Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

Feeling masterfully cruel-enjoying the feeling-Moe said, “Oh, yeah, four murders. Add a dead girlfriend to the scorecard. And you set her up.”

Wohr's legs shot back, hit the legs of his chair. “No way, no, no, no-”

Moe and Petra moved back in. Inches away, totally in the mope's face. Moe held the Polaroids in one hand, used the other to take hold of Wohr's jaw and rotate Wohr back toward the images.

Expecting Wohr to shut his eyes. But Wohr punished himself and looked.

Some capacity for guilt?

Moe said, “Hitting her back wouldn't have been nice, but it sure would've beat making that call, Ramone.”

Wohr murmured unintelligibly. Moe released the pressure on the guy's jaws. Wohr rubbed his mandible. “You didn't have to hurt me.”

“You don't need me to get hurt, Ramone. You're hurting yourself just fine. Maybe, like Detective Connor said, you're not a bad person, but you sure are a weak person. Always taking the easy way out. But funny thing, that always seems to put you in a hard place, doesn't it?”

Slow nod.

“We've got your throwaway cell, Ramone. We know about the call you made to set up Alicia.”

Hoping hoping hoping.

Wohr licked his lips. Blinked hard.

Victory!

“That's accessory to Murder One, Ramone. Now we're giving you the chance to help yourself, friend. But you've just got to stop lying-to yourself. We already know the truth.”

Wohr groaned. Knuckled an eye.

“Maybe you never intended to get Alicia killed, maybe you just thought they'd scare her. But that's not how a jury's going to think.”

“She hit me,” said Wohr. “Again. I got tired of it.”

“There you go,” said Petra. “Mitigating circumstances.” More like motive and evidence of premeditation. “If we had a history of domestic violence calls to your crib, that might help you. Without that, who's going to believe a big strong man was afraid of a small woman?”

Wohr said, “You don't know Alicia. She's fierce.”

“Was fierce,” said Moe, waving the Polaroids. “Even if we believe you, who cares? We're not who you're going to have to convince.”

Wohr didn't answer.

Moe checked his watch. Stood and did a Milo stretch. In addition to looking relaxed, it felt good after all those hours sitting.

Petra got up, too.

Moe's yawn was genuine. He pocketed the photos. “We gave you a chance to better your situation and once again, you made the wrong choice. Hope you enjoy incarceration, Ramone, because that's all you've got ahead of you.”

Petra opened the door, called for a jailer.

Raymond Wohr said, “Gimme a pen and paper. I'll write you a different book.”

When the detectives agreed, the fool started crying.

Dr. Steve Rau said, “A private eye.”

“I work for a private eye, Steve. I'm an actress by training.”

“Obviously a good one.”

More stunned than angry. But no one liked being lied to. His wife had made a fool of him, Liana had no way of knowing if this was turning into bad déjà vu.

She'd positioned herself close to the door, just in case.

After the night they'd spent together, kind of a cart-after-the-horses thing.

Steve said, “Liana…” As if trying on her real name for size. “So that first time was an assignment?”

“My boss and I are looking into Caitlin Frostig, that girl who disappeared.” Making herself sound more important than she was.

Performer's reflex, because life was an audition.

“And I brought her up before you asked,” said Steve. “You must've thought that was a strange… I also told you about a couple who disappeared, talk about purveyor of good cheer. Later-when I got home that night-I did a little computer research. Turns out the couple was running from the law and got caught.” Smile. “But you probably know that.”

“I do.”

“I felt like an idiot,” he said. “Meeting you and bringing up people vanishing. No reason you'd ever call me, you probably thought I was bizarre… so you were back there tonight to work?”

“That was the plan, Steve. It kind of got sidetracked.”

“Pardon?”

“This,” she said. “Everything that's happened tonight. That had nothing to do with work.”

Though if you happen to have info I can use, I won't complain.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I was thrilled to see you. Liana.” Tasting her name. “I like that better than Laura-not that Laura's not a fine… you really are Liana?”

“Want to see a birth certificate?”

“Sorry.”

“I should be, Steve. You have every right not to trust me.”

“Since that first time, I've been hanging out at Riptide more regularly than before, hoping to see you again. I pretty much gave up. I did have to do some traveling-delivering papers. Have you been back before tonight?”

“No,” she said.

“So this is almost… karma… though I guess it really isn't that remarkable, just simple probability. I'm there high-frequency, so anytime you drop in, there's a good chance we'll meet.”

Liana smiled. “Sounds like another learned paper.”

He slumped. “Mr. Smooth.”

“You're a good guy. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

She got up, sat beside him on his parents’ fusty old sofa. He reached for her hand, hesitated. She made the move, squeezed his fingers.

“Liana, tonight, seeing you again-it was as… life was finally working out. If that's coming on too strong, I don't care. Nor do I care what brought you there in the first place.”

“You're not coming on too strong.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So we can keep seeing each other? That's what I care about-I don't see why it should interfere with your assignment-is that what you call it?”

“It's just a job, Steve.”

“Sounds like an interesting job.”

“Not usually.”

He played with her fingers. “Undercover operative. Your mission should you choose to accept it.” Slowly spreading grin. “Do you get to wear costumes?”

What do you think this is?

Liana said, “The truth is, Steve, I do it because I can't do what I really want.”

Putting herself out there.

“Acting's a tough thing,” he said. “I admire your perseverance.”

“The only acting I've done for years is voice-overs. For cartoons.”

“Really? Can I hear a few?”

“Some other time.” She kissed him. It made her feel better.

They sat there for a while, holding hands.

He said, “There's no way you could stay the night?”

“I have an audition tomorrow.”

“Private eye or voice-over?”

“The latter,” she said. “Goofy squirrel.” She rattled off a line of stupid rodent dialogue.

He cracked up. “How about this: I'll set the alarm and we'll both get up early.”

“Not tonight, Steve.” She reached for her bag, pulled out her genuine business card. “Here's my number. I promise it's real.”

He studied it. “You're in the Valley.”

“Does that disqualify me?”

“Hey,” he said, “Sherman Oaks born and bred until Mom and Dad decided to socially climb. When can I see you again? Give me a time or I won't be able to concentrate.”

“If work doesn't get in the way, how about tomorrow, say eight?”

“I've got meetings till eight. Nine, okay? I'll make a reservation- you like Italian?”

“Who doesn't?”

“Excellent. Il Travino, not far from you in Tarzana.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The next kiss was his move. Longer and softer. For a beaten-down quasi-nerd, his technique was getting good. That second time, in bed, he'd made her feel things she hadn't felt for a long time. Even that bear-pelt was something she could get used to.