Jonathan Kellerman - Twisted

“Someone she trusted,” said Petra. “Back to the husband.” Weird Kurt. “There’s another discrepancy between Marta and the others. She was killed on the street but then placed in her car. You could look at that as her being treated with a bit more respect. Which would also fit with a killer who knew her well.”

He grimaced. “I should’ve thought of that.”

Distracted. By Klara. Self-doubt. Flaco’s gun… my gun… would I ever really use it?

“That’s why it’s good to brainstorm,” said Petra. They reached Santa Monica Boulevard. Traffic, noise, pedestrians, gay hustlers loitering on corners.

Petra said, “Here’s yet another distinction for Doebbler: She was the first. When Detective Ballou told me he thought Kurt Doebbler’s reaction was off, and then after I met Kurt, it got me thinking: What if the bad guy never set out to commit a string of murders? What if he killed Marta for a personal reason and found out he liked it? Got himself a hobby. Which brings us back to Kurt.”

“A-once-a-year hobby,” said Isaac.

“An anniversary,” she said. “What if June 28 is significant to Kurt because he happened to kill Marta on that day? So he relives it.”

He stared at her. “That’s brilliant.”

Return of the youthful exuberance. Oddly, it deflated Petra’s enthusiasm and she said, “Hardly. It’s a theory. But at least we’re focusing.”

“On Marta Doebbler?”

“For lack of anyone better.”

“Maybe,” he said, touching his bruise absently, “we should find out who knew she was at the theater. She went with friends, right?”

Staring at her with that unlined, precocious, innocent face. She wanted to kiss it.

They returned to the station and Petra pulled the Doebbler file. Marta had gone out with three friends and Detective Conrad Ballou had listed their names dutifully along with the fact that he’d contacted two, Melanie Jaeger and Sarah Casagrande, “telephonically.” The third, Emily Pastern, had been out of town.

According to Ballou’s notes, neither Jaeger nor Casagrande knew for certain who’d called Marta out of the theater.

“Witness Casagrande reports that Victim Doebbler appeared agitated by telephonic interruption and that Vic Doebbler reacted quickly to said interruption, ‘jumped out of her seat and just left. Like it was an emergency, she didn’t even apologize for having her cell phone on. Which wasn’t like Marta, she was always considerate.’ Likewise Witness Jaeger, interviewed independently.

Vic’s husband, Kurt Doebbler, denies calling Vic at any time that night, denies owning cellular phone. K. Doebbler agreed to immediate inspection of home telephonic records, which was accomplished this morning at 11:14 a.m. per Pacific Bell, confirming said denials.”

Ballou’s next notation identified the origin of the call as the pay phone around the corner from the theater.

Isaac, reading over Petra’s shoulder, said, “Doebbler could’ve driven from the Valley to Hollywood, called Marta from the booth, and waited by her car. What if he agreed to have his phone records inspected because he knew they wouldn’t incriminate him?”

Petra said, “I wonder if Mr. Doebbler has ever owned a dog.”

She called Valley SPCA. No dog registrations at the Doebbler household, but plenty of people didn’t register their pets.

Next, she phoned the numbers Ballou had listed for Marta’s friends, Melanie Jaeger and Sarah Casagrande. Both were now owned by new parties.

Transitory L.A.

DMV records showed no listings for Jaeger anywhere in California, but a Sarah Rebecca Casagrande was listed on J Street, in Sacramento. Petra got her number from the Sacramento directory and phoned it.

The receptionist at a family medicine clinic answered. Doctor Casagrande was with a patient.

“What kind of doctor is she?”

“Psychologist. Actually, she’s a psych assistant.”

“Is that like a nurse?”

“No, Dr. Casagrande is a new Ph.D. She’s supervised by Dr. Ellis and Dr. Goldstein. If you’d like an appointment- ”

“This is Detective Connor, Los Angeles Police. Would you please have her call me?” Petra recited her number.

“The police?”

“Nothing to worry about,” said Petra. “An old case.”

Next, she tried Emily Pastern, the sole friend Ballou hadn’t reached.

A machine picked up on the fifth ring and a perky female voice said, “This is Emily and Gary Daisy’s place. We’re not in now, but if you’ll leave…”

Petra sat through the message. Blocking out the words because the background noise had captured her attention.

Running canine commentary as Emily Pastern chirped away.

A dog barking.

As she hung up, Mac Dilbeck passed her desk, shot her a long, unhappy look, and kept going toward the men’s room.

She followed, waited in the hallway, was there when he exited the lav. He was only mildly surprised to see her.

“Something up, Mac?”

“For the record,” he said, “I thought your point about photography was good.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“It’s at least something, Petra. Which was more than those yahoos had to offer.” His eyes glinted. “I just got a call from one of the victims’ mother. The Dalkin kid, that freckled boy trying to look punk. Poor lady was sobbing. Begged me to say we’ve made some progress. So what could I tell her?”

He slapped his hands together hard. The sound, as sharp as a gunshot, nearly made Petra jump.

“You know what’s happening, don’t you, Petra? We hand them their prime suspect on a silver platter, they take over but don’t have the smarts to move their sorry butts and find him.” He looked around, as if seeking somewhere to spit. “ Task force. All they’re going to do is keep taking meetings, with their easels and their diagrams. Like it’s a football play. They’ll probably give themselves a sweet little name. ‘Operation Alligator,’ some garbage like that.” He shook his head. Brylcreemed hair didn’t budge but his eyelids fluttered like crepe banners.

“Taking their sweet time,” he went on, “until word gets out to Selden that they’re coming for him and he rabbits. If he hasn’t already.”

He looked old, tired, miserable. Petra didn’t console him. A man like Mac wouldn’t take well to consolation.

“It’s a drag,” she said.

“It’s a super-drag. Regular Cagé au Follies. ” His smile was nervous, fleeting. His neck tendons flexed and lumps formed under his ears. “That was a joke. By the way.”

Petra smiled.

Mac said, “I crack wise like that at home, everyone tells me I’m inappropriate. Believe it or not, I used to be a funny guy. Back in the service, I was part of this theater review, we had this little stage set up- in Guam- I’m talking bare-bones but we got some laughs.”

“Musical review?” she said.

“We had ukuleles, whatever we could come up with.” He colored. “No one dressed up as women, nothing like that, that’s not what I’m getting at. Just that I used to know my way around a joke. Now? I’m a humorless geezer. Inappropriate. ”

His discomfiture made Petra edgy. She laughed, more for herself than him. “Come over and joke any time, Mac.”

“Sure,” he said, walking off. “We call that police work, right?”

Petra watched him vanish around a corner. People. They could always surprise you.

Returning to her desk, she saw Isaac hunched over his laptop.

She returned to the Doebbler file, studied it as if it was the Bible.

By five-thirty Friday, neither Dr. Sarah Casagrande nor Emily Pastern had returned her calls. She tried again with no success. Everyone gone for the weekend.