“Life is good,” said Milo.
“I’d like to get back into shape physically, and I’m upset about Mary. But when I step back and assess, yes, I have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Tell me about the halfway houses you own, sir.”
Koppel blinked. “You really have been doing your research.”
“I ran into an ex-con vacuuming Dr. Koppel’s building and I got curious.”
“Oh,” said Koppel. “Well, I hire a lot of those guys for custodial work. When they show up, they do a good job.”
“They give you attendance problems?”
“No worse than anyone else.”
“What about pilferage problems?”
“Same answer, people are people. Over the years, I’ve lost a few tools, some furniture, but that goes with the territory.”
“Your secretary said properties get broken into.”
“From time to time,” said Koppel. “Not the halfway houses, though. What’s to take from there?”
“You recruit your own tenants as janitors?”
“I get recommendations from the halfway-house managers. They send me guys they think are reliable.” Koppel lifted the popcorn bowl.
“How’d you get into the parolee business?”
“I’m in the real estate business. A handful of my properties are halfway houses.”
“How’d you get into that, sir?”
“I’d never have done it on my own. I’m a bleeding heart liberal but only to a point. It was Mary’s idea. Actually, I was pretty wary, but she won me over.”
“How’d she come up with the idea?”
“I think Dr. Larsen suggested it—one of her partners. Have you talked to him yet?”
Milo nodded.
“He’s an expert on prison reform,” said Koppel. “He got Mary into it, and she was all afire. She said she wanted to do more than build up equity, she wanted her investments to do some social good.”
“The halfway houses are the properties she partners with you?”
“We’re also together on some conventional rentals.”
“Pretty idealistic.”
“When Mary believed in something, she got very focused.”
“But you tried to un-focus her.”
Koppel lifted a leg in order to cross it, changed his mind, and planted a heavy foot on the carpet. “I approached the issue like a businessman, let’s look at the assets and debits. Mary did her homework, showed me the subsidies the state was offering and I had to admit the figures looked good. Even so, I was concerned about tenant damage, so I’d look at the crowd you’re talking about. I also told her I could get equal or better subsidies on what seemed to be safer investments—senior citizen housing, historic properties, where, if you respected the integrity of the structure, you could get three separate funding sources.”
His eyes had dried, and he was talking faster. In his element.
Milo said, “Mary convinced you.”
“Mary said the tenants would be more reliable, not less, because they weren’t paying rent so they had no incentive to leave. On top of that, the state mandated supervision by parole officers and provided in-house managers and security guards. She had to work on me for a while, but I agreed to give it a try. Smartest thing I ever did.”
“Good deal?”
“The funding’s ironclad—long-term state grants that get renewed easily—and the properties can be had dirt cheap because they’re always in fringe areas. You’re not going to stick a building full of criminals in Bel Air, right? So there are no NIMBYs, no zoning problems, and once you get past financing the part the state doesn’t cover, the rents are great. And listen to this: On a square-footage basis, the income’s close to Beverly Hills, because you’re not talking multiroom apartments, it’s all single rooms. And as opposed to a senior citizen situation where the tenancy-terminating event is death so your occupancy is uncertain, you go in knowing the tenants are there on a short-term deal but they’re always going to be replenished.”
“No shortage of bad guys.”
“Doesn’t seem to be,” said Koppel. “And turns out there are fewer repairs. The bathrooms are all communal, so the plumbing’s centralized, there are no kitchens in the rooms, all the tenants get is hot plates. And their use is restricted to certain hours. There’s some paperwork, but nothing I haven’t seen before. And, let’s face it, the state wants you to be a success.”
“Define ‘success.’ ”
“The residents stay put and don’t roam out in the community to hurt or kill someone.”
“Where do I sign?” said Milo.
Koppel smiled. “I should’ve known listening to Mary would never lead me wrong.” He shifted his bulk in the recliner. “Now she’s gone. I can’t believe it—is there anything else I can tell you?”
“Back to the halfway houses, sir. Great deal notwithstanding, have you ever had any problems with tenant violence?”
“Not to my knowledge. But I wouldn’t know.”
“Why not?”
“All that’s handled in-house,” said Koppel. “I’m not a warden. I just own the building, and the state runs it. Why, do you think one of those lowlifes killed Mary?”
“There’s no evidence of that,” said Milo. “Just covering all bases.” He opened his pad. “What’s Charitable Planning all about?”
“My foundation,” said Koppel. “I give away ten percent a year. Of after-tax income.”
“We’ve been in the building a few times and never saw any activity on the ground floor.”
“That’s because there isn’t much. Twice a month, I go in and write checks to worthy causes. It takes a while because the solicitations come in constantly, everything really piles up.”
“An entire ground-floor suite for you to write checks? That’s Beverly Hills space, Mr. Koppel. Why don’t you rent it out?”
“I had a deal, last year, for a tenant to take the whole floor. An online brokerage. You know what happened to the market. The deal fell through. I was planning to subdivide—rent most of it out and leave a small office for Charitable Planning. But Mary asked me to put a hold on that until she and Larsen and Gull could decide if they wanted it.”
