Jonathan Kellerman - Guilt

Holly Ruche had phoned at six, apologizing for canceling and wanting another appointment. I left her a message saying okay. A hundred and ten minutes later, we rolled into La Jolla.

Donald and Lilly Chang lived a brief stroll from the UCSD campus in a massive, gated complex called Regal Life La Jolla. Four-story brown-and-beige apartment blocks were surrounded by Torrey Pines. So was most of the beach town, where land didn’t nudge blue Pacific.

Gorgeous place, warm night. A lot more temperate than Portland though I doubted Adriana Betts had weather on her mind when she’d moved.

Searching for the right kind of job: caring for other people’s little treasures.

I knew all about that.

Milo rolled up to the Regal Life guardhouse. No need to flash the badge, Lilly Chang had left his name. We parked in a visitors’ area, walked past fountains, flagstone roundabouts, perfect palms and pines and coral trees, precise sections of velvet lawn.

It took a while to locate the building but we got buzzed through the security door immediately.

A redheaded, exuberantly freckled woman wearing enormous blue-framed eyeglasses, a black T-shirt, and baggy green linen pants responded to Milo’s knock. Her feet were bare. The shirt read I May Look Lazy but on a Cellular Level, I’m Quite Busy .

“Hi, I’m Lilly, c’mon in. Donald’s showering, he’ll be right with you.”

Dr. Lilly Chang was five six and lanky with a loose walk that caused her ginger mop of hair to shudder as she led us into her living room.

Despite the exterior luxe, the apartment was small, white, generically bland, a status unrelieved by the obligatory granite kitchen outfitted with the requisite brushed-steel appliances. What passed for a Juliet balcony offered an oblique view of a brown wall. The furniture looked as if it had been rescued from a dorm. The sole artwork was a poster featuring a cartoon human brain. The legend beneath the drawing read Software: Sometimes You Don’t Have to Buy It .

No need for paintings or prints; the walls were pretty much taken up by photos of a beautiful almond-eyed baby with blue-black hair. In some of the shots, May Chang had been propped up for a solo pose. Her reaction to stardom ranged from stunned disbelief to glee. In other pictures, she sat on Lilly Chang’s lap or that of a balding Asian man who looked close to forty.

A white plastic baby monitor breathed static from atop a black plastic end table. Above the table hung the largest portrait of May, gilt-framed.

Lilly Chang said, “I know, we’re a bit too in love.”

I said, “She’s adorable. How old is she?”

“Twenty-two months. She’s our joy.”

She fingered the hem of the T-shirt. One of those smooth-faced women whose age was hard to determine. My guess was early thirties.

“Please, sit,” she said. “How was your drive?”

Milo said, “Piece of cake.”

“My parents live in L.A., I try to see them every five, six weeks. Sometimes it can get pretty hairy.” She smiled. “Though I guess you guys could use your siren to speed through.”

Milo said, “That would be nice but unfortunately it’s a big no-no.”

“Figures,” she said. “Can I get you some coffee or juice?”

“No, thanks, Dr. Chang.”

“Lilly’s fine.”

I said, “Where do your parents live?”

“Sherman Oaks. I was the original Valley Girl.” Showing teeth. “Gag me with a spoon. Fer sure.” She turned grave. “So we’re here to talk about poor Adriana. I’m still integrating the news, it’s so dreadful.”

“It is,” said Milo.

“May I ask where it happened?”

Milo said, “Cheviot Park.”

“Wow,” she said. “My family used to go there for Fourth of July fireworks. It always seemed like a safe place.”

“It generally is.”

“Wow,” she repeated. “After we spoke I tried to think if there was anything I could remember that might help you. The only thing I came up with, and it’s probably nothing, is four, five months ago, Adriana came with us on a trip to see my parents. We offered her the day off but she said she didn’t need it, just in case Donald and I wanted to go out to dinner she’d be available to babysit.”

I said, “Your parents couldn’t babysit?”

“Of course they could. I sensed that Adriana wanted to come along so I said sure. My mother had cooked dinner so we stayed in. When Adriana heard that, she asked if we minded if she went out. To meet a friend for dinner. I know I told you over the phone that she didn’t have friends but I was thinking of down here and the L.A. thing slipped my mind. Anyway, we said sure, go have fun. She made a call and soon after someone picked her up and she was gone for a couple of hours. Now I’m wondering if her real reason for tagging along was she’d planned on a date.”

Milo said, “A man picked her up?”

“No idea, all I can tell you is it was a red car and the only reason I remember that was the color shined through the lace curtains over the picture window. I do remember thinking, Pretty flashy for Adriana, maybe she’s got a secret boyfriend . But then she never went out again. And I mean never.”

I said, “What was her mood when she returned?”

“Normal,” she said. “Not upset, not ecstatic. She was always kind of quiet. To tell the truth, I wasn’t paying attention because I was exhausted and dreading two more hours on the freeway. Donald had been on call and he was just zonked out and Adriana didn’t have a license. So I was stuck with the driving.”

“You did a great job,” said a voice from the doorway.

Since being photographed with his daughter, Donald Chang had shaved his head and grown a drooping mustache. Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, he had taut skin and bright black eyes. I revised my age estimate a few years downward.

We shook hands. His skin barely touched mine. Surgeon’s caution. I’d anticipated that and was careful not to squeeze. Milo’s touch was even lighter, a bare graze of fingertips. Courtesy of all those years living with Rick, whose name for the policy was “Don’t scratch the Stradivarius.”

Donald Chang sat next to his wife, placed a hand on her knee.

“Terrible about Adriana,” he said. “She was a really nice person. Not the most social person, but I don’t mean that in a weird way. I just never saw her desirous of any prolonged interaction with anyone but May.”

Lilly said, “Except for that time in Sherman Oaks.”

“What time?”

“When we were with my folks and she went out?”

“Oh,” said Donald. “That is true. But it never happened again, did it?”

She shook her head.

I said, “She enjoyed her time with May but wasn’t much for adult conversation.”

“I wouldn’t imply immaturity from that,” said Donald. “She was a serious person. But yes, she definitely preferred to be with May and the moment May was asleep, she’d retire to her room.”

Lilly said, “Not to evade housework, during the day she managed to clean and straighten up beautifully. Even though that’s not what she was originally hired for, the plan was to get a maid twice a week.”

Donald said, “Adriana insisted it wasn’t necessary, the place isn’t big, she could handle everything. We offered to pay her whatever we were going to pay the maid but she refused. We didn’t want to take advantage of her and insisted she get something extra. Finally, she agreed to an additional hundred dollars a week. Which was a huge bargain for us. So when she considered her day over and went into her room, that was fine.”

Lilly said, “Right from the get-go, she was great with May, but we were careful anyway, installed hidden baby cams. Watching the recordings reassured us. She couldn’t have been more patient or loving or attentive.”