True Detectives

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Do you suspect the boyfriend?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Then I still don’t understand.”

  “Sorry for bothering you, Doc.”

  Silverman said, “Book never went through the E.R., got sent straight to Special Imp. You could try someone there but I doubt you’ll be successful.”

  “What’s Special Imp?”

  “As in ‘important.’ VIP inpatient ward. If you like living dangerously, ask Milo. I got him placed there last year. When he got shot.”

  “What’s dangerous about asking him?” said Moe.

  “He’s not into all that share-the-feelings stuff.”

  “So you got the Loo VIP’d—”

  “But that doesn’t mean I have a pipeline to anyone at Special Imp. Good luck, Detective Reed.”

  The unspoken line: You’ll need it.

  One hour into a more detailed computer search for articles about Mason Book’s suicide attempt, Moe’s phone rang. “Homicide, Detective Reed.”

  “Three hundred North Corsair Lane, Detective Reed’s proud mother.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “How are you, darling?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine, darling.”

  “I don’t?”

  “You’ve got that pressure thing in your voice—constriction of the larynx due to stress. You’ve been affected that way since you were teeny.”

  “Affected,” said Moe.

  “Your voice, darling,” said Maddy. “It’s like a peek into your emotional state.”

  “Gee, I learn something new every day.”

  “I miss you, Mosey. When’s the last time we had brunch?”

  “Hmm,” said Moe. “I guess it was ...”

  “I don’t guess, I know. Eight weeks ago, as of last Sunday. You and enchanting Elizabeth—you are still together.”

  “We are, Mom.”

  “Phew,” said Maddy. “No faux pas. She’s so good for you, Mosey.”

  “Too good for me,” Moe blurted. His face went hot.

  “Now, why in the world would you say that, sweetheart?”

  Moe didn’t answer.

  Maddy said, “I’ll wait for the blush to fade. Then I’ll tell you no one’s too good for you, my precious baby boy.”

  “What makes you think I’m blushing?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Silence.

  “Just say, ‘Thanks for the emotional support, Mom.’”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, Mosey, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m just teasing. Though the truth is, if you don’t want to be teased, you need to learn not to be so reactive, darling. So anyway, I’d really love to see you. Eight weeks is way too long not to see my baby boy’s Adonis face. I’ve been painting up a storm and I crave your judgment.”

  “I’m sure it’s great, Mom.”

  “I’m sure it’s not, Mosey.”

  “All of a sudden someone’s got a self-esteem problem?” said Moe.

  Maddy laughed—that deep, almost mannish burst of glee so at odds with her appearance. Moe had seen people thrown by it. Sometimes, he was still thrown by it.

  “Self-esteem issues?” she said. “Not me, darling. I’m just a factual appraiser and I’m well aware of the fact that I have absolutely no talent. Zero. A great, yawning void of no talent. Heck, Mosey, my easel shudders as I approach. But that’s the strength of my character: I don’t give a fig. I paint because I love it and anyone who disapproves can go straight to Pasadena. In that sense, we’re diametrical opposites, Mosey. You have tremendous talent for what you do, but are so displeased with yourself.”

  “Mom, I’m not displeased—”

  “So I’m wrong again,” said Maddy. “No problem, I’m totally comfortable being in error because I’m aware of my infinitesimal place in the cosmos. So when are you coming? How about tonight? I’ll cook my famous lentil soup—don’t worry, I’ve stocked up on Beano.”

  “Mom!”

  From across the room, a D-2 named Gil Southfork looked up from his desk and Moe knew his voice had risen. Cupping his hand over the phone, he whispered, “Let me call you later, Mom.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Maddy. “Just come see me. Tonight.”

  “What’s the urgen—”

  “I miss you, darling. Eight weeks.”

  “Let me see how my day goes and—”

  “Six p.m., I’ll make those sausages you like—chicken-cilantro, turkey-apple. You’ll be off by six, darling?”

  “That’s the point, Mom, it’s hard to pin down a time,” said Moe. “I’m on a case and there’s no way—”

  “Bring Elizabeth if she’s free—why aren’t you seeing her tonight? You need a social life to balance out your work life.”

