Jonathan Kellerman - The Murder Book

"Execution," I said.

"No good deed goes unpunished. Del Hardy and I got the case and worked it all the way to nowhere."

"You would think something like that would make the papers. Burns's name pulled up zilch."

"That I can explain. Nemerov's family wanted it kept quiet, and we obliged. They didn't want Boris's lapse in judgment made public- bad for business. And they had quite a few favors to pull in- reporters' kids who'd been bailed out. Cops' kids, too. Del and I were ordered to do our job but to do it very quietly."

"Did that hamstring you?"

"Not really. Finding Burns wasn't going to be accomplished by feeding the press. The Nemerovs were decent folk- first everything they'd gone through in Russia and now this. We didn't want to upset them, everyone felt bad about the whole thing. The business almost went under, anyway. The insurance companies weren't pleased, wanted to sever all ties. Nemerov's widow and son agreed to eat all fifty grand of Burns's forfeited bail and begged for a chance to prove themselves. They managed to hold on to most of their policies. Eventually, they got their heads above water. They're still in business- same place, right around the corner from the station. Nowadays they're known for never giving an inch."

"And Willie Burns's trail went cold," I said.

"I dogged him for years, Alex. Anytime I had a lull, I checked on the asshole. I was sure he'd turn up eventually because a junkie's unlikely to change his ways. My bet was he'd end up incarcerated or dead."

"Maybe he did end up dead," I said. "The Nemerov family had access to professional searchers. Even good folk can develop a thirst for revenge."

"My gut says no, but if that's what happened, it's a definite dead end. I'm starting to feel like I'm back in junior high, staring at tests I flunked."

"Maybe it's only one big test," I said. "Maybe Willie Burns knew Caroline before she was sent to Achievement House- one of the black guys Dr. Schwartzman saw Caroline hanging with. Burns's murdering Nemerov could've been nothing new for him, because he'd killed before. At a party in Bel Air."

"Burns's record was nonviolent, Alex."

"Till it wasn't," I said. "What if the nonviolent crimes were the ones he never got caught for. Was he only into heroin?"

"No, poly-drug addict. Heroin, acid, pills, meth. Since the age of ten."

"Ups and downs," I said. "Unpredictable behavior. Put someone like that in contact with an unbalanced kid like Caroline, stick both of them at a dope party where two not-too-bright street girls show up, and who knows what might happen? Caroline's family suspected- or knew she'd been part of something bad and sent her to Achievement House. Willie split back to the streets but found his way over to Achievement House to visit Caroline. Stupid move, but junkies are impulsive. And no one caught on. He worked there for a month, was fired because of absenteeism."

He drummed his fingers on his knees. "Burns and Caroline as a killing couple."

"With or without additional friends. Burns participating in a murder could also explain his skipping out on Nemerov. The city was clamping down on dope dealers, and he knew he was likely to serve time. That would've made him a captive audience if Janie Ingalls's murder came to light."

"Then why'd he call Nemerov and offer to turn himself in?"

"To accomplish exactly what he did: ambush Nemerov, rob him, take his car- it was stripped. For all we know, Burns fenced the stereo and the phone. And that half-baked attempt at hiding it is pure hype. Also, Caroline's disappearance could be Willie taking no chances. Figuring she was high risk to talk."

"If Burns or anyone else disappeared Caroline, you don't think her family would've reacted? Leaned on the department to solve it?"

"Maybe not. Caroline had been an embarrassment to them all through childhood- the weird sib- and if they knew she'd been an accomplice to murder, they'd have wanted to keep it quiet. It's consistent with sequestering her at Achievement House."

"With a pink tab," he said.

"Burns found her anyway. Maybe she contacted him . For all we know, she was with him when he ambushed Boris Nemerov. When exactly was Nemerov executed?"

"December, right before Christmas. I remember Mrs. Nemerov talking about it. How they were Russian Orthodox, celebrated in January, there'd be nothing to celebrate."

"Caroline was at Achievement House in August," I said. "Four months later, she could've been out of there. Willie could've broken her out. Perhaps they were planning to cut town all along, and that's why Burns was trying to sell dope in Venice."

"My, my, so many possibilities," he said. "Ah."

He had me drive in the direction of the station, then turn onto Purdue and park in front of an old redbrick building just south of Santa Monica Boulevard.

The entrance to Kwik 'n' Ready Bail Bonds was a glass-fronted storefront heralded by neon above the door and gold leaf on the glass. Unlike Achievement House, this placed welcomed attention.

I pointed to the No Stopping, Tow Away warning.

Milo said, "I'll watch out for the parking Nazis. Failing that, I'll go your bail."

The front office was a stuffy sliver of fluorescence with a high counter and walls paneled in something mustard-colored that bore no biological link to trees. A knobless door was cut into the rear paneling. A single Maxfield Parrish print- purple mountains' majesty- hung to the left of the doorway. Behind the counter, a round-faced man in his late thirties sat on an old oak swivel chair and ate a big wet sandwich wrapped in wax paper. A coffeemaker and a computer sat to his left. Cabbage and slabs of meat and something red protruded from the sandwich. The man's short-sleeved white shirt was clean but his chin was moist and as the door closed behind us, he swiped at himself with a paper napkin and aimed cautious gray eyes at us. Then he grinned.

"Detective Sturgis." He hauled a thick body out of the chair and a pink forearm shot across the counter. An anchor tattoo blued the smooth flesh. His brown hair was cropped to the skull and his face was a potpie that had been nibbled at the edges.

"Georgie," said Milo. "How's everything?"

"People are very bad, so everything's very good," said Georgie. He glanced at me. "He doesn't look like a business opportunity for me."

"No business today," said Milo. "This is Dr. Delaware. He consults for the department. Doctor, George Nemerov."

"A doctor for the cops," said Georgie, pumping my hand. "What do you specialize in, sexually transmitted diseases or insanity?"

"Good guess, Georgie. He's a shrink."

Nemerov chuckled. "People are nuts, so everything's good for you , Doctor. If you knew more about this business, you'd try to lock me up, too." Heavy eyelids compressed, and the gray eyes narrowed. But the rest of the soft, doughy face remained placid. "So what's up, Detective Milo?"

"This and that, Georgie. Eating your spinach?"

"Hate that stuff," said Nemerov, patting his anchor tattoo. To me: "When I was a kid, I was a big cartoon fan, Popeye the Sailor. One night, when I was a high school punk, me and some friends were over at the Pike in Long Beach and I got this shit put on me. My mother almost skinned me alive."

"How is your mom?" said Milo.

"Good as can be expected," said Nemerov. "Next month she's seventy-three."

"Give her my best."

"Will do, Milo. She always liked you. So… why you here?" Nemerov's smile was angelic.

"I've been looking into some old files, and your dad's case came up."

"Oh, yeah?" said Nemerov. "Came up how?"

"Willie Burns's name surfaced with regard to another 187."

"That so?" Nemerov shifted his weight. His smile had died. "Well, that wouldn't surprise me. The guy was lowlife scum. You telling me he's been spotted around?"