Gone

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Audi Quattro.”

  “Right continent,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll cruise by, you’re welcome.”

  “It’s unlikely he’ll persist, Milo. When he sobers up he’ll realize another disturbance will mess him up in civil court. If he doesn’t, his lawyer will educate him.”

  “If he was that smart, Alex, he’d never have stalked you in the first place.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m okay and you’ve got a full plate.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “What is?”

  He loosened his belt and suppressed a belch. “Your choice of gastronomic imagery.”

  CHAPTER 27

  No sign of Hauser’s Audi when I got home at two a.m. The bed was made up and Robin was gone. I called her six hours later.

  “I heard you leave,” she said. “Went outside but you were driving away. What kind of ugly are we talking about?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do. The new me.”

  “The old you was fine.”

  “The ostrich’s head has been lifted. What happened, Alex?”

  “Someone got shot. An extremely bad guy. You could’ve stayed.”

  “I got antsy,” she said. “It’s a big house.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Last night was good, Alex.”

  “Except for the chop-socky interlude.”

  “Are you worried Hauser’s going to cause more trouble?”

  “Maybe he’s smarter when he’s sober. The police wrote it up in my favor. About what I asked you— ”

  “Have a change of heart?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It wasn’t just the moment, Alex?”

  Maybe it had been. “No.”

  Couple of beats. “Would you be upset if I said I needed some time to think?”

  “It’s a big step,” I said.

  “It is. Which is kind of strange, given how much of our lives we’ve shared.”

  I didn’t answer.

  She said, “I won’t take too long.”

  * * *

  I left a message with Erica Weiss’s secretary, saying I wanted to talk about Patrick Hauser. Just as I hung up, Milo clicked in.

  He sounded exhausted. Probably up all night on Peaty. Maybe that’s why he didn’t bother with niceties.

  “Wendell A. Chong, the guy whose van Peaty ripped off, is a software consultant who used to rent office space in a building owned by the Dowds. The van was boosted from his reserved tenant slot at night, while Chong was working late. Chong collected insurance, bought himself a new car, has no interest in reclaiming it.”

  “Peaty watched and seized the opportunity,” I said. “Chong have any impressions of Peaty?”

  “Never saw him. Who he does remember is Billy Dowd. He’d always wondered if Billy had something to do with the theft.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Billy used to hang around aimlessly when Brad came by to collect rent. One time he drifted into Chong’s office and just stood there, like he owned the place. Chong asked him what he wanted, Billy got a spaced-out look in his eyes and left without a word. Chong followed Billy out into the hall, saw him walking up and down, like he was patrolling. A couple of women stepped out of an office and Billy checked them out. Pretty intensely, according to Chong. Then Brad showed up, ushered Billy away. But he kept bringing Billy along, so Chong started locking his door. Interesting, huh?”

  “Billy and Peaty?” I said.

  “Weirdos finding common ground. It happens, right? Brad protects Billy but he can’t be everywhere. And like you said, he overestimates his power. Maybe he takes Billy along with him when he checks out the garage at the PlayHouse. Or the PlayHouse itself. I don’t see Billy getting laid on his own.”

  “Billy seemed gentle.”

  “Maybe he is,” he said. “Except when he’s not. In any event, I just got permission from Vasquez’s D.P.D. to interview his client, on my way over to the jail. I’m betting on a quick plea, maybe involuntary manslaughter. Kinda nice to have one that closes easy.”

  “You could name Peaty as the bad guy on Michaela and close that,” I said.

  “Yet I wonder aloud about Billy,” he said. “Why? Because I’m a self-destructive fool, no sleep in two days, I’m vulnerable, amigo. Tell me to forget about Billy and I will.”

  “Two bad guys could explain how the Gaidelases’ car ended up twenty-five miles from Kanan Dume. Billy doesn’t seem street-smart, but Peaty could’ve helped him there. Still, it’s hard to imagine him getting away for any length of time. He and Brad seem to be together most of the day and at night there’s a neighbor watching him.”

  “The ‘nice lady.’ Wonder how hard she looks. I was supposed to check that out but with all that’s happened...do you think it’s interesting that the bad stuff we know about started after Billy got his own place?”

  “If the bad stuff was the product of a sick relationship,” I said, “with Peaty gone, Billy might not act out again.”

  “There’s comfort for you.”

  “I can drop by and talk to the neighbor.”