  “She’s busy, too, Mom.” A semi-lie; Liz would be free by eight, the two of them had left the evening open.

  “Too bad, I really like that girl,” said Maddy. “See you at six.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  When Liana showed up at Work Land at ten a.m., Aaron had her check ready.

  She made a show of tucking the paper slowly between her cleavage.

  “I’m jealous,” he said.

  Laughing, she removed it, dropped it daintily into her Kate Spade. Resumed sipping from the demitasse of espresso Aaron had brewed in that cute, copper Italian machine he kept in the kitchenette next to his office.

  “Yum, Mr. Fox. You are one class act.”

  Aaron fooled with a piece of lemon rind.

  “Nice shirt,” said Liana. “New?”

  “Nope.”

  “Never seen it before.”

  “Never got around to wearing it before.” Been hanging in the home haberdashery for eleven months. “Tell me about this RAND guy.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s for real, Aaron. First thing I did when I got home last night was look him up on their website. He’s there, picture and all. Does exactly what he said he did.”

  “Chasing terrorists.”

  “Playing with numbers,” she said. “Government contracts.”

  Aaron said, “Doesn’t mean he’s not whack.”

  “He’s not, don’t be paranoid.”

  “Talking to strangers, Lee.” Aaron tsk-tsked.

  “I thought that was the point of last night.”

  “The point was soaking up ambience, getting a feel for the place.”

  “It’s not the décor you care about, it’s the clientele. Kind of hard to tease that out without talking to strangers,” said Liana.

  “And no doubt, Dr. Rau doesn’t look like a leprous summer squash.”

  Liana stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

  “I care about you, Lee. Just because you meet a cute guy—”

  “Stop right there, Mr. Fox.” Graceful, slim fingers tightened around the demitasse handle. “Though, if I had to rely on you for nurturance, where would I be, Aaron?”

  Aaron slapped his chest. “I am mortally wounded.” Doing it with levity. Unlike Steve, whose chest-pound last night had been an outward jest but laced with serious regret.

  Liana leaned across the glass slab that formed the top of Aaron’s desk. “What we have, mon amour, is a form of aerobics. Healthy, strenuous, satisfying for what it is, and altogether transitory.”

  “As opposed to Mr. RAND, who’s a deeply spiritual guy, just brimming with empathy and sensitivity. All of which you know from a one-hour bar schmooze.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “You gave me an assignment, I did it A-plus.”

  “Exactly, Lee. You’re valuable, I want you around for a long time.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s not like I’m dating him.”

  “But you’ve considered it.”

  Liana smiled. “You’re jealous.”

  “No, I’m protective.”

  “Thank you, but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” Liana put her cup down. “What’s gotten into you?”

 
“I just don’t like the notion of mixing business with pleasure.”

  Liana’s eyes slitted. “I’ll remember that the next time someone booty-calls me at three a.m.”

  She sprang up, tossed her hair, turned heel.

  “Wait,” said Aaron. “Sorry, yeah, I’m being stupid. You mean a lot to me—as a friend, as a freelance.” Grin. “As the sexiest, firmest—”

  “Stop.”

  “Okay, okay. Sit down. Please.”

  Liana exhaled a couple of times.

  “Please, Lee.”

  She returned to her chair, crossed her legs, let the jersey skirt ride up all the way to sleek white thigh. Commandment One: Make ’em suffer.

  Aaron said, “I was out of line. My excuse is this case, I can’t put my finger on it but there’s a certain ... I don’t know, a dark aura circulating around it. I know that sounds hokey and I can’t give you a rational reason, but there’s something beneath the surface—something psychy going on.”

  “As in paranormal?”

  “No, no, none of that crap. As in creepy and sleazy and warped. If you tell me there’s nothing weird about Mr. RAND, I’ll go with that. But don’t you think it’s strange that he mentioned Caitlin right off the bat.”

