Motive

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “I guess if we’d done due diligence it would’ve ended before it began. But now my main concern is Merry Santos.”

  “And maybe Ursula Corey.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I hope not.”

  I said, “Given all his lies about employment, any idea how he’s supported himself?”

  “The only bona fide job he listed,” said Fellinger, “the only one I could confirm, was—get this—cooking. He worked as a chef in a New York restaurant. Not a full chef, some sort of assistant. I talked to the manager but he wasn’t helpful beyond ‘personal issues.’ But I can guess.”

  Another toss of hands. “Idiot couldn’t even hold on to a kitchen job!”

  CHAPTER

  31

  We remained in Fellinger’s office as Milo worked his phone. John Jensen Williams’s phone account had been disconnected weeks ago.

  I thought: disposables. His and hers.

  Maybe his his and hers, if you factored in Richard Corey, a man who’d used untraceables for years.

  The home address Williams had given the law firm traced to a body shop in East Hollywood. The proprietor, one Armand Hagopian, had never heard of Williams nor had he ever worked on the six-year-old Ford van Williams had registered in Connecticut.

  Learning all that turned Grant Fellinger a sickly shade of gray. “How the hell did we pay him?”

  Milo said, “That was going to be my next question.”

  A race-walk through the suite brought us to the desk of a woman in her sixties named Vivian who handled purchasing for the firm and doubled as the bursar. She said, “Oh, him. He picked up his check in person. Like clockwork.”

  Fellinger said, “You didn’t find that odd, Viv?”

  “I found him odd, Mr. F.”

  I said, “How so?”

  “I don’t know, just a little … removed? Like he was in another world? I didn’t mind the check, though. Saved us postage and an envelope, save some trees, huh, Mr. F.?”

  Back in Fellinger’s office, the three of us remained standing. Fellinger kept eyeing the booze, grew fidgety, laced his hands together as if imposing external restraint.

  I said, “How exactly did Williams react when you fired him?”

  “At first he said nothing. Stared at me—glared at me. I kept waiting for him to say something but he didn’t so I asked him if he had anything to offer. He didn’t even shake his head, just kept glaring, like he was trying to bore into my brain with his eyes. I’ve been to court and seen enough mind-games, it didn’t bother me. But objectively, it was creepy. I really understood what our gals had been going through.”

  “He had a way of being intrusive without actually doing anything.”

  “Yes. But let me reiterate: This was a totally different person from the one I hired.”

  Milo said, “So he just glared. That was it?”

  “No,” said Fellinger. “That changed when I began walking away and he said, ‘Just deserts.’ Which I took as a threat so I faced him and gave him a bit of stink-eye and he slinked off.”

  “Just deserts,” I said. “A chef using a food analogy.” Aiming that at Milo, not Fellinger.

  Fellinger said, “Not even a full chef, he’s obviously a loser.”

  Milo said, “How, specifically, did Meredith Santos say Williams bothered her?”

  “Same as the others. Hanging around—she called it an incursion into her personal space. And one time she also found him loitering outside the bathroom. But the main head, so a men’s room next to a women’s wasn’t overtly weird. What really bothers me about Merry is she was one of the last to complain about Jens.”

  I said, “Engaging him at his angriest.”

  Nod. “And now he’s gone and no one can find her.”

  He turned to Milo. “Please. Do your utmost. If something happened to Merry, I’d never get over it. She wasn’t on my personal staff, she worked for the entire firm, but we were—I suppose she considered me more available than the other partners. More prone to offering positive feedback. And Jens would know that, so if he’s trying to get to me—I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Any special perks for Ms. Santos beyond merit dinners?” said Milo.

  Fellinger blinked. Thick shoulders gathered around his bull-neck. “If you’re implying some sort of inappropriate relationship, you’re way off base, Lieutenant.”

  “Doing my job means asking questions, Mr. Fellinger.”

  “Fine. And the answer is no.”

