Jonathan Kellerman - Gone

“Lawyer games.”

“Guess who her lawyer was. Lauritz Montez.”

“That guy from the Malley case? Thought you two had friction.”

“We did but I’m the biggest, baddest, smartest shrink in the whole wild world. Gee willikers.”

“He schmeared you and you bought it?”

“The case interested me.”

“That’s a good reason.”

“As good as any.”

“Mind talking to Montez again, see if Michaela had more to say about her partner in crime?”

“Don’t mind at all,” I said. I’d been thinking of doing it, anyway.

He pushed aside a half bowl of chowder. Waved for another beer, then altered it to a Coke.

The sixty-five-year-old barmaid laughed. “When did you ever have self-control?”

Milo said, “Don’t be cruel,” and she laughed some more and left.

I realized all the patrons were men. Wondered about that as Milo ticked an index finger. “Meserve, Peaty, Brother Billy. Investigation 101 teaches you to narrow the suspect pool. I seem to be doing just the opposite.”

“The search for truth,” I said.

“Ah, the agony.”

By eight fifty-three p.m., we were parked four blocks west of the PlayHouse. As we headed to the school on foot, Milo’s bulk slanted forward, as if marching into a blizzard.

Scoping out streets and driveways and alleys for Michaela Brand’s little black Honda.

The alert for the car had been expanded statewide. Milo and I had cruised these same streets just a few days ago, no reason to look now.

The ability to put logic aside sometimes makes for a great detective.

We got to the building at five after nine, found people milling.

Dim porch light allowed me to count as we neared the front steps. Eight females, five males. Each one slim, young, gorgeous.

Milo muttered, “Mutants,” as he bounded up the stairs. Thirteen pairs of eyes turned to watch. A few of the women shrank back.

The men occupied a narrow height range: six to six two. Broad, square shoulders, narrow hips, angular faces that seemed curiously static. The women varied more in stature but their body shape was uniform: long legs, flat bellies, wasp waists, high-tucked butts, high puffy bosoms.

Manicured hands gripped plastic bottles of water and cell phones. Wide hungry eyes questioned our presence. Milo stepped into the middle of the porch and the acting students cleared space. The light played up every crease, pit and pucker and pore. He looked heavier and older than ever.

“Evening, folks.”

Dubious stares, general confusion, smirks and side glances of the kind you see in middle-school cafeterias.

One of the young men said, “What’s up,” with practiced slur.

Brando in On the Waterfront ? Or was that ancient history?

“Crime’s up, friend.” Milo moved the badge so that it caught light.

Someone said, “Whoa.” Snickers petered to silence.

Milo checked his Timex. “Wasn’t class supposed to start ten minutes ago?”

“Coach not here,” said another Adonis. He jiggled the front door handle.

“Waiting for Nora,” said Milo.

“Better than Godot.”

“Hopefully, unlike him, she’ll show up.” Milo’s wolf-grin caused a reflexive tooth-bare from the young man. The guy threw back his head and a sheet of dark hair billowed, then flapped back in place.

“Nora late a lot?”

Shrug.

“Sometimes,” said a young woman with curly yellow hair and lips so bulbous they resembled tiny buttocks. That and blue saucer eyes gave her a stunned mien. Inflatable doll barely come to life.

“Well,” said Milo, “this gives us time to chat.”

Swigs from water bottles. Flips of cell phone covers nursed forth a series of electronic mouse-squeaks.

Milo said, “I assume you guys heard about Michaela Brand.”

Silence. A nod, then two. Then ten.

“Anybody has something to say, it would be much appreciated.”

A car drove west. Several of the acting students followed its diminishing taillights, grateful for distraction.

“Anything, people?”

Slow head shakes.

“Nothing at all?”

“Everyone’s freaked out,” said a dark, pointy-chinned girl with coyote eyes. Deep sigh. Her breasts rose and fell as a unit.

“I saw her a couple of times but didn’t know her,” said a man with a shaved head and bone structure so pronounced he seemed carved out of ivory.

“That’s ’cause you just started, Juaquin,” said the pillowly-lipped, curly-haired girl.

“That’s what I’m saying, Brandy.”

“Briana.”

“Whatever.”

“You knew her, Briana?” said Milo.

“Just from here. We didn’t hang out.”

“Any of you know Michaela outside of here?” said Milo.

Head shakes.

“She was, like, quiet,” said a redheaded woman.

“What about Dylan Meserve?”

Silence. Notable edginess.

“None of you knew Dylan?”

“They were friends,” said the redhead. “Her and him.”

“Any of you see Dylan recently?”

The red-haired girl pulled a watch out of her purse and squinted at it.

“Nine sixteen,” said Milo. “Nora generally this late?”

“Sometimes,” said Curly Blonde.

Someone else said, “Nora’s Nora.”

Silence.

Milo said, “What’s on the agenda tonight?”

“There is no agenda,” said the hair-flipper. He wore a plaid flannel shirt tailored tight to his V-frame, faded jeans, clean, crisp hiking boots that had never encountered mud.

“Nothing’s planned?” said Milo.

“It’s free-form.”

“Improv?”

Impish smile from Plaid. “Something like that, Officer.”

“How often you guys come here?”

No answer.

“Once a week for me,” said Briana Pillowlips. “For other people it’s more.”

“Same here,” said Plaid.

“Once a week.”

“More when I have time. Like I said, it’s free form.”

And free.

I said, “No rules.”

“No constrictions.”

Milo said, “There are no constrictions helping the police, either.”

An olive-skinned guy with a face that managed to be reptilian and handsome said, “No one knows anything.”

Milo handed out business cards. A few of the beautiful people bothered to read them.

We left them waiting on the porch, walked halfway down the block until darkness concealed us, and watched the building.

Milo said, “It’s like they’re extruded from machines.”

We waited in silence. By nine twenty-three Nora Dowd still hadn’t showed and her students began to drift away. When the young woman named Briana headed toward us, Milo said, “Karma.”

We stepped out of the shadows well in time for her to see us.

Despite that, she jumped. Gripped her purse, held on to her balance. “You scared me!”

“Sorry. Have a minute?”

Inflated lips parted. How much collagen had it taken for them to get that way? She hadn’t reached thirty, but tuck lines around her ears said she wasn’t relying on youth. “I have nothing to say and you really scared me.” She walked past us to a battered white Nissan, headed for the driver’s door, groped for her keys.

Milo followed her. “We really are sorry, it’s just that we haven’t learned much about Michaela’s murder and you seemed to know her best.”

“All I said was I knew who she was.”

“Your fellow students didn’t know her at all.”

“That’s because they’re new.”

“Freshmen?”

Curls shook. “It’s not like college- ”

“I know, free-form,” said Milo. “What’s the problem helping us, Briana?”

“There’s no problem, I just don’t know anything.” She unlocked the driver’s door.