  “That would be great, I’m tied up with Vasquez all day.” He read off Billy’s address on Reeves Drive. “Any more problems from that asshole Hauser?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m still wondering about something,” I said.

  “Am I going to want to hear this?”

  “Dylan Meserve picked Latigo for the hoax because he hiked up there. What led the Gaidelases to the same spot?”

  “Aha,” he said. “Already been there and back. Maybe Peaty overheard Dylan talking about hiking up there. While the Gaidelases were waiting for their audition, they mentioned wanting to hike and Peaty overheard again and gave them advice.”

  “That’s a lot of overhearing.”

  “He’s a watcher.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You’re not buying it.”

  “What we know about Meserve suggests lack of conscience, or at the least a weak one. Michaela’s description of his behavior those nights bothers me. Mind games, preoccupation with death, rough sex. I hate to add to your burden but— ”

  “It’s not my burden. The Gaidelases were never my case.”

  A casual acquaintance might’ve bought that.

  He said, “Peaty for the girls, Meserve for the Gaidelases? What, that damned school was a magnet for homicidal maniacs?”

  “Something went on there.”

  He laughed. Not a pleasant sound.

  CHAPTER 28

  Erica Weiss phoned back while I was in the shower. I dried off and reached her at her office.

  “What an experience, Doctor. You okay?” Like many referrals, she was just a phone voice to me. Fast-talking, high-energy, peppy as a cheerleader.

  “I’m fine. Any word on Hauser?”

  “Haven’t checked yet. What exactly transpired?”

  When I finished the re-tell, she was peppier. “His malpractice carrier will be thrilled to learn the ante just got upped. Idiot just cooked his goose well-done. When can I depose you?”

  “Everything’s in the police report,” I said.

  “Even so. When’s convenient for you?”

  Never. “How about tomorrow?”

  “I was thinking more like today.”

  “It’s short notice.”

  “Those poor women could use their settlements, Doctor.”

  “Try me late in the afternoon.”

  “You’re a doll,” she said. “I’ll come to you with the court reporter. Just name the place.”

  “Let’s talk later.”

  “Commitment-shy? Sure, whatever works, but please make it sooner rather than later.”

  * * *

  Billy Dowd’s address was on the south side of Beverly Hills, a short walk to Roxbury Park. Last year, I’d witnessed a shoot-out at the park that had never made the papers. This was Beverly Hills
, with its aura of safety and ninety-second police response.

  Lots of Spanish-style duplexes from the twenties on the block. Billy’s was pink with leaded windows, a red-clay roof, and exuberant plaster moldings. An unfenced gateway led to a tile-inlaid stairway that climbed to the second floor. The overhang created a shaded entry nook for the ground-floor unit.

  The wrought-iron mailbox inside the left-hand gatepost was unmarked. I climbed to the upstairs unit and knocked on a heavy carved door. The peep-window was blocked by a wooden slat but it stayed closed as the door opened.

  A brunette in a white nylon uniform dress looked at me while combing her hair. Coarse hair chopped boyish meant short brisk strokes. She was fortyish with a dangerous tan, a beakish nose, and close-set black eyes. Santa Monica Hospital name tag above her left breast: A. Holzer, R.N.

  A strange man showing up unannounced didn’t perturb her.

  “Can I help you?” Some kind of Teutonic accent.

  “Billy Dowd lives downstairs?”

  “Yes, but he’s not here.”

  I showed her my police consultant I.D. Expired six months ago. Very few people are detail-oriented. A. Holzer barely glanced at it. “Police? About Billy?”

  “One of Billy and his brother’s employees was involved in some trouble.”

  “Oh— you wish to speak to Billy about that?”

  “Actually, I’m here to see you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “You look after Billy?”

  “Look after?” She laughed. “He’s a grown man.”

  “Physically he is,” I said.

  The hand around the hairbrush turned glossy. “I don’t understand why you are asking these questions. Billy is all right?”

  “He’s fine. These are routine questions. Sounds as if you like him.”

  “Of course I do, Billy is very nice,” she said. “Listen, I am very tired, got off shift early this morning. I would like to sleep— ”

  “Eleven-to-seven shift your usual?”

  “Yes. That’s why I would like to sleep.” New smile. Frosty.

  “Sounds like you deserve it. What unit do you work on?”

  “Cardiac Care— ”

  “Eight hours of CCU care, then all the time you spend with Billy.”

  “It’s not— Billy doesn’t require— why is this important?” She placed a hand on the door.

