Jonathan Kellerman - True Detectives

“She came to meet me. She wanted to be famous”

“What happened after Ax put Adella back in the truck?”

Book's arms dropped. “He said, ‘We got to dump her somewhere.’”

“That's when you went to Griffith Park.”

“Really long drive,” said Book. “It smelled gross and the baby was screaming. Ax told it to shutthefuckup but that didn't help so he played Pink Floyd really loud.”

“What happened at Griffith Park?”

“We took her into where it was dark and put her on the ground.”

“You and Ax.”

“He didn't want to carry her by himself, get her stuff all over him, so he took the feet, I took the hands. She kind of swung.” Book stared at Aaron. “He spread her legs, said that makes it look like Ted Bundy That was bad, huh? Helping him.”

“You're doing the right thing right now, by talking, Mason. What happened to the baby?”

“Ax drove me home.”

Aaron repeated the question.

“The baby was in the truck.”

“Ax took it somewhere.”

No answer.

“What did Ax do with the baby, Mason?”

“We didn't talk about it.”

Now Aaron did grace the fool with an angel's touch. Standing and resting his palms on Book's fragile shoulders. “You're doing great, Mason, but we need to take it all the way. What did Ax do with the baby?”

“Don't know, we don't talk about it.”

“To set things straight, Mason, guilt's not enough. You need atonement.”

“Guilt and atonement,” said Book. “Sounds like a movie.”

“A good one, Mason. You could star.”

Book's laugh was nasal, eerie. Wriggling free from Aaron's touch, he pincer-grasped the front of his own neck, pulling a pale flap of skin forward. “Not a star. Not there yet.”

“Not where?”

Book's eyes clamped shut. Still holding on to the neck flesh, he twisted.

Aaron pried the fingers loose. Book's neck remained pallid. Guy's body was so starved, he couldn't even bring blood to the surface.

“Mason, there's another girl. Caitlin.”

“Who?” said Book.

“Blond, twenty, worked at Riptide.”

Book's brow creased. Twenty seconds of what looked like sincere contemplation.

Head shake.

“Caitlin Frostig,” said Aaron. “Rory's girlfriend.”

“Rory. He's my P.A.”

“Gofers for you.”

“Yeah.”

“He have your PIN number, too?”

“No, he uses the petty cash.”

“For what?”

“Buying what I need.”

“That include blow and ice and stuff?”

Book frowned. “He shouldn't be in trouble.”

“Why not?”

“He's a good P.A.”

“There when you need him.”

“Yup.”

“Caitlin Frostig was his girlfriend.”

No answer.

Aaron said, “Long blond hair, twenty, went to school with Rory-”

Book said, “The hostess.”

“You know her.”

“Cute,” said Book. “I like girls to be blond and tall.”

“Ever party with her?”

“She wouldn't want it.”

“How do you know?”

“She liked Rory. Rory said they're in love.”

“I'm sure you've partied with lots of girls who have boyfriends.”

“Yeah,” said Book, “but you can tell which ones are going to step out.”

“Rory ever talk about Caitlin?”

“Just that.”

“Good P.A., huh?”

“His dream is to agent. I said I'd help him when he's ready.”

“When will that be?”

“When he finishes school. He wants to finish school.”

Aaron sat back down. “Mason, is there anything you want to tell me about Caitlin Frostig?”

“Like what?” The guy was an actor, but Aaron was sure he wasn't performing. Visions of Mr. Dmitri's scowling face filled his head.

“Like anything, Mason.”

“We-ell,” said Book. “She was like that David Lee Roth song- ‘California Girls.’ But not ripe to party.”

“Why not?”

“You can just tell.”

“Bet you can, Mason-okay, I need to get you out of here. In case Ax comes back.”

“He's at his dad's. I sent him there. Sent everyone away.”

“Who's everyone?”

“Rory. Kimora.”

“Who's Kimora?”

“She cleans.”

Wanting to be alone for his final swan dive.

Aaron said, “I still want you out of here. Let's get some clothes on.”

In the huge, slovenly dressing room of a huge, slovenly bedroom topped by a vaulted skylight, Aaron found silk jockey shorts from a Savile Row shop, size 29 Rock & Republic jeans, a black Gucci sweatshirt, thousand-dollar alligator loafers. Book dropped his robe without embarrassment, stood there again, rubber-limbed, as Aaron dressed him. The jeans were too big; Aaron cinched a python-skin belt around the actor's waist.

“Looking sharp, Mason.”

Book laughed.

“What's the code to open the gate?”

“Don't know… Kimora does it.”

“Where can I find it?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Show me.”

A card next to the kitchen phone listed a series of gate controls and various service numbers. Aaron chose an option that would hold the gate open indefinitely. If anyone asked, he'd claim he found it that way, no trespassing had taken place.

That failed to explain why he'd made his way up the drive, just happened to be there when Book nearly plunged to his death. But this was about murder and he'd saved a life and he figured he was pretty safe.

“Okay, pal, let's boogie.”

Book didn't budge. Fool was staring at the chrome Traulsen from which he'd taken the can of supplement.

Then it came to Aaron: attempted last meal. Book had seen himself as a prisoner. Still couldn't bring himself to go out with a full stomach.

“Want anything before we go, Mason? A snack? Maybe something to drink?”

Book stepped back from the fridge while shaking his head slowly.

“Your angel thinks you should eat something, Mason.”

“Uh-uh,” said Book. “Not there yet.”

“Not where , Mason?”

The actor repeated the pincer-grasp of neck-skin. “Too fat.”

Talk about the money shot.

Aaron framed it mentally like the prize photo it was, even as he experienced it.

Mason Book shuffling down Swallowsong Lane, arm in arm with an “unnamed companion.” Not a paparazzo in sight.

How much could I sell this to the tabs for?

Book stumbled.

“Easy, Mason.”

Unnamed black companion. No doubt they'd assume he was a bodyguard, maybe with an ominous past.

Aaron could live with that.

Book didn't fuss as Aaron put him in the Opel's passenger seat.

Muttering, “Nice wheels. They driving this in Heaven?” and promptly falling asleep.

Aaron poked him to make sure he wasn't faking, then belted him in. Fishing out the plastic wrist ties, he used three: linking both of Book's hands together, then tying the right loop to the lap belt. No big deal freeing the belt, but in the actor's current mental and physical state, the setup was as good as a steel cage.

Now, where to take him?

Slipping the key into the ignition, Aaron remembered the three missed calls, checked his cell.

A trio of texts from Liana-one text, actually, repeated three times. relbl source: riptide adlla w dmnts never bk

Now he knew where he had to take his new pal.

Moe got the call as he and Petra were finishing coffee and eggs at a Denny's near Hollywood Station. Raymond Wohr was stashed in a solitary cell having downed a repast of donuts and Hershey bars and Mountain Dew.

Aaron said, “Working late, Moses. I figured I'd get your machine.”

“Busy night.”

“It's going to get busier. I've got someone you'll want to meet.”