  “Dr. RAND,” said Liana. “He’s got a Ph.D. And it wasn’t off the bat, there was context—talking about the bar’s celeb days, the irony of something happening when there were bodyguards all over the place. And he didn’t mention Caitlin by name, just by incident. Plus, he told me about the Rensselaers and they turned out to be a dead end. So it’s not like he’s fixated.”

  “The Rensselaers,” said Aaron. Glancing at the Internet printout Liana had brought. She’d used couple vanishes riptide santa monica as the search heading, reproduced an article from the Rensselaers’ hometown of Buckeye Bridge, Pennsylvania.

  Ivan and Bettina, formerly owners of an antiques store, had cut town to escape a big-time eBay bad-check mess, used their ill-gotten gain to finance a West Coast vacation. The FBI had traced the couple to L.A., then lost the scent and gotten sneaky: filing a false missing persons report with several SoCal police agencies and convincing local stations to give the disappearance airplay.

  Two days after the broadcast, an alert West Hollywood sheriff had spotted Ivan and Bettina leaving Dan Tana after a huge Italian dinner. The Buckeye Bridge Beacon reported “tomato sauce stains on Ivan Rensselaer’s brand-new white silk shirt purchased on Rodeo Drive.”

  Aaron said, “So Doctor Rau knew about their disappearance but not their being found.”

  “As I said, he’s not fixated.”

  “Gets paid to think, huh?”

  “Aaron, what is it about him that’s wedging itself in your butt-crack?”

  “Bringing Caitlin up the first time he meets you. To me that’s just off, Lee. Dude’s out to pick up a beautiful girl, why set the mood with creepy crime—especially a crime against a female. It just doesn’t fit.”

  “It doesn’t fit because he’s not a player, Aaron.” Unlike someone else we know. “He’s kind of a nerd, actually. Not physically—oh, what’s the diff, I’ll never see him again. Never intended to. Happy?”

  “If you mean it... one thing that does come out of it are those bodyguards and limos. Be harder for a whack to abduct Caitlin right outside the bar ... though she left after her shift, so maybe that means nothing ... still, her car was never found, so it’s likely she drove somewhere and got snagged, could be anywhere from Santa Monica to Venice.”

  “Or beyond,” said Liana, “if she got jacked. Meaning, focusing on Riptide could be a waste.”

  “Rau mention any celebs by name?”

  Liana shook her head. “Only names were the ones I showed you from the Times.”

  “A name not on that list just came up, Lee. Lem Dement.”

  “That asshole,” Liana hissed. “Be nice if he did have something to do with it.”

  Her intensity surprised Aaron. “You don’t approve of his religious views?”

  “I don’t approve of him. Because I once caught an up-close look at him and his psyche.”

  “Where and when?”

  “Shortly after that biblical splatter flick of his opened. San Marino, someone’s gigantic house near Caltech, not the usual Industry types. Church folk, captains of industry, grace before the canapés, crucifixes on every table. Back then, I didn’t know you, used to pass trays for a caterer to pay bills. It was summer, the party was outdoors, everyone was dressed for the heat, except Mrs. Dement—Gemma. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black sweater over a Chanel frock and way too much makeup. What caught my eye was the look in her eyes—something I recognized right away because my older sister hooked up with a guy who beat the crap out of her. It was years before that bastard had the courtesy to die, I could never convince Sybil to leave him.”

  “Gemma looked like an abused woman,” said Aaron.

  “Not just looked, Aaron. Was,” said Liana. Fury had deepened the blue of her eyes. “Hollow, haunted, there’s no mistaking it when you see it. Because of my experience with Sybil, I’m primed. So while I served shrimp on toast, I kept sneaking glances at the two of them. Didn’t take long for me to catch it: squeezing her arm just a little too tight as he propelled her around the room. Treating her like a prop, never talking to her. Once, when he thought no one was looking, he flicked the back of her neck with his fingernail, had to sting.”

  “How’d she react?”

  “She didn’t, that’s the point. Numb and compliant, a good little robot. No one except me seemed to notice, because everyone was focused on Dement, all the money he was raking in, the fat pig. That stupid hat, he had fishhooks in his hat. With a tux, no less. No one said a word.”

