Jonathan Kellerman - Rage

“She’s got exculpatory evidence but conceals it. Because her main goal isn’t defending Troy, it’s cutting a film deal. Cold. As in what passes for morality in Hollywood.”

I said, “If Weider needed to rationalize, she could’ve. Malley pulled the strings but the boys did the actual murder and were going down for a long time, no matter what. She said as much to Marty Boestling. Her advice to Troy would’ve been keep quiet, I’ll get you out of jail quickly and you’ll be rich. That would explain his fantasy of wealth.”

“Troy was a streetwise little thug, Alex. Think he’d buy it?”

“He was also a thirteen-year-old with no future,” I said. “Kids flock to Hollywood every day believing in Rich and Famous. Still, because he was a kid, his patience couldn’t be relied on indefinitely. Maybe Troy’s death wasn’t Malley’s doing, after all.”

He bit down on the cigar. Choppy smoke created a jagged halo. Picking a scrap of tobacco from his tongue, he spat and frowned. “Weider was a P.D.; she’d have known how to connect to a guy like Nestor Almedeira.”

“Maybe so would Daney,” I said. “Working with disadvantaged youth. He and Cherish both visited Troy.”

“Daney was the white guy Nestor talked about, not Malley? Jesus.” Puff puff. “Yeah, it could go that way as easily as Cherish being Jacqueline the Ripper. Especially ’cause I’ve got no real evidence for either scenario.”

He dropped the cigar, ground it out on the sidewalk, waited until the butt cooled, and pocketed it.

“What a good citizen,” I said.

“Enough dirt in this city. So how would Rand’s murder fit with a Weider-Drew thing?”

“Same as with a Cherish-Barnett thing. Rand was never in the loop so he was allowed to live. Somehow, he figured out the truth behind Kristal’s death and made himself a target.”

“The truth being Malley’s revenge, because he wasn’t Kristal’s daddy.”

“That seems to be the constant,” I said. “Any progress on the DNA?”

“Filled out a requisition, waiting to hear from the muck-a-mucks. I’d still like to know how and when Cherish started sleeping with Barnett. But now maybe we know the why: payback for Drew screwing around.”

“Makes sense. The waitress at Patty’s said Cherish and Barnett had only been there once before and she’s been working there for years. Cherish chose Patty’s because she knew it from her seminary days- Wascomb used to meet there with students. But the two of them could have other spots.”

“Their main spot was the motel. I’ll go by there and see what the clerks have to say.”

“Another possibility,” I said, “is Cherish snitched Rand out to Drew, not Barnett.”

“She’s cheating on Drew. Why would she confide in him?”

“She didn’t have to confide, just mention that Rand seemed really nervous, was dropping hints about Troy. Because she suspected that Drew played a role in Troy’s murder and if she could get him to eliminate Rand, it would save Barnett the trouble.”

“Dutiful girlfriend posing as a dutiful wife,” he said. “That’s manipulation elevated to an art form. Wascomb said she was a spiritual girl.”

“Wascomb hasn’t learned the fine points of cynicism.”

He took out another cigar, left it in its plastic wrapper, and rolled it nimbly from finger to finger. Nifty little trick; I’d never seen it before.

“There’s another manipulation to think about,” I said. “Drew’s story about the black truck was the reason we started looking seriously at Barnett Malley. But given what we’ve learned about him, we need to consider that he was playing us.”

“Not afraid of Malley, just wanting to point us in Malley’s direction.”

“Unfortunately for Drew, it got us looking closely at him.”

“Three dead kids,” he said. “Maybe two teams of murderers.”

We turned a corner. “Alex, now I’m thinking I need to take Jane Hannabee more seriously as a related crime. If Troy told his mommy about the movie and she wanted in, that would’ve made her a problem for Sydney and Drew.”

“An addict down on her luck,” I said, “she’d definitely want in.”

“We were saying Cherish coulda known where Jane slept, being Jane’s spiritual adviser, but the same applies to Drew.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “This is growing like cancer. You ever find out how much the Daneys are sucking from the county tit?”

“Seven thou a month.”

“Not bad for a coupla defrocked mopes.”

I said, “With some of it illegal. Olivia said no one enforces the regulations but it could be a wedge if you need one. I asked her to fax over the names of all the kids they’ve fostered. Drew’s got a history of falsifying documents. Maybe he’s been naughty in other ways.”

“Good thinking. What about Hot Pants Weider? Think I should confront her?”

“Boestling and Montez both said the way she went off at me was her usual approach to conflict. All you’ve got on her is hearsay adultery and she doesn’t practice law, so any threat of disbarment would be empty.”

“I could still embarrass her.”

“After the way Boestling humiliated her I don’t imagine there’d be much self-esteem left to threaten.”

“All the more so,” he said. “Hit her when she’s down.”

“You could try it.”

“But you wouldn’t.”

“Not now,” I said. “Too little bang for the buck.”

“Then who’s my target?”

“Not who,” I said. “What. Paperwork.”

I walked him to the lot across the street from the station where he retrieved his unmarked and followed me home. Passing me up at Westwood Boulevard, he got there first.

The fax from Olivia sat in my machine. One page of names and social security numbers, birth dates, periods of foster care.

Twelve girls, between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Eight were still living with the Daneys. One name was familiar. Quezada, Valerie. The restless, resentful girl Cherish had tutored in math. Cherish leading her through the steps, the essence of patience. Moments later, Cherish’s tears when she talked about Rand…

The list covered only a twenty-five-month period. Olivia’s handwritten note at the top said, This was as far back as I could get. The geniuses’ archival system is a mess. Maybe permanently.

Milo said, “Let’s start by cross-referencing the four who no longer live with them.”

“To what?”

“Worst-case scenario, for starts.” He phoned the coroner, asked to speak with “Dave,” and said, “No, not today, but I’m sure I’ll get there eventually. And get me a better mask, next time, I’m no stranger to decomposition but… yeah, nothing like water damage. Listen Dave, what I need is just a record-check… yeah, I know, hearing my voice makes your day.”

Five minutes later we got the callback from Coroner’s Investigator David O’Reilly: None of the four names matched the crypt’s roster of unnatural deaths. Milo phoned the Hall of Records, got the runaround before hooking into county records and the roster of natural deaths.

He put the phone down. “They all seem to be alive. Our bit of good cheer for the day.”

I thought: They could’ve died outside of L.A. County. “What next?”

“Any ideas?”

“You could try to locate them, see if they’ve got anything to say about the Daneys. I’d focus on these two, who are still minors. Maybe life got better for them and they no longer need fostering. On the other hand…”

“I like that,” he said. “Constructive pessimism.”

Olivia gave us a contact at D.C.S. and we had the data by three p.m.