Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 16 - The Murder Book

by The Murder Book(Lit)

  'Obviously you weren't like them.'

  'Kind of you to say so, but I know what I was.' He removed the mirrored sunglasses, revealed sunken black discs split by comma-shaped slits, scratched the bridge of his nose, replaced the glasses.

  'You felt sorry for her and started baby-sitting her,' I said.

  'No, I did it for the money,' he said. 'Told the boys I'd hang with her when the parents were out of town if they'd pay me. They laughed, and said, "You could turn her out, you should pay us, bro," figuring I wanted to do sexual things to her or maybe I was going to pimp her. And that was agreeable to them. I started

  coming by the house in my old Mercury Cougar and taking her places.'

  'She just went along?'

  'She was happy to be getting out. And she was like that -easygoing.'

  'She wasn't in school?'

  'Not since fifth grade. Severe learning problems, she was supposed to be tutored but never really was. She still can't really read much or do numbers. All she can do is cook and bake, but man, does she do that good, that's her God-given talent.'

  'Where'd you take her?' I said.

  'Everywhere. The zoo, the beach, parks, she'd keep me company when I did deals. Sometimes we'd just ride around and listen to music. I'd be high, but I never gave her anything again - not after I saw what that blotter did to her. Mostly, I'd talk - trying to teach her stuff. About street signs, the weather, animals. Life. She knew nothing, I never met anyone who knew less about the world. I was no intellectual, just a stupid junkie-pusher, but I had plenty to teach her, which tells you how pathetic her situation was.'

  He craned his neck. 'Could I trouble you for another Diet Snapple, sir? Always thirsty. Sugar-diabetes.'

  I brought him another open bottle, and he finished it within seconds and handed me the empty. 'Thank you much. The thing you should know is I never did anything sexual to her. Not once, never. Not that I get any credit for that. I was a junkie, and you being a doctor knows what that does to your sex urge. Then the diabetes took over, and the plumbing went south, so I haven't been much for sex in a long time. Still, I'd like to think it wouldn't have made a difference. Respecting her, you know? Not taking advantage of her.'

  'Sounds like you respected her from the beginning.'

  'I'd like to think so. You sound just like Dr H. Trying to tell me something good about myself... anyway, that's the story with my Aimee. I like that name for her, chose it for her. Her family gave her the old name and they treated her like dirt so she deserved a new beginning. Aimee means friend in French and I've always wanted to go to France, and that's what she's been to me, my only real friend. Outside of Dr H.'

  He managed to place his hands on the wheels of the chair, rolled back an inch, and smiled. As if the merest movement was pleasure. 'I'm going to die soon, and it's nice knowing Dr Harrison will be here to take care of my Aimee.'

  'He will.'

  The smile dissipated. 'Course, he's old...'

  'Have you and he made plans?'

  'It hasn't come to that, yet,' said Bill. 'We better do it soon... I've chewed your ear off, and you don't want to know about my personal problems. You're here to find out what happened to the Ingalls girl.'

  'Yes,' I said.

  'Poor Janie,' he said. 'I can see her face as clear as day, right here.' Tapping a mirrored lens. 'Didn't know her, but I'd seen her around, thumbing on Sunset. She and this friend she was always with, this good-looking blonde. I figured the two of them were hooking, because the only girls still thumbing were hookers and runaways looking to be hookers. Turns out they were just careless girls. The night I found them, I was driving to the party, ready to do some heavy business, saw them standing around on Sunset all confused. Not on the Strip, Bel Air, 'cross the street from the U. They were just a walk from the party but had no idea. So I gave 'em a lift. I still think about that. What if I hadn't?'

  'You brought them to the party, then what?'

  He smiled. 'Move it right along? Yeah, I brought 'em, tried to get 'em high. Janie smoked some weed, dropped some pills, drank, the blonde one just drank. We hung around together a little, it was a lunatic scene, rich kids and crashers, everyone high and horny, doing their thing in that big, old, empty house. Then Aimee showed up. Attaching to me like she always did. She was there in the first place because I'd agreed to watch her. The parents were off in India, or some place. Had just bought a bigger house, and the boys decided to give themselves a little goodbye bash. Anyway, Janie and her friend - I think her name was Melissa, something like that -were getting into the scene.'

  'Melinda Waters,' I said.

  He cocked his head, like a guard dog on alert. 'So you know plenty.'

  'I don't know how it happened.'

  'How it happened is Janie got noticed. By one of the brothers' buddies, a mean kid. You know his name, too?'

  'Vance Coury.'

  'That's the one,' he said. 'Sweet piece of work, he wasn't any older than the others, but he had this seasoned bad guy's way about him. He noticed Janie, and that's the reason she died. Because he'd had her, before, wanted her again.'

  'Had her how?' I said.

  'He picked her up when she was thumbing. Took her to some hotel his old man owned downtown, tied her up, did her, whatever. He bragged about it.'

  'To you?'

