Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

Moments later, with the Ram just starting to come into view, red lights flashed in his rearview.

Wonderful.

Before Aaron could respond, the CHP cruiser flashed its brights.

Patience, man, what's it been, a nanosecond?

Next the idiot would be bellowing over his loudspeaker. Aaron pulled over at the first hint of turnoff.

The cruiser glided to a stop twenty feet behind.

It took a long time-way longer than usual-for the Chippie to approach. Careful to keep his hands on the wheel, Aaron watched the patrolman head his way through the side mirror.

Young, just a kid. Big and pouty-mouthed and heavy.

Slow, deliberate John Wayne waddle, one hand resting near his gun.

Black man at the beach.

The CHP officer stopped five feet behind the Opel, just stood there.

No reason to be worried, Kiddie-cop. You've already taken your sweet time running the tags.

Following proper procedure.

Hefting his flashlight high, the way they teach you in every police academy, the Chippie advanced some more. Stopped again. Hand on his gun.

Aaron sat there.

Finally: “Step out of the car, sir.”

Pasting his best guileless/harmless/aw-shucks look on his face, Aaron complied at exactly the pace he would've appreciated back in his uniform days.

Smiling, as the officer blinded him with his flashlight.

Keeping his mouth shut because anything he said would be wrong.

The Reverend Arnold Wohr had business in the city, insisted meeting at the station would be no trouble at all.

Moe would've preferred to get a look at the La Puente house, maybe catch some sign Ramone W still bunked out there occasionally. But given the rev's easy cooperation, he was in no position to argue.

Ramone's respectable sib showed up ten minutes early. The senior brother by two years, Arnold looked a decade younger, a trim, balding man in an unstylish, spotless gray suit, white shirt, blue tie, brown shoes.

Moe searched for some family resemblance to Raymond Wohr, found it in skimpy chin endowment.

Arnold's gaze was steady and clear, his handshake cool and dry.

Moe thanked him for coming, asked what kind of business he had in L.A.

“This business, Detective. I didn't want my family involved.”

“In what?”

“Anything to do with Ray. What's he done?”

“Sounds like you're used to being called by the police.”

“The police, the parole office when Ray was still on parole, the liquor store in my neighborhood when there's a sudden cigarette shortfall just after Ray's been there to purchase a stick of chewing gum. Luckily, the owner's a member of my congregation.”

“You've been cleaning up after him for a while.”

“You can't pick your relatives, Detective, but you can try to help them.”

Moe said, “Would you consider Ray incorrigible?”

Arnold Wohr frowned. “If I didn't believe in change, I couldn't stand up every Sunday and preach it.”

“I guess you hear all the time how different you and Ray are.”

“Not really,” said Arnold. “Few people see us together.”

“Ray doesn't come by much.”

“Ray was arrested when he was fourteen, Detective. For stealing peach brandy from a supermarket, then shoplifting sneakers from a Wal-Mart. He spent a few months at a youth camp. The day he was released, Mom and Dad threw him a welcome-back party. He repaid them by emptying Mom's purse in the middle of the night and sneaking out. We didn't hear from him until his next arrest, a year later, also for theft. That time he got sent to adult jail and never bothered to let us know he was out. Mom and Dad were solid working people, we had plenty of discussions trying to figure out what Ray was escaping from. My parents died wondering. After I got out of the military, my search for answers led me to the ministry.”

“Wanting to understand Ray.”

“Ray, people like him. You turn all the facts over-the psychology, the sociology-but they don't explain it. So you look to a higher power.”

“The devil made Ray do it.”

The reverend's frown caused Moe to regret his flippancy.

He said, “Sir, I don't mean to make light of the situation-”

“It's all right, Detective. I know that faith-based notions of good and evil don't wash in today's society. But no one's given me a better explanation for my brother's behavior.”

“You see him as evil.”

Arnold's eyes rose quickly, dropped to below Moe's level. “I see Ray as misled. I'm not saying some unseen arm is guiding him-it's not a matter of a demon with a forked tail. More like Ray's negative energy overpowered the positive.”

That sounded new-age. Or all faith simply boiled down to belief in the invisible.

Moe said, “Do you have any idea why I wanted to talk to you, Reverend?”

“I have an idea now,” said Arnold Wohr. “When I asked for you downstairs, they informed me I'd be going to Homicide. I'm terrified.”

But he'd wanted the interview away from his family even before that-expecting something bad. Arnold Wohr suspected there was more to his brother than dope and petty theft.

Time to soften him up.

Moe said, “Well, I don't mean to scare you, but we are investigating your brother's association with a homicide victim.”

“Association? Is Ray a suspect?”

“Not yet.”

“But he might be?”

“Would that surprise you, Reverend?”

“Ray's never been violent. Yes, of course it would surprise me.”

Moe slid Adella Villareal's happy-face color photo from her murder book and showed it to Arnold. A tremor plinked the corners of the guy's eye sockets then slow-walked to his hairline. “She's dead? My God.”

“You know her.”

“I met her once. She was with her baby-in that same blue blanket. Dear Lord-what happened?”

Moe said, “Where and when did you meet her?”

“Ray brought her for Easter. Not last Easter-two Easters ago.”

Barely a month before Adella's murder.

Moe said, “Easter dinner?”

Wohr nodded. “We'd stopped inviting him years ago because he never responded. So wouldn't you know when he's not invited, he pops in? Holding some flowers he'd obviously picked out of someone's yard.”

“With this woman.”

“That was the second surprise. Ray bringing anyone, he always came alone. The third was that she-what was her name… something Spanish-Elena?…”

“Adella Villareal.”

“Yes, that's it, Adella. The third surprise was her not being the type of person you'd expect Ray to associate with.”

“How so, Reverend?”

“She was well groomed, polite-a really nice young lady. Excellent manners-she insisted on helping us serve.”

“Different from the other women in Ray's life.”

Arnold sat back. “I've never met any other women in Ray's life, Detective, it's just… it seemed as if she and Ray didn't fit. Not that Ray wasn't trying to be on his best behavior. When Ray shows up it's always for money. That day he didn't ask for any. Was dressed decently, collared shirt, clean jeans. I told myself maybe she's a good influence.”

“You saw them as a couple.”

“I didn't know what to think. But there he was, with her and baby. So yes, of course, I assumed. I remember thinking Poor baby, if Ray's his dad. Lord forgive me.”

Moe produced a mug shot of Alicia Eiger.

Arnold said, “Who's that?”

“Another friend of your brother.”

“This would be more what I'd expect.”

“How did Ray introduce Adella to your family?”

“Just, Hi, we're here, this is Adella.’ My wife ran off to set extra places. No point embarrassing the girl.”