"Melissa says no.
"How can Melissa be sure?"
"She says she knows the contents of her mother's closet, could tell if anything was missing."
Ramp looked at me sharply.
Milo said, "Even a skimpy little negligee?"
"I don't think it was anything like that, Milo."
"Why not?"
I shot a glance over at Ramp. Still staring, his drink untouched.
"It doesn't fit."
"Ah. Hubby at close proximity?"
"Correct."
"Okay, let's switch to another lane. What have the local cops done, other than drive around?"
"That's it as far as I know. No one's too impressed with their level of competence.
"They're not known as stone geniuses out there, but what else should they be doing? Going door to door and antagonizing the trillionaires?
Lady staying out late isn't Judge Crater. It's only been a few hours.
And with the kind of car she's driving, someone might actually see it.
They put out bulletins for what they're worth?"
"The police chief said they did."
"You hobnobbing with police chiefs now?"
"He was here."
"The personal touch," he said. "Ah, the rich."
"What about the FBI?"
"Nah, those guys won't touch it unless there's definite evidence of a crime, preferably one that will make the headlines. Unless your affluent friends have heavy-duty political connections."
"How heavy-duty?"
"Someone in a position to call Washington and lean on the director.
Even then, she's gonna have to be missing for a couple of days for the Feds for anyone to take it seriously. Without some kind of evidence of a bona fide crime, what they'll do is eventually send over a couple of agents who look like actors, to take a report, march around the house in their junior G-man shades, French-kissing their walkie-talkies.
What's it been, six hours?"
I looked at my watch. "Closer to seven.
"It doesn't scream major felony, Alex. What else have you got to tell me?"
"Nothing much. I just got back from talking to her therapists.
They had no major insights."
"Well," he said, "you know those types. Better at asking questions than answering them."
"You have any you want to ask?"
"I could go through some motions."
Ramp was sipping and eyeing me over the rim of his glass. I said, "That might be useful."
"I guess I could make it over there in a half-hour or so, but basically it's going to be a placebo routine. Because the kind of stuff you want to do in a real missing-persons case financial searches, credit-card checks have to take place during working hours. Anybody think of checking hospitals?"
"I assume the police have. If you'd like to "No big sweat making a few calls. In fact, I can do plenty from right here rather than spend thirty minutes getting over there."
"I think it would be a good idea to do it face-to-face."
"You do, huh?"
"Lots of shaky knees? Power of placebo?"
"Hold on." Hand over receiver. "Yeah, okay, Dr. Silverman's not happy but he's being saintly about it. Maybe I can even get him to pick out my tie."
Ramp and I waited without talking much. He, drinking and sinking progressively lower into one of the overstuffed chairs. Me, thinking about how Melissa would be affected if her mother didn't return soon.
I considered going up to her room to see how she was doing, remembered what Ramp had said about her being beat, and decided to let her rest.
Depending on how things turned out, she might not be sleeping well for a while.
Half an hour passed, then another twenty minutes. When the chimes sounded I got to the door ahead of Ramp and opened it. Milo padded in, dressed as well as I'd ever seen him. Navy hopsack blazer, gray slacks, white shirt, maroon tie, brown loafers. Clean-shaven and he'd gotten a haircut the usual lousy one, cropped too close at the back and sides, the sideburns trimmed to mid-ear. Three months off duty and he still looked like the arm of somebody's law.
I did the introductions. Watched Ramp's face change as he got a good look at Milo. Eyes narrowing, mustache twitching as if plagued by fleas.
Flinty suspicion. Marlboro Man staring down rustler varmints.
Gabney's cowboy suit would have looked better on him.
Milo must have seen it, too, but he didn't react.
Ramp stared a while longer, then said, "I hope you can help."
More suspicion. It had been a while since Milo's picture had been on TV but maybe Ramp had a good memory. Actors even stupid ones often did. Or perhaps his memory had been prompted by good old-fashioned homophobia.
I said, "Detective Sturgis is on leave from the Los Angeles Police."
Pretty sure I'd mentioned that before.
Ramp stared.
Milo finally began to return the favor.
The two of them remained locked in a stare-fest. I thought of rodeo bulls in adjacent pens, snorting and pawing and butting the boards.
Milo broke first. "This is what I've been given so far." He repeated, almost word for word, what I'd told him. "Accurate?"
"Yes," said Ramp.
Milo grunted. Pulling a note pad and pen out of a jacket pocket, he turned pages, stopped, pointed with a thick finger. "I've confirmed that the San Labrador police put out countywide bulletins on her.
Which is usually a waste of time, but with this car, maybe not.
