. More than upset. Highly agitated.”
“Your husband said he was afraid.”
“Did Drew say why?”
I remembered Daney’s protectiveness. Decided she was an adult and that I cared more about her reaction. “He said Rand thought someone had prowled near his window at night. In the morning Rand spotted a dark truck driving away from your house and for some reason that worried him.”
“The dark truck,” she said. “Drew told me all that, but I’m referring to something different. Something heavy on Rand’s mind right before he was released. It actually started a few weeks before. I wanted to open Rand up but felt I should take it slow because of all he’d been through.”
“Open him up,” I said.
“I’m not a psychologist, but I do have a certificate in spiritual counseling. The nonverbal signs were all there, Doctor. Lack of concentration, drop in appetite, insomnia, general restlessness. I put it down to prerelease jitters, but now I wonder. And it began well before we got Rand home, so I don’t think it had anything to do with being stalked by a truck.”
“Can you tell me more about it?” I said.
“As I said, he’d been jumpy for a while. But when we picked him up in Camarillo, he looked awful. Pale, shaky, really not himself. During the drive home we stopped off to get some gas and my husband went to the men’s room and Rand and I had a few minutes alone. By that time, he was barely able to sit still. I asked him what the matter was but he didn’t answer. I decided to be a little persistent and finally he said there was something he wanted to talk about. I asked what and he hemmed and hawed and finally he said it was about what had happened to Kristal. Then he started to cry. Which made him real embarrassed, he started gulping back his tears and forcing himself to smile. Before I had a chance to probe, Drew was back with the drinks and the snacks and I could tell Rand didn’t want me to say anything. I planned to follow up over the weekend, but somehow the timing was never right. I so wish I had, Doctor.”
“Something about what happened to
Kristal,” I said. “Any idea what?”
“My assumption was he needed to unload. Because he’d never really dealt with what had happened. During our visits he had expressed some remorse. But maybe now that he could see freedom on the horizon, he was getting to a place where he could take a higher level of responsibility.”
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