Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

“He hasn't,” said Wohr. “Not with my girls.”

“Then no cop would've busted him, sir-not here or in La Puente.”

But the sexual element was definitely worth looking into.

“Thank you,” said Arnold. “For trying to make me feel better.”

“I'm being honest, Reverend. I appreciate you coming all the way out here and doing the same.”

Wohr squirmed. “There is one more thing, Detective. Something Ray said the last time I saw him. Part of that speech about getting his life together. He could see I was skeptical, so he got specific, claimed he was representing people in entertainment.”

“Representing how?”

“I asked him that but he just repeated himself. Representing. Like he was some sort of an agent. Then he brought up Adella, said ‘Remember her? High-class, Arnie. She's what I'm talking about.’ I said, ‘Ray, if you need money, just come out and say so and stop spinning yarns.’”

Arnold shook his head. “I never talked to him like that, something must've come over me. He started using foul language. Jammed his palm right up in my face, said ‘Fill the collection plate, Scrooge.’ That irritated me, I smacked the bills into his hand hard. He made some blasphemous remark, how if the God squad behaved this way, God must be a loser. At that point, I knew he had to leave before I did something I'd regret. I was still smoldering when Sarah told me what happened. It was like lighting a match to my soul. I called my brother, left a message telling him to get help for his perverted impulses, told him I never wanted to see him again. And he's honored that request.”

“Six months ago.”

“Not to the day, Detective. Give or take.”

Representing a dead woman.

“Anything else you want to tell me, Reverend?”

Arnold shook his head. “Where's Ray living?”

“I don't know, sir.” No sense in a confrontation between the brothers at Alicia Eiger's crib.

“You don't have him in custody?”

“No, sir.”

“So he really isn't a suspect.” “Not at this point.”

“Okay,” said Arnold Wohr, sounding more regretful than relieved. “Something else on your mind, Reverend?”

“If you do put him in custody, Detective Reed, I'd like to know. So I could visit him. See how I could help.”

Back at his desk, Moe distilled droplets of fact from his interview of Arnold Wohr.

Brother Ray's scumbag image had filled out nicely. No violence on his sheet, but the guy was sexually twisted enough to peep a thirteen-year-old.

The “entertainment” connection Ramone W had bragged about was another nice nugget, tying in to Ax Dement and the Eagle Motel. Sex, dope, or both. Probably both.

Was Wohr's Industry biz limited to a fringe hanger-on like Ax? Or had he actually networked with serious money types?

With unhealthy appetites.

If Wohr's reach did stretch to A-list dope fiends like Mason Book, this could get really interesting.

Mountains of money to indulge the gimme gimme gimme.

Ramone's boast of “representing” Adella might mean he really had pimped her. Or he was making himself more than he was.

She had accompanied him to Easter dinner.

With her baby.

Who Ramone showed no interest in.

The creepiest part was Ramone bragging about representing Adella long after her murder. No official violence in his sheet but he was callous enough to exploit her memory in order to cadge money out of his brother.

Arnold and his family had been confused about the relationship between his brother and the surprisingly polite “young lady.”

Because citizens like Arnold and his family had no clue.

Moe thought about the rev's description of the interaction between Ramone and Adella. No affection, no conversation.

Scooping food off her plate when she went to feed the baby.

Why would Adella, a devoted mom, hang with him?

No reason but money.

The Easter visit had probably been Ramone's idea of a joke. Bringing high-priced flesh to his devout brother's house on a sacred day.

Callous and mean-spirited.

Toss in Ramone peeping his own niece during a visit to ask for yet more money, and you ended up with a really nasty picture.

Cold, uncaring, sexually impulsive.

Exactly the combo Delaware had listed during the marsh-murder investigation when describing the classic kink-wired, career-criminal psychopath.

Meaning Ramone was capable of anything.

Moe fetched himself coffee, drank amid the low buzz of the D-room, visualizing Technicolor flash-frames filled with mind-searing brutality.

Caitlin's pretty young face, contorted in agony.

Adella Villareal thinking she was a pro but getting the worst kind of surprise.

Two good-looking young women, as different from each other as any two people could be, united in death.

The baby.

Moe had to get air or he'd start hitting something.

Making his way past half a dozen other detectives, he hurried out to the hallway that led to Sturgis's closet-sized office. Race-walking past the Loo's closed door, he repeated the circuit a couple of times. Got dry-mouthed and itchy-eyed and bought a Coke from the machine before returning to his chair.

Phones continued to ring, men and women with intent expressions talked on the phone, clicked computer keys. Del Hardy caught Moe's eye and gave a little salute.

Moe half expected him to come over, ask how Aaron was doing.

Waving back, he returned to Adella's murder book, not expecting to find anything, just wanting to look as preoccupied as he felt.

His eyes kept returning to the photo.

Pretty dead girl caught smiling. All that joy because of a tiny blue-swaddled form.

Gabriel, a tiny bud of humanity, with an angel's name.

Four grand in Adella's bank, despite no job. Had the challenges of single motherhood led Adella to work for Ramone W?

Moe thought about how she'd dropped in on her folks with the baby, snuck out soon after without saying good-bye. Not unlike Ra-mone's unannounced drop-in at his brother's.

So maybe the visit had been Adella's idea.

A girl who liked to play games.

Was that why she refused to say who'd fathered the kid? Because Daddy was useless, so why get him involved?

Or just the opposite: Daddy was real useful because he was rich and famous, had paid Adella off not to go public.

Then why whore?

Because more was more?

Or whoring had conceived the baby-Moe shut the file to get the pictures out of his head, concentrated on setting up a logical sequence of events.

Adella parties with Rich Industry Guys, maybe at a gig set up by Ramone W She gets pregnant, figures out which RI.G. is the daddy, asks for money to keep her mouth shut. Gets some.

At the time of her murder, the baby was five months old and she'd died with 4K in her account. Less than a grand for each month of Gabriel's existence. Maybe it had taken a while to come to an agreement-two months, for argument's sake, making two and a half K per month. But that was left over after expenses, say two a month.

Leaving an estimated gross of 4.5K a month-round to 5. Sixty grand a year. To an Industry honcho, chump change. To someone like Adella, serious money.

Until she gets greedy. Asks for more.

Or maybe she'd accepted an initial lowball offer because the joy of motherhood, hormones, whatever, had numbed her brain.

Or Rich Daddy had promised more somewhere down the line.

Either way, she realizes she's living in a crappy single, budgeting for Pampers and pablum, meanwhile Rich Daddy's living large.

House in the hills, private jets, VIP rooms on demand, premium tables at Koi, the Ivy, wherever those types stuffed their faces. Moe was certain Aaron could rattle off the names…