Джонатан Келлерман - Serpentine

Taking it places you don’t want to go, kid.

She said, “That’s reassuring. I guess.”

Another flick of constricted muscle.

If you only knew.

Boudreaux’s baritone floated down from the top of the landing. “You have bar soap? She doesn’t do liquid.”

Ellie Barker said, “Let me go up and check. If I don’t, I’ll get some. Whatever makes her comfortable.”

She trudged up the stairs and Boudreaux descended. Milo motioned him into the living room. Boudreaux kept his mouth shut and his eyes clear, ready for input.

Milo said, “The break-in looks bona fide but something came up that’s leaning me toward a staging. Not gonna get into details but an ex-D might be a bad guy and that’s who you should prioritize when you’re looking around. Don’t ask why, too complicated.”

“Don’t like complicated,” said Boudreaux.

Milo gave him Galoway’s name and described Galoway’s car.

“Red Jag,” said Boudreaux.

“I know, conspicuous. So there could be another vehicle registered to him. Once I find out, I’ll let you know. One more thing: Galoway might be operating in someone else’s interests, not just his own.” He cocked his chin toward the stairs. “This you absolutely keep to yourself.”

Nod.

“Girlfriend, she’d be early sixties.”

“Senior citizen,” said Boudreaux.

“Don’t let that comfort you, Mel. If it’s true, her kind of bad doesn’t fade with age.”

“You’re not saying…”

“I am saying.” Milo lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “Mommy not-so-dearest.”

Boudreaux blinked, then turned steely. “Interesting.”

“You have a way with words, my friend.”

“My philosophy,” said Boudreaux. “Fewer the better.”

—

At the Impala, Milo put the shotgun back in the trunk and his case on the backseat.

I said, “Wow, Dad, I get to go in front.”

“Not for free. Start ideating.”

“About what?”

“Who what where how then start over again. Any damn thing that floats into your cranium, let Boudreaux do the taciturn bit.”

By the time he wended his way back to Los Feliz and made the iffy left turn, I hadn’t spoken.

He said, “Ahem.”

“Don’t have much to add.”

“Then add a little. For practice.”

“You don’t need me to tell you, you just told Boudreaux. Priority is learning what you can about Galoway.”

He tapped the wheel impatiently, headed west on Franklin, barely acknowledged the next few stop signs. “Any suggestions?”

I said, “When I looked him up, I came across an article from a town where he served on the city council. Forget the town’s name, it’s in my notes back home. Some sort of controversy about zoning, there was one councilor on the other side. Nothing like political enemies.”

“Excellent. See—once that massive brain of yours starts ticking it keeps going. Next.”

“You’re putting your order in, huh?”

“I am indeed. And throw in some bagels and a schmear.”

I laughed. Thought for a while. Heard no ticking. “Okay, assuming Galoway’s been lying about everything, the part about his captain forcing the case on him could be bullshit. Just the opposite could be the case, if we’re right about him and Dorothy being together.”

“Galoway volunteered.”

“In order to find out what was known and then get rid of the files. Galoway said the captain was obese and a smoker but given his credibility, it’s worth trying to locate him. That name I do remember: Gregory Alomar. Reminded me of the baseball player.”

“Which one?”

“Robbie Alomar.”

“You follow baseball?”

“Intermittently.”

“I’m intermittent with football. Got my head knocked around plenty in high school, that’s why I rely on your memory. Okay, let’s start with Alomar. Call Petra and see if anyone at Hollywood remembers him.”

I tried, got voicemail, left a message.

Milo said, “The nerve, working her own cases. Anything else?”

“Maybe carefully read the article on Martha and see if any details help.”

“Let’s both re-read. How’s the rest of your day shaking out?”

“Open unless Robin needs me for something.”

“I’ll drop you at your car and meet you back at your place. Your kitchen has that big table for a work surface, the light, the peace and quiet.”

Not to mention self-serve catering.

“Also,” he said, “the cuisine. But not what you’re thinking, we’re getting deluxe takeout on my tab. Spago, Jean-Georges, you name it. We’ll use Grubhub or something to deliver, throw in perks for the pooch. That work for you? If it doesn’t, now’s the time for stoic.”

CHAPTER 33

When I got home, Milo was already there, parked in front. No surprise, the way he’d been driving.

As we climbed the stairs to the entry terrace, he said, “Found out a few more things about ol’ Du, and yeah, he’s been creative. He doesn’t live in Ojai, never did from what I can tell, has a place in Tarzana mostly owned by the bank. If he’s married or living with someone, they’re not on the papers. The Jag’s leased, from the amount still owed to the bank probably one of those minimal-down-payment deals.”

“Possible money problems.”

“At the very least, he’s not as well heeled as he wanted us to think. The vehicle he does own outright is a ten-year-old Isuzu Trooper. Again, no one else on the papers, so if Dorothy-Martha is still kicking around, she’s got her own wheels. I told Boudreaux to be ready for anything.”

I said, “Think he’s really vegan or into meat?”

He laughed. “I’m not even getting near that.”

—

I unlocked the door and looked for Robin. Not in the house. No surprise, when she’s fired up creatively, weekends get no respect.

Milo spread documents on the kitchen table.

I said, “Back in a sec.”

No answer. He’d opened Dark Detective, was deep into the Lolita story.

I thought of Martha Hopple’s eyes. So young and so hard. When they start that way, no telling what they’re capable of.

—

As I passed through the garden to the studio, my phone chirped.

Petra said, “Got a missed call from you. What’s up?”

“Quite a bit but best to hear it from Big Guy. He’s in my kitchen right now.”

“I know psychologists like to be enigmatic but give me a clue.”

“Dorothy Swoboda might be alive and Du Galoway might be her boyfriend.”

Silence.

“That’s…a lot to take in, Alex. Okay, I’ll get the details from the heights of Olympus. You want to hear about Captain Alomar or should I tell Milo?”

“He’s alive?”

“And well. If Big Guy’s in the kitchen, where are you ? Foraging Bel Air for rare and exotic edibles?”

I laughed. “On the way to say hi to Robin.”

“Such a good boyfriend,” she said. “I give her a lot of credit.”

—

I expected Robin to be working on the mandolin but she’d taken on the re-fret of a lovely, petite, hundred-year-old Martin guitar, the kind of comparatively simple job she sometimes tackles in spare moments.

She stopped cutting fret-wire and looked down, amused, as Blanche nuzzled my leg. “Not going to match her devotion to that extent but happy you’re back. Any luck?”

“Total paradigm shift.” I explained.

She said, “Lolita. Wonder what Nabokov would think. So what’s next?”

“More research. Commencing in our kitchen as we speak. Milo insists on footing dinner—gourmet takeout.”

“Not necessary, honey, we’ve got leftovers.”

“He’s thinking Spago or the like.”

“Whoa,” she said. “So you played a major role in the shift—no, no, don’t aw shucks me.”