Jonathan Kellerman - Evidence

“Ten years,” said Milo.

“Ten lost years,” said Ricki Flatt. “Basically Desi disappeared. Once in a while we’d get postcards.”

“From where?”

“All over the country. National parks, that kind of thing.”

“Not overseas?”

“No.”

“What did Desi do to support himself?”

“He said odd jobs, temporary stuff that gave him time to explore nature, figure life out.”

“Postcards,” said Milo. “No visits back home?”

“Once, twice a year he’d pop up-Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays. He looked great, really happy and that reassured my parents. He was reviving the whole sixties thing-long hair, beard, hemp sandals. But always clean and well groomed, Dad said he looked like Hollywood’s idea of Jesus.”

“You mentioned handling your parents’ affairs, so I assume-”

“Gone, Lieutenant. Four years ago. They were vacationing near Mount Olympia, decided to explore and drove onto a dirt access road that passed through a heavy logging area. A load of huge pines came loose from a truck bed and crushed their car. We wanted to sue-Scott and I and Des-but the lawyers said our case was weak because the road was chained and warning signs were all around, Dad had lifted it and driven through, anyway. In the end we settled for a hundred thousand. The lawyers took forty percent and we split sixty with Des. He’d cleaned up his act and started architecture school, said it would help with tuition and living expenses. What made it horribly ironic is we’re from an old logging family, four generations. My grandfather was a master sawyer and Dad did some logging before he became a firefighter.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“It happened before Sam was born, that’s what hurts the most. Mom and Dad would’ve loved Sam.” Tears. “She adored Desi and now he’s gone.”

“How did Desi react to losing your parents?”

“Terribly,” said Ricki Flatt. “He got this empty look in his eyes, walked around for weeks as if he was in a trance. The walking wounded, Scott called it. I’ve never seen my brother like that, generally he’s open and mellow and accessible.”

“He drew into himself.”

“I remember thinking this isn’t healthy, he needs to deal with it, do some serious grieving or he’s going to break down. I was sure he’d drop out of school but he didn’t, he stuck with it and graduated with honors.”

Milo tapped his pen on a corner. “Ms. Flatt, that remark you made yesterday on the phone, about it being political. We’re still curious about that.”

Ricki Flatt’s eyes jumped all over the place. “Forget that, that was silly. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you did, ma’am.”

She untied her hair, shook it loose, fastened it tighter.

“Ricki, we have no interest except solving your brother’s murder.”

Thumping both elbows on the table, she pressed her palms to her cheeks. Her fingertips trailed above her ears, as if blocking out noise. See no, hear no.

Milo said, “The only thing we’ve heard remotely political about your brother is he was into green architecture, the whole environment thing.”

Ricki Flatt’s left cheek twitched.

Milo edged closer. “Did he get radical with that? Spend those ten years doing things that might be considered illegal?”

“I don’t know how he spent them.”

“But you’re worried.”

“Desi… used to talk.”

“About what?”

“Burning down the house,” she said. “That was the name of a song he liked. When he visited, he’d sometimes go off on speeches. About the beauty of untouched wilderness. About greedy people who raped the land and built monuments to their ego. What they needed, he said, was a good lesson.”

“Monuments,” said Milo. “Like the one he died in. And now you’re worried he put himself in a bad position.”

Ricki Flatt looked up. “Oh, God, I should’ve known something bad was going to happen when he gave me the money . Desi’s never been able to hold on to money, he’s never cared about money.”

No need for Milo to press. He gave her a tissue, waited until she’d patted her eyes dry.

“All right,” she said. “This is what happened: Des showed up six months ago with fifty thousand dollars in cash. Two big suitcases full. He asked me to hold it for him. I gave him a spare key to the unit.”

“We’re talking last January,” said Milo.

“New Year’s weekend, Scott and I were about to leave for a trip to New Mexico and Des showed up, no advance notice.”

“Did he say where he got the money?”

“I know, I should’ve asked. Scott was furious with me, said it had to be drug money or something else illegal and I’d gotten us in way over our heads. I said that made no sense, Desi had never used dope or alcohol, took care of his body. Scott told me I was being naïve, Desi had been on the road for years, we had no clue about what he’d done. We got into a big fight, Scott demanded I call Desi back, insist he take the suitcases.” Shrill laughter. “It was pretty darn dramatic. Of course, I finally agreed.”

“So you called your brother.”

Ricki Flatt hung her head. “I lied to Scott-only time I’ve ever done that. Why? For the life of me, I wish I could tell you. I just couldn’t bring myself to confront Desi. There’s something about my brother that makes you want to say yes to him. He’s so sweet and direct-in high school, he was voted most popular. It wasn’t just girls who loved him, everyone did.”

I said, “Charisma.”

“Yes, but for me, it was more than that. With Mom and Dad gone, there was no one else. I guess I kept hoping we’d reconnect, be some kind of family. Sam seemed to be a vehicle for that.” Burying her face in her hands, she mumbled.

Milo said, “You still have the money. You’re worried it’s political.”

Ricki Flatt looked up. “When Desi brought it to me, he seemed nervous, made me promise not to ask questions. I keep thinking it was payment for something wrong .”

“Burning down the house.”

“Maybe not literally,” she said. “But something… why else would he hide the money? I promise to send it back to you as soon as I get back home but please don’t tell Scott I kept it.”

“Where is it?”

“Our storage unit. Scott and I rented one after Mom and Dad passed. For their stuff, I couldn’t bear to get rid of anything. I tucked the suitcases in back, behind Mom’s piano. Scott never goes in there.”

“So Desi had a key to the unit?”

“I gave him one. They were his parents, too.”

“When’s the last time you actually saw the money?”

“The last time,” she said, “had to be… a couple of weeks after I stored it, so five months ago, give or take. I went in there and counted it. I’d never counted it initially. Why? Once again, I don’t know.”

“Fifty thousand.”

“In fifty-dollar bills, bound neatly. Do you really think it has something do with what happened to Desi?”

“Money’s the most common motive we see, Ricki.”

“Oh, God, I told Scott he was being paranoid, but now I’m getting sick.” She grabbed Milo’s wrist. “Is my family in danger?”

“I would hope not,” said Milo. “But we do need to get the money in a secure place.”

“I promise I’ll send it straight to you. I was going to stay for a few days, to arrange for Desi to be flown back, but I’ll leave today, have the suitcases shipped first thing in the morning.”

“Please don’t touch them,” said Milo. “We need to process them first.”

“Process?”

“Fingerprinting, that kind of thing. I’ll arrange for everything after you sign some forms releasing the contents of the storage bin for inspection. Is there anything else in your unit that belonged to Desi?”