Jonathan Kellerman - Bones

Reed had initiated the aerial scan.

“Anything from that?” said Milo.

Reed shook his head. Hurrying to his Crown Vic, he drove off fast.

We continued to Milo ’s unmarked. “Mind being the wheelman, Alex? Got some calls to make.”

“Isn’t that against regs?”

“Hell, yeah. I need something to cheer me up.”

I directed the big, ungainly car westward as he called the forty-lawyer Beverly Hills firm that handled all of Simon Vander’s legal interests. The first attorney who stonewalled was named Sarah Lichter but when Milo kept pushing her secretary, the fact emerged that Ms. Lichter had represented Mr. Vander on “a business matter some years ago,” but Mr. Vander’s primary attorney for “the majority of business matters” was Mr. Alston B. Weir.

Weir’s secretary was amiable but no more helpful, referring him to Weir’s paralegal, who put him on hold. He switched the phone to speaker, yawned, stretched, studied downtown streets.

The unmarked’s alignment was way off, forcing me to wrestle the wheel. My appreciation for Milo ’s job performance kicked up a notch.

A cheerful, syrupy voice said, “Buddy Weir. How can I help the police?”

Milo told him.

“Travis? That’s a bit shocking,” said Weir.

“You know him?”

“I’ve met him. What I mean is the fact that anyone Simon or Nadine would hire being… I certainly hope that’s not the case. In terms of getting into the house… I suppose, given the circumstances, that neither Simon nor Nadine would have a serious problem with a supervised visit. You really think that’s necessary?”

“We do.”

“Oh, my,” said Weir. “If you’re correct about Travis being involved in something criminal-this is really shocking-my assumption is Simon and Nadine will appreciate your assistance.”

“Our job is to assist, sir.”

“Thank you, Detective. Let me see if I can reach Si-Mr. Vander.”

“Simone said he was in Hong Kong.”

“Did she? Well that’s helpful… one thing, Detective. Criminal law isn’t my specialty but I’m not sure Simon or Nadine’s permission to enter the house will indemnify you against legal roadblocks in the future.”

“What kind of legal roadblocks, sir?”

“Defense attorney’s tactics,” said Weir. “If it gets to that.”

“What comes to mind, sir?”

“As I said, it’s not my field of expertise, but right off the bat I can see all sorts of tenancy issues. If Travis’s living arrangement was a formal rental or lease, either directly or in the form of a perquisite…”

He spieled on, repeating John Nguyen’s oration nearly word for word. Milo stayed silent, flapped his hand like a duck’s bill.

When Weir finished, he said, “We’ll bear all that in mind, sir.”

Weir said, “Let’s return to the crux: reaching Simon and Nadine in Hong Kong.”

“She’s in Taiwan with family.”

“Oh,” said Weir. “Good, that’s helpful. If I reach anyone-let’s think positive and say when- I’ll have them fax me limited power of attorney. That way I can get you in there.”

“Thank you, sir. Please include the beach house.”

“The beach house,” said Weir. “Can’t see why not.”

“One more question,” said Milo. “Who else works in the main house besides Travis Huck?”

“I’m really not sure,” said Weir.

“Maids, housekeepers, that kind of thing?”

“The times I’ve been there, I’ve seen gardeners but no regular staff.”

“Big place like that?” said Milo. “Who cleans it?”

“Travis manages the estate, maybe he arranges things-one of those cleaning services you call, as needed? I really don’t know, Lieutenant. We don’t pay the bills, they’re handled through a private bank up in Seattle… here we are, Global Investment.”

He read off a number. “Oh, boy.”

“What, sir?”

Buddy Weir said, “If Travis does decide when the house is cleaned he’d be in a position to obscure evidence, wouldn’t he?”

“That’s why we want to get in A-sap.”

“Of course… Lieutenant, on a one-to-ten scale, how serious is this?”

“It’s a homicide, Mr. Weir, but I can’t honestly tell you Mr. Huck’s definitely the perpetrator.”

“But you suspect him.”

“He’s a person of interest.”

“Wonderful,” said Weir. “Just wonderful. I need to reach Simon.”

I took Beverly Boulevard west as Milo phoned Global Investment in Seattle.

Several underlings and one private banker later, he managed to cadge the fact that a Palisades-based service called Happy Hands cleaned both Vander houses on an as-needed basis.

“Who determines when it’s needed?” said Milo.

“How would I know that?” said the banker.

Click.

Milo glared at the phone, stashed it. “So Huck does control the process. My gut’s telling me he’s split. But like I said, going public is always a double edge. With Huck living under the radar from the time he got out of juvey until three years ago, putting on the pressure could get him burrowed deeper.”

I said, “Living underground can be an education.”

“What do you mean?”

“He may have been innocent of what put him in juvey, but the experience and what followed could’ve taught him nasty habits.”

“Strangulation and mutilation for fun and profit… How would a guy like that get in with the Vanders?”

“Maybe they’re kindhearted.”

“Gentle, nurturant rich folk.”

“It happens.”

“Think so?”

“You don’t?”

“I’m sure there are some like that, but I have to wonder if the kind of ego it takes to amass all that dough excludes kindness.”

“Ace Detective Vladimir Lenin.”

“Power to the people.” He thrust a clenched fist, had to bend his arm to avoid hitting the car’s headliner. “Drive to Moghul. All this failure is giving me an appetite.”

“You say the same thing about success.”

“Least I’m consistent.”

We stashed the car in the staff lot, walked to the restaurant. The room was buzzing; two long tables filled with white-collar co-workers and a corner booth occupied by Moe Reed and Liz Wilkinson.

The two of them sat closer together than required for business. Serving bowls were untouched. Reed had his jacket on, but he’d removed his tie, spread his collar. Liz Wilkinson’s unnetted hair was a wealth of glossy ringlets. A teal-blue dress worked well with her skin tone.

He smiled, she laughed. Their elbows bumped. They both laughed.

They saw us simultaneously, startled like kids caught playing doctor.

Reed shot to his feet. “Loo. Doc. Dr. Wilkinson’s got interesting stuff to tell us about those finger bones. ’Bout time we got something, huh?”

Jabbering fast. Liz Wilkinson stared up at him.

Milo eyed a plate of lamb. “I converted you to curry, Detective Reed?”

“She-Dr. Wilkinson likes it.”

Liz Wilkinson said, “It just so happens to be one of my favorite cuisines, so when Moses suggested it, I thought great. I’m adding this place to my list.”

“Join us,” Reed said, with more volume than necessary.

The bespectacled woman emerged from the rear of the restaurant. Today’s sari was blood red. The sight of Milo made her glow. She hurried back to the kitchen.

“She sure looks happy,” said Liz Wilkinson.

“He’s a good customer,” said Reed. “The lieutenant.”

Moments later, a platter of lobster arrived with a flourish.

Liz said, “Whoa, someone’s VIP. Thanks for letting us ride your coattail, Lieutenant.”

“ Milo ’s fine, Doctor. So what do you have for us?”