Jonathan Kellerman - Guilt

Buzz stood straighter. “Sir. We’re all about proper procedure.”

Milo saved his laughter until we were well away. Not a pleasant sound, quick and harsh as a gunshot.

Liz Wilkinson stood just outside the perimeter of the bone-dump. A team of three crime scene techs had nailed up an inner cordon on stakes, was photographing, bagging and tagging. Moe Reed stood near enough to observe, far enough to avoid getting in their way.

Liz said, “Got some new data for you. The front of the face exhibits no breakage or damage of any sort. No erupted teeth on either jaw, the buds are barely visible, I’m estimating age at around two months. And Alex, you were right about the bones being coated. When I got up close I could smell beeswax, it’s got a distinct aroma. My father collects antique tea caddies and he uses it to shine them up. So maybe we’re dealing with another type of collector. Some sort of fetishist.”

Milo repeated the enraged-father theory.

She said, “A father preserving his own child’s bones?” She looked at me.

I said, “You know the drill: Anything’s possible.”

“God, I hope that’s not how it turns out. These past few days are already testing my detachment mettle.”

“If there were faint tool marks could they be spotted under the wax?”

“I think so but I’ll find out when I get them magnified. I’ll x-ray every single one, maybe we’ll get lucky and internal damage due to disease will show up, or a subtle injury. The nice thing-God, that sounds horrible-is that fresh infant skeletal remains have the best chance of yielding genetic material.”

Milo said, “Fresh, as opposed to the first ones.”

“DNA’s been extracted from eons-old tissue so I’m guardedly optimistic on those, as well.”

“That like nervously calm?”

She grinned. “Kind of. Anyway, Mommy and Baby should be easy enough to verify.”

“Good,” said Milo. “I like answers.”

Milo and I drove back to his office, where he searched missing persons for a match to the dead woman. By three p.m., twenty-eight possibilities had surfaced. By six, each lead had fizzled. An initial foray into one of the national data banks proved fruitless but there were other lists. So many women unaccounted for.

My phone rang. Service operator letting me know that Holly Ruche had canceled her appointment.

“Any reason given?”

“No, Doctor, but she did sound kind of tense. You’d think that would be a bad time to cancel, huh?”

I agreed and amended my date book.

Milo was staring at a phone-photo he’d taken of the dead woman. He said, “Even if her main squeeze doesn’t miss her, someone will. Time to go back to the media. Starting with that reporter.” He checked the blue-bound murder book he’d begun on the old bones, found what he was looking for. “Kelly LeMasters, you’re my new girlfriend. And that’s saying a lot.”

He punched numbers, barked, “Sturgis, call me.” Moments later, his office phone rang.

I said, “That was quick.”

“The old charm kicking in.” He switched to speaker.

Deputy Chief Maria Thomas said, “How’s it going on the two you picked up today?”

“Just started, Maria.”

“Run the details by me.” Not sounding the least bit curious.

He gave her basics.

She said, “How are you planning to I.D. your adult vic?”

“The usual way.”

“Meaning?”

“Our pals in the press. Just left a message for the Times reporter.”

“What message?”

“To call me back.”

“When she does,” said Thomas, “undo it.”

“What?”

“Tell her you were just touching base on the old one, don’t give her anything on the new ones.”

“Why would I touch base without new info?”

“Figure something out.”

“What’s going on, Maria?”

“You know the answer.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Think.”

“Edict from on high?”

“An administrative decision has been made.”

“Why?”

“Can’t get into that, nor can I advise you how long it’ll be operative.”

“On the first bones you couldn’t wait to play Meet the Press . In fact, you did it without letting me-”

“Flexibility,” said Thomas, “is the hallmark of good management.”

“What the hell changed?”

“Nothing changed. The cases aren’t the least bit similar.”

“Exactly, Maria. The first one was ancient history. With these new ones I might actually get a lead by going public.”

“Or not,” said Thomas.

“What’s the risk?”

“As I said, the cases are structurally different. The first bones were perceived as a human-interest story. Historical, quaint, however you want to put it.”

“A dead baby is quaint?”

“No one likes a dead baby, Milo, but the consensus is that we probably don’t have a murdered baby, are most likely dealing with natural causes, some sort of extreme grief reaction. The consensus is also that lacking media input you’d never close it, but that with media exposure you had a minimal chance. Obviously, that hasn’t panned out, so much for good press for the department.”

“This is about P.R.?”

“Have you seen the latest city council budget proposals?”

“I avoid smut.”

“Some of us don’t have that luxury and trust me, it’s bad, we’re talking across-the-board slash-and-burn like I’ve never seen before. Given that, some touchy-feely closure on a poor little baby would’ve been nice.”

“That doesn’t answer my first question, Maria. Why a blackout on the new ones? Closing real murders is gonna make us look even better.”

“Whatever,” she said. “Meanwhile, do not talk to the Times , or anyone else in the media.”

“How do I I.D. my adult victim, let alone a sack of bones?”

“Did your adult victim appear homeless or otherwise a lowlife?” said Thomas.

“No, and that’s exactly why I figured-”

“If she’s not a throwaway, someone will report her missing.”

“So I wait.”

“You do your job and obey directives.”

“Whose secret are we keeping, Maria?”

“Stop whining. Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Not in my business.”

“We’re in the same business.”

“Are we?” he said.

She snickered. “It didn’t take long, did it? The outrage, the self-righteousness, the lonely warrior tilting against windmills.”

“Who’s tilting? I just want to-”

“Listen and listen well because I’m only going to explain it one more time: There’s a strong desire among those responsible for the decisions that govern your professional life to avoid getting lurid with this particular case at this particular juncture.”

“Lurid as in …”

“Yuck-stuff,” she said. “As in more baby bones start popping up all over the place because psychotics get stimulated by coverage. Go ask your shrink friend, he’ll tell you about that kind of thing.”

“Yuck-stuff,” he said, “that just happens to take place in a high-end neighborhood. A dead woman and baby bones in Nickerson Gardens would be a whole different story.”

“Discussion over,” said Thomas.

Click .

Milo swiveled and faced me. “You’re an ear-witness. That actually happened.”

I said, “Your point about which neighborhood got to her. May I?”

As I pulled my chair up to his computer, he rolled his back to give me room.

A check of viprealestate.net subheaded cheviot hills pulled it up in nanoseconds.

Last year, Maxine Cleveland, a recently retired county supervisor, had purchased a “thirteen room Mediterranean manse” on an oversized lot on Forrester Drive in the “leafy upscale district of Cheviot Hills.”