“Okay, okay. A blond lady,” she said. “With a funny name— Sydney something.”
“Sydney Weider.”
“She put a lot of pressure on my mom to attend every hearing, even though my mom wasn’t in good health. She ordered her to sit where the judge could see her, and cry a lot. Told my mom she’d have to take the stand when it came time for Nestor to be sentenced and lie about what a good son Nestor was and then cry a whole bunch more. Coaching her as if Mom was stupid. As if Mom wasn’t crying all the time, anyway.”
“She put on an aggressive defense.”
“I guess,” she said. “I always felt she was doing it more for herself— to win, you know? If she cared about my mother, she wouldn’t have bossed her around like that. It didn’t matter anyway. Nestor was guilty, they did this plea-bargain thing. Which was okay with me. I didn’t want my mom to have to cry for strangers.”
“Was a man named Drew Daney involved with Nestor’s case?”
“It sounds familiar, but . . .”
“A divinity student and youth worker— ”
“Oh, yeah, him. The church guy,” she said. “A few months before Nestor killed that dealer he got sent to some drug rehab program and the church guy worked there. Did he do something wrong? ’Cause that would surprise me.”
“Why?”
“Him I liked. He seemed real sincere about wanting to help Nestor. Wrote a letter to the judge for Nestor.”
* * *
“Puts everything in place, doesn’t it?” said Milo, driving out of the lot.
“Daney visits Troy in Stockton,” I said. “Uses the opportunity to drop in on Nestor and set Troy up.”
“Meanwhile, Rand’s over in Chino. Think that’s the reason Daney left him alone? No juvey hit man planted there?”
“More likely Rand wasn’t a threat. Until he was.”
He got back on the freeway. “You in the mood to ply your trade?”
“With who?”
“A crazy woman.”
CHAPTER 38
Sydney Weider opened her front door wearing a soiled white T-shirt with a Surfside Country Club flying dolphin logo over her left breast, gray stretch athletic shorts, and bare feet. Up close, her face was pallid, scored vertically by wrinkles that began at the corners of her eyes and tugged her mouth down. Her legs were white, varicosed, her feet hangnailed and grubby around the ankles.
She opened her mouth in surprise.
Milo said, “Ma’am,” and showed her his badge.
She slapped him hard across the face.
* * *
As he hauled her out to the unmarked, cuffed her, hissing and twisting, a snick sounded from across the street and a woman ran out of a pretty, black-shuttered Colonial.
Same neighbor who’d watched Weider scream at me a few days ago.
“Here we go,” muttered Milo. “Where’s the damned video camera?”
Weider growled and slammed her head into his arm and tried to bite him. He held her at arm’s length. “Open the door, Alex.”
As I did the woman from across the street sped toward us.
Late thirties, blond ponytail, shapely in tight black pedal pushers and a sea-green tank top. Grace Kelly facial definition. Sydney Weider in a younger, happier time.
She looked furious; let’s hear it for Neighborhood Watch.
As she got closer, Milo said, “Ma’am— ”
“Good for you!” she said. “That bitch screams at all the children and terrifies them! She makes everyone’s lives miserable! What’d she do to finally get you to take some action?”
Sydney Weider spat in her direction. The gob landed on the sidewalk. The woman said, “You’re disgusting. As always.”
Before Weider could respond, Milo pressed down on her head, managed to get her into the car, and slammed the door. His face was flushed.
“What’d she finally do?” the woman repeated. “You people said there was nothing you could— ”
“Can’t discuss that, ma’am. Now if you’d please— ”
Thump thump thump as Weider kicked the window.
The ponytailed woman said, “See? She’s insane. I’ve got a list for you. Give me your fax number.”
“She’s been that big of a problem?” I said.
“Everyone will rejoice when she’s gone. We’ll have a frickin’ block party. A child touches her lawn, she steps out and screams at the top of her lungs. Last month, she threw a kitchen knife at Poppy and Poppy’s not one of those aggressive shar-peis, he’s sweet as can be, ask anyone, they’ll tell you. She runs up and down the street, talks like a banshee— she’s insane, believe me, totally insane. I’m sure everyone on the block will be happy to give you a report or a deposition or whatever.”
Milo said, “Appreciate it, ma’am.”
“Good riddance,” said the woman, glaring through the window. Sydney Weider lay on her back, feet up. She began kicking the window again. Barefoot, but hard enough to make the glass shudder.
The woman said, “You should hog-tie her. Like on Cops.”
* * *
As we drove away, other doors opened but no one emerged.
