Bones

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Simone Vander said, “So many people. I guess it’s pretty important.”

  Before Reed could respond, an engine growled behind us.

  A silver Porsche cabriolet idled behind the gate. The top was down, revealing terra-cotta leather. Behind the wheel sat Aaron Fox, wearing mirrored sunshades, a beige linen jacket, a black shirt.

  “Oh, good,” said Simone Vander as she clicked him in.

  Fox got out of his car buttoning his jacket. Perfectly cut linen pants made the outfit a suit. Black snakeskin loafers were cut low, revealing mocha shins.

  “P.I. Fox,” said Milo.

  “Lieutenant Sturgis. In the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by.”

  He headed for Simone Vander. Moe Reed blocked his way.

  Fox said, “Excuse me?”

  “Not a good time.”

  Simone said, “I called Aaron. Right after you rang in. Boy, you got here fast.”

  Milo said, “Why’d you call him, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know—I guess I thought he should be here. He’s the one who knows all about Travis.”

  Reed half turned to face her. Next to his lifter’s bulk, she looked like dry twigs. “You paid him to learn.”

  Simone Vander didn’t reply.

  Aaron Fox said, “Ms. Vander has a perfect right to hire me to do anything legal. And as she just said, whatever she knows about Mr. Huck, I told her. So why don’t we just—”

  “We’ll do what we need to do,” said Reed, shoulders spreading as he tried to enlarge himself. He was wider than Fox but shorter by a couple of inches. Fox stood straight, aiming to widen the disparity.

  Simone Vander stared at both of them.

  Dominance duel.

  Toss-up.

  Milo said, “Aaron, we appreciate your loyalty to your client—”

  Reed said, “Not to mention billing by the hour—”

  “—but right now we need to talk to her alone.”

  Fox’s smooth brown face betrayed no emotion.

  Reed said, “Alone, Mr. Fox.”

  Fox’s grin was too sudden and wide to imply anything close to cheer. Tugging linen lapels, he shrugged. “I’ll stay close, Simone. Call me when you’re through.”

  “Okay—thanks.”

  Still smiling, Fox clapped his brother on the shoulder, hard enough to echo. Reed’s meaty hands rolled tight.

  “Always great seeing you, bro.”

  Climbing back in the Porsche, Fox revved, shifted into gear. Twisted his head clear of the windshield. Gave the thumbs-up, focused on Reed.

  “Nice touch, the Caddy.”

  Simone Vander’s living room was cheerful and cozy and overfurnished, with chintz chairs, oak pieces that might’ve been old, floral prints in white distressed frames. A collection of Japanese dolls filled a hutch that bordered a bright red tile kitchen. Warming our feet was a lavender-and-cream Aubusson rug. The music wafting from a Bang & Olufsen entertainment center was Tori Amos, singing about a black dove.

  A Chinese camphor-wood trunk served as a coffee table. Three gilt-framed photos stood on the top, along with flowers and candles.

  Two shots were of Simone Vander: straddling a beautiful brown horse, and a close-up that had her holding a coffee cup, backed by the ocean.

  The largest photo, positioned dead center, was a formal portrait: a tall, stooped, sixtyish bearded man with thin gray hair brushed forward in an awkward comb-over, a tiny, pretty Asian woman at least twenty years his junior, and an almond-eyed boy around eight holding both their hands. The boy and the man wore tuxedos, the woman a long red gown. Both adults smiled. The child’s mouth was tiny and tight.

  Simone Vander touched the frame with a French-tipped nail and smiled. “That’s my brother Kelvin. He’s a genius.”

  She switched off the music as Milo and Reed and I settled on the longest sofa. Our combined weight compressed fluffy down cushions a foot or so. Simone Vander asked us if we wanted something to drink and when we demurred, she took a hard-backed chair and crossed her legs. The chair was high, and we had to look up to make eye contact with her.

  She fussed with a sleeve. One pink sandal dangled. “Sorry,” she said. “For calling Aaron. It’s just that he’s been really helpful to me.”

  “Investigating Travis Huck,” said Reed.

  “Uh-huh.” She pushed thick black hair behind a flat, delicate ear. Another network of blue veins marked the juncture of jaw and lobe, suggesting translucence.

  She hugged herself. “I guess you’d like to know why I hired him in the first place.”

  Reed said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Aaron came highly recommended,” she said. Searching our faces for confirmation or debate.

  “Who referred you to him, ma’am?”

  “A man who’s worked with my father—doing real estate deals—had used Aaron before, said he was the best. It wasn’t something I was sure about, the whole thing felt kind of strange. Hiring a private eye, I mean. But I just felt I had to. When I heard about Selena.”

  “You knew Selena,” said Reed.

  “She was my brother’s piano teacher. Sometimes she’d show up at the house when I was there, and we’d talk. She seemed like a really nice person. I was so upset when I heard what happened to her.”

  Reed said, “Talk about what?”