  “A few hundred million’ll do that,” said Aaron. “Were there any other—”

  “But wait, folks, there’s more!” Liana held up a finger. “A while later, I go to the ladies’ room—this mansion has a giant powder room-makeup area for guests—and Gemma’s there and she’s got her sweater off but when she sees me, she snaps it back on. But not quickly enough to hide the bruises all up and down her arm. I’m talking livid, Aaron, like she’d been put through a compressor. I pretend not to stare while she pretends to be apathetic, fixes her hair, lays on even more pancake. But I’m getting a close-up look and it’s obvious why she’s plastering the stuff on. She’s got more bruises on her neck and shoulders. Plus a definite swelling behind her ear. This is a woman who gets used regularly as a punching bag.”

  She clenched a fist. “Hypocritical asshole. Please tell me he’s involved.”

  Aaron said, “It might shake out that way, but all I’ve got right now is a real estate link.”

  “To who?”

  He told her about Rory Stoltz’s early-morning adventure on the Strip, the gated estate on Swallowsong.

  Liana said, “Sneaking a couple of celebs out the back way? No idea who?”

  “Too dark, too quick, too far away,” said Aaron. “One guy was skinny, the other more of a football type. Neither of them was Dement. Younger, thinner.”

  “Aaron, Dement beats his wife, who knows what he does to other women? Please please tell me you’re going to follow up on him.”

  “Of course.”

  “How old were the two guys Stoltz drove home?”

  “I can’t be sure, Lee. Could be twenties, thirties.”

  “Dement has a whole bunch of kids—six, seven. He’s in his fifties, so he could easily have spawn in that range.”

  “Junior living in a house Daddy owns? Maybe, but that still says nothing about Caitlin. The link I’m following is Rory.”

  Liana grew silent.

  Aaron said, “I’ll follow up on Dement, Lee.”

  “I know I’m being emotional. You can’t imagine the hell my sister went through. And my parents. And the rest of us. We’re a close-knit family, Gordon made all of us bleed.”

  Aaron had never seen her like this. Family made things complicated. “I’ll bloodhound
Dement.”

  “Maybe the police have something—domestic violence calls covered up.”

  Aaron stood, walked from behind his desk, paced.

  Liana said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Working with the police on this one. It’s complicated.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  Madeleine Fox Reed Guistone was a woman of serene temperament.

  The shifting hues of her Tuscan-inspired house on half an acre of Beverly Hills POB hillside suggested otherwise.

  Which just went to prove the classic detective caution, thought Moe: Assume means make an ass out of u and me.

  As he pushed his unmarked up the juniper-shrouded lane that led to Mom’s manse, his memory dredged up mocha to salmon to sage green to coral to the eye-searing sienna-orange mottle he’d seen eight weeks ago. But he might’ve missed a few stages.

  He reached the top expecting something even more outrageous.

  Nope, still “flame-rust villa de Borghese,” the pigment-infused plaster slapped on so thickly the house appeared lumpy. Random patches of phony exposed brick completed the picture: typical pathetic, totally L.A. grab for a reality that had never existed in the first place. First time he’d seen it, he’d muttered, “Disneyland,” but told Mom it was gorgeous. This evening, parking in the circular motor court next to his mother’s red Mercedes convertible, the theme park crept back into his consciousness.

  And that brought back memories.

  Moe, plagued with ear infections and motion sickness as a young boy, had always despised the Anaheim ode to corny.

  Heaving his cookies after a single spin on the teacups.

  Meanwhile, Aaron’s leaping into a Matterhorn car. Conquering the “Alps” over and over again. Maddy and Moe waiting until he finally got his fill. Moe clutching his stomach just thinking about the Matterhorn.

  Contempt on Aaron’s ten-year-old face as he points out a crumb of vomit on Moe’s T-shirt...

  A guy who called his office space Work Land; some people never got real.

  Moe walked past the Florentine fountain, murky and leaf-strewn as usual, dribbling happily under a gently setting sun. That, Mom hadn’t painted, maybe in deference to Dr. Stan Guistone’s memory.