Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

Ramp stared.

Milo finally began to return the favor.

The two of them remained locked in a stare-fest. I thought of rodeo bulls in adjacent pens, snorting and pawing and butting the boards.

Milo broke first. “This is what I’ve been given so far.” He repeated, almost word for word, what I’d told him. “Accurate?”

“Yes,” said Ramp.

Milo grunted. Pulling a note pad and pen out of a jacket pocket, he turned pages, stopped, pointed with a thick finger. “I’ve confirmed that the San Labrador police put out countywide bulletins on her. Which is usually a waste of time, but with this car, maybe not. They’ve got the car listed as a 1954 Rolls-Royce sedan, license plate AD RR SD, Vehicle Identification Number SOG Twenty-two. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Color?”

“Black over shell-gray.”

“Better than a Toyota,” said Milo, “in terms of conspicuousness. Before I came out I called a few of the local emergency rooms. No one fitting her description’s been brought in.”

“Thank God,” said Ramp. Sweating.

Milo looked up at the ceiling, lowered his eyes and took in the front rooms with one sweeping glance. “Nice house. How many rooms?”

The question caught Ramp off guard. “I’m not really sure- never counted. About thirty, thirty-five, I guess.”

“How many does your wife actually use?”

“Use? Basically, she just uses her suite. It’s three rooms- four including the bathroom. Sitting area, bedroom, plus a side room with bookshelves, a desk, some exercise equipment, a refrigerator.”

“Sounds like a home within a home,” said Milo. “Do you have one, too?”

“Just one room,” said Ramp, coloring. “Right next to hers.”

Milo wrote something down. “Any reason you can think of why she decided to drive to the doctor alone?”

“I don’t know- that wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to go with her. We were going to leave at three. She called me at two-fifteen- I was at my restaurant- and told me not to bother coming home, she’d be driving herself. I questioned it, but she said she’d be fine. I didn’t want to weaken her confidence, so I didn’t press the matter.”

“Thirty-five rooms,” said Milo, writing again. “Besides her suite, did she frequent any of the others? Keep stuff around?”

“Not to my knowledge. Why?”

“How large is the property?”

“Just under seven acres.”

“She walk around it much?”

“She’s comfortable walking around it, if that’s what you mean. She used to stroll quite a bit. I strolled with her, back when it was the only place she went. Lately- the last few months- she’s been leaving the property, taking short walks with Dr. Cunningham-Gabney.”

“Besides the front gate, is there another way to get in or out?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“No rear alleys?”

“No. The property abuts another estate- Dr. and Mrs. Elridge’s. There are high hedges in between. Ten feet or higher.”

“How many outbuildings?”

Ramp thought. “Let’s see, if you count the garages-”

“Garages? How many?”

“Ten. One long building with ten stalls, actually. It was built for her first husband’s antique car collection. Some of the vehicles are priceless. The doors are kept bolted at all times. Only the Dawn’s stall was left open.”

Milo jotted quickly, looked up. “Go on.”

Ramp looked puzzled.

Milo said, “Other buildings on the property.”

“Buildings,” said Ramp. “A potting shed, pool cabanas, a changing room off the tennis court. That’s it, unless you count the gazebo.”

“What about servants’ quarters?”

“The staff lives here in the house. One of the corridors upstairs leads to their quarters.”

“How many on the staff?”

“There’s Madeleine, of course. Two maids and the gardener. The gardener doesn’t live on the premises. He’s got five sons, none of whom work for us full time but all of whom are here from time to time, helping out.”

“Any of the staff actually see your wife leave?”

Ramp said, “One of the maids was polishing the entry, saw her walk out the door. I’m not sure if anyone actually saw her drive off. If you want to question them I can go get them right now.”

“Where are they?”

“Up in their rooms.”

“When do they go off shift?”

“At nine. They don’t always retire right away. Sometimes they stay in the kitchen- talking, having coffee. I sent them up early tonight. Didn’t want any hysteria.”

“They pretty upset?”

Ramp nodded. “They’ve known her a long time, tend to be protective.”

“What about other homes?”

“Only one. At the beach. Broad Beach. Malibu. She’s never gone there, to my knowledge. Doesn’t like the water- she doesn’t even swim in the pool here. But I called over there anyway. Twice. Nothing.”

“Did she say anything recently- over the past few days or even weeks- about taking off? Going away by herself?”

“Absolutely not, and I-”

“No hints dropped? Remarks that didn’t seem to mean anything then but do now?”

“I said no!” Ramp’s color deepened. He squinted so hard, my head began to ache.

Milo tapped his pen and waited.

Ramp said, “That wouldn’t make sense. She wanted more involvement with other people, not less. That was the whole point of her treatment- getting back into the social whirl. And frankly, I don’t see the point of this line of questioning- who the hell cares what she talked about? She didn’t go on vacation, for Christ’s sake! Something happened to her out there. Why don’t you drive downtown and shake up that psychopath McCloskey! Teach the idiots who let him go something about police work!”

Breathing hard. Temple veins swollen.

Milo said, “Before I came here, I spoke to the detective at Central Division who interviewed McCloskey. Fellow named Bradley Lewis- not the best cop, but not the worst, either. McCloskey’s alibi is ironclad- he was feeding the homeless at the mission where he lives. Peeling potatoes and washing dishes and ladling out soup all afternoon. Dozens of people saw him, including the priest who runs the place. He never left from noon till eight. So there’s no way the police could have kept him in custody.”

“What about as a material witness?”

“No crime, no witness, Mr. Ramp. As far as they’re concerned it’s just a situation of some lady who stayed out late.”

“But look who we’re talking about- what he did !”

“True. But he served his time; his parole’s over. Far as the law’s concerned, he’s Joe Citizen. The police have zero hold over him.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

“My hold’s less than zero.”

“I wasn’t referring to legal niceties, Mr. Sturgis.”

Milo smiled, took a deep breath. “Sorry. Donated my rubber hose to Goodwill.”

“I’m serious, Mr. Sturgis.”

The smile died. “So am I, Mr. Ramp. If that’s the kind of help you’re after, you’ve dialed a very wrong number.”

He put his pen away.

Ramp said, “Look, I didn’t mean to-”

Milo held out a hand. “I know this is hell. I know the system stinks. But rousting McCloskey right now is not in your wife’s best interest. Central Division said after they let him go, they drove him home- guy doesn’t have a car- and he went to bed. Let’s say I go over there, wake him up. He refuses to let me in. So I force my way in, play Dirty Harry. In the movies that works great- the power of intimidation. He confesses all, and the good guys win. In the real world, he hires a lawyer. Sues my ass, and yours, and the media find out. Meanwhile your wife comes waltzing in- she had car trouble, couldn’t get to a phone. A real happy ending except now she’s back on page one. The main feature on A Current Affair. Not to mention having to watch you cough up some dough to McCloskey or play defendant for a couple of years. What’s that gonna do for her psychological progress?”