  “So there’d be no reason beyond your getting along with Ms. Santos for Williams to use her against you.”

  Fellinger looked down. “Perhaps he resented—look, Lieutenant, I’m a red-blooded American guy but I understand boundaries.”

  I thought of his hand on Ursula Corey’s ass. Maybe Milo was thinking the same thing when he didn’t respond.

  Fellinger said, “Why in the world you’d want to waste time attacking me—”

  “Richard Corey told us you and Ursula were—”

  “Having an affair? Nonsense.”

  “Corey’s totally off base?”

  “About a romantic affair? Absolutely.”

  Milo stood there.

  Fellinger scratched the side of his broad, flared nose. “Were we screwing occasionally? Yes, we were. But that was pure recreational sex and it only happened after Ursula and Richard were separated irrevocably. In my mind, that doesn’t violate any boundaries whatsoever, because there was no power inequality between Ursula and myself. If anything, she had the upper hand.”

  “The checkbook.”

  “No need to be vulgar, Lieutenant. But yes, she was the client and I served at her convenience. So we had sex, big deal. I’m assuming we’re all adults here.”

  “Last I checked, sir. But you can see why we’d want to clarify.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.” Fellinger huffed. “If that idiot said Ursula and I were romantic, he was being delusional. Ursula was a red-blooded woman and I saw no reason not to indulge her. Frankly, if Richard could get it up in the first place, Ursula wouldn’t have been compelled to look elsewhere. I’ve worked on their case for five years and, to be brutally honest, Richard’s a washout in every way you can imagine.”

  “When we spoke to you the first time, you seemed less disapproving of him.”

  “I was being gracious,” said Fellinger. “Being professional. There was no reason to—in any event, what does any of this have to do with the issue at hand? I called you here about Merry. You need to look for her.”

  “How did Richard and Jens Williams get along?”

  Fellinger’s eyes widened. “I’m not aware of their getting along in any way—oh, no, you can’t be …” He backed behind his desk, began sitting down but was inches from the chair and had to catch his balance.

  His second attempt succeeded. “Richard and Jens? You have to be—Richard was an occasional presence here. How in the world would they ever develop any sort of—”

  “You never saw them together.”

  “Well, of course—I mean … Jens was my assistant, we had meetings, he’d obviously be in the same room during some of them.”

  He mopped his face with his handkerchief. “You really think the two of them had something to do with—they somehow colluded to kill Ursula?”

  Milo said, “We’re not even close to that, sir, and we’d appreciate you not suggesting it to anyone.”

  “Then why bring it up? You need to tell me—”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Fellinger, we’re not your employees.”

  “No. You’re not. Sorry. I’m simply worried about Merry and you keep hopping from topic to topic—let me say this. Much as I think Richard’s a wimp, I can’t see him wanting her dead. The entire crux of the negotiations was the interdependency of their relationship.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Without both of them, there’s no business, so why would Richard jeopardize his financial stability?”

  Milo said, “Let’s talk about Deird
re Brand.”

  “Her?” Fellinger paled. “You’re researching me? Why the hell would you—”

  “Ms. Brand was murdered—”

  “Nonsense. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Nothing ridiculous about it, sir.”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it that way, no one’s death is … trivial. What I’m saying is I had no connection to her, my lawsuit was discontinued because I was informed that she’d left town, hadn’t responded to subpoenas, couldn’t be located. I figured I’d done what I set out to do, put the matter out of my mind.”

  “What did you set out to do?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Lieutenant? I wanted to teach her a lesson. Even crazy people can’t be allowed to overstep.”

  I said, “Civics lesson for a schizophrenic.”

  Fellinger said, “You weren’t on the receiving end of her insanity, Doctor. But murdered? I was never told anything about murder. So let me go on the record: I’m sorry that happened. Yes, she was nuts and abusive but I certainly didn’t want to see her murdered.”

  “Who informed you she’d left town?”

  “The court informed me she couldn’t be found. I assumed she’d run away.”

