Jonathan Kellerman - Bones

Now she sat behind a leather-topped desk, listening to someone on the phone named Lester. Tiffany gilt-bronze pieces livened the desk’s surface, including an elaborate lamp with a glass shade crimped to look like paper. The rear wall was devoted to a Mary Cassatt mother-and-child pastel, the perfect image of tenderness. The absence of family photos or anything kid-related turned great art into a prop.

Milo and Reed and I stood like supplicants while Wallenburg laughed at something Lester said. The décor was a thousand square feet of over-the-top: arterial red brocade walls, layer-cake moldings, copper-foil ceiling, teal-and-lavender Aubusson rug over teak planks. The fourteenth-story view was charcoal street, aluminum water, rust-colored talons of coastline scratching at the ocean.

I tried to figure out if the Vanders’ house could be seen. Decided I was overreaching.

Wallenburg said, “You’re kidding, Les,” and turned in a way that directed my eyes to a side wall bearing Ivy League degrees and bar association awards.

She said, “Okay, thanks, Les,” hung up. “Sit, if you’d like, gentlemen.”

We arranged ourselves in front of the desk. Milo said, “Thanks for meeting with us, Ms. Wallenburg.”

“Thanks for making the dangerous trek all the way from the wilds of West L.A. ” Wallenburg smiled frostily, glanced at her watch.

Milo said, “If you know where Travis Huck is-”

“Before we get into that, Lieutenant, I’m going on record: You’re wrong about Travis. Couldn’t be more mistaken. What evidence do you have to justify naming him a suspect?”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I need to be asking the questions.”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, I need to prevent a second gross miscarriage of justice. Step One in that process is clarifying what you think you know that justifies ruining my client’s life. Again.”

“What’s Step Two?”

“That depends on how One shapes up.”

“Ms. Wallenburg, I understand your point of view, but disclosure will take place if and when Mr. Huck is charged with a crime.”

“Sounds like you’ve already judged him.”

Milo didn’t answer. Debora Wallenburg picked up a Tiffany pen and suspended it between her fingertips. “Sorry for making you come out here for nothing. Do you need your parking validated?”

“Ma’am, if you’re harboring Huck, you could be putting yourself in-”

“Now it begins. The veiled threats.” Green eyes narrowed. “Give it your best shot, Lieutenant. I’ve already begun the paperwork on a massive civil suit.”

“Step Two, already?” said Milo.

“I’m sure we’re all busy, Lieutenant.”

“Are you suing at Mr. Huck’s request? Or is it your idea?”

Wallenburg shook her head. “You’re not going to pry information out of me.”

“Ma’am, this isn’t the time for jousting. We’re talking five known murders, with several more likely. Brutal, calculated slaughter. Do you really want to hitch your wagon to someone like that?”

“Hitch my wagon? I have no interest in publicity, Lieutenant Sturgis. Quite the opposite. For the last ten years, I’ve done corporate litigation because I had my fill of the sideshow mislabeled the criminal justice system.”

“Ten years,” said Milo. “Forgive me, but is it possible you’re out of your element?”

“Or you are, sir,” said Debora Wallenburg. “In fact, I know you are. Travis Huck is a decent human being and I am not some bleeding-heart, mushy-brained do-gooder who denies the existence of evil. I’ve seen plenty of evil in my day.”

“Corporate litigation gets that nasty?”

“Witty, Lieutenant. Bottom line: I’m not harboring Travis, neither am I aware of his whereabouts.”

“But you’ve been in contact with him.”

The pen clicked. “I’m going to give you some free legal advice: Avoid tunnel vision and prevent a huge mess for all concerned.”

“Any suggestions about alternative suspects, ma’am?”

“That’s not my job.”

Moe Reed huffed. If Wallenburg noticed, she didn’t show it.

Milo said, “Huck fled. Not the behavior of an innocent man.”

“It is when that man has been abused by the system.”

“He called you because you saved him before. You advised him not to inform you of his whereabouts. Or his guilt. That way, you couldn’t be subpoenaed to divulge. All legal, Ms. Wallenburg, but it skirts the moral issue. If Huck kills again, do you want it on your conscience?”

“Oh, please, Lieutenant. You should write screenplays.”

“I’ll leave that to disillusioned lawyers.”

Wallenburg shifted her focus to me. Searching for the good kid in the classroom. When I didn’t respond, she looked at Reed.

He said, “Huck will be found, tried, and convicted. Make it easy.”

“On who?”

“Let’s start with the victims’ families,” said Reed.

“Easy for everyone but Travis,” said Wallenburg. “Nineteen years ago, he was hauled in like garbage, tried before a kangaroo court, tortured-”

“Who tortured him?” said Milo.

“His so-called caretakers. Haven’t you read my appeals brief?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’ll fax you a copy.”

Reed said, “Whatever happened back then doesn’t change the facts now. You’re so sure he’s innocent but you’ve got nothing to back that up.”

Wallenburg laughed. “Do you really think you’re going to pry facts out of me by insulting me? How about you deliver something in the way of evidence? Go ahead, convince me he’s guilty. The only link you have is casual knowledge of Selena Bass.”

Milo said, “He told you that.”

Wallenburg said, “That seals it, you’ve got nothing. Why am I not shocked?”

Reed said, “You think we just picked his name out of the phone book?”

“I think you’re looking for a quick and easy hook to hang your investigative hats on.”

Milo said, “If I told you we had physical evidence, would that change your mind?”

“Depends on the nature of that evidence and how meticulously it was collected.”

Reed laughed. “O.J., again.”

Wallenburg said, “Think what you want, gentlemen. The fact is, even if I could be a party to this sham, I wouldn’t.”

Milo said, “This sham being-”

“Railroading Travis. Again. You really should’ve read my brief. He was beaten so severely that he incurred permanent nerve damage. And what got him in there? Pushing back at a bully. Coming up against wealth and power.”

I said, “Why didn’t you file a civil suit?”

Wallenburg blinked. “Travis wasn’t interested. He’s not a vengeful person.”

Milo said, “Granted the first time was an outrage, you’re the hero of the story. But that doesn’t relate to the present situation.”

“A hero? Don’t patronize me, Lieutenant. All I did was basic lawyering.”

“Just like you’re doing now.”

“I don’t owe you any explanation.”

I said, “Travis’s life between his release and being hired by the Vanders is a blank. When he got out, you wanted to help him reintegrate, but he disappeared on you. Went homeless. All kinds of things can happen to a disabled young man living on the street. What makes you think he’s the same person you saved?”

Wallenburg put the pen down, picked up a rocker blotter.

Milo said, “We’re talking nineteen years with no legitimate identity. That kind of caginess implies something to hide.”

“It implies nothing of the sort.”

“What then?”

Debora Wallenburg plinked a long, silver nail against the blotter. “You have no idea,” she said.

I said, “I think we do. He was traumatized, lonely, in so much despair he wouldn’t accept your help in readjusting.”