Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

The place was a smallish English cottage, beautifully designed and festooned with iceberg roses. High spot on the street; the Berkeley hills were verdant, the view across the bay picture-perfect.

Jane hadn’t bothered to notify the DA she’d moved. Nor had she told them she was planning to travel to Europe. That nugget had come to Barnes by way of an old Sacramento classmate, a woman named Lydia Mantucci, who’d never liked Jane and had forwarded the gossip with glee.

No one answered his knock on the stout, hand-carved door but a walkway on the far side of the house led to a flight of wooden steps that they climbed.

It was late afternoon and cold wind blew across the water. Jane had dressed for a warm-weather fantasy: black, short-sleeved polo shirt, khaki shorts, oversized sunglasses. Her skin was prickled by goose bumps and she hugged herself.

Intentional suffering? Amanda wondered. Jane had lost weight and with no makeup and her hair drawn into a high ponytail, she looked plain and worn.

She wasn’t surprised to see them.

“You detected me,” she said. “Drink?” Indicating a half-empty bottle of Sapphire gin and an ice bucket.

“No, thanks,” said Will. “Nice view.”

“When I pay attention it is. I got the place cheap because the previous tenant was denied tenure and left in a snit without giving notice or paying two months’ rent.”

“Angry professor.”

Jane smiled. “Angry assistant professor of ethics.”

Amanda said, “When are you leaving for Italy?”

Jane removed her sunglasses. The sclera of her eyes were pink, smudgy pouches had formed under the lower lids, and her eyebrows drooped. “You’re worried I’ll leave in a snit?”

“The DA’s office sent us,” said Will. “They may need you to testify that you gave us permission to be on the property.”

“I already put that in writing for the DA.”

Amanda said, “If the defense makes a big deal out of our right to search, in-person testimony will be required.”

Jane turned away and stared at gray water and milk-colored sky. “Plus, they’re hoping I’ll testify against Mother.”

“Have they asked you to do that?”

“No, but that was the clear subtext. I even received a little lecture about there being no filial privilege under the law.”

Amanda said, “So when are you planning to leave and where exactly are you going?”

Jane said, “That’s the linchpin of the defense? You people trespassed?”

Barnes said, “Probably not but we’ve got to be ready for anything.”

“ Probably not?”

“There’s talk Parker will be pleading diminished capacity. And that your mother’s lawyer will be delaying to the max.”

Jane faced them again. “Matteras? He’s probably hoping she’ll die first, so he can avoid having to earn his retainer. Fat chance.”

“She’s healthy?”

“Only the good die prematurely.” Jane’s hands clenched. “Like Davida. God, I miss her.”

She sniffled and poured gin and drank way too much and suppressed a belch. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there if I’m needed. In the meantime, I have to try something new.”

“What’s that?” said Barnes.

“Being alone.”

“You’re sure that’ll be good- ”

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. Look at me, Will. Pathetic.” She touched her chest, let her hand trail down to her abdomen. Her legs were prickled and white. Long, sleek legs, legendary in high school, maybe still her best feature. But for the first time, Barnes noticed encroaching signs of age: spider veins, hints of varicosity, patches of pucker and slack.

He said, “You look great, Jane.”

“I look like shit, but thanks for lying. Even though you were never really good at it…think about it, Will: have you ever seen me alone for any significant stretch of time?”

Barnes considered that. Jane laughed. Not a pleasant sound. “Exactly. It’s an addiction as much as any other.”

“What is?”

“Needing people. To hell with Streisand. Fools like me are anything but lucky. I don’t know how I ended up this way but I’m sure as hell going to try to find out.”

“In Europe,” said Amanda.

“ Florence, to be specific,” said Jane. “I’ve been there with each of my glorious spouses. Mother took me when I was twelve, fourteen and sixteen. I figured it would be a good place to start. If I don’t fall apart, I can work my way up to some meaner places.” She laughed. “Maybe I’ll tour Beirut.”

Amanda said, “Testing yourself.”

“It’s about time,” said Jane. “I’ll probably flunk. Lord knows I’ve failed every other life lesson.”

Barnes said, “Jane- ”

Jane wagged a finger. “Hush, bad liar. Right now, nothing is sure to churn my stomach more than reassurance.”

Amanda said, “Good, because this is a business call, not psychotherapy.” Using a voice so cold Barnes had to fight not to stare.

Jane’s face went white.

Amanda stepped closer, took the glass from her hand and set it down hard on the table. “If you’re serious about growing up, losing the self-pity is a good place to start. Bottom line: you need to cooperate fully. If you don’t, you’ll be subpoenaed as a material witness and we’ll confiscate your passport. We need all your flight information as well as your addresses overseas, so start dictating.”

She whipped out her pad.

Jane said, “All I know so far is my flight number and my hotel in Florence.”

“Then we’ll start with that. You need to know that if the DA’s not satisfied with what we bring back, you won’t be getting on any planes.”

Jane tried to lock eyes with her but Amanda’s stone face made her turn away. “My, but you’re a tough one.”

“More like a busy one,” said Amanda. “Let’s stop screwing around and get some facts down on paper.”

Twenty minutes later, walking back to their car, Barnes said, “Aren’t we the stern, unrelenting authority figure.”

Amanda got behind the wheel.

As she fooled with her hair and started the engine, he said, “I’m sure there was a reason.”

Amanda pulled away from the curb, driving faster than usual. She covered half a block and stopped, keeping her eyes on the street.

“No big riddle,” she said. “I felt sorry for her. So I gave her what she needed.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS FOR MUSIC CITY BREAKDOWN

Special thanks to Chief Ronal Serpas, Commander Andy Garrett, and Sergeant Pat Postiglione of the Metro Nashville Police Department, and to the inimitable George Gruhn.

Abeautifully carved mandolin in a velvet-lined case was stashed in the bedroom closet of Baker Southerby’s house.

The instrument, a 1924 Gibson F-5 with just a little pick wear below the treble f-hole, was worth more than Baker’s house, a little frame bungalow on Indiana Avenue in the west Nashville neighborhood known as The Nations. The area was solid blue-collar with some rough edges, lots of residents living paycheck to paycheck. The house was the only one Baker Southerby had ever known, but that didn’t make it more than it was. The Gibson, rare because it had been a commercial failure, was now a serious six-figure collector’s item, a fact Baker’s partner liked to obsess on.

“One just sold at Christie’s for a hundred and seventy, Lost Boy.”

“You follow auctions?”

“I was curious.”

When Lamar Van Gundy got like that- usually when the two of them were grabbing a quick meal- Baker kept chewing his burger and pretended that he’d gone deaf. Mostly that worked, but if Lamar was in a mood and persisted, Baker’s next retort was as automatic as voice mail: “And your point is?”