Sydney Weider screamed wordlessly and resumed kicking the window. Milo stopped the car, parked, retrieved a set of plastic ties from the trunk, and defended himself against Weider’s gnashing jaws and vicious feet as he fought to bind her ankles. I got out and held Weider’s heels. Yet another divergence from accepted psychological practice.
Finally, he managed to flip her on her stomach, pull the ties snug. She writhed and foamed at the mouth and butted her head against the door as the car pulled away. Potty-mouth tirade; all those years in law school spent parsing and composing elegant phrases wasted.
I felt sorry for her.
* * *
When Milo reached Sunset, she turned silent. Panting, then snuffling, filled the car. I glanced back. Still flat on her belly. Eyes closed, inert.
I figured he’d take her to the jail at the Westside station, but he drove east through the Palisades and turned in to Will Rogers State Park.
A little-girl voice from the back said, “I used to ride horses here.”
“Good for you,” said Milo.
Moments later: “What did I do to make you so angry?”
“How about assaulting an officer?”
“Oh . . . ,” she said. “I’m sorry I really am I don’t know what happened I just you scared me I thought you were sent by my husband to torment me one of those process servers he won’t let go one Halloween he sent a process server dressed up as a goblin and I opened the door for trick or treat and this goblin threw court papers at me and when I threw them back he grabbed me made contact with my arm that was real assault believe me much worse than what I did I’m an attorney I know what assault is when I see it listen I really didn’t mean to hit you I was defending myself you really scared me.”
No pause for breath. The neighbor had talked about Weider’s racing up and down the block. I remembered her as a fast talker and Marty Boestling had called her manic.
The only marathon was in her head.
“Really,” she said. “I know now what I did I see it clearly and I’m so so so so sorry.”
* * *
We parked in the nearly empty lot that faced the polo fields.
“No horses anymore everything goes to shit in this city please,” said Sydney Weider. “Just take off these things I hate to be restrained I really hate it.”
Milo switched off the engine.
“Please please I promise to behave appropriately.”
“Why should I trust you, Sydney?”
“Because I’m an honest person I know I acted irrationally but I already explained that to you it’s my ex he never stops he won’t give up making my life a living hell.”
“How long’s he been doing that?” I said.
“At least the foot thingies please? They hurt they’re bending my legs in a not-good way I’m constricted it’s hard to breathe.”
> Milo got out and undid the plastic ties, sat her up, careful to maintain distance from her teeth.
Weider smiled and flipped her hair and looked pretty for a pathetic second. “Thank you thank you you’re a doll thanks so much now how about the cuffs too?”
Milo returned to the front seat. “So how long’s your ex been tormenting you?”
“Always but what I’m talking about is since the divorce seven years seven long years of nonstop torture that’s after he robbed me blind took everything my father left me my father was a film producer one of the top guys in Hollywood and that bastard knew where everything was kept he looted me looted me like something from the Watts riot we used to have a house cars Angelo Donghia furniture Sarouk rugs you name it we had a great life on the surface— ”
“How come Mr. Boestling’s so angry?”
“What do you think he’s a Jew,” said Weider. “Vengeful eye for an eye they don’t let go until you’re sucked dry.”
“What’s he want revenge for?”
“For my being superior for my being . . . it’s complicated he’ll never be happy he’s consumed. About what? About making me pay and pay and pay for those people it’s all about money he libels me tells everyone I’m crazy manic-depressive just because my energy’s superior to his he could never— ”
She stopped abruptly. “You. The psychologist. You can tell I’m fine.”
Her eyes were bright with madness.
I said, “Sure.”
Milo’s eyelids vibrated. The mark Weider had left on his cheek had started to fade.
She smiled again. “There you go you know about that kind of thing you tell this very kind police individual I’m an attorney a wife a mother did it all raised two beautiful boys you should see the deal Microsoft offered them both of them but they didn’t take it they have their own software to develop why should someone else get rich on their accomplishments?”
I said, “Despite all that Marty Boestling’s being vengeful.”
“Mindlessly vengeful he’s a nothing— ”
“Maybe,” Milo broke in, “finding you with Drew Daney wasn’t a real fun experience for him.”
Weider’s mouth hung open. She sank back down. “You are blaming me for his inadequacies do you think if he could . . . wait you talked to him are you really police are you from him a process ser— ”
“No!” Milo bellowed. “I’m an LAPD lieutenant who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your marriage or your sex life. I am interested in talking about Drew Daney.”
Weider twitched, rolled her shoulder, looked out at the polo field. “What about him?”
“What kind of guy is he?”