  Simone smiled. “You know, casual stuff. She seemed sweet. Kelvin—my brother—really liked her. He’s been through other teachers—strict, really stuffy—professors from conservatories. They leaned hard on him and Kelvin had enough. He’s been playing since he’s three, got tired of practicing six hours a day. Just because you’re a genius doesn’t mean you’re a slave, right? He also had his fill of classical music, wanted to write his own songs. Dad and Nadine—Kelvin’s mom—were fine with it. They’re not like other parents in that situation.”

  “What situation is that?”

  “Having a genius. A prodigy,” said Simone Vander. “From what I saw, Selena was a great fit for Kelvin. She told me she’d gone through the same thing. Being real talented, expected to practice all the time.” Frown. “This is horrible. Kelvin’s going to freak out.”

  Reed glanced at Milo.

  Milo said, “So you liked Selena.”

  “There was nothing not to like.” A hand pressed the side of her face, left a faint, rosy print. “The way I found out, just horrible. I was getting ready to go out and caught it on the news. Half listening, you know? I heard Selena’s name but thought no, you’re making a mistake. So I looked up one of the TV station websites but the story wasn’t posted and I forgot about it. But the next morning, there it was. I couldn’t believe it.”

  Moe Reed said, “What made you suspect Mr. Huck?”

  “I can’t say I suspected him. It’s nothing that definite. I just . . . the first thing I did—when I learned what had happened to Selena—was call my father. His regular cell phone wasn’t working so I got transferred to an international cell because he was in Hong Kong. He was in a meeting, but I told him. He was stunned, said he’d let Nadine and Kelvin know when he called them.”

  “They’re not with him?”

  “No, they’re in Taiwan, visiting Nadine’s family there. Dad’s looking at some real estate in Hong Kong.”

  Moe Reed said, “About Huck . . .”

  “Yes. I’m not saying I suspected him, but he always gave me a . . . weird feeling.” Pause. “And I know for a fact that he was interested in Selena.”

  “Interested how, ma’am?”

  “You don’t need to call me that,” said Simone Vander. “Ma’am.”

  “Mr. Huck was interested in Selena . . .”

  “Physically. Not that I ever saw him do or say anything overt, but a girl can tell.” Half smile. “At least I think I’m pretty perceptive.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Looked at her,” said Simone. “You know, that way. With a capital L.” She toyed with her hair. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble . . . to be truthful
, sometimes I felt he looked at me that way. No big deal, he never stepped out of line, and normally I’d never say anything. But . . . when I found out what happened—you won’t tell him, will you? That I hired Aaron.”

  “Of course not,” said Reed. “Guy acted creepy, you had every right.”

  She exhaled. “That’s a strong word. I don’t want to make accusations, but Travis has a way of making everything seem . . . not sneaky, I guess the best word would be . . . covert? Like a spy?” She frowned, not satisfied with the choice of vocabulary.

  “Furtive,” said Milo.

  “Perfect! Yes, furtive, like everything’s in code. Like he’s looking over his shoulder all the time and that makes you want to do it, too? I’m a really direct person so . . . but my dad likes him, and Dad’s brilliant, so who am I to say?”

  “What does your father like about Huck?”

  “He never said, but you could just tell. Which is why I never made a fuss. Dad has a good feel for people. That’s part of what made him so successful.” She chuckled. “Who do you think bought me this house? My job sure couldn’t pay for it and I’m the first to admit it.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Work with kids. Nanny, preschool teacher, I’ve done some remedial tutoring. And . . . I probably shouldn’t admit it but, yes, like everyone else, I wanted to act. But want’s a long way from do. Right now I’m taking some downtime, maybe I’ll transition to something totally different. Anyway, Dad’s not like you’d imagine, for a man in his position. He’s a people person and his instinct is to trust. He always says he’d prefer to trust and end up disappointed rather than live his life as a cynic. ‘A cynic understands the price of everything and the value of nothing.’ That’s his favorite saying.”

  Reed said, “Travis Huck hasn’t disappointed him yet.”

  “Apparently,” said Simone Vander. “Maybe because Travis doesn’t have a life of his own, is always there to run some errand, whatever. I know that’s helpful for Dad and Nadine, but maybe that’s what bothers me. Maybe Travis is too involved?”

  She sat forward, folding like origami. “Being an assistant is more than a job. He lives in that house.” Exhaling. “That’s why I hired Aaron. To find out if there is some reason to be worried. And you guys know what he found. Travis killed someone.”

  She hugged herself.

  Moe Reed said, “Did Mr. Fox give you the details?”

  “I know it was kids pushing and shoving. But still. Someone died and he went to prison. Thinking about it last night, I didn’t sleep very well.”

  Brown eyes drifted to Milo. “Aaron said you’d follow through, Lieutenant. That you never let go of a lead.”

  CHAPTER 17

  We left Simone Vander standing just inside her gate. Milo drove down Benedict Canyon slowly.

  Moe Reed said, “She’s someone who knows Huck. Guess this puts more focus on him as a solo psycho, Loo.”