  Milo said, “Learned her lesson and left.”

  “Obviously you people don’t grasp my situation with her. Put yourself in my shoes: A total stranger with a disturbed mind takes an inexplicable, pathological dislike to you. Every time she sees you she comes over, stands over you when you’re simply trying to eat your lunch. She rants and raves and shakes her fists and behaves in an overall threatening manner. All because one time she panhandled you and you had the temerity to refuse her. It got to the point where I was looking over my shoulder every time I went over to the mall for coffee or lunch or whatever. I had no choice but to try to have her put away.”

  “You were aiming for involuntary commitment,” I said.

  “Good luck with that, the system stinks. So I figured a civil suit might help lay some groundwork. Or maybe she’d get nervous and leave me alone.”

  I said, “To sue her, you had to serve her with papers. How’d you pull that off?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d think someone like that might be hard to get hold of.”

  Fellinger’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, God! Now I see where this is going. Shit.”

  Milo said, “Sir?”

  “Where was she killed, Lieutenant?”

  “A park in Santa Monica.”

  “No, no, no. I can’t believe this!” Fellinger poured a double, tossed it back, placed his hand over his chest. His color had gone bad, pallor and flush combining in a sickly mottle.

  Milo said, “You all right, sir?”

  “No, I’m not all right. This is too damn much.” Pressing his hands to his temples, he breathed heavily. “It’s nuts, no way.”

  “What is, sir?”

  Fellinger looked at me. “You’re right, serving her proved to be a giant hassle. I went out-of-pocket for several professional processors, including county marshals. No one succeeded in finding her. I brought up my frustration with Jens. He said, ‘No problem, Mr. F., I’ll take care of it.’ A few days later, he reported that he’d served her. I asked him how he’d pulled it off and he said he’d observed the mall until he spotted her but instead of confronting her, he kept an eye on her. Eventually, she left and boarded a bus that he got on, as well. She exited at a park in Santa Monica.”

  Fellinger wiped sweat from his brow. “He was quite proud of himself—said he went to a nearby liquor store, bought a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor, and taped the papers to it. The minute she took the bait, she was served.”

  Shaking his head. “I thanked him. And now she’s been murdered. Jesus. When was she killed?”

  I said, “Couple of months ago.”

  “Oh, God, please don’t tell me that woman died because some psycho misinterpreted my intentions.”

  Milo said, “No reason to blame yourself unless you got specific about hurting Deirdre Brand.”

  “Of course I didn’t! All I wanted was for her to be served.”

  “So maybe Williams is just a guy who does favors for those in authority.”

  “And now he hates me for firing him,” said Fellinger. “So he’s punishing me by taking Merry? Can you start searching for her instead of all this talk?”

  “We’ll try, sir.”

  “That doesn’t sound encouraging.”

  Milo walked out. I followed.

  We met back at his office. During my drive, I’d called and texted Darius Kleffer. So far, no reply. Milo shoved papers off his desk, including flyers for restaurants near the station.

  “Food,” he said. “Used to think I liked it.”

  He ran John Jensen Williams through NCIC, found the New York battery conviction as well as a voyeurism case in New Haven when Williams had been an eighteen-year-old freshman at Yale. Caught peeping through the dorm windows of female students, he’d received a suspended criminal sentence and had been expelled. The battery case—slapping a line cook at a Midtown restaurant—had been dropped for lack of evidence.

  Milo said, “Lucky boy. Unlucky society.”

  I said, “Maybe not quite so lucky with being forced out of Yale.”

  “No jail time for a guy we’re assuming is ultra-twisted sounds like lucky to me.”

  “That and he’s learned to be careful.”

  “Showing up outside the bathroom and creeping out women ain’t careful, Alex.”

  “I’ll amend that. Careful until recently.”

  “He’s falling apart? Great. Think he took the Santos girl?”

  “My guess would be more likely than not, but at this point I don’t trust my instincts.”

  “Why not?”