  'To all of us. The brothers were with him, coupla other buddies, too. They'd come over to me to score, when Coury spotted Janie. She was off dancing, by herself, tank top half-off, pretty much in dreamland. Coury spots her and gives out this big grin, this big wolfy grin, and says, "Look at that, the slut." And the other boys check out Janie and nod, 'cause they know who she is, heard the story before, but Coury tells it again, anyway. How easy it was, like it was some safari and he'd bagged big game. Then he tells me not only did he do the slut but so did his old man. And the other guys crack up and tell me their daddies did her, too. Seems Janie's own dad was a lowlife scum who'd been selling her since she was twelve.'

  Fighting revulsion, I said, 'The other guys' daddies. Do you remember which ones?'

  'The brothers, for sure - Garvey and Bobo's old man, and this other creep, this nasty nerd named Brad something-or-other. He piped up and said his daddy'd had her, too. Laughing about it. Proud.'

  'Brad Larner.'

  'Never knew his last name. Skinny, pale nerd. Mean mouth.'

  'Any other buddies in the group, that night?'

  'One other, this big doofus, this surfer type... Luke. Luke the Nuke was my name for him cause he always looked bombed, would eat anything I sold him.'

  'Luke Chapman,' I said. 'Had his father had sex with Janie?'

  He thought. 'I don't recall his saying so... no, I don't think so,

  'cause when the others were going on about it, he looked a little uneasy.'

  Multigenerational rape. Michael Larner's assault on Allison Gwynn had been more than a passing fancy. Garvey Cossack, Sr, had harbored similar tastes and I was willing to bet Slumlord Coury played in that league, too.

  Like father, like...

  Bowie Ingalls had primed his only child by abusing her, then trafficking in her flesh. I thought about Milo's description of Janie's nearly empty room. A place she didn't, wouldn't think of as home.

  Ingalls had been evil and calculating but stupid. Showing up at the meeting with his blackmail targets, drunk and overconfident.

  I said, 'What happened when they finished bragging?'

  'Coury made some crack about "Honor thy father." Went after Janie - just grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. The others followed.'

  'She resist?'

  'Not much. Like I said, she was pretty much out of it. I took Aimee and got out of there. Not because I was a good man. But all that talk about ganging up on a girl, taking sloppy seconds from their daddies, made me feel... uncomfortable. Also, Aimee had to go to the bathroom, had been pulling at my arm for a while, complaining she needed to go. But finding a bathroom wasn't so easy in that place, every toilet was be
ing used for getting high or having sex or throwing up or doing what a toilet's for. So, I took her out of the house, over to the backyard, all the way in back, to the bushes and trees, told her to go in there, I'd keep watch.'

  He shrugged. The movement caused him pain, and he winced. 'I know it sounds crude, but we'd done that before, Aimee and me. I'd be driving her somewhere far from the city - we used to like to go up into the mountains, out in the San Gabriels or over in the West Valley near Thousand Oaks, or up on Mullholland Highway or Rambla Pacifica, top of Malibu. Anywhere we could find empty space and just enjoy the quiet. And no matter how many times I'd tell her to go to the bathroom before we set out, wouldn't you believe she'd have to go where there was no facilities?'

  Big smile. 'Like a kid. So I was used to leading her into the bushes and keeping watch and that's what I did out in the backyard

  and when we were heading back to the house, we heard voices over the wall - her brother's voice, Garvey, whooping and laughing. Then the others. They were outside, too, going to the next-door property. I knew that because they'd taken me there, it was this huge place, acres, this estate, the owner was some rich European who was never there and most of the time the house was empty. They used to go there to party because no one would bother them. They had a way of getting in, this side gate, up toward the back with a bolt that was easy to wiggle loose and once you were back there you were so far from the house no one could spot you.'

  'Party spot.'

  'I partied with them, there,' he said. 'Like I said, I was the candy man. Anyway, Aimee wanted to tag along and go over there, like she always did - anything those boys did she thought was cool. No matter how they treated her, she'd want to be with them. I tried to talk her out of it, brought her back inside the party house and sat down and tried to groove on some music. 'Cause while Aimee was in the bushes, I'd shot up, was feeling mellow. But when I opened my eyes, she was gone, and I knew where she'd gone and I was responsible for her so I went after her. And found her. Looking. From behind some trees, into a clearing. She was shaking really bad, teeth chattering, and when I saw what she was looking at, I dug why.'

  'How much time had passed since Coury had made a move for Janie?' I said.

  'Hard to say. It felt like a long time, but I was going in and out -weaving, you know? Ever been on opiates?'

  'When I was a kid I split myself open and they gave me Demerol to stitch me up.'

  'Like it?'

  'I liked it fine,' I said. 'Everything slowed down and pain turned into a warm glow.'

  'So you know.' He rolled his head. 'It's like the best kiss. The sweetest kiss, straight from God's lips. All these years, even knowing what it did to my life, I still think about it... about the idea of doing it. And Lord help me, sometimes I pray that when I do die and if by some miracle I end up upstairs, there'll be this big syringe waiting for me.'

  'What was Aimee looking at?'