They've got the car listed as a 1954 Rolls-Royce sedan, license plate AD RR SD, Vehicle Identification Number SOG Twenty-two. Correct?"
"Correct."
"Color?"
"Black over shell-gray."
"Better than a Toyota," said Milo, "in terms of conspicuousness.
Before I came out I called a few of the local emergency rooms. No one fitting her description's been brought in."
"Thank God," said Ramp. Sweating.
Milo looked up at the ceiling, lowered his eyes and took in the front rooms with one sweeping glance. "Nice house. How many rooms?"
The question caught Ramp off guard. "I'm not really surenever counted.
About thirty, thirty-five, I guess."
"How many does your wife actually use?"
"Use? Basically, she just uses her suite. It's three rooms four including the bathroom. Sitting area, bedroom, plus a side room with bookshelves, a desk, some exercise equipment, a refrigerator."
"Sounds like a home within a home," said Milo. "Do you have one, too?"
"Just one room," said Ramp, coloring. "Right next to hers."
Milo wrote something down. "Any reason you can think of why he decided to drive to the doctor alone?"
"I don't know that wasn't the plan. I was supposed to go with her. We were going to leave at three. She called me at two-fifteen I was at my restaurant and told me not to bother coming home, she'd be driving herself. I questioned it, but she said she'd be fine. I didn't want to weaken her confidence, so I didn't press the matter.
"Thirty-five rooms," said Milo, writing again. "Besides her suite, did she frequent any of the others? Keep stuff around?"
"Not to my knowledge. Why?"
"How large is the property?"
"Just under seven acres.
"She walk around it much?"
"She's comfortable walking around it, if that's what you mean.
She used to stroll quite a bit. I strolled with her, back when it was the only place she went. Lately the last few months she's been leaving the property, taking short walks with Dr. Cunningham-Gabney."
"Besides the front gate, is there another way to get in or out?"
"Not as far as I know."
"No rear alleys?"
"No. The property abuts another estate Dr. and Mrs. Elridge's.
There are high hedges in between. Ten feet or higher."
"How many outbuildings?"
Ramp thought. "Let's see, if yo
u count the garages "Garages? How many?"
"Ten. One long building with ten stalls, actually. It was built for her first husband's antique car collection. Some of the vehicles are priceless. The doors are kept bolted at all times. Only the Dawn's stall was left open."
Milo jotted quickly, looked up. "Go on."
Ramp looked puzzled.
Milo said, "Other buildings on the property."
"Buildings," said Ramp. "A potting shed, pool cabanas, a changing room off the tennis court. That's it, unless you count the gazebo."
"What about servants' quarters?"
"The staff lives here in the house. One of the corridors upstairs leads to their quarters.
"How many on the staff?"
"There's Madeleine, of course. Two maids and the gardener. The gardener doesn't live on the premises. He's got five sons, none of whom work for us full time but all of whom are here from time to time, helping out."
"Any of the staff actually see your wife leave?"
Ramp said, "One of the maids was polishing the entry, saw her walk out the door. I'm not sure if anyone actually saw her drive off. If you want to question them I can go get them right now."
"Where are they?"
"Up in their rooms."
"When do they go off shift?"
"At nine. They don't always retire right away. Sometimes they stay in the kitchen talking, having coffee. I sent them up early tonight.
Didn't want any hysteria."
"They pretty upset?"
Ramp nodded. "They've known her a long time, tend to be protective."
"What about other homes?"
"Only one. At the beach. Broad Beach. Malibu. She's never gone there, to my knowledge. Doesn't like the water-she doesn't even swim in the pool here. But I called over there anyway. Twice.
Nothing."
"Did she say anything recently over the past few days or even weeks about taking off? Going away by herself?"
"Absolutely not, and I "No hints dropped? Remarks that didn't seem to mean anything then but do now?"
"I said no!" Ramp's color deepened. He squinted so hard, my head began to ache.
Milo tapped his pen and waited.
Ramp said, "That wouldn't make sense. She wanted more involvement with other people, not less. That was the whole point of her treatment getting back into the social whirl. And frankly, I don't see the point of this line of questioning who the hell cares what she talked about?
She didn't go on vacation, for Christ's sake!
Something happened to her out there. Why don't you drive downtown and shake up that psychopath McCloskey! Teach the idiots who let him go something about police work!"
Breathing hard. Temple veins swollen.
Milo said, "Before I came here, I spoke to the detective at Central Division who interviewed McCloskey. Fellow named Bradley Lewis not the best cop, but not the worst, either. McCloskey's alibi is ironclad he was feeding the homeless at the mission where he lives. Peeling potatoes and washing dishes and ladling out soup all afternoon. Dozens of people saw him, including the priest who runs the place. He never left from noon till eight. So there's no way the police could have kept him in custody."
