Jonathan Kellerman - The Murder Book

"The party," said Milo. "How'd you and Janie hear about it, for starters."

"Just street talk, kids talking. There was always plenty of that, especially as the weekend approached. Everyone trying to figure out the best way to party hearty. So many of us hated our homes, would do anything to be away. Janie and I were a twosome, party-wise. Sometimes we'd end up at squat-raves- promoters sneaking into an abandoned building, or using an outdoors spot- some remote corner of Griffith Park, or Hansen Dam. We're talking bare minimum in terms of entertainment: some tone-deaf band playing for free, cheap munchies, lots of drugs. Mostly lots of drugs. Because the promoters were really dealers, and their main goal was bulk sales. Other times, though, it would turn out to be a real party, in someone's house. An open invitation, or even if it wasn't, there was usually no problem crashing."

She smiled. "Occasionally, we got bounced, but a girl could almost always crash and get away with it."

"The party that night was one of those," said Milo. "Someone's house."

"Someone's big house, a mansion, and the talk on the street was mucho drugs. Janie and I figured we'd check it out. To us a trip to Bel Air was like blasting off to a different planet. Janie was going on and on about partying with rich kids, maybe finding a rich boyfriend who'd give her all the dope she wanted. As I said, she loved to fantasize. The truth is we were both such losers, no wheels, no money. So we did what we always did: hitched. We didn't even have the address, guessed once we got to Bel Air, we'd figure it out. I picked Janie up at her place Friday afternoon, and we hung out on Hollywood Boulevard most of the day- playing arcade games, shoplifting cosmetics, panhandling for spare change but we didn't get much. After dark, we walked back down to Sunset where the best hitching was but the first corner we tried was near some hookers and they threatened to cut our asses, so we moved west- between La Brea and Fairfax, where all the guitar stores are. I remember that, because while we waited for a ride, we were looking at guitars in windows and saying how cool it would be if we started a girl band and got rich. No matter that neither of us had a lick of talent. Anyway, finally- we must've have been waiting there over an hour- we got picked up."

"What time?" said Milo.

"Must've been nine, ten."

"Who picked you up?"

"A college student- nerdy type, said he went to Caltech, but he was heading to the U. because he had a date with a girl there and that was really close to Bel Air. He had to tell us that, because we had no idea- I don't think either of us had ever been west of La Cienega, unless we were taking the bus straight to the beach, or, in my case, when I visited my father at the Navy base in Point Mugu. The nerd was a nice guy. Shy, probably picked us up on impulse and regretted it. Because we immediately started hassling him- turning the radio to our station, blasting it loud, teasing him- flirting. Asking him if he wanted to come to the party with us instead of some lame date with a college girl. Being real obnoxious. He got embarrassed, and that cracked us up. Also, we were hoping he might take us all the way to the party, because we still had no idea where it was. So we kept nagging him, but he said no, he liked his girlfriend. I remember Janie getting really rude about that, saying something to the effect of 'She's probably colder than ice. I can give you something she can't.' That was the wrong thing to say. He stopped the car at Stone Canyon and Sunset and ordered us out. I started to, but Janie held me back, started ragging on him to take us to the house, and that just made him angrier. Janie was like that, she could be extremely pushy, had a real talent for getting on people's nerves. The nerd started shouting and shoved Janie and we got out and she flipped him off as he drove away."

"Stone Canyon and Sunset. Close to the party."

" We didn't know that. We were ignorant. And drunk. Back on the boulevard, we'd also boosted a bottle of Southern Comfort, had guzzled our way through most of it. I hated the stuff, to me it tasted like peaches and cough syrup. But Janie loved it. It was her favorite high. She said it was what Janis Joplin had been into and she was into Janis Joplin because she had some idea that her mom had been like Janis Joplin, back in the hippie days. That she'd named Janie after Janis."

"Another fantasy," I said.

She nodded. "She needed them. Her mom abandoned her- ran away with a black guy when Janie was five or six, and Janie never saw her again. Maybe that's another reason Janie always made racist comments."

Milo said, "What'd the two of you do after you were dropped off?"

"Started walking up Stone Canyon and promptly got lost. There were no sidewalks, and the lighting was very bad. And no one was around to ask directions. All those incredible properties and not a soul in sight, none of the noises you hear in a real neighborhood. It was spooky. But we were having fun with it- an adventure. Once we saw a Bel Air Patrol car driving our way, so we hid behind some trees."

She frowned. "Complete idiocy. Thank God my boys aren't hearing this."

"How'd you find the party?"

"We walked in circles for a while, finally ended up right where we started, back at Sunset. And that's when the second car picked us up. A Cadillac, turning onto Stone Canyon. The driver was a black guy, and I was sure Janie wouldn't want to get in- with her it was always 'nigger' this, 'nigger' that. But when the guy rolled down the window and shot us this big grin, and said, 'You girls looking to party?' Janie was the first one in."

"What do you remember about the driver?"

"Early twenties, tall, thin- for some reason when I think of him I always think of Jimi Hendrix. Not that he was Hendrix's spitting image, but there was a general resemblance. He had that rangy, mellow thing going on, loose and confident. Played his music really loud and moving his head in time."

"A Cadillac," said Milo.

"And a newer one but not a pimpmobile. Big conservative sedan, well taken care of, too. Shiny, fresh-smelling- sweet-smelling. Lilacs. Like it belonged to an old woman. I remember thinking that, wondering if he'd stolen it from an old woman. Because he sure didn't match the car, dressed the way he was in this ugly denim suit with rhinestones all over it, all these gold chains."

"What color?"

"Something pale."

Milo opened his briefcase, removed Willie Burns's mug shot, handed it across the desk.

Melinda Waters's eyes got big. "That's him. He's the one who killed Janie?"

"He's someone we're looking for."

"He's still out there?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What does that mean?"

"It's been twenty years, and he was a heroin addict."

"You're saying he'd have a poor life expectancy," she said. "But you're still looking for him… why has Janie's murder been reopened? What's the real reason?"

"I was the original detective on the case," said Milo. "I got transferred off. Now, I've been transferred back on."

"Transferred back on by your department or you requested it yourself?" said Waters.

"Does it matter, ma'am?"

She smiled. "It's personal, isn't it? You're trying to undo your own past."

Milo smiled back, and Waters returned the mug shot. "Wilbert Burns. So now I have a name."

"He never introduced himself?"

"He called himself our new friend. I knew he was a junkie as well as a dealer. From how spacey he was- slurring his words. Driving really slow. His music was junkie music- slow jazz- this really draggy trumpet. Janie tried to change the station, but he put his hand on hers and she didn't try again."

"How'd you know he was a dealer?" said Milo.