Jonathan Kellerman - Bones

Wallenburg’s mouth formed a curse. “Lieutenant, our explicit agreement was-”

“That we’d listen,” said Milo. “We did, now we’re arresting him.”

Wallenburg’s mouth worked. “Oh, this is great, so predictable-I promise you it’ll be futile, Lieutenant. And you’d better make damn sure he’s not abused. The moment you walk out that door, I’ll be drafting motions.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, ma’am. Please get up, son.”

Huck complied.

“Please step around to this side of the desk.” Out came the cuffs.

Wallenburg said, “Are you booking him at West L.A. or Downtown?”

“We’ll hold him at West L.A. until appropriate transportation can be arranged.”

“Everything according to procedure,” said Wallenburg. “Talk about average Germans-you damn well better put him on suicide watch.”

“I’m already dead,” said Huck.

Wallenburg raised a hand, as if to slap him. Stared at her quivering fingers and let her arm flop.

“Thank you for everything, Debora,” said Huck.

“You,” she spat, “are a first-class pain in the ass.”

Riding the elevator down to the sub-lot, Huck said, “You really had no choice.”

Reed said, “Why’s she so devoted to you?”

Huck blinked. “Once she told me about volunteer work she does. At animal shelters. She can’t have children.”

“You’re her kid?” said Reed.

“No, but once you save an animal in the shelter, she said, you’re responsible for it.”

“You’re one of her puppies, huh?”

Huck smiled. “I think maybe I am.”

The door opened. Milo took hold of Huck’s cuffed arm, propelled him to the car. “Anything else you want to tell us?”

“I don’t think so. You don’t believe me anyway.”

“They teach you passivity in rehab?”

Huck exhaled. “Life’s been long. Longer than I thought.”

“So it’s time to give up.”

“When there’s something to do, I do. At this point, there’s nothing left.”

I said, “Not necessarily.”

Milo stashed Huck in an empty West L.A. interview room, took his belt and his shoelaces. No booking, no printing, no mug shot. Just a tall cup of water, a coarse blanket, and a second pat-down that produced nothing.

The first frisk, in the hallway outside Debora Wallenburg’s office, had produced lint, a seriously chewed blue Bic pen, three dimes, an LAX parking stub, a yellow Post-it with a Washington Boulevard address.

“Where’s this, Travis?”

“Internet café.”

“Mar Vista?”

“Yes.”

“Your link to the world.”

Silence.

“You don’t have any cash?”

“Spent it.”

“Debora was going to replenish.”

No answer.

Milo said, “You travel light, friend.”

Shrug.

“Where’s your I.D.?”

“I… lost it.”

“Sure you did.”

“You know who I am.”

“That we do.” Milo waved the parking stub. “This gonna match to the one we found in Simon’s Lexus?”

Huck said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Leaving it there.”

“To mislead us. Kind of a stale scam, pal.”

“Sorry.”

“Your brilliant idea or Debora’s?”

The too-quick reply: “Mine. I’ll pay for the tow.”

Reed and I watched through one-way glass as Milo stood behind Huck, then shifted face-to-face. Huck braced himself on the back of the chair.

“Sit, Travis.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sit anyway.”

Huck obeyed.

“What else do you want to tell me, Travis?”

“Can’t think of anything, sir.”

Milo waited.

Huck said, “Really, sir.”

“Okay, sit a spell-temperature okay?”

“Yes.”

“Gets too cold, you’ve got the blanket.”

“Thank you.”

Milo left and joined us in the adjoining room. A milky patch marred the glass on the other side; dried sweat or some other body fluid. Huck’s position placed the splotch directly above his head.

Man under a cloud.

We watched as he sat there. Finally, he walked to a corner and lay down. Placing one arm over his eyes, he curled himself smaller than I’d have thought possible.

Moe Reed yawned. “Nothing like an action film to start off the morning.”

Within seconds Huck’s mouth had fallen open and he was sleeping.

Reed said, “Pretty mellow for a guy supposedly all guilty and torn up.”

I said, “Or he’s escaping reality.”

“Maybe he got duped, but you can’t think he’s totally clean.”

“I think his mind works differently.”

“Isn’t that the point, Doc? He’s a nut, easy to prime.”

“I know the obvious suspect’s usually the right one, but the way we were led straight to Huck via your brother always bothered me. Huck’s account of Simone’s hatred for her family fits the mutilated pictures Aaron found in her trash. Her lie about despising Buddy Weir also syncs with what Aaron saw, as does the fact that Simone and Weir are in a relationship.”

“Blood and toys,” said Reed. “Some relationship.”

I said, “Sparse food in Simone’s trash fits bulimia, so do her upbringing and her body mass. Overall Huck’s account has the ring of truth. And minus his wig, Buddy Weir could be the bald guy Selena’s caretaker saw. He’s also a better fit than Huck to the charming, dominant man DeMaura Montouthe described. After meeting her at a sex party, Weir could’ve known where Selena lived through dating her, or he found out from Simone. Either way, it would be easy to take her computer. But make sure to leave the toys he found in her drawer.”

Reed said, “The bald guy could just as easily be Huck. The way he was talking about Selena-coming in with Simone giggling, low-cut jeans. To me that sounded like he lusted for both of them. Guy like that, doesn’t get it unless he pays for it, coupla hotties show up, his mind starts revving. Finally he can’t take it and boom. And one more thing, Doc, he’s growing his hair out. Perfect if he was planning to disappear. Which is something he’s good at.”

“But he came in voluntarily.”

“Because he knew we were closing in on him.”

I said, “He says Simone shaved his head. Perfect move if she was trying to provide cover for Weir.”

Reed rubbed his crew cut. “He says. Everything depends on us believing him.”

Milo said, “Weir generally wears his wig. Had it on when he paid off Duboff.”

“That’s another thing,” I said. “The payoff. What motive would Huck have to kill Duboff? When I mentioned Duboff’s name there was no recognition and I couldn’t spot a tell. Weir, on the other hand, has a link to Duboff-passed him cash in the parking lot. Had to be payoff for access to the secret garden.”

“Fifteen grand for picnics and Duboff’s not suspicious?”

“Pure L.A.,” I said. “The VIP room. Weir fit Duboff’s notion of a major donor: Beverly Hills lawyer, backs environmental causes, Duboff figures the guy’s racked up a lot of billable hours, is spreading the joy. Given Duboff’s shoestring budget, he’d have been thrilled. And likely to trust Weir when Weir said he’d discovered something about the marsh murders.”

“The west side,” said Milo. “Okay, something turns up there, I’ll adjust my attitude.”

Reed said, “Exactly. Till then, I like Huck.”

I said, “I can be fooled as easily as anyone, but I don’t see Huck as sufficiently dominant. If he’s been putting on a performance, why not spin it so he ends up in the clear? As in I Never Knew Anything. Instead, he told us he suspected impending violence, didn’t report it, feels guilty. The guy just about invited you to arrest him.”