"What about as a material witness?"
"No crime, no witness, Mr. Ramp. As far as they're concerned it's just a situation of some lady who stayed out late."
"But look who we're talking about what he did!"
"True. But he served his time; his parole's over. Far as the law's concerned, he's Joe Citizen. The police have zero hold over him."
"Can't you do anything?"
"My hold's less than zero."
"I wasn't referring to legal niceties, Mr. Sturgis."
Milo smiled, took a deep breath. "Sorry. Donated my rubber hose to Goodwill."
"I'm serious, Mr. Sturgis."
The smile died. "So am I, Mr. Ramp. If that's the kind of help you're after, you've dialed a very wrong number."
He put his pen away.
Ramp said, "Look, I didn't mean to Milo held out a hand. "I know this is hell. I know the system stinks. But rousting McCloskey right now is not in your wife's best interest. Central Division said after they let him go, they drove him home guy doesn't have a car and he went to bed. Let's say I go over there, wake him up. He refuses to let me in.
So I force my way in, play Dirty Harry. In the movies that works great the power of intimidation. He confesses all, and the good guys win.
In the real world, he hires a lawyer. Sues my ass, and yours, and the media find out. Meanwhile your wife comes waltzing in she had car trouble, couldn't get to a phone. A real happy ending except now she's back on page one. The main feature on A Current Affair: Not to mention having to watch you cough up some dough to McCloskey or play defendant for a couple of years. What's that gonna do for her psychological progress?"
Ramp said, "Christ, this is insanity," and shook his head.
"I asked Central Division to keep a watch on him. They said they'd try, but to be truthful that's not worth a lot. If she's not back by morning, I'll pay him a visit. If you can't handle waiting, I'll drive down there right now. When he doesn't let me in, I'll sit out there all night watching his door, write you a detailed surveillance report that sounds pretty impressive. I'm charging you seventy dollars an hour plus expenses. A bullshit hour gets billed the same as a productive one. But I just figured for that kind of money, you're entitled to some independent judgment on my part.
"And what is your independent judgment, Mr. Sturgis?"
"At this point, there are better ways of spending my time."
"Such as?"
"Such as making more hospital calls. Phoning all-night service stations. The auto club if you're members."
"We are. Those sound like things I can do."
"You can. Feel free. The more people working on it, the faster we'll get it done. If you want to do it yoursdf, I'll write you up a list of the other things you can do and be on my way.
"What kinds of things?"
"Hooking up with the paramedics and the independent ambulance companies, keeping in touch with the traffic divisions of the various police departments in order to make sure information doesn't get lost in the shuffle it happens a lot, believe me. If you want to go further, check out airlines, air charter services, car rental agencies.
Run credit-card traces find out what cards she carries, have the companies flag the numbers, so when they're used to make a purchase, we know where and when and get the information as soon as possible. If she's not back by morning, I'd also get to work on her bank records, see if she made any major withdrawals recently. Do you cosign on her accounts?"
"No, our finances are independent."
"No shared accounts?"
"No, Mr. Sturgis." Ramp had folded his arms across his chest.
Each word seemed to crank him tighter. "Withdrawals, airlineswhat are you saying? That she deliberately ran away?"
"I'm sure she didn't, but "She definitely didn't."
Milo ran his hand over his face. "Mr. Ramp, let's hope she walks in any minute. If she doesn't, it's got to be approached as a missing persons case, and missing-persons cases aren't great for the ego-the egos of those left waiting. Because to do the job properly, you've got to assume anything's possible. It's like a doctor biopsying a lump chances are it's benign. The doctor quotes you statistics, smiles, and tells you he's almost positive it's nothing to worry about.
But he cuts it open anyway and sends it to the lab."
He unbuttoned his jacket, jammed both hands in his trouser pockets, put the weight of one leg on its heel and arced it back and forth, like a runner doing an ankle stretch.
Ramp looked down at the foot, then up at Milo's green eyes.
"So," he said, "I'm going to get cut.
"It's your choice," said Milo. "The alternative is just to sit tight and wait."
"No, no go ahead, do all those things. You can do them faster.
I suppose you'll want a check before you begin.
"
Milo said, "I'll want one before I leave seven hundred dollars, which is a ten-hour advance. But first round up the servants, call the gardener, and get him back here, along with any sons who were working today and might have seen her. Meantime, I'd like to check out her suite, go through her stuff" Ramp started to question that, didn't like the answers he created for himself, and swallowed them.
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 23