  Grunt.

  At Lexington Road, Reed tried again. “It won’t be a problem, Loo.”

  “What won’t be?”

  “Aaron and me.”

  “Never assumed it would be.”

  “One thing she gave us: Doesn’t sound like the Vanders are running from anything. What are we thinking about those sex parties Selena played at?”

  “Good question.”

  “So they’re still potential suspects?”

  “No reason to eliminate them. Or anyone else.” Milo smiled. “With an alternative lifestyle. Whether or not that’s what got her—and the other women—killed? Who the hell knows?”

  I said, “Selena’s missing computer says there are secrets the killer wants to stay hidden.”

  Reed said, “Or it’s just the bad guy getting rid of any link between him and Selena. Meaning someone she knew. And she knew Huck. And now we know he had the hots for her. Toss in the baldie Ramos saw and he’s looking better and better.”

  “Creepy guy,” said Milo. “But not to the Vanders. Simon’s a sharp-eyed businessman. Trusting according to his daughter, but she never said he was an outright sucker. Why would he give Huck a job that had him living in?”

  “The weird—the alternative lifestyle?”

  Milo didn’t answer until we’d traveled a mile on Sunset. “All right, we’ll invite Mr. Huck for an interview, keep it mellow, maybe he won’t lawyer up immediately. But not today, give it a few more nights of surveillance. God’s smiling at us, guy’ll finally leave the house, head straight to Century Boulevard, solicit a working girl under your watchful eye, Detective Reed. Royal-flush scenario, he tries something nasty and you nab him heroically. That happens, you get to be at the press conference and I’ll do the paperwork.”

  Reed said, “You think he’d be that stupid? With all those bodies turning up, he goes back there?”

  “You’re the one been itching to watch him, kiddo.”

  Silence.

  Milo said, “Yeah, it would be stupid but without stupid criminals, the job would be as cheerful as cancer. And from Huck’s perspective, there really isn’t much heat. We had a two-minute chat with him, haven’t been back, the press conference emphasized no leads. He’s got to feel we know diddly. Which ain’t far from the truth.”

  Reed said, “Feeling confident, so he strikes out.”

  I said, “The pattern of the murders implies a sequence of confidence-building. Start with women who could be considered throwaway victims and bury them out of sight. No one catches on, kick it up to someone bound to be missed, display her, call it in just to make sure.”

  “Mr. Hissy,” said Reed. “And everything goes down at the marsh. What’s that, staying in his geographic comfort zone?”

  I said, “The marsh could be part of the thrill.”

  “The place turns him on? How?”

  “Dr. Hargrove called it hallowed ground. Lust murders are often about control through defilement. What better place to showcase your handiwork? There could’ve also been a practical reason. There’s limited public access to the marsh. If he’d stuck to stashing bodies in the muck, his crimes could’ve stayed undetected for years.”

  “Instead he decides to advertise.” Reed gave a low whistle. “Life do get twisted.”

  Milo said, “First step toward being an ace detective, kid.”

  “What is?”

  “Figuring out you’re living in a different world.”

  Pigeons had partied atop Reed’s rented Cadillac. He grumbled, “Story of my life,” sounding uncannily like Milo.

  His cell phone went off. “Reed . . . I’m so sorry, ma’am . . . yes, absolutely, ma’am.” Pulling his pad out, he scrawled, hung up.

  “That was Mary Lewis, Sheralyn Dawkins’s mom. She lives in Fall-brook. What’s more important, watching Huck or talking to her?”

  “Her,” said Milo. “Bring a scrape kit. At the very least we’ll get a firm I.D. on Sheralyn. I’ll watch Huck.”

  “Depending on what she has to say, Loo, I can start out now, do a turnaround, and be back at the Vander house in eight, nine hours.”

  “You start out now, you hit the crush, forget it. Get the DNA kit, pack yourself an overnight bag, leave when it’s clearer. Take the coastal route, find yourself a bed in Capistrano, whatever. Eat a nice seafood dinner, watch cable, be ready for Ms. Lewis in the morning.”

  “Any suggestions where to stay?”

  “Department’s not gonna pay for the Ritz-Carlton, you’ll be lucky to get a mattress and Cheez Whiz from a vending machine. And for God’s sake, fill out the forms—no, forget it, I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Reed. “Promise.”

  “Yadda yadda yadda.”

  The two of them drove off the Pizza Palazzo lot and I headed home.

  I phoned Robin, asked if she wanted me to pick up dinner.

  She said, “Beat you to it. Prime rib.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Prime rib. I was thinking we could invite Milo and Rick. On the off chance Rick’s free
.”

  “Feeling hospitable?”

  “Got my hostess gown and my martini shaker and I bought enough cow for eight, which should accommodate Milo. It dawned on me after he called you this morning. I haven’t talked to him in ages—and we haven’t seen the two of them socially for even longer.”

  “Nice thought,” I said, “but Milo’s doing surveillance tonight.”