Джонатан Келлерман - Night Moves

I got in the unmarked, had barely closed the door as he sped off.

I said, “A few minutes earlier, I was in session.”

“You some kind of a doctor?” He told me why we were driving to Arrowhead. We spent some of the ride talking, most of it in silence.

We reached the A-frame by one fifteen p.m., asked for Ahearn, and were directed to the house’s rear deck.

The San Bernardino lieutenant was midfifties, stocky and barrel-chested, with a shaved freckled head and a bristly white mustache. He wore a white shirt, gray slacks, a blue tie, and black lace-up military boots.

The body lying faceup in the grass wore a navy shirt, jeans, a tan tie, and brown walking shoes. Male, around the same age as Ahearn, tall and long-limbed, with a heavy-jawed face blued by stubble.

He’d been shot once in the left side of his chest and once in the right cheek. Sidearm still holstered. Taken by surprise.

No problem identifying this victim or estimating time of death. Sheriff’s detective Roger Livingston had been sent by Ahearn at nine o’clock this morning and ordered to stand guard pending the ten a.m. arrival of the crime scene techs. He’d logged his arrival at nine eighteen, had recorded nothing further. At ten forty-four a two-person team from the San Bernardino lab showed up, delayed by a street-clogging truck collision on the north side of the city.

Livingston had checked out a squad car from the motor pool and parked it at a careless slant in front of the house, forcing the techs to walk around the black-and-white in order to reach the front door. They rang the front doorbell and when that brought no response, circled around back.

Techs are unarmed. The panic these two felt was understandable. Fleeing to their van, they drove a quarter mile and called in. Now they were inside, working their phones manically, waiting for the coroner’s investigator to release the body so they could move from Livingston to the house.

In San Bernardino, the sheriff is the coroner and C.I.’s are uniformed deputies. On duty this morning was Deputy Sandra Kolatch, forty or so, square-faced and stunned. She’d been held up by a gang shooting, had entered the scene just before Milo and me.

She went through Livingston’s pockets. “No phone.”

Ahearn said, “Got it in my car, Sandy. It was on the ground out back so I bagged it.”

Breach of procedure. Kolatch nodded, took notes, and shut her eyes. When they opened, she looked defeated. It’s different when making an I.D. isn’t necessary.

The basics accomplished, she stood, said, “Sir,” to Ahearn, and left. As if part of a meticulously choreographed revue, two morgue attendants techs appeared with the collapsible morgue gurney — a contraption I’ve seen so many times but always find jarringly efficient.

They worked fast, slipping Livingston into a body bag, zipping and loading.

Ahearn watched, eyes dry and bloodshot. His mustache did a poor job of concealing a lip tremor.

Milo said, “So sorry, Al.”

“He must’ve walked right into it.” Ahearn clenched both fists. “I sent him ’cause I figured it was a piece of cake.” Grinding his jaws. “I figured it was something he could handle. ”

Milo said, “This was an ambush, no way to know.”

Ahearn said, “Watching an empty house? What could be more Mickey Mouse?”

He headed out of the yard, toward the driveway. The three of us stood by as the gurney made contact with the butt-edge of the van’s rear compartment and snapped flat with a cruel snick . Body straps were checked, rear doors slammed shut, the van was gone.

Ahearn said, “I had problems with Roger. Not my sharpest blade in the drawer. An empty house and he was armed for God’s sake.”

Moisture had collected in the corners of his eyes, turning the bloodshot vessels maroon.

Milo said, “No way to know, Al.”

“Try telling that to his widow. Like she could ever admit he was an idiot — oh, screw it, I’m not going to blame him, could’ve happened to anyone.”

We said nothing.

Ahearn said, “It was so Mickey Mouse, I almost sent a rookie. Could’ve been Ramona.” He eyed a dark-haired deputy standing on the deck. Easy pass as a high school junior. “She has no idea how lucky she is — sorry we didn’t process when you first asked, Milo. That was Roger, too, sometimes he got like that. I’m not going to make excuses but it gets insane down in the city. Don’t know about your situation but the gangs here are multi-racial, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

A click rose from his throat. “You think your suspect — Mearsheim — did this?”

Milo said, “If we’re guessing right, he’s got no problem killing people.”

“So that’s how many?” said Ahearn.

“My two male victims, Brassing, your guy, probably his first wife, maybe his second — or she’s his third or fourth, who knows?”

“A psycho. Shit. Someone was keeping house here recently. I did a walk-through, there’s coffee, cereal, milk, lunch meat. Not a lot of grub, nothing that looks the long haul, and beds are made. Don’t worry, I bootied and gloved, didn’t touch a thing. If there was visible blood, it’s been cleaned up. I think I did smell some bleach near the kitchen. How was the traffic coming in?”

Sudden injection of trivia as a pathetic distraction.

Milo said, “Not bad. When we were here, there was none of that, whoever did it came back recently.”

Ahearn said, “I was planning to have a sit-down with Roger tomorrow. Suggest he think about something else, maybe detective wasn’t his thing. I was going to go easy but also firm, our kids go to the same school — you really think you’ve got a Manson on your hands? I mean the other alternative is what, a random psycho squatter? Sometimes we get that in the rurals — cabins and lean-tos and hunters’ blinds that aren’t used much, you’re a homeless, why not? Here, in the nice neighborhoods, what we get is burglaries. But from what I saw, no sign of break-in and no obvious toss.”

The crime scene techs left their van and came toward us, carrying equipment cases. “Okay to continue, sir?”

Ahearn said, “I might’ve smelled bleach near the kitchen. But do the yard, too.”

I said, “Any sign more than one person was here?”

“I didn’t observe on that level, Doctor, just did an in-and-out looking for obvious. Why?”

“Looks like Mearsheim abducted his wife. Bringing her back here made sense if he wanted to humiliate her.”

“Humiliate her how?”

“Same place she stayed with Corvin.”

Milo said, “Like I told you, they also shacked up in hotels but harder to hostage in the Hilton.”

Ahearn said, “Humiliate — you’re thinking ultra-nasty happened here. Shit. ”

He showed us the spot that had been found. Shallow depression beginning to fill as the grass perked up.

Ahearn said, “Cadaver dogs are good but we both know they’re not perfect. They don’t find anything, I should probably still dig.”

“I would.”

“Unbelievable,” said Ahearn. “From bad to worse.”

Milo said, “There could be evidence back there in the neighbor’s property.”

Ahearn’s eyes shifted to the forest. “That’s a rich guy. Request to disrupt a fancy property? Can’t wait.”

I said, “Did anything interesting come up on Livingston’s phone?”

“He called his wife when he got here. Knowing Roger, he probably fell asleep in the car, decided to take a stretch out back, and got surprised.”

“Way he blocked the door with his cruiser, the bad guy mighta felt he was being hunted.”

“Makes sense.” He sucked in breath. “Roger was a regular guy. You can’t be regular and do what we do, right?”