Jonathan Kellerman - Gone

Ten-minute ride to McCadden Place.

Still no Range Rover but the driveway wasn’t empty.

A yacht-sized, baby-blue ’59 Cadillac convertible hogged the space. Gleaming wire wheels, white top folded down, tailfins that should’ve been registered as lethal weapons. Old black-and-yellow plates bore a classic car designation.

Brad and Billy Dowd stood next to the car, their backs to me. Brad wore a light brown linen suit and gestured with his right hand. His left arm rested on Billy’s shoulder. Billy wore the same blue shirt and baggy Dockers. Half a foot shorter than his brother. But for his gray hair, the two of them could’ve passed for father and son.

Dad talking, son listening.

The sound of my engine cutting made Brad look over his shoulder. A second later, Billy aped him.

By the time I got out, both brothers were facing me. The polo shirt under Brad’s jacket was aquamarine pique. On his feet were perforated, peanut-butter-colored Italian sandals. Cloudy day but he’d dressed for a beachside power lunch. His white hair was ragged and he looked tense. Billy’s face was blank. A grease stain rorschached the front of his pants.

He greeted me first. “Hi, Detective.”

“How’s it going, Billy?”

“Bad. Nora’s nowhere and we’re scared.”

Brad said, “More worried than scared, Bill.”

“You said- ”

“Remember the brochures, Bill? What did I tell you?”

“Be positive,” said Billy.

“Exactly.”

I said, “Brochures?”

Billy pointed at the house. “Brad went in there again.”

Brad said, “First time was superficial. This time I opened some drawers, found travel brochures in my sister’s nightstand. Nothing seems out of place except maybe some extra space in her clothes closet.”

“Packed to go,” I said.

“I hope that’s it.”

“What kind of brochures?” I said.

“Places in Latin America. Want to see them?”

“Please.”

He jogged to the Caddy and brought back a stack of glossies.

Pelican’s Pouch, Southwater Caye, Belize; Turneffe Island, Belize; Posada La Mandragora, Buzios, Brazil; Hotel Monasterio, Cusco, Peru; Tapir Lodge, Ecuador.

“Looks like vacation plans,” I said.

“Still, you’d think she’d tell us,” said Brad. “I was going to call you to see if you found any flights she took.”

Nora’s passport hadn’t been used.

I said, “Nothing so far but still checking. Does Nora ever fly privately?”

“No. Why?”

“Covering all bases.”

“We’ve talked about doing that,” said Brad. “Mostly, I’ve talked about it. Being so close to Santa Monica Airport, you see those beauties take off and it looks real inviting.”

Same thing Milo had said. For the Dowds it could be more than fantasy.

I said, “What did Nora think?”

“She was ready to do a time share. But once I found out the cost, I said forget it. The cool thing would be owning my own plane but that was never an option.”

“How come?”

“We’re not close to that financial league, Detective.”

“Did Nora agree with that assessment?”

Brad smiled. “Nora isn’t much for budgeting. Would she charter something on her own? I suppose it’s possible. But she’d have to get the money from me.”

“She doesn’t have her own funds?”

“She has a checking account for day to day, but for serious money she comes to me. It works out better for all of us.”

Billy’s eyes rose to the sky. “I never get to go anywhere.”

“Come on, Bill,” said Brad. “We flew to San Francisco.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was two years ago.”

“That’s a long time.” Billy’s eyes got dreamy. One hand dropped toward his crotch. Brad cleared his throat and Billy jammed the hand in his pocket.

I turned back to Brad. “It’s not in character for Nora to take off without telling you?”

“Nora does her own thing on a limited level, but she’s never traveled for any length of time without letting me know.”

“Those trips to Paris.”

“Exactly.” Brad glanced at the brochures. “I was going to contact those resorts, but if you want to do it, you can keep the information.”

“Will do.”

He rubbed the corner of one eye. “Maybe Nora will waltz in tomorrow with a- I was going to say with a terrific tan, but Nora doesn’t like the sun.”

I waved the brochures. “These are all sunny spots.”

Brad glanced at Billy. Billy’s eyes were still aimed at the sky. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, Detective. Just wish I…anyway, thanks for stopping by. If you learn anything, please let me know.”

“There’s something you should know,” I said. “Reynold Peaty was murdered last night.”

Brad gasped. “What! That’s crazy!”

Billy froze. Stayed that way but his eyes locked into mine. Nothing absent about his gaze now.

Brad said, “Billy?”

Bill continued to stare at me. Pointed a finger. “You just said something terrible.”

“I’m sorry- ”

“Reyn got murdered?” Billy’s hands balled. “No way !”

Brad touched his arm but Billy shook him off and ran to the center of Nora’s lawn, where he began punching his thighs.

Brad hurried over, talked in his brother’s ear. Billy shook his head violently and walked several feet away. Brad followed, talking nonstop. Billy stepped away again. Brad persisted through a series of Billy’s head shakes and grimaces. Finally, Billy allowed himself to be ushered back. Flared nostrils doubled the width of his pug nose. Thick white spittle flecked his lips.

“Who killed Reyn?” he demanded.

“A neighbor,” I said. “They had an argument and- ”

“A neighbor?” said Brad. “One of our tenants ? Who? ”

“A man named Armando Vasquez.”

“ That one. Shit, right from the get-go I had a bad feeling about him, but his application was in order and nowadays you can’t turn down a tenant based on intuition.” He tugged at a lapel. “Jesus. What happened ?”

“What worried you about Vasquez?”

“He seemed like…you know, the cholo thing.”

“Where is he, Brad?” said Billy. “I wanna kill him back.”

“Shh! An argument? How’d it get from talking to murdering?”

“Hard to say.”

“Christ,” said Brad. “Talking about what?”

Billy’s eyes were slits. “Where’s the lowlife ?”

“In jail,” said Brad. To me: “Right?”

“He’s in custody.”

“For how long?” said Billy.

“A long time,” I said.

“Tell me when he gets out so I can shoot his ass.”

Brad said, “Billy, stop! ”

Billy glared. Breathed heavily.

Brad tried to touch him. Again, Billy shook him off. “I’ll stop now, fine, okay. But when he gets out I’ll shoot a bullet up his ass.” He punched air.

“Billy, that’s- ”

“Reyn was my friend. ”

“Bill, he wasn’t a real- okay, okay, whatever, Bill, I’m sorry. He was your friend, you have every right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed. ”

“Fine, be pissed.” Back to me: “An argument ? Jesus, I was going to go by that building today or tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Brad cocked a head toward his brother. Billy was studying the grass. “Making the circuit.”

About to fire and evict Peaty.

Billy punched his palm. “Reyn was my friend. Now he’s dead. That’s fucked up. ”

I said, “What did you and Reyn do together, Billy?”

Brad tried to step between Billy and me but Billy twisted around him. “Reyn was polite to me.”