Джонатан Келлерман - Serpentine

“Suicide due to guilt?”

“That or his life just hadn’t worked out. It makes more sense than some phantom killer chasing him down years after doing Dorothy. Who’d know about the place other than him?”

“How about her L.A. boyfriend—pillow talk and all that.”

“Seventeen years later?” I said. “And what’s the motive?”

“True,” he said. “If Barker did kill her, he stayed mad rather than guilty? Exploding on Ellie and telling her Mom was a slut.”

“A strumpet.”

“ ’Scuse me. Am I making sense?”

“Rage can coexist with guilt. Or fluctuate depending on what else is going on in a person’s life.”

“Barker’s life doesn’t sound like a hoot,” he said. “No other relationships, Ellie gives him teenage shit and then leaves for college. So he goes back to the park and does a swan dive? Or maybe has one of the accidents you guys say really aren’t—getting all emotional, distracting himself, stumbling and tumbling.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Great. Do I get my Ph.D.? Hey, look at the pace car.”

Brief lapse in four lanes of two-way traffic. He made the left, barely avoiding a thundering Corvette.

“Goddamn hot dog. Guy obviously ran a light and jumped the gun.” We coasted down the hill.

“If Barker’s our bad guy,” he said, “and inflicted capital punishment on himself, you see any link to Arlette? Or Seeger’s motorcycle crash?”

I said, “Accidents do happen.”

“Nothing with Freudian overtones?”

“If I come up with anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

We stopped at the light at Franklin, waiting behind a dozen other cars.

“A world of possibilities, no evidence,” he said. “Translation: hell.”

His pocket got musical, the cellphone beeping manically paced violin music.

He fished it out. “Sturgis.”

“Lieutenant, it’s Val Des Barres.”

“Hi, what’s up.”

“I’m sure you’re busy, don’t want to bother you. But if you do get some time in the near future, perhaps we could chat?”

“About what, ma’am?”

“I’d rather discuss it in person.”

“Okay. I can be there in twenty minutes or so.”

“Right now?” she said.

“If it’s not a problem.”

“I guess. Sure, why not. But let’s not do it at the house. I’d prefer to meet you down the road where it happened.”

Milo said, “Like I told you, we’re not sure where that is.”

“The approximate spot, then. If that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all, we’ll pick you up.”

“No need,” she said. “Call or text when you get there and I’ll come down. What are you driving?”

“A green Chevy Impala.”

“Okay, then. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

Click.

The light turned green. Milo said, “Can I dare to hope?”

“Maxine says without optimism, there’s nothing.”

“Maxine’s a smart woman, so for the time being, I’ll go with that.”

“My optimism doesn’t count?”

“You’re biased,” he said. “You care.”

CHAPTER 25

He took Franklin west to La Brea, continued on Hollywood Boulevard, passing the elegant, vintage apartment buildings and newer rectangles that made up the skimpy residential section of the boulevard.

A right onto Laurel rewarded us with congestion due to work crews that weren’t working, followed by a crawl up to Mulholland and a right turn that granted us isolation and clarity.

He sped to the spot Du Galoway had guesstimated, pulled to the left and parked, and we got out of the car.

Interesting sky, the western half a lucid blue so saturated with pigment it bordered on lurid, the eastern section a mirage-like mass of smoke-colored clouds. Probably ocean currents doing half the job. The separation was almost artificial.

Below all that, the Valley was a vast circuit board, brown and white and beige, with dots of coral red where tile roofs sprouted like spores.

Milo phoned Val Des Barres.

She said, “On my way.”

—

Minutes later, a white Mazda CX SUV appeared from the east, rolling slowly. Val Des Barres stopped five yards from where we stood, stuck her hand out the driver’s window to wave, and pulled over behind the unmarked.

Milo went to open her door. She got there first, smiled and said, “Thanks,” paused for a moment before following us to the edge of the drop.

Sunglasses blocked her eyes. She wore another shapeless dress, no pattern, just green cotton, a dark shade just shy of black, with pockets below the waistline and frilly sleeves. The blue section of the sky was radiating sunlight and it highlighted gray strands in her dark hair, amplifying them, making them glow like electric filament.

She said, “So this is near where it happened.”

“Best guess,” said Milo.

“I’ve probably passed by here—what, ten thousand times? No idea something so horrid ever took place. We have had other incidents. Cars and motorbikes going over, mostly kids speeding in the dark. At night it’s a tough road if you don’t know where you’re going. Did it happen at night?”

“Most likely.”

“But you’re saying this couldn’t have been an accident.”

“Definitely not. What’s on your mind, Ms. Des Barres?”

“Your visit is,” she said. “I can’t seem to get it out of my head. The fact that something so terrible happened to a person who lived with us. The fact that it was Ellie Barker’s mother of all people. She seemed such a sweet person. I can’t help thinking Fate put us together.”

She turned and faced us. In the process, shifting herself inches closer to the edge. Milo guided her away.

She said, “Oh, my—thanks.” Off came the sunshades. Her eyes were soft, searching.

“Why did I call you? Because how can I ignore reality? How can I ignore the fact that this person—Dorothy—may have known my father? When you showed up, I was numb. Then it turned seismic. Emotionally speaking.”

She rubbed the side of her nose. Moved farther from the edge, rubbed again, blinked, folded her lips inward. “I called you, Lieutenant, because I can’t eliminate the possibility that my father was involved in something terrible.”

Milo’s eyes sparked for a second before returning to detective-impassive. During the moment of surprise, the blue half of the sky had turned his green irises aqua.

He tapped his thigh and waited. Valerie Des Barres looked at me. I played statue.

She said, “This is hard for me.”

He said, “Take your time.”

“Time won’t help…it’s too…I’m not saying I have any evidence, it’s just a…it’s more than a feeling.” She licked her lips. “Can we sit in my car? I’m feeling like my balance is slipping.”

—

Milo sat in the front passenger seat, I took the back and scooted to the right to see as much of Val’s profile as possible.

Tight jaw, the lips folding and unfolding, again. Dainty hands gripping the steering wheel.

She said, “All right, no sense putting it off. You remember what I told you about Father changing after Mother died.”

“Of course.”

“Radical change,” she said. “Looking back, I think he was depressed. I was ten, didn’t think in those terms. I did know he’d changed. Went to work, as usual, came home and did his best to be fatherly but he really couldn’t pull it off. He’d give me a token greeting, a hug, force himself to chat, and then he’d escape to his bedroom or his study, close the door and stay there. Bill and Tony were both away at school, so I spent a lot of time alone. Sometimes I wondered if it was something I’d done. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t neglected, he hired a couple of nannies to take care of me and they were okay.”