Jonathan Kellerman - Billy Straight

Ashland was a pretty, sloping street in the best part of Ocean Park, houses of all sizes, every conceivable architectural style. Breshear’s place was at the top, a small, well-maintained craftsman cottage with lots of cactus in the front, thatches of sword plant instead of lawn. White BMW ragtop in the driveway, behind an iron gate. Bright lights over the gate hinted at a fantastic backyard view. She rang the bell, and Breshear answered, wearing a black T-shirt and baggy green shorts, holding a bottle of Heineken. When he saw her, his eyes bulged.

“This is a bad time,” he said. “My wife…”

“It could get worse,” she said. “I think you lied to me. We found Lisa’s car today. Right here in Venice. Did you have a date with her Sunday night? If you did, we’ll find out.”

He looked over his shoulder. Closed the door and came out and said, “Can we move out to the sidewalk?”

“Won’t your wife get curious?”

“She’s in the bath.”

Petra accompanied him to the sidewalk.

“It wasn’t really a date,” he said. “She just said she wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know-oh hell, yeah, she wanted to get it on.”

“So you’d continued your relationship past those glorious seven days.”

“Not really,” he said. “Just once in a while, maybe once a month.”

“Your idea?”

“Definitely not. Lisa’s, one hundred percent.”

“My, my,” said Petra. “Lisa, Kelly, your wife-what’s her name, by the way?”

“Marcia.” Breshear looked back at the house. “Look-”

“Busy guy,” said Petra.

“It’s no crime.”

“Obstructing justice is.”

“I didn’t obstruct anything. It-I had nothing to say that would help you, because by the time I got there, she was gone. What would it look like, saying I went to meet up with her that night.” Staring at Petra. “A black man, we know what that’s all about.”

“Cut the racial crap,” said Petra. “The only civil rights that were violated were Lisa’s. What time were you supposed to meet her?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“When did you set it up?”

“She set it up. That day. She called me at work around seven.”

“You were working Sunday?”

“Doing a final cut. Check with the lot guard-I signed in.”

“I will,” said Petra. “So Lisa called you to get together.”

“She said she was lonely, down, had been sleeping all day, took some coke, now she was wired, couldn’t sit still, how about a cruise.”

The car; always in the car.

“A cruise,” said Petra.

“She wanted to get together at nine, but I told her I’d be working till then, had a date at Kelly’s place right afterward, but I’d see if I could slip out around ten-thirty, meet her behind the bus yard.”

“Why there?”

“We’d met there before. It’s…”

“Clandestine?”

“I didn’t like it, too much crime around there, but Lisa did. The risk turned her on.” He shrugged.

Petra said, “Go on.”

“I had trouble getting out. Kelly… kept me busy till after eleven. Finally, I told her I needed to get some air, was going to take a little drive. I made it by eleven-ten or so and Lisa’s car was there but she wasn’t. I waited around till eleven-twenty, figured she’d showed up and left.”

“The car was there, but she wasn’t,” said Petra. “That didn’t worry you?”

“Like I said, Lisa liked to take risks. Doing it at traffic lights, a cop car right next to us. Coldwater Canyon, that kind of thing. I figured maybe she’d met up with someone else, was having a good time. Which was okay with me. I really didn’t want to see her that night. Didn’t want to see her at all, but…”

“But what?”

“You know how it is. I have trouble telling women no.”

“When did you get back to Kelly’s?”

“Had to be eleven twenty-five, eleven-thirty.”

“And you spent the night there.”

“That’s the absolute truth.”

“The perfect alibi Kelly gave you wasn’t.”

“Come on,” he said. “I was only out for half an hour max. No way could I have made it to Griffith-”

“You and Kelly are both liable for perjury and obstruction,” said Petra.

“Come on. Please! You’re making a big deal out of nothing!”

Petra walked up close to him, pointed at his chest, but didn’t touch it. “At the very least, you cost me a lot of hours, Mr. Breshear. If there’s anything else you know, spill it now.”

“I don’t, that’s it.”

She stared him down.

He repeated, “I don’t.”

“Listen to me,” she said, pointing again. “I’m not arresting you. Yet. But don’t even come close to thinking about going anywhere. There’ll be police officers watching your house and the studio. Surveillance on Kelly, too. You guys make the wrong move, it all hits the fan. Including a nice long chat with Marcia.”

Breshear blinked convulsively.

This feels good, Petra admitted to herself. Finally, someone she could intimidate on this damn case.

As she walked away, the front door opened and a woman’s voice said, “Darrell honey? Who was that?”

She drove back to her apartment, head suddenly clear, the basic structure of Lisa’s last night alive taking form-if Breshear was finally being straight.

A meet at 10:30, abducted between then and 11:20, taken to Griffith Park, at least a half-hour ride, probably longer. Murdered between midnight and 4.

The car. Which one? PLYR 1? PLYR 0? Some other set of wheels? Ramsey, with his multiple vehicles, multiple houses, fences, gates, Larry Schick, was a nightmare suspect. Crime paid if you started out rich.

It was nearly eleven when she walked through the door. Too late to call him? She did anyway. Four rings, then a little girl’s munchkin voice said, “When you hear the beep, leave a message. Beep. And beep and beep and-”

Ron broke in. “Banks.”

“Hi, it’s Petra.”

“Petra.” Saying her name with pleasure. She could use some adulation. “How’s it going?”

She told him about the Porsche, Breshear’s revised story, the new time frame.

“Think he’s dirty?”

“Unless his girlfriend’s lying big-time about his alibi, he didn’t have the time, but who knows? What’s up?”

“I phoned Carpinteria Sheriff’s again, asked if they could keep an eye on Ramsey’s house. They said they’d upped patrols already, and today at six forty-five, I got a callback, tried to reach you at your office but they said you’d already left. Turns out Ramsey hasn’t been spotted there for a while, but Greg Balch showed up this morning, left his Lexus, and drove back in a Jeep that belongs to Ramsey, license plate-”

“ PLYR ZERO, ” said Petra.

“So you know already.”

“I knew Ramsey owned the Jeep, didn’t know Balch picked it up.”

“Didn’t want to step on your toes-calling Carpinteria-but I’d already made contact with them, figured it would be efficient. A deputy stopped Balch driving off the property around noon. Balch showed him ID, a business card, snapshot of him and Ramsey, keys to the house. Said he was there to pick up the car, bring it down for service. Which seems odd-there are plenty of mechanics in Santa Barbara.”

“An extra-careful cleaning?” said Petra. Or Ramsey wanted a four-wheeler because he was planning to do some heavy-terrain driving? Those hills…

“Maybe Ramsey’s spooked now that you’ve got a potential witness.”

“Maybe.” She told him about Larry Schick’s call.

“There you go,” he said. “Anyway…”

“Thanks again, Ron. Your daughter has a cute voice.”

“Wha- Oh, that’s Bee, she loves to perform. They’re both asleep now. Finally.”