  'Janie.' His voice cracked on the name, and he rocked gently in his wheelchair. 'Oh, Lord, it was bad. Someone was holding a flashlight on her - Luke the Nuke - and the others were standing around, staring. They had her spread out on the ground, with her legs apart, and her head was nothing but blood and she was all cut up and burned and dead cigarettes and blood was all over the ground.'

  'Did you see a weapon?'

  'Coury and Bobo Cossack were holding knives. Big hunting knives, like you'd get in an army surplus store. Garvey had the pack of cigarettes - Kools. Trying to be hip.'

  'What about Brad Larner?'

  'He was just standing and staring. And the other one, this big dumb-looking dude, was behind him, freaked out, dead scared, you could see it all over his face. The others were more... frozen. Like they'd done something and now it was sinking in. Then Coury said, "We need to get the bitch outta here," and he told Brad to go to his car, get out these blankets he kept there. Then Aimee started retching out loud, and they all turned toward us, and Garvey said, "Oh, shit, you fucking moron!" and I grabbed Aimee and tried to get the hell out of there. But Garvey had got hold of her arm and wouldn't let go and I just wanted to be as far from there as I could so I left her with him and ran as fast as I could and got in my car and drove the hell out of there. I drove like a maniac, it's a miracle no cop pulled me over. Went over to the Marina, then east on Washington, sped all the way east to La Brea, then south into the ghetto.'

  He smiled. 'Into the high-crime neighborhood. Watts. That's when I finally felt safe.'

  'Then what?'

  'Then nothing. I kept a low profile, ran out of money and smack, did what I knew how to do, and got busted.'

  'You never thought about reporting the murder?'

  'Sure,' he said. 'Rich kids from Bel Air and a black junkie felon tells the cops he just happened to see a white girl get carved up? Cops used to stop me for driving while black, run my license and reg, pull me out, have me do the spread for no reason. Even in my

  old Mercury Cougar, which was a piece of junk, appropriate for a black junkie felon.'

  'That night,' I said, 'you had better wheels. Late-model white Cadillac'

  'You know that?' he said. 'You already know stuff?' Something new crept into his voice - an aftertone of menace. Hint of the man he'd once been. 'You having me go through the motions?'

  'You're the first eyewitness we've found. I know about the Caddy because we located Melinda Waters, and she mentioned it. But she split from the party before the murder.'

  His head rolled slowly, and he canted it away from me. 'The Caddy was a borrowed car. I maintained the Merc the way a junkie would and finally it broke down and I sold it for dope money. Next day I realized that without wheels I was nothing - good old junkie planning. I planned on boosting some wheels but hadn't gotten around to it, too stoned. So that night, I borrowed from a friend.'

  'Nice car like that,' I said, 'must've been a good friend.'

  'I had a few. And don't ask me who.'

  'Was it the same friend who helped you escape?'

  The mirrored shades tilted toward me. 'Some things I can't say.'

  'It'll all going to come out,' I said.

  'Maybe,' he said. 'If it happens by itself, it's not my responsibility. But some things I can't say.' He turned his head sharply toward the front of the house.

  'Something's wrong,' he said. 'Aimee's coming, but that's not her usual walk.'

  I heard nothing. Then: a faintest crunch - footsteps on gravel. Footsteps stopping and starting, as if someone was stumbling. But for the panic on his face, it would've floated right past me.

  I left him and stepped into the front room, parted the drapes on a small, cloudy window, and looked out at the filmy, amber light of impending dusk.

  Up the drive, maybe a hundred feet from the house, two men were walking Aimee and Bert toward us. Aimee and Bert's hands were up in the air as they marched forward reluctantly. Bert looked terrified. Aimee's pasty face was expressionless. She stopped suddenly and her escort prodded her with something and she winced and resumed walking.

  Crunch.

  One of the men was large and beefy, the other a head shorter and wiry. Both were Hispanic and wore cowboy hats. I'd seen them half an hour ago - in the pickup loaded with fertilizer that had interposed itself between Bert's car and mine, then dropped away at the 33-150 intersection.

  Lucky break, I'd thought at the time, enabling me to use the truck for cover as I tailed Bert.

  Bill called out, 'What's happening?'

  I rushed back to him. 'Two cowboys have them at gunpoint.'

  'Under the bed,' he said, waving his arms helplessly. 'Get it. Now.'

  Barking the order. Sounding like anything but a junkie.

  The computer gizmo that read out the trace on Alex was right in Craig Bosc's Saab, hooked up to the dash, a cute little thing with a bright blue screen and a printer. It sputtered to life after Bosc punched a few keys.

  Nineties guy, everything he needed, close at hand.

  Milo hadn't found any printouts in Bosc
's house, meaning Bosc had left those at his office. Or at someone else's.

  As Bosc kept typing, the screen filled with readout - columns of numbers in a code that Bosc explained with no prodding. Bosc pushed another key, and the columns were replaced with what looked like blueprints. Vectors and loci, computerized map lines, everything loading at warp speed.