  “From Fellinger to Corey to Williams? I’ve been wrong about too damn much.”

  “Makes two of us. How the hell did you guess it was Williams? And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I called to tell you before we met up at Fellinger’s but you had your own news and hung up. I’d just found the tattoo parlor where Frankie was most recently inked and talked to the owner. Every time he worked on her, Williams was there, taking charge of the situation. Frankie was extremely submissive, sat there like a zombie, turned down a topical anesthetic, because pain made her feel like a person. Months before that, Williams brought Kathy Hennepin to the same place and tried to get her tattooed. The artist said she was uneasy but was on the verge of doing it. Then she burst out of the chair and split. Shortly after, she was dead and Frankie had taken her place.”

  “She tells Williams no and dies?”

  “A boy and his slaves.”

  “Jesus.” He pinched his nose, breathed out noisily, seemed amused by the sound-effect and sat back with his feet up. “So Williams was the evil wizard running Frankie’s life. Still see her as a possible button-woman for Ursula?”

  “Doesn’t sound as if Williams needs help killing anyone, but who knows?”

  “Kathy dies because she defied him, and he bashes in Deirdre’s brain in order to kiss up to the boss?”

  “His real motive is he enjoys stalking and destroying and defying authority. Which leads us all the way back to Richard Corey: an even richer man in need of a favor. Earl Cohen just told us he hated Ursula. The girls said the same to Laura Smith. Psychopaths are gifted at sniffing out need so that it wouldn’t have escaped Jens Williams’s attention, sitting in all those negotiation meetings, taking notes. Richard might as well have been spraying pheromones in Williams’s vicinity.”

  “Who do you think made the first move?”

  I said, “Definitely Williams. People like him are good at creating needs their clients didn’t know existed.”

  “He convinced Corey?”

  “More like insinuated himself into Corey’s consciousness. Maybe on a day when Richard looked particularly troubled. He was the perfect client with the perfect alibi. And no reason to connect him to Williams.”

>   “Corey begins his new life and Williams gets to do what he loves most.”

  I said, “Williams has no criminal record, and who’d suspect someone working for Ursula’s lawyer? On top of that, Williams belonged in the building and Ursula knew and trusted him. He escorts her to the elevator, keeps going—maybe making up a story about having to run an errand in his own car. Or the conversation just kept flowing and Ursula thought nothing of it. Williams walks with her, then positions himself behind her, calls out her name, and either he pops her or Frankie emerges and does it. Back to the office, wait until the cops arrive, feign shock.”

  Milo thought for a long time. “How do I find this bastard, seeing as his own boss has no idea where he lives?”

  “For a start, I’d put the watch back on cousin Sullivan, in case she’s sheltering him, wittingly or otherwise.”

  “Pleather Flo,” he said. “She’s who got Frankie to the building. Maybe I’ll luck out and they’re kissing cousins.”

  He phoned Reed and Binchy, informed them of the change of plans, then turned to me.

  “Kathy Hennepin got snagged the same way. Doing a damn delivery.”

  “Maybe her involvement wasn’t quite so random,” I said. “Williams worked as a chef in New York, we have to consider that he might’ve known Kleffer.”

  “Oh, man, what you said right at the beginning—Kleffer got a buddy to do Kathy.”

  “Or Williams hated Kleffer and targeted Kathy because of it. The restaurant scene is competitive. What if Williams and Kleffer vied for the same job and Williams lost out? Or Williams developed a grudge against Kleffer for another reason—he was arrested for battering another kitchen worker. Either way, he seduced Kathy as revenge.”

  “And she just happens to deliver to his building?”

  “Maureen Gross told us she volunteered to deliver those papers. What if she was going with Williams by then, saw the address on the documents, and took the opportunity to combine business with pleasure?”

  “When Kathy dumped Kleffer she told him she needed someone more stable. What, Williams convinced her his cuisine was more haute?”

  “More likely Williams conned her the same way he conned Fellinger.”