Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 12 - Survival of the Fittest

by Survival Of The Fittest(Lit)

  - Farley Sanger - is still practicing at the same Wall Street firm. The editor - that woman stock analyst Hella Cranepool

  - is still working at her job, too. Neither of them comes up in Lexis, so Sanger doesn't go to court on important cases. My source says the firm does estate planning for rich people.'

  'What kind of car does he drive?' said Milo. 'What kind of shampoo does he use?'

  'Mercedes station wagon, one year old. I'll try to find out about the shampoo. And if he uses cream rinse.'

  Milo laughed.

  Sharavi said, 'The Mercedes is registered in Connecticut. Sanger's got a home in Darien and an apartment on East Sixty-ninth Street. He's forty-one years old, married, has two children, a boy and a girl, no record of criminal activity.'

  'So Sanger's being watched.'

  'For a while. I also looked up Zena Lambert, the bookstore clerk. No criminal record for her, either. She's twenty-eight years old, lives on Rondo Vista Street in Silverlake. The bookstore's nearby. She has a MasterCard but rarely uses it. Last year, she earned eighteen thousand dollars.' He smiled. 'I'll check into her hair-care, as well.'

  'You surveilling her, too?' said Milo.

  'Not without your agreement.'

  'How long are you planning to surveil Sanger?'

  'Long as necessary. In view of his belief, that retarded people are - what was the phrase, Dr Delaware-'

  'Meat without mentation,' I said.

  '- meat without mentation, it seems a good idea; maybe he'll do something that tells us more about the group. On both coasts.'

  'Speaking of coasts, any chance of accessing his travel records?' said Milo. 'Corporate lawyers fly back and forth all the time, nice cover.'

  'Good idea,' said Sharavi. 'I'll do it tomorrow, when offices open in New York. In view of Myers's murder, I did call all the major hotels here in L.A., just to check if Sanger's registered and he's not. But he could be traveling under a different name.'

  'Thanks for all the work.'

  Sharavi shrugged. 'What next?'

  'I've got an appointment to meet with Mrs Grosperrin tomorrow morning, see if I can learn more about Myers, why he was lured, as opposed to some other student.'

  'For one, he was black,' I said. 'Every single victim - except Ponsico - was non-Anglo.'

  'A racist eugenicist,' said Sharavi.

  "The two have generally gone together. A look at the books Spasm sells might give us some information. Something tells me the place doesn't specialize in children's literature. When do I go?'

  Sharavi's eyebrows rose.

  Milo told him, 'He wants to play Superspy. I blame you?

  'Are you thinking of going as yourself, Doctor?'

  'I wasn't planning to show ID.'

  'Then maybe you should take alternative ID.' Sharavi turned to Milo. 'It's the kind of thing I could be helpful with.'

  'Undercover hoo-hah?' said Milo.

  'For his protection. If he's up for a bit of role-playing.'

  Talking about me in the third person.

  Sharavi gave me an appraising look. 'You've already made progress on a beard.'

  At that point, something in the room changed. Milo and Sharavi found several points of agreement:

  Undercover work was serious business - temporary dissociation, Sharavi called it.

  'We're talking a visit to a bookstore,' I said.

  'A visit that could lead to something, Doctor. You need to be extremely careful from the start.'

  'Meaning?'

  'Go as someone else, get comfortable being someone else.'

  'Fine.'

  'And,' said Milo, 'you need Robin's okay on this.'

  'Don't you think this is a little-'

  'No, Alex, I don't. What will probably happen is you'll go there, look at some weird books, come home. Even if you do hook up with Meta, it could dead-end, maybe they're just weenies. But Daniel and I both know police

  work's ninety-nine percent boredom, one percent panic at the unexpected. We are dealing with a person who stabbed a blind man in the back.'

  He asked Sharavi, 'How long would it take you to get him false papers?'

  'Half a day,' said the Israeli, 'for driver's license, credit cards, social security. I can also get him clothes, if that's necessary, and a car.'

  'The address on the ID,' said Milo. 'Bogus or real?'

  'Real is better - I know of a place in the Valley that's available right now, but I may also be able to find one in the city.'

  'Just cover or actual use?'

  'In the event of a prolonged role-play, he could use it.'

  Milo turned to me. 'What if you need to move for a while, Alex? Are you ready for that?'

  Hard voice. I knew what he was thinking. The last time I'd relocated, the move had been coerced. Running from the psychopath who'd burned my house down.

  'I assume we're not talking long-term.'

  'Probably days, not weeks,' said Milo. 'But what about patients?'

  'No active ones,' I said. Since Helena Dahl had dropped out. I thought of her brother, another high-IQ suicide...

  'What about old patients in crisis?'

  'I can always check in with my service. Most of what I've got is paperwork - reports due.'

  'Good,' said Sharavi. 'So far, your lifestyle seems to fit this nicely.'

  Milo frowned.

