Джонатан Келлерман - Serpentine

“That’s fine if you can disguise yourself sufficiently so Galoway doesn’t see the same face in different sets of wheels.”

Jen Arredondo made a soft, mouse-like noise.

Milo looked at her.

She said, “I do makeup. Did. In high school, for drama.”

“Excellent, what can you do with Detective Reed?”

Arredondo blushed. “Um, there’s beards, mustaches. Wigs. If you want to go to the next level, there’s putty you can add to the nose or the chin. We did that on Les Miz. ”

Alicia grinned. “You can turn him into Quasimodo?”

“There was no one like that…”

Milo said, “Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

Alicia said, “Oops.”

Arredondo said, “I mean I’m not like a professional but I could change him.”

Milo said, “Give me a list of what you need.”

“Is it okay if I contact my drama teacher? He knows where to get everything.”

“Long as he’s not a felon with a big mouth.”

“I don’t think so…”

“Tell him you’re working on the department Christmas show.”

“You have one of those?” said Arredondo.

Milo smiled. “This works out, we just might. Okay, kids, let’s plan on starting tomorrow. I’ll set up the vehicles, tell you where to pick them up.”

Arredondo said, “Um, sir? What will I be delivering?”

“Not sure, yet. Let’s see what Detectives Reed and Bogomil come up with first.”

“I could do one of those magazine subscription deals? Ring the bell, someone answers I give a speech about bargains?”

“Too close for comfort, Officer.”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” said Arredondo, not sounding convinced.

“Did you act in the school play or just do makeup?”

“Makeup, sir. But I did magazine subscriptions for real. Two summers, between my junior and senior years. I sold quite a few.”

“Hmm, let me think about it. One more thing: If at any point Galoway shows himself and anyone can follow safely, do it. Any questions? Okay, then—”

“Actually, sir,” said Arredondo, fidgeting.

All eyes on her.

“Yes, Officer.”

“It’s not a question, sir, it’s something that maybe is relevant?”

Out of her pocket came a folded sheet of paper. “I’ve been looking at the sites with all the missings on them whenever I have a chance and a couple of hours ago something came up. While I was eating breakfast.”

Alicia said, “Working meal? Dedicated.”

More blush. “I had nothing else to do.”

“That’s good, Jen. Really.”

Arredondo shrugged.

Milo took the paper and read. “Great work, Officer. Unbelievably great work.”

For the first time since I’d met her, Jen Arredondo smiled.

Below the photo of Benicia Cairn was a new string of comments.

I’m not sure if I want to get involved but looking at this picture really threw me because I knew this woman. It was a long time ago and it was actually someone else I was looking for but then I saw her and it really threw me. The thing is I don’t know anything that could help the police find her and I’m not sure I want to get involved. I could use some advice from those of you who come here frequently. Do you think there’s a moral obligation even though I can see nothing I have will help? V.Q.

That sparked six responses, one of which said a response wasn’t necessary “if you really have nothing new,” and five that offered counsel similar to that of Bonnie from Tulsa:

see your conflict V but I’d say contact the cops anyway because you never know they could be holding something back they do that to confuse the criminal so you might have something that fits that.

Milo looked at me.

I said, “V.”

Jen Arredondo said, “It could be something?”

“We know of another woman who associated with Benni Cairns and Dorothy named Victoria Barlow. You all know how we feel about coincidences. So let me try to sort this out. We’ll still keep tomorrow in mind but there might be a delay.”

Alicia leaned over and slapped Arredondo’s back lightly. “Let’s hear it for breakfast.”

Milo pointed to the sandwiches. “Next we’ll hear it for lunch. Officer Arredondo, you pick first.”

CHAPTER 37

Back in his office, he looked at the Azalea photo. “V. Gotta be.”

I said, “One less corpse, it would be nice.”

“Any reason I shouldn’t try to contact her?”

“Not that I can see.”

“How hard do I beg?”

I said, “Time to dig out the magnetism.”

Dear V, this is Lt. Milo Sturgis the lead investigator on Benicia Cairn’s disappearance. I’d greatly appreciate if you did get in touch. No problem keeping you anonymous. Email me as above or phone this number at the desk of the Los Angeles Police Department Westside Division.

He re-read and sent. Sat back and pulled out a panatela and passed it between his hands. “Now I wait. You know what’s gonna happen.”

I said, “A bit of slag then hopefully gold.”

“A bit? I should be so lucky.”

—

During the next hour, twelve responses popped up under Benni Cairn’s photo. Inquiries about other L.A. missings plus bellicose gripes about the department’s insensitivity and incompetence.

Nothing initially from V.

I’d used the time to rewrite some preliminary custody findings, finding the claustrophobic space surprisingly good for concentration.

Shortly after one p.m., he said, “You finished?”

“You’ve been waiting?”

“Just for a few, you were looking professorial. Hungry? Even if you aren’t, let’s go.”

We left and walked toward the war room.

I said, “Leftover sandwiches?”

“You kidding? Rank has its privileges.”

—

The weather had turned encouraging. Cloudless blue sky, seventy-two degrees, dry but not Saharan.

“This,” he said, “is why we live here. You up for a walk—scratch that, stupid question.”

We headed north to Santa Monica Boulevard, crossed, continued several blocks to Wilshire, walked west and covered an additional half mile. Moving briskly, my runner’s lungs and his long stride a good partnership.

The place he chose was Italian. Pleasant and clean but nothing out of the ordinary and no shortage of Italian close to the station. I figured he needed to stretch physically and mentally.

We ordered spaghetti carbonara and iced tea and took a cop’s corner booth: facing the door with a clear view of anyone who entered but far enough to provide extra seconds for reacting to the unexpected. I’ve only seen him make use of that once: overpowering a ranting, knife-wielding psychotic who’d burst into his favorite Indian place. Milo had responded with astonishing swiftness, tackling, restraining, cuffing, calling for backup. Resuming his meal when the uniforms took the invader away as if nothing had happened.

He tucked a napkin under his collar. The Godfather look. “Anything you want to add to what I told the troops?”

“Nope.”

“Way I see it, best case is Dorothy’s living with Galoway. Second best is she isn’t but he shows himself, Moe or Alicia can pull off a good tail and he leads us to her. The problem is, so what? No physical evidence or witnesses to justify a phone triangulation or a call subpoena, and these two don’t sound like the confessing sort.”

I thought about that. Was still considering when the food came.

Instead of picking up his fork, he stared at me.

I said, “The only thing I can think of is try to set them against each other.”

“If they even talk to me.”

“Galoway will. He’s a show-off.”

“All the years they’ve been together and he’ll just fold?”

“Personality problems are on your side.”