“Why would they want it?”
“To expand their practice. They were talking about doing group therapy, needed larger rooms. The only space I use is a small office, the rest is empty. Mary was supposed to tell me in a week or so.”
“Group therapy,” I said.
“From a business standpoint, I thought it was a smart idea. Treat the max number of patients in the shortest time. I joked with Mary that it had sure taken her a long time to figure it out.” Koppel smiled. “She said, ‘Sonny, you’re the moneyman, and I’m the healer. Let’s stick to what we know.”
He tugged the side of his mouth, ate some popcorn.
Milo showed him the picture of the dead girl.
Koppel chewed faster, swallowed hard. “Who’s that?”
“Someone else who got killed.”
“Someone else? Related to Mary?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“You’re saying what happend was part of something . . . that it wasn’t just Mary?”
Milo shrugged.
“What’s really going on, Lieutenant?”
“That’s all I can tell you, sir. Does the name Flora Newsome mean anything to you?”
Koppel shook his head. Glanced at the photo. “That’s her?”
“What about Gavin Quick?”
“I know a Quick,” said Koppel, “but not Gavin.”
“Who do you know?”
“Jerry Quick—Jerome Quick. He’s one of my tenants. Who’s Gavin? His son? The one who had the accident?”
“You know about the accident.”
“Jerry told me about it, said his son was having some emotional problems. I referred him to Mary.”
“How long has Mr. Quick been your tenant?”
“Four months.” He frowned.
; “Good tenant?” said Milo.
“He pays his rent, but not always on a timely basis. I felt a little . . . used. Especially after I listened to his problems and gave him a referral. I’ve had to pay Jerry a few visits.” He smiled. “That’s not what it sounds like—no goons with baseball bats, we just talked, and, eventually, he paid.”
“Why would I assume goons with baseball bats, sir?”
Koppel flushed. “You wouldn’t. So what’s with Gavin?”
“He’s deceased.”
“Murdered also?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My God—what’s the connection to Mary?”
“All we know at this time was that Gavin was her patient, and they’re both dead.”
“My God,” Koppel repeated. “There’s a lot you can’t tell me.”
“Is there something more you could tell us, sir?”
Koppel considered that. “I wish there was. Mary and I—we rarely spoke, except when there was a business issue. Even then, there was little to talk about. I set up our partnership so she didn’t have to be hands-on. She had her practice, she didn’t need to be distracted. Because properties can be demanding. To make them work you have to give them attention like children. I’m on the road all the time.”
“All those cars,” said Milo.
“I know, I know, it probably seems eccentric, but I need to have reliable transportation . . . Jerry’s son? He was young, right? Just a kid.”
“He was twenty.”
Koppel’s face had turned an unhealthy color—bologna left too long in the fridge. “You can’t tell me anything?”
“The truth is, we don’t know much ourselves.”
“Quick’s son . . . the girl you showed me—Flora—was she a patient of Mary’s, as well?”
“The girl we showed you hasn’t been identified yet, so I don’t know if she was one of Dr. Koppel’s patients. The files are confidential, we can’t get in there.”
“All those questions you asked me,” said Koppel, “about the halfway houses. Are you saying you suspect one of my—one of those tenants had something to do with something really horrible? If you do, please tell me. I really need to know if you do.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility, sir?”
“How would I have a clue?” Koppel bellowed. One of his hands moved spasmodically, knocked against the popcorn bowl, sent it flying.
Yellow rain. When it settled, Koppel was covered with kernels and husks and dust.
He stared at us, breathing heavily. Milo went into the kitchen and unrolled a paper towel from a wooden spool. He came back and began brushing Koppel off. Koppel snatched the paper away and flailed at himself. When he finally stopped, yellow grit clung to his sweatshirt and his pajamas.
He sat there, staring at us, still panting.
Milo said, “What else can you tell us about Jerome Quick?”
Koppel didn’t answer.
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry. For losing my temper. But you’re freaking me out. First Mary, now Jerry Quick’s son. That girl.”
Milo repeated his question.
“He didn’t pay his rent on time, that’s it. His excuse was the up-and-down nature of his business. He trades metals, makes deals on scrap. Once in a while he has a windfall that carries him for a while; other times, he loses money. To me it sounded more like gambling than business. Had I known, I never would have rented to him.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He came to me through a leasing agent. In the past they’d been reliable,” said Koppel. “It’s not as if his rent is prohibitive. I keep all my rents reasonable, want the turnover low.”
He looked down and picked stray bits of popcorn from his pajamas. Dropped the first few into the bowl. Ate the rest.
“His son. Poor Jerry. Guess I’ll need to cut him some slack.” Suddenly, he stood with surprising grace, brushed himself off some more, sat back down.
“What kind of emotional problems did Jerry Quick describe?”
“He didn’t get specific. At first I wasn’t sure I even believed him. He brought it up when we were having one of our rent discussions. Second month’s rent, and he’s already twenty days late. I dropped by to talk about it, and he gave me a sob story about how he’d been cheated out of a deal, lost big, and now on top of it his kid was having psychological problems.”