  They both gave me more rules:

  In order to avoid accidental slipups, I needed to use a false

  name similar to my real one and a personal history that grew out of my own.

  'A psychologist, but not one in active practice,' said Milo. 'Nothing traceable.'

  'How about someone who attended psychology graduate school but dropped out before finishing?' I said. 'ABD. All but dissertation.'

  'Dropped out for what reason?'

  'Personality conflicts,' I said. 'He was too smart for them, so they messed him up during his dissertation. My instinct is that's a Meta-compatible profile.'

  'Why?'

  'Because people who spend lots of time talking and thinking about how smart they are generally don't accomplish much.'

  Milo considered that and nodded.

  'So far so good?' he asked Sharavi.

  'Yes, but you should start thinking in terms of you, Doctor, not he.'

  'Okay,' I said. 'They messed me up because I threatened them. My research threatened them. The genetics of IQ, politically incorrect-'

  'No,' said Milo. 'Too close - too cute.'

  'I agree,' said Sharavi. 'These people may not be as smart as they think they are but they aren't stupid. You can't come in there agreeing with them too strongly.'

  'Exactly,' said Milo. 'Way I see it, you need to show casual curiosity but not jump on their bandwagon. If it goes that far.'

  'Okay,' I said, feeling vaguely foolish. 'I'm essentially an antisocial guy, don't trust groups, so I'm not itching to join any new ones. My research was on - how about sex-role stereotypes and child-rearing patterns? I did some

  work on that in grad school, then I switched to hospital work and never published, so there's no connection in writing.'

  Sharavi wrote something down.

  'Fine,' said Milo. 'Go on.'

  'I ran out of money, the department wouldn't support me because I refused to play the game and-'

  'What game?' said Sharavi.

  'Interdepartmental politics. That's also something I can talk about with authority.'

  'When did all this happen?' said Milo.

  'Ten years ago?'

  'What school?'

  'How about an unaccredited program - one that's gone out of business? During the eighties there were plenty of them.'

  'I like that,' said Sharavi. He glanced at Milo, who grunted assent. 'I'll find one and create some paper for you.'

  'Seeing as your print shop's that good,' said Milo, 'how about some twenty-dollar bills?'

  Sharavi waved at the dismal little room. 'How do you think I finance such luxury.'

&nbs
p; Milo chuckled, turned serious. 'Speaking of financing, how've you supported yourself since dropping out, Mr All But Dissertation?'

  'Family money?' I said. 'A small inheritance? Just enough to get by, but no luxuries. Yet another reason for my frustration. I'm brilliant, too good for my station in life.'

  'Do you work?'

  'Nope. Still searching for something fulfilling. Your basic L.A. slacker.'

  They both nodded.

  'So what's my name?' I said. 'How close should I get?'

  'Close enough to make it easy to remember,' said Milo, 'but not so close that you use the real one by mistake.'

  'Allan?' I said. 'Allan Del something - Delvecchio? I could pass for Italian.'

  'No,' said Milo. 'Let's keep ethnicity out of this. They may not like ethnics of any kind and I don't want you to have to fake some conversation about Mama's gnocchi recipe.'

  'How about Delbert? Delham - or just plain Dell.'

  'Allan Dell?' he said. 'Sounds phony. And too close.'

  'Arthur Dell? Albert, Andrew?' I said. 'Andy?'

  'What about Desmond?' said Milo. 'Like the old biddy in Sunset Boulevard. Andy Desmond - can you live with it?'

  I repeated it to myself several times. 'Sure, but now I expect a big house, Daniel.'

  'Sorry,' said Sharavi. 'There are limits.'

  'Andrew Desmond,' said Milo. 'Would-be psychologist -Mr Would Be. So we can get papers tomorrow?'

  'We could but I suggest we hold off for a few days.'

  'Why?'

  'To give Alex a chance to get comfortable with the role. And to let that beard grow - do you wear contact lenses?'

  'No.'

  'Good. I can supply glasses with clear lenses, it's surprising how effective they can be. And you might consider a haircut. A short one. Those curls are a little... conspicuous.'

  A buzz. Robin's gonna love that,' said Milo.

  'If it's a problem-'

  'It's no problem,' I said.

  Silence.

  'Fine, then,' said Sharavi. 'Let's hear more about you, Andrew - tell me about your childhood.'

  A glance at Milo. 'I always wanted to say that to a psychologist.'

  The next morning I told Robin. She said nothing. Then: 'And it has to be you.'

  'If you really don't-'

  'No,' she said. 'If I stopped you it would be... if something else happened that could have been prevented I'd never forget that - you're sure they can keep you safe?'

  'It's just a visit to a bookstore.'

  'Just a visit. Browsing the shelves, huh?'

  'Robin-'

  She gripped my arm. 'Be careful - I guess I'm saying it more for myself than for you.'

  Her fingers loosened. She kissed me and went to the studio.

  I called my service, told them I'd be out of town for a week on vacation, would call in regularly.

