Jonathan Kellerman - Gone

“Don’t waste time cruising by.”

“A shrink, let’s see…I’m guessing Volvo, maybe some kind of Volkswagen.”

“Audi Quattro.”

“Right continent,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll cruise by, you’re welcome.”

“It’s unlikely he’ll persist, Milo. When he sobers up he’ll realize another disturbance will mess him up in civil court. If he doesn’t, his lawyer will educate him.”

“If he was that smart, Alex, he’d never have stalked you in the first place.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’m okay and you’ve got a full plate.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“What is?”

He loosened his belt and suppressed a belch. “Your choice of gastronomic imagery.”

No sign of Hauser’s Audi when I got home at two a.m. The bed was made up and Robin was gone. I called her six hours later.

“I heard you leave,” she said. “Went outside but you were driving away. What kind of ugly are we talking about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do. The new me.”

“The old you was fine.”

“The ostrich’s head has been lifted. What happened, Alex?”

“Someone got shot. An extremely bad guy. You could’ve stayed.”

“I got antsy,” she said. “It’s a big house.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Last night was good, Alex.”

“Except for the chop-socky interlude.”

“Are you worried Hauser’s going to cause more trouble?”

“Maybe he’s smarter when he’s sober. The police wrote it up in my favor. About what I asked you- ”

“Have a change of heart?”

“Of course not.”

“It wasn’t just the moment, Alex?”

Maybe it had been. “No.”

Couple of beats. “Would you be upset if I said I needed some time to think?”

“It’s a big step,” I said.

“It is. Which is kind of strange, given how much of our lives we’ve shared.”

I didn’t answer.

She said, “I won’t take too long.”

I left a message with Erica Weiss’s secretary, saying I wanted to talk about Patrick Hauser. Just as I hung up, Milo clicked in.

He sounded exhausted. Probably up all night on Peaty. Maybe that’s why he didn’t bother with niceties.

“Wendell A. Chong, the guy whose van Peaty ripped off, is a software consultant who used to rent office space in a building owned by the Dowds. The van was boosted from his reserved tenant slot at night, while Chong was working late. Chong collected insurance, bought himself a new car, has no interest in reclaiming it.”

“Peaty watched and seized the opportunity,” I said. “Chong have any impressions of Peaty?”

“Never saw him. Who he does remember is Billy Dowd. He’d always wondered if Billy had something to do with the theft.”

“Why?”

“Because Billy used to hang around aimlessly when Brad came by to collect rent. One time he drifted into Chong’s office and just stood there, like he owned the place. Chong asked him what he wanted, Billy got a spaced-out look in his eyes and left without a word. Chong followed Billy out into the hall, saw him walking up and down, like he was patrolling. A couple of women stepped out of an office and Billy checked them out. Pretty intensely, according to Chong. Then Brad showed up, ushered Billy away. But he kept bringing Billy along, so Chong started locking his door. Interesting, huh?”

“Billy and Peaty?” I said.

“Weirdos finding common ground. It happens, right? Brad protects Billy but he can’t be everywhere. And like you said, he overestimates his power. Maybe he takes Billy along with him when he checks out the garage at the PlayHouse. Or the PlayHouse itself. I don’t see Billy getting laid on his own.”

“Billy seemed gentle.”

“Maybe he is,” he said. “Except when he’s not. In any event, I just got permission from Vasquez’s D.P.D. to interview his client, on my way over to the jail. I’m betting on a quick plea, maybe involuntary manslaughter. Kinda nice to have one that closes easy.”

“You could name Peaty as the bad guy on Michaela and close that,” I said.

“Yet I wonder aloud about Billy,” he said. “Why? Because I’m a self-destructive fool, no sleep in two days, I’m vulnerable, amigo. Tell me to forget about Billy and I will.”

“Two bad guys could explain how the Gaidelases’ car ended up twenty-five miles from Kanan Dume. Billy doesn’t seem street-smart, but Peaty could’ve helped him there. Still, it’s hard to imagine him getting away for any length of time. He and Brad seem to be together most of the day and at night there’s a neighbor watching him.”

“The ‘nice lady.’ Wonder how hard she looks. I was supposed to check that out but with all that’s happened…do you think it’s interesting that the bad stuff we know about started after Billy got his own place?”

“If the bad stuff was the product of a sick relationship,” I said, “with Peaty gone, Billy might not act out again.”

“There’s comfort for you.”

“I can drop by and talk to the neighbor.”

“That would be great, I’m tied up with Vasquez all day.” He read off Billy’s address on Reeves Drive. “Any more problems from that asshole Hauser?”

“Not a one.”

“Good.”

“I’m still wondering about something,” I said.

“Am I going to want to hear this?”

“Dylan Meserve picked Latigo for the hoax because he hiked up there. What led the Gaidelases to the same spot?”

“Aha,” he said. “Already been there and back. Maybe Peaty overheard Dylan talking about hiking up there. While the Gaidelases were waiting for their audition, they mentioned wanting to hike and Peaty overheard again and gave them advice.”

“That’s a lot of overhearing.”

“He’s a watcher.”

“Okay,” I said.

“You’re not buying it.”

“What we know about Meserve suggests lack of conscience, or at the least a weak one. Michaela’s description of his behavior those nights bothers me. Mind games, preoccupation with death, rough sex. I hate to add to your burden but- ”

“It’s not my burden. The Gaidelases were never my case.”

A casual acquaintance might’ve bought that.

He said, “Peaty for the girls, Meserve for the Gaidelases? What, that damned school was a magnet for homicidal maniacs?”

“Something went on there.”

He laughed. Not a pleasant sound.

Erica Weiss phoned back while I was in the shower. I dried off and reached her at her office.

“What an experience, Doctor. You okay?” Like many referrals, she was just a phone voice to me. Fast-talking, high-energy, peppy as a cheerleader.

“I’m fine. Any word on Hauser?”

“Haven’t checked yet. What exactly transpired?”

When I finished the re-tell, she was peppier. “His malpractice carrier will be thrilled to learn the ante just got upped. Idiot just cooked his goose well- done. When can I depose you?”

“Everything’s in the police report,” I said.

“Even so. When’s convenient for you?”

Never. “How about tomorrow?”

“I was thinking more like today.”

“It’s short notice.”

“Those poor women could use their settlements, Doctor.”

“Try me late in the afternoon.”

“You’re a doll,” she said. “I’ll come to you with the court reporter. Just name the place.”

“Let’s talk later.”

“Commitment-shy? Sure, whatever works, but please make it sooner rather than later.”

Billy Dowd’s address was on the south side of Beverly Hills, a short walk to Roxbury Park. Last year, I’d witnessed a shoot-out at the park that had never made the papers. This was Beverly Hills, with its aura of safety and ninety-second police response.