Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“Prosperous businessman trying to forget about providing ancillary services.”

“Yeah. Even when we were looking for his wife, and McCloskey was a potential suspect, he didn’t talk about the bad old days. Even though he was the one pointing a finger at McCloskey. You’d think he’d want to tell us anything that could help find her.”

“Unless there was nothing to tell,” I said. “If Gina never knew why McCloskey burned her, why would Ramp?”

“Maybe,” he said. “What is clear is that Gina had to be aware of Ramp’s sexuality when she married him. Bi guys aren’t considered prime matrimonial material nowadays- the physical risk on top of the social. But that didn’t stop her.”

“Separate bedrooms,” I said. “No risk.”

“Yeah, but what’s his allure for her?”

“He’s a nice guy. Tolerant of her lifestyle, so she puts up with his. And he does appear to be a softie- taking in an old friend like Bethel, paying for Noel’s college. Maybe after all the brutality Gina experienced, she wanted compassion more than sex.”

“Old friend,” he said. “Wonder how Bethel feels about hopping tables while her former buddies live in the Peach Palace.”

“Noel hinted that he and his mom had been through some really hard times. Hopping tables might very well be a big step up.”

“Suppose so,” he said, taking a piece of bread.

I said, “You keep coming back to Ramp.”

“I went down to the beach today to talk to Nyquist, and the place was cleaned out. Neighbor said Nyquist packed his van last night and headed out for parts unknown. The Brentwood Country Club says he didn’t show up for some tennis lessons he was supposed to give today, didn’t bother to call in.”

“Ramp’s folding his tent, too. Asked Noel to pack him a bag. Maybe it’s the trauma of losing Gina- he’s tired of all the pretense. But it’ll be interesting to see if he eventually files a claim against the will or cashes in on some insurance policy no one knew existed. Not to mention the missing two million- who’d be in a better position to siphon that off than the husband?”

“Melissa’s suspicions validated,” he said.

“Out of the mouths of babes. Ramp’s presence is accounted for the day Gina disappeared. But what about Todd? Maybe he seduced her to get closer to the two million. In any event, he’s someone she would have picked up if his car broke down near the house and she saw him thumbing. And now he and Ramp are both on the move.”

“Ramp’s still around. I drove by his restaurant before I stopped by the house. His Mercedes was in the lot and I peeked my head in. He was out cold- stinking drunk, Bethel clucking over him like a mama hen. I left and parked across the street, observed the place for a while. No sign of Nyquist.”

“One thing, Milo. If Ramp’s planning an escape, why would he tell me and telegraph it?”

“No,” he said. “That wasn’t telegraphing- that was covering. Giving himself a plausible motive for leaving: overwhelmed with grief, the poor sucker left with nothing. So no one’ll suspect Tