Flesh and Blood

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Logical,” agreed Milo. “But do you specifically recall seeing books?”

  Blue irises bobbled. “No, but . . . why do you doubt her?”

  “Just trying to collect as many details as I can, ma'am.”

  “Well, no way I can give you details after all this time, but the logical thing was she had books. Probably psych books. That's all Shawna read, she was really into it— psychology, medicine. All she did was study.”

  “A grind,” I said, remembering the phrase she'd used with Adam Green.

  “Not in a dorky sense. She was just serious about her grades. . . . Do you think she could still be alive?”

  Milo said, “Anything's possible.”

  “But unlikely.”

  Milo shrugged.

  Mindy shut her eyes, opened them. “She was so beautiful.”

  “If Shawna did make up the story about going to the library, what do you think she was covering for?”

  “I don't think she was covering, and if she was I wouldn't have the faintest.” The pen slipped from her grasp. She moved fast and caught it.

  “Could she have been hiding the fact that she had a boyfriend?” said Milo.

  Mindy licked her lips. “Why would she hide that?”

  “You tell me,” said Milo gently.

  Mindy edged away from him. “I have no idea.”

  “Did Shawna have a boyfriend, Ms. Jacobus-Grieg?”

  “Not that I knew.”

  Milo consulted his pad. “Funny, going over the file, I copied down something about a boyfriend. . . . For some reason I thought that came from you.”

  “No way. Why would I tell anyone that?”

  “Must be a mistake, then. Oh, well.”

  The smooth skin behind Mindy's ears had pinkened. Milo began paging through his pad. Blank pages. From where Mindy stood, she couldn't see that. “Here it is. . . . ‘Possible boyfriend.’ ‘Maybe older guy.’ Per MJ.” Looking up, he favored Mindy with an innocent look. “I assumed ‘MJ’ was you, but maybe something got scrambled.”

  “Probably.” The flush had spread to Mindy's jawline.

  Milo kicked the wall lightly with the back of his shoe. “Let's talk theoretically, okay? If Shawna did have an older boyfriend, any idea who he coulda been?”

  “How would I know?”

  “I just thought, the two of you living together, being close—”

  “We lived together, but we weren't close. Anyway, it was only for a couple of months.”

  “So you guys weren't real friends?” I said.

  “We got along but we were different. For one, I was older. A screw-up landed me in a room with a freshman.”

  “Different worlds.”

  “Exactly,” said Mindy, relieved at being understood.

  “Different how?” asked Milo, smiling.

  “I'm social,” she said. “I like people, always had lots of friends. Shawna was more of a loner.”

  “Interesting trait for a beauty queen.”

  “Oh, that— well, that was back in Santo Leon.”

  “Didn't count?”

  “No, no, I'm not putting it down— it's just I gathered that back home Shawna was pretty important, but up here she was just another freshman. I went to Uni, had tons of friends here from high school, she didn't. I tried to— She didn't make too many of her own friends. I mean she probably would've— it was only the beginning of the quarter.”

  “Not too social?” I said.

  “Not too.”

  “So back in Santo Leon she'd been a big fish in a small pond, but in L.A. she had trouble distinguishing herself.”

  “Yes— I mean she was beautiful. But kind of . . . country. Unsophisticated. Also, her basic personality was— I don't want to say stuck up, more like private. She did like to keep to herself. Like when Steve would come over, Shawna would ignore him or leave— She said she wanted to give us space. But . . .”

  “You thought maybe she was being a bit antisocial,” I said.

  “To be honest? Kind of. That's why I didn't pay much attention that night when she left for the library. She was gone a lot.”

  “A lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nights?”

  “Nights and days. I really didn't see her much.”

  “Did she spend nights away from the dorm?”

  “No,” she said. “She always was there in the morning. That's why when I woke up and she wasn't, I thought it was weird. But still . . .”

  “Still what?” said Milo.

  “I didn't freak or anything. You know— this was college. We were supposed to be grown-ups.”

  Milo twirled his own pen. Blue plastic Bic. “So there was no boyfriend you know of.”

  “Right.”

  “And this other note I've got— about maybe it being an older man. Did Shawna ever say anything about liking older men?”

  Mindy's back was flat against the wall. Another upward glance. Both of her hands clenched the pen.

  “Ms. Jacobus-Grieg?”

  “Is this— is all this going to be publicized?”

  “That's not our priority.”

  “'Cause it was really no big deal. And Agnes . . .”

  “What was no big deal?”

  Mindy shook her head. “I told a reporter— some pest from the Cub— and he told the police about a conversation Shawna and I had.”

  “A conversation about what?”

  “Guys— what girls talk about all the time. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. And that pest shouldn've repeated it.”

  “Repeated what, Mindy?”

  Mindy rubbed one sandal against the other. “I wouldn't want to ruin Shawna's reputation.”

  “Ruin it in what way?”

  “Raising rumors— because what's the point, a year later? Why should her mom read it and get upset?”

  Milo moved closer to her, placed his weight on one foot, looking very tired. “What hurts Mrs. Yeager the most is not knowing what happened to Shawna. That's the ultimate hell for a parent, so anything you can do to clear it up would be a good deed.”

  Mindy bit back tears. “I know, I know, but I'm sure it's nothing—”

  “Indulge us. Unless it leads to a solution, we'll keep it close to the vest.”

  The flush had overtaken Mindy's face. Coppery glow beneath the tan, but nothing healthy about it.

  “It was really just a single conversation,” she said, swiping at her eyes again. “Maybe three weeks into the semester. Steve had a friend who thought Shawna looked hot, and he asked if Shawna wanted to be fixed up. Shawna said no, she had too much studying, but then she went out— and not to the library, this was a Friday morning and she said something had come up suddenly, she had to leave early for the weekend. Something back home in Santo Leon. But the thing is, she was all dressed up and made up— nothing like what you'd expect just to take the bus home. So I asked her who the guy was, said she wasn't wasting stockings and all that lip gloss on some campus loser. And she gave me this— I can only call it an off look, know what I mean? Real serious— almost angry. But not angry— upset.”

  “Like you'd hit a nerve,” I said.

  “Exactly. She gave me the off look and said, ‘Mindy, I would never date anyone my age. Give me an older guy anytime, 'cause they know how to treat a woman.’ And that's when it hit me: the way she was dressed. A suit— all that makeup. It's like she was trying to make herself look older, so I wondered. And that's what I told that pest from the Cub. Which is probably what you've got in there.” Pointing to the pad. “But I don't know for sure,” she added.

  “You didn't ask her?” said Milo.

  “I tried— I can be nosy, I admit it. But like I said, Shawna was private. She just kind of blew me off, picked up her suitcase, and left.”

  “So older men know how to treat a woman,” said Milo. “You think she meant financially?”

  “That's the way I took it. 'Cause Shawna liked things. Talked about becoming a psychiatrist or a plastic surgeon, gett
ing herself a big house in one of the Three B's— Brentwood, Bel Air, Beverly Hills— like she'd read about that in some magazine. I mean, she actually took the bus into Beverly Hills once, walked up and down Rodeo Drive— unsophisticated. Kind of adorable, really.”

  “Into stuff,” said Milo.

  “Clothes, cars— she said one day she'd drive a Ferrari.”

  “From being a plastic surgeon or marrying one?”

  “Maybe both,” said Mindy.

  “She ever talk about any professors she really liked?”

  “What, you think it was a professor?”

  “They're the older men on campus.”

  “No, she never said.”

  “Okay, thanks for your time,” said Milo, flipping through his pad, then slipping it into his pocket. Mindy smiled, and her posture had just loosened when he said, “Oh, one other thing— and this'll stay as private as possible too. There was mention of some photos Shawna might've posed for, for Duke magazine—”

  “Oh, please,” snapped Mindy. “That stupid idiot— the weirdo from the Cub.”

  “Weird, how?”

  “Obsessive. Like a stalker. He wouldn't leave me alone. Kept dropping in at the dorm, doing his big reporter thing. The last straw was when he barged right past me, started poking around our stuff. The whole Duke thing came up because Steve had left some magazines around—Sports Illustrated, GQ. And, yes, some Playboys and Dukes too— you know guys. And the idiot has the nerve to start poking around in the stack and these loose pages fall out of the Duke and Green— the idiot— grabs them and says, ‘Whoa, is this Shawna?’ I grab them back and tell him to keep his filthy mitts off and his mind out of the gutter. And he gives me this knowing smile— this smirk— and he says, ‘What's the matter, Mindy? Why shouldn't Shawna pose? God gave her the bod and the hair—’ disgusting talk. That's when I threatened to scream and he left, but he kept hassling me, and I had to get Steve to warn him off. Maybe you should be looking at him.”

  “Did he know Shawna before she disappeared?” I said.

  “No— I don't think so. I was just talking in the sense that he was weird. Anyway, that's where that Duke stupidity came from.”

  “So Shawna never posed.”

  “Of course not. Why would she do that?”

  “Same reason any girl does. Money, fame— or maybe she'd met an older guy who was also a photographer.”

  “No,” said Mindy, “no way. Shawna wanted to be a doctor, not a centerfold. That's not the kind of money and fame she wanted. None of us want that. It's demeaning.”

  “Shawna entered beauty contests,” said Milo.

  “And hated it— Miss Olive Oil, whatever. She told me she only did it for the prize money and because she figured it would look good on her U application. She wasn't that kind of girl.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “A bimbo. She was smart.” Another quick study of the ceiling. White knuckles around the gold pen. One hand let go and began tracing the outline of her narrow hip. Her face had turned salmon pink. Her eyes jumped around like pachinko balls.

  “Demeaning,” she said.

  Milo smiled at her. Let it ride.

  21

  AS MINDY RETURNED to her office the corridor filled with people.

  Milo said, “That Chinese food made me thirsty.”

  We rode a crowded elevator down to the med school cafeteria. Amid the clatter of trays and the odors of mass fodder, we bought Cokes and settled at a rear table. Behind us was a cloudy glass wall looking out to an atrium.

  “So,” he said. “Mindy.”

  “Not a terrific liar,” I said. “Her complexion wouldn't cooperate, and she was squeezing that pen hard enough to break it. Especially when she talked about the photos. Adam Green said they were loose black-and-whites, not magazine pages. Mindy tried to make him out as some nut, but he seemed pretty credible to me. And Mindy's explanation makes no sense. Why would her boyfriend keep skin mags in her room? Green wondered if both Shawna and Mindy had followed up on a solicitation to pose. That would explain Mindy's nervousness.”

  He nodded. “Especially now that she's an old married woman.”

  “You didn't press her on it.”

  “I felt I'd gone as far with her as I could. For the time being. Even if Shawna did pose for nudies, there's no proof it was really a Duke gig, and not some con man with a business card. Fact is, I can't see Duke using some psycho photographer— too much at stake. And I can't exactly march into Tony's corporate headquarters and demand access to the photo archives.”

  His beeper went off. He read the number, cell-phoned, couldn't get a connection, and stepped outside the cafeteria. When he returned he said, “Guess who that was? Lyle Teague. Mommy doesn't call me, but Daddy does.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Have I gotten anywhere, was there anything he could do? Forcing himself to be polite— you could just about see his hands clench through the phone lines. Then he slips in a question about Lauren's estate. Who's in charge, what's going to happen to her stuff, do I know who's handling her finances?”

  “Oh, man.”

  He shook his head. “The vulture circles. When I told him I had no idea about any of that, he started to get testy. Poor Lauren, growing up with that. Sometimes I think your job's worse than mine.”

  He bought another Coke, emptied the can.

  I said, “The one thing Mindy did confirm was Shawna's attraction to older men. That and a Duke angle— real or not— does provide a possible link between her and Lauren.”

  “Dugger,” he said.

  “Older man, rich, smart. A psychologist, no less. He fits Shawna's list. And talk about business cards— he's got paternity to back it up. For all we know he uses the magazine as a lure. Same for the intimacy study.”

  “Double life, huh? Mr. Clean by day, God knows what after hours?”

  “Even by day he's strange,” I said. “He has no current clients but keeps that lab going. Putting people in a strange little room and measuring how close they get to each other. Sounds more like voyeurism than science to me. And he was running ads prior to both Shawna's and Lauren's disappearances.”

  “His staff said Shawna had never been to Newport.”

  “So he destroyed records. Or met Shawna another way. Taking glam pictures, or he used some other premise. Mindy said Shawna got all dressed up for that weekend thing back home. She didn't buy the story, assumed the obvious: a date. Shawna was eighteen years old, hungry for the finer things, talked openly about digging older guys. It wouldn't take a genius to seize upon that and exploit it. And here's something else to think about: A year has passed between Shawna's disappearance and Lauren's death, but that doesn't mean there've been no victims in the interim.”

  “I checked for that,” he said. “Right after you told me about Shawna. No obvious similars.”

  “Things happen,” I said. “Stuff no one knows about. Especially when there's money involved.”

  He didn't answer. But he didn't argue.

  * * *

  We left the Med Center and walked to the no parking zone in front, where he'd left the unmarked. A parking ticket flapped under the windshield wipers. He crumpled it and tossed it in the car's backseat.

  I said, “At the very least, it would be worth talking to Shawna's mother. She might be able to confirm or deny the weekend event in Santo Leon. Maybe she's still working at the Hilton.”

  “Someone else to make miserable,” he said. “Yeah, yeah, let's blow by. After that, I'm heading out to Sherman Oaks to see Jane Abbot. Happy Mother's Day.”

  * * *

  The Beverly Hilton sits at the western edge of Beverly Hills, just east of where the L.A. Country Club begins its dominance of Wilshire. The drive from Westwood was five minutes. The hotel's personnel office was cooperative but careful, and it took a while to find out that Agnes Yeager had left the Hilton's employ nine months ago.

  “She didn't stay long,” said Milo. “Problems?”


  “No problems at all,” said the assistant personnel manager, Esai Valparaiso, a small, friendly man in a tight brown suit. “We didn't dismiss her, she just left.” Valparaiso's thumb flicked the edge of the folder. “Without notice, it says here.”

  “Any idea where she went?”

  “No, sir, we don't follow them.”