  'Somewhere nice, I hope, Dr Delaware?' said the oper-

  'Somewhere very private.'

  That evening, Daniel Sharavi called and asked if he could bring over some of my new ID at ten.

  'Does Milo know?'

  'I just spoke to him. He's briefing the other detectives on Melvin Myers. He'll come by while I'm there.'

  'Fine.'

  When he showed up carrying a black vinyl satchel, Robin and I were in the living room playing hearts and she got up to get the door. We rarely played cards; her idea.

  I made the introductions. Robin knew about the break-in and the bugging, but she smiled evenly and shook Sharavi's hand.

  I heard the dog door slam shut, then Spike's mini-gallop across the kitchen floor. He raced into the living room, snorting and panting. Stopping several feet from Sharavi, he tightened his neck muscles and growled.

  Robin stooped and tried to calm him. Spike barked and wouldn't stop. 'What's the matter, handsome?'

  'He doesn't like me,' said Sharavi. 'I don't blame him. When I was here, I had to put him in the bathroom for a few minutes.'

  Robin's smile withered.

  'I'm sorry, Ms Castagna. I used to have a dog of my own.'

  'C'mon, handsome, we'll let them do business.' Spike followed her back into the kitchen.

  'You're still willing to do this?' he said.

  'Any reason I shouldn't be?'

  'Sometimes people get enthusiastic, then they reconsider. And Ms Castagna-'

  'She's fine with it.'

  We sat down and he placed the satchel on the table. 'I've learned more about the New York lawyer, Farley Sanger. His last trip to Los Angeles was two weeks before Irit's murder. He stayed at the Beverly Hills Hotel and as far as we can tell, conducted business for his firm. So far, we've got no records of his being back since, but those kinds of things can be hidden.'

  He removed papers. 'Still no trace of Meta. After the publicity from Sanger's article, the group either dissolved or went underground. When it was active, the meetings were held in a building on Fifth Avenue. A very exclusive building and this particular suite houses the Loomis Foundation - a charitable group started by a wealthy Louisiana farming family over one hundred years ago. A relatively small foundation, from what we can tell. Last year they gave out less than three-hundred-thousand dollars. One-third went to a psychological study of twins in Illinois, another third to agricultural research, and the rest to various scientists conducting genetic studies.' 'Did the twin research have a genetic bent, also?' 'The researcher's a professor of comparative biology at a small college. These are the data.' He handed me a stapled reprint.

  The journal was Proceedings of the Loomis Foundation, the title: Homogeneity of Traits and Longitudinal Patterns of Encoded Behavior in Monozygotic Twins Separated at Birth.

  'Loomis... sounds familiar. What do they farm?' 'Tobacco, alfalfa, cotton. The Loomis family prided itself on its geneology - links to European nobility, that kind of thing.'

  'Prided?' I said. 'They're no longer around?' 'The family name died out but a few cousins remain and they run the business and the foundation. No new cash has been added to the principal for years.'

  'Is there any record of their funding Meta?'

  'Not so far, but the fact that Meta used their office says something.'

  'And controversy from Sanger's article could attract unwanted attention.'

  'Exactly. So maybe that's why the group was disbanded.'

  'Or moved to L.A.,' I said. 'Loomis - one sec' I went into my office and pulled The Brain Drain from a shelf.

  The author bio on the back flap.

  Arthur Haldane, Ph.D., resident scholar, the Loomis Institute, New York City.

  I brought it back to Sharavi.

  'Oh,' he said. 'I bought the book yesterday, haven't gotten around to reading it. So there's an institute in addition to the foundation.'

  'Maybe other money you didn't trace.'

  He turned the book over, opened it, and inspected the table of contents. 'May I use your phone?'

  He made a calling-card connection, spoke briefly in Hebrew, hung up, returned to the table.

  'A best-seller,' I said. 'If any of the royalties were returned to Loomis, that kills their tax-free status. With their cash depletion, they might have been willing to take the risk.'

  'Both Sanger and that securities analyst, Hella Cranepool, work in financial fields. Her speciality's farm commodities.'

  'Loomis's product,' I said. 'Assuming they still farm.'

  'Oh, they do,' he said. 'Not in America, overseas. Cotton, hemp, jute, alfalfa and other feeds, various packing materials. They own plantations in Asia and Africa. I'd assume because of the lower wages.'

  'Oh, for them mint-julep days,' I said. 'Does the foundation keep offices out here?'

  'Not under the Loomis name. I'm looking into it.'

  'Fifth Avenue suite in New York and all we know about them here is a possible link to a bookstore in Silverlake. Bit of a contrast.'

  'We know they're snobs,' he said. 'Maybe it extends to their view of California.'

  I made coffee while he
sat, motionless, almost entranced. When I brought back two mugs, he thanked me and gave me a white envelope. In it were a social-security card, Visa, MasterCard, Fedco membership, Blue Shield enrollment, all made out to Andrew Desmond.