Джонатан Келлерман - Serpentine

We stepped in. Roundish, four feet square, only a foot higher so we both needed to hunch.

Natural hollow created by the mock orange seeking sunlight. Tough posture for the long run but someone able to sit or squat comfortably would’ve been fine. And once sequestered, a stalker would be safe from view and able to sight through the shrub’s lacy growth.

Perfect hunter’s blind.

The prey, easy; giving himself away with shuffling and hard breathing.

Milo and I inspected the cavity. Not a shred of evidence left behind. Someone taking the time to clean up faultlessly.

We returned to the car and drove on.

Nothing different at Ellie’s residence until Milo pushed the bell and the door opened on a black man the size of a defensive tackle wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks. Iconic Security embroidered in gold above the breast pocket. The jacket had been left open, advertising the chunky handle of a black plastic automatic in a black mesh shoulder holster.

The guard’s eyes scanned us rapidly. Inspection over, he smiled but didn’t move or speak.

Milo said, “Lieutenant Sturgis.”

“Expecting you, sir. You don’t mind showing some I.D.”

Statement of fact, not a request.

Out came the badge.

“Nice. I got to sergeant.” He turned to me. “You’re the doctor?”

“Alex Delaware.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience but you don’t mind showing some I.D.”

Quick read of my driver’s license. “Thanks again and excuse the formality but regs are regs.”

Milo said, “Understood. Glad you’re here, friend. Name?”

“Melvin Boudreaux.”

“Louisiana?”

“Born in Baton Rouge,” said Boudreaux, “but moved to SoCal as a kid, worked El Monte PD eleven years. C’mon in, there’s a pitcher of iced tea. Had some, it’s good.”

Boudreaux held the door as we entered the house and crossed to the living room. Before closing the door, he checked out the street, then stationed himself in the entry hall.

Ellie was seated in the same chair. The coffee table was set with a pitcher of amber liquid, plastic glasses, napkins, a paper plate of cookies.

Since I’d seen her in the hospital, she’d lost skin tone and color. Maybe some weight, as well, though a baggy dress clouded that assessment. The dress was dust-colored printed with pale-pink flowers. On her feet were brown rubber bath sandals. No sign of the serpentine necklace. No adornment at all, not even a watch.

We sat on the couch. Milo said, “How’s Brannon doing?”

“Better?” she said, turning it into a question. “So far no infection, which was the main danger. I’m hoping to get him home in a couple of days. He’s miserable about not running.”

“Tough when you’re active.”

Biting her lip, she glanced at Mel Boudreaux. “I’m okay, Mr. B. Have some lunch, there’s that pasta and pizza in the fridge.”

Boudreaux said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left for the kitchen.

Milo said, “Good step, hiring him.”

Ellie said, “I had to, the first day—alone here—was terrifying. I didn’t eat or sleep. So there was no choice. He seems very competent. Do you know the company? I guess I should’ve asked you before?”

“I don’t but that doesn’t mean anything. Private security isn’t part of my world.”

“Yes, I’d imagine,” she said. “The people you deal with weren’t careful. Not that there was any reason for Brannon to be careful. Who’d imagine?” She placed her hands in her lap. Sat there, like a kid waiting for a reprimand. When none came, she said, “Have you given more thought to whether it’s related to my mother?”

Milo shook his head. “Whatever the reason, protecting yourself is a good idea.”

“I got the referral from the firm we use at our factories—the firm I used to use when I ran the company. I took your advice and told them it needed to be local and they said Iconic’s got a branch office right here in Hollywood, they do a lot of entertainment security. I also checked out references. Real ones, not online blurbs that can be faked Then I made calls to some CEOs I know. They come highly recommended…I still can’t believe it happened. It feels weirder now than right after. Is that normal, Dr. Delaware?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good…not that it matters. I suppose. Being normal. You feel what you feel and have no control. Right now I’m feeling pretty powerless. So what kind of feedback do you have for me, Lieutenant—and yes, I remember you said it was limited.” An almost-smile stretched and made the grade. “Don’t worry, my expectations are realistic.”

Despite the claim, her shoulders bunched as she scooted forward.

Milo said, “Before we get into that, is there anything else you’ve remembered since we last spoke?”

“Like what?”

“Anything, Ellie. Even if you think it’s too trivial to mention—maybe a remark your dad made before he passed? About your mom, their relationship, why she left?”

She edged back. “No, he never said much of anything, just that she’d left us behind.”

That sounded like blame. I said, “Did he have any resentment about that?”

“None at all,” she said, too quickly. Then she colored. “Okay, I’m lying. But only partially. For the most part, he really wasn’t emotional about it. But there was one time—only one time, so I’m not sure how relevant it is.”

Her spine was pressing against the chair-back. Full retreat but nowhere else to go. She looked from side to side, then down at her lap. “It was my fault, I was badgering him.”

“About your mom?”

“No, about something stupid—who remembers? This was back when I was in my rebel-without-a-cause stage, determined to torment him every way I could think of.”

The corners of her eyes filled with moisture. She used a napkin to dry them. “I really put him through it.”

I said, “How old were you?”

“Fourteen, fifteen—even part of thirteen got messed up. I think of those years as the hurricane season, they must’ve been hellish for him.” Deep sigh. “I didn’t say anything about this when we first met because I didn’t want to make her sound bad. But…”

We waited. She poured tea. Didn’t drink it. Pincer-grasped a cookie between thumb and forefinger, examined it, rotated it, put it down. “Oh, what the hey, might as well give you all the gory details. Back then, I wasn’t just truant, I was a major pain-in-the-ass stoner, hanging with other stoners, basically toking up all day.” Looking to the side. “Sometimes using more than weed.”

Waiting for a reaction. We gave her none. She shook her head. “Also…I was having sex with boys. Bad boys. Stupid boys. Doing everything I could to mess up my life.”

I said, “But your grades stayed good.”

She’d told us that but the memory seemed to jar her. “How do you know that?”

“You said so.”

“I did? My brain must be rotting—well, that’s true, I did everything wrong but still got all A’s. I attribute it to school being mostly a waste of time. I could read fast, had a good attention span, and those days I had an excellent memory. And even when I was slutting it up, I kept college tucked in a corner of my brain. Like, one day this is going to end and I’ll make something of myself. Anyway, I was rarely in class but ended up scoring in the school’s top three achievement test scores. That really ticked off the administration.”

I said, “Confronting them with their essential uselessness.”

She burst into laughter. Looked at me in a new way. Maybe this guy isn’t out to drill my skull.

“Ha ha, probably. Meanwhile, Dad’s at his wit’s end, no matter how many times he tried to explain things rationally and patiently, I did what he didn’t want. One day, he just lost it and started screaming at me. I was wasting my life, being an idiot, behaving like a strumpet—he actually used that word, strumpet. I thought it was hilarious, like something out of Monty Python. I laughed in his face and that did it. He turned purple—I mean literally, not just flushed, purple. And all dark around the eyes. It was bizarre. Like seeing a new creature morph.”