“What kind of guy is he scum pond scum the black stuff under pond scum— ”
“You two have a lover’s quarrel?” said Milo.
“Ha. Hahahahaha. There was no lover no love no lovemaking this was straight you know what he was nothing to me none of them were.”
“Who?”
“Don’t pretend Marty didn’t tell you he told you did he also tell you he got it started he was the one who liked watching me with other guys it only became a problem when I started to act independently meaning when he wasn’t watching did he tell you that did he?”
“Like I said, Sydney, your sex life doesn’t inter— ”
“Right right you want to talk about Daney all Daney was to me was a male organ and not a big one at that you want to know about him I’ll tell you he’s a loser and a liar thought he was so smart thought he could get me to play his game.”
“What game was that?”
“You tell me you’re the LAPD lieutenant why would anyone want to do anything so stupid you tell me that?”
“What was stupid?”
“Sticking a pin in the condom I always used condoms always bought them myself because when men think with the little head they’re retarded and no way was I going to get messed up that way no way and I don’t like the pill it’s supposed to be good for your skin but it messed up mine gave me adult-onset acne and my mother died of cancer so who needs that so it was always rubbers.” Slow spreading smile. “With tickly things.”
“How’d you know Daney poked holes in one?”
“Found him that’s how he sneaked off into the bathroom,” she said, “he thought I was dressing up in the tacky things he bought over at Trashy Lingerie costumes all that stupid cliché stuff like I was going to dress up for him ha no way so I was already out of my bathroom he was in Marty’s bathroom and heard him messing around in there and walked in on him said what the hell do you think you’re doing he made up some lame story about testing out a sample to see if it was strong to be extra careful I saw that I bitch-slapped him— ”
She stopped.
Milo said, “He got you mad.”
“Wouldn’t you be mad if there was someone sneaking around on you doing that?” Weider laughed. “Not that he was getting off the hook I opened a new one made sure it was fine and had him put it on in front of me made jokes about maybe I should’ve gotten a size small believe me that slowed things down fine with me I set the tone he never had me I had him.”
“Did that end the relationship?” said Milo.
“What relationship he was a tool what ended it was Marty being a loser screwing up a pitch meeting and coming home early and finding us not that I cared about Marty it was the way he reacted Daney just scurrying off with his you know what tucked between his legs.” She flipped her hair. “My motto no wimps no losers no complications.”
“How’d Daney react to your breaking it off?”
“Called me kept calling me finally he gave up.”
I said, “Why do you think he punctured the condom?”
“You tell me you’re the psychologist,” said Weider.
“Could he have wanted to get you pregnant?”
“No because he didn’t like kids.”
“He told you that?”
“Sure more than once he said his wife wanted them she couldn’t have them he said no way he didn’t want the hassle.”
“He confided in you.”
“He talked about everything I couldn’t get him to shut up what’d he do anyway?”
“You never asked him to explain why he’d tried to puncture the condom?”
“I told you he gave me that stupid story and I hit him upside the head I didn’t care what his story was the main thing was do things my way.” Another hair flip. “I don’t think it was pregnancy per se I think it was sperm.”
“Pardon?”
“S-P-E-R-M he thought his was the elixir of the gods he’d go off on these long speeches about his you-know-what and how it was the magic wand of the future you could create cities countries continents with a teaspoon he’d get like that after he had his glorious three minutes all he wanted to do afterward was raid my refrigerator and blab.”
“Magic sperm,” said Milo.
“He was really into it really weird obsessive what’s that other word— fixated that’s a psychological term right that’s what you guys call it fixated.”
I nodded.
Milo said, “Daney had a sperm fixation.”
“Want to know what I think about Daney I think he was a fixation sperm egomaniac everything about him was so so important he even started thinking he was an attorney thought he could tell me how to run my case believe me that didn’t last long I put him in his place.”
I said, “The Malley case?”
“He watched too many movies had all these ideas these bad TV movie ideas like cross-examine the cops until they wore themselves out or shift the blame to the kid’s father so there’d be reasonable doubt I said shutup this isn’t Perry Mason the little bastards were caught with the body they admitted they did it I’ll get the best deal for them but they’re going away and that’s what happened.”
“Daney wanted to blame Barnett Malley.”
“He said I should dig into Malley’s background and find out if Malley and the mother were getting along a
nd if there was some sort of conflict I could suggest Malley hated the wife and the kid hired those two little bastards to kill the kid I said you’re insane that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of he said not if Troy backs it up I could talk to Troy Troy trusts me Troy would say anything I tell him to because we have rapport— ”
“Daney knew Troy that well?”
Rage Page 32
