Jonathan Kellerman - Time Bomb

But he was gone for a lot longer than a sec, and when he came back he looked very grim.

“What is it?”

“Two more d.b.’s. Double homicide.” He stuffed a piece of shrimp in his mouth, threw money on the table, and loped away fast.

I caught up with him. “What’s the rush? Thought you were off duty.”

“Not for these.” We were out on the sidewalk. He ran faster. Passers-by stared.

“What is it, Milo? More nursemaiding?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Nursemaiding like crazy. One of the d.b.’s used to be Samuel Massengil.”

The address was on Sherbourne just south of Olympic, a block from Beverly Hills. A maple-lined street of well-kept older two-story duplexes and newer apartments. Quiet neighborhood, solidly middle class. The blinking lights of police cars were visible a block away, a vulgar intrusion.

Milo’s ID got us through fast. A uniformed officer directed us to one of the duplexes on the west side of the street: white, Spanish style, wrought-iron grillwork, tasteful landscaping. A yellow Fiat Spider was parked in the driveway under an arched porte-cochere. It had reflector vanity plates that read CHERI T. Crime-scene tape had been stretched across the stucco arch that led to the duplex’s ground-level entry. Next to the arch was a large oleander, pruned to tree shape, in full pink bloom.

A young black cop with a long bony face came out of the house. When he saw Milo he touched his hat and said, “Burdette, sir. I’m the one you spoke to.”

Milo said, “What do we know, Burdette?”

Burdette looked at me. His eyes filled with questions but he kept them there. “Two bodies out in back, both male cauc, possible gunshot wounds to the head. Definitely d.b. but we called the ambulance anyway- quiet, no siren, just like you said. One’s the assemblyman; the other I don’t know- ID may be in the pockets but we haven’t touched them.”

“Probable gunshot wounds?”

“That’s what it looks like. The light’s not real great out there and we didn’t want to get too close, mess up the scene. There’s copious pooling blood near both heads and I didn’t see any slash marks or bludgeon wounds. Also, the witness… the party reporting heard gunshots.”

“You’re sure it’s him ?”

“Yes, sir. I’d know that face anywhere, and the P.R. confirmed it.”

“Where is the P.R.?”

“Inside. Ground floor.”

“Name?”

Burdette pulled out a pad and shined a flashlight. “The name on her license is Cheryl Jane Nuveen. Female black, black and brown, five six, one fifteen, DOB four/eight/fifty-three. This address. No wants or warrants. But some or all of it might not be righteous.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s a pro.”

“A hooker?”

Burdette nodded. “High-priced but it’s fairly obvious once you see the setup. She’s shook up but streetwise. After she answered the first few questions and confirmed that d.b. one was him , she refused to talk until she could call her lawyer.”

“She put in that call yet?”

“Not yet. I told her to wait. Wanted to keep things as quiet as possible- just like you said. We Mirandized her but didn’t pump her.”

“Good,” said Milo. “Before she clammed up, you get any story from her on what happened?”

“She called it in on nine-one-one. Said she thought there’d been shots fired in her backyard, thought she saw two guys down. The dispatcher gave it to us as a possible ADW, shots fired, Code Two high. We expected a prowler situation, but when we got here-”

“Who’s we ?”

“Ziegler and me.” Burdette crooked a thumb at a stocky white officer standing guard at the curb.

“When’d the call come in?”

“Ten-oh-four. We were over at Patricia and Pico on a traffic stop, possible deuce, dropped that and got here at ten-twelve, did a careful search, saw who d.b. one was, the way both of them were dressed- it was obvious this was no prowler situation. Then when we went inside and saw her setup and her demeanor, we put two and two together. Also, the fact that the assemblyman’s car was parked back there and hers was in the driveway meant he was probably visiting her- I figure he wanted to keep his car off the street just in case someone recogoized it. When I laid that out for her she admitted he’d been up there, he was a john. That’s when she shut up and asked to change her clothes. We didn’t let her, wanted to preserve the scene.”

“Why’d she want to change?”

“All she had on was a robe over… probably nothing.”

“Why didn’t she change before you got here?”

“Good question, sir. Maybe she was shook up- she actually looked pretty shook up.”

“Despite being streetwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone else live with her?”

“No, sir. It’s her place- she owns the whole building. Upstairs is rented to an artist, but she says he’s in Europe.”

“Hooker as landlady,” said Milo. “The high-priced spread. Blood wouldn’t be routine for her the way it would for a street gal. Okay, I can see her shook up. What else?”

“We Mirandized her like I said, called you, then called in for assistance in order to be able to secure the crime scene like you instructed. We used a restricted band to keep it quiet, no mention of d.b. one’s identity. Eight-L Five-Code-Sixed us- that’s Martinez and Pelletier. Pelletier’s in there with her now- we figured a woman might keep her calmer, no allegations of sexual stuff, maybe even get something out of her information-wise. But we agreed no one would pump her until you got here. Eight-Oh-Twenty-three got here just a few minutes after- that’s who you saw blocking the street.”

“Any indication she was more than the P.R.?”

“No, sir, nothing obvious.”

“Any intuition on that?”

“Intuition?” Burdette chewed on the word. “Well, sir, she did call it in right away- bodies were still warm when we got here. So if she’s the shooter she’s not a very bright one. We didn’t see any gun in the house but we haven’t really searched. I guess anything’s possible.”

“What’s her demeanor?”

“I’d call it upset, sir. Pretty scared. Not shifty or… guilty, if that’s what you mean.”

“You did good,” said Milo. “Techs and coroners?”

“On their way.”

“Okay, let’s take a look back there.”

Burdette glanced at me again.

Milo said, “This is Dr. Delaware. He’s a psychologist consulting to the Department- the schoolyard sniping. We were having a meeting on that when your call came in- that’s his Caddy out in front. Have someone move it to a less conspicuous spot, okay?” To me: “Give him your keys, Doc. You come with me.”

I handed the keys to Burdette. He said, “Just straight past the car and through the driveway. We taped off a radius.”

“Gimme your flashlight,” said Milo.

Burdette gave it to him and left, swinging my key ring.

We walked under the porte-cochere and into the backyard, which was small and square and backed by a flat-roofed double garage with old-fashioned wooden hinge doors. Most of the ground area had been paved with concrete. A narrow strip of lawn on the north side sported a peach tree and a T-shaped metal pole designed to hold a clothesline. There was no outdoor lighting, but light from a shaded rear window and a floodlight on the roof of the duplex next door combined to pour a tallowy wash over the southern part of the property. Some of the light flowed onto a late-model Chrysler New Yorker.

Next to the car were two bodies lying belly down, limbs splayed, heads twisted to the side. A tape line had been run around them. They’d fallen close together on the concrete- perhaps two feet separated them. Their legs overlapped, creating a human V, and had the loose but contorted posture unique to pre-rigor corpses and rag dolls. Both were dressed in suits- one gray, one that appeared tan in the night light. The left trouser-leg of the one in tan had ridden up, revealing a thick white slab of hairless calf that shone like polished ivory. Rorschach splotches extended from both heads.