  “It probably isn’t,” I said. “But when something really bad happens, lots of questions need to be asked. About everyone who knew the victim.”

  “There was a victim. Someone was hurt?”

  “Someone was murdered.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Gott en Himmel— who?”

  “A man named Reynold Peaty.”

  Head shake. “I don’t know this person.”

  “He did janitorial work at some of Brad and Billy’s buildings.” I described Peaty.

  When I got to the muttonchops, she said, “Oh, him.”

  “You’ve met him.”

  “Not a meeting, just seeing.”

  “He came here,” I said.

  She plucked at her badge. Gave her hair a few more whacks.

  “Ms. Holzer— ”

  “Annalise Holzer.” Lower voice, soft, guarded. I half expected a rank and serial number.

  I said, “Reynold Peaty came to see Billy.”

  “No, no, not to see, to bring things back.”

  “Things?”

  “Things Billy forgets. At the office. Sometimes Mr. Dowd brings them himself, sometimes I guess he sends this man.”

  “Reynold Peaty.”

  “Billy didn’t kill him, that is for sure. Billy opens the windows to let flies out so he doesn’t have to hit them.”

  “Gentle.”

  “Gentle,” Annalise Holzer agreed. “Like a nice little boy.”

  “But forgetful,” I said.

  “Everyone forgets.”

  “What does Billy forget?”

  “The watch, the wallet. Lots of times the wallet.”

  “Mr. Peaty came by and gave you the wallet?”

  “No,” she said. “He tells me Billy lost the wallet and he is returning the wallet.”

  “How many times did that happen?”

  “A few,” she said. “I do not count.”

  Lots of times the wallet. I raised an eyebrow.

  Annalise Holzer said, “A few times, that’s all.”

  “Those times, did Mr. Peaty go inside Billy’s apartment?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You watch him.”

  “Nein,” she said. “Not watching, not babysitting. Mr. Dowd asks me to help if Billy needs something.”

  “Sounds like a good job.”

  Shrug.

  “Good salary?”

  “No money, only less rent.”

  “Mr. Dowd’s your landlord?”

  “Very nice landlord, some of them are like...snakes.”

  Milo hadn’t mentioned any Beverly Hills properties in the Dowds’ holdings.

  I said, “So you get a discount on the rent in return for looking in on Billy.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “What does that involve day to day?”

  “Being here,” said Annalise Holzer. “If he needs something.”

  “How does Billy get around?”

  “Get around?”

  “Go from place to place. He doesn’t drive.”

  “He does not go out much,” said Annalise Holzer. “Sometimes I take him to a movie on Sunday. Century City, I drop him off, pick him up. Mostly I rent him DVDs from the video store on Olympic near Al-mont Drive. Billy has a big flat-screen TV, better than a movie theater, no?”

  “Anyone else ever drive him?”

  “Mr. Dowd picks him up in the morning and brings him home. Every day they work.”

  Wide circuit from Santa Monica Canyon to Beverly Hills and back to the beach city. Brad’s unpaid job.

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Taxi, car service?”

  “Never do I see that.”

  “So Billy doesn’t go out much.”

  “Never by himself,” said Annalise Holzer. “Never do I see him go out, even to walk. I like to walk, when I ask him does he want to walk with me, he tells me, ‘Annalise, I did not like gym in school. I’m a big couch potato.’ ” She smiled. “I joke with him that he is lazy. He laughs.”

  “Does he have any friends?”

  “No— but he is very friendly.”

  “A homebody,” I said.

  The word puzzled her.

  “He comes home and stays here.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly. Watching the flat screen, DVDs, eating— I cook, sometimes. He likes some things...sauerbraten— special veal meat. Spaetzle, it is a kind of noodle. I cook for two, bring it downstairs.” She looked over her shoulder. The room behind her was tidy and bright. White porcelain figurines crowded the ledge of an arched, tiled mantel.

  In the current market, the rent would be three, four thousand a month. Steep on a nurse’s pay.

  “You live alone, Ms. Holzer?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re from Germany?”

  “Lichtenstein.” She pinched thumb to forefinger. “It is a teeny tiny little country between— ”

  “Austria and Switzerland,” I said.

  “You know Lichtenstein?”

  “I’ve heard it’s pretty. Banking, castles, Alps.”

  “It is pretty, yes,” she agreed. “But I like it here better.”

  “L.A.’s more exciting.”

  “More to do, the music, the horses, the beach.”

  “You ride?”