“Which he didn’t specify.”
“I wasn’t interested. Figured he was just trying to make me feel sorry for him. The way the referral came about is I called his bluff, said, ‘If that’s the case, why don’t you get him some help?’ and he said, ‘Yeah, I need to do that.’ And I said, ‘My ex-wife’s a psychologist, and her office is close to your house. You want her number?’ He said sure, and I gave it to him. Like I said, I thought it was a dodge. So he actually followed through.”
Milo nodded. “How’s he been with the rent since then?”
“Chronically late.”
“Dr. Koppel never told you about the referral?”
“She’d never do that,” said Koppel. “Confidentiality, she was big on that. The whole time we were married she never talked about patients. That’s another thing I admired about her. Her ethics.”
“Mr. Koppel,” said Milo, “where were you the night your ex-wife was murdered?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, sir.”
“Where was I? I was here.”
“Alone?”
“Don’t rub it in,” said Koppel. “That night . . . let’s see, that night I think I ran into Mrs. Cohen, the art teacher—in the front unit. Both of us were taking out the garbage. Are you going to ask her? If you do, could you please not mention that I’m her landlord?”
“It’s a secret?” said Milo.
“I like to keep a low profile. That way I can come home and relax and not have tenants calling me up for repairs.”
“A private home would accomplish that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m eccentric,” said Koppel. “The problem with a house is too much maintenance, and my whole life’s about that. Also, I don’t need the space.”
“Not a lot of stuff.”
“What’s so sane about accumulating stuff?”
“So you were here all night, sir?”
“Like I always am. Unless I’m on the road.”
“How often are you on the road?”
“One, two days a week.”
“Where do you stay?”
“Motels. I like Best Western. But I was home that night.”
Milo got up. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome,” said Koppel, tweezing popcorn from his clothes.
CHAPTER
29
“The sensitive tycoon,” said Milo, when we were back on the sidewalk. “You buying it?”
“I think when it comes to money he’d be something to reckon with. You’re not going to check with Mrs. Cohen, the art teacher?”
“What, to verify his alibi? All she saw was him taking out the garbage. Five minutes out of a whole evening, big deal.”
“You see him as a suspect?”
“He’s landlord to a bunch of cons, and he was shelling out twenty-five grand a month to Koppel. Now that she’s dead, not only do the payments stop, he gets all her real estate. That’s a hell of a lot of motive. Also, he goes on about being an efficient businessman but keeps an entire floor of a Beverly Hills building vacant. I’d love to get in there, find out what Charitable Planning is really all about.”
“Group therapy,” I said. “If Sonny was really as enamored of Mary as he made out, I can see him holding the space vacant for her.”
“What, you don’t see him as a potential bad guy?”
“The way you lay it out, he definitely belongs on the radar screen. But what motive would he have for killing Gavin and the blonde?”
He didn’t answer. We headed for my car.
I said, “How’s the surveillance on Gull going?”
“
He goes to work, returns home. I’m sure his lawyer told him to keep a clean nose.”
“The lie about Gavin’s referral could be Jerry Quick wanting to hide the fact that he got Mary Lou’s name from Sonny. Because if we interviewed Sonny, we’d know he’s a deadbeat tenant. Having it come from a physician makes it sound a lot more respectable.”
“I guess,” he said. “But his kid was killed, you’d think he’d want to be forthcoming.”
“Another thing,” I said, “is that Sonny sent Gavin directly to Mary Lou, but Gull ended up with the case anyway. Then it reverted to Mary. Sonny may be involved somehow, but I can’t shake the notion that Gavin’s death was connected to his treatment. Same for Flora Newsome. We’re talking two patients and their therapist, all dead.”
“All skewered,” he said. “Someone they all knew. Or who knew them. But maybe nothing to do with the treatment. Some con sent over by Sonny to clean the building spotted them and decided to play. Some real psychopath who’s worked the system and passed himself along as a nonviolent parolee. I’ll ask Sonny for a list of maintenance guys, see who pops up. Meanwhile, let’s go over to the Quick house, again. Maybe Jerry and Sheila returned from wherever it was they went, and I can have a go at Gavin’s mess.”
*
I took Gregory Drive all the way to Camden. As we pulled up to the Quick house, Milo said, “Same as before: her car’s here, his isn’t. Don’t bother getting out, this probably won’t take long.”
He sprang out of the Seville, trotted to the front door, rang the bell. Tapped his foot. Rang again. Shook his head and was about to leave when the door swung halfway open.
I caught a glimpse of Sheila Quick’s drawn face.
Milo talked to her. Turned to me. Mouthed, “Come in.”
*
“We were at my sister’s house in Westlake Village,” she said. Her hair was turbaned by a blue towel, and she wore a quilted beige robe patterned with butterflies and clematis vines. Stains on the robe. Her face was drawn and chalky, eyes stripped of illusion.
Alex 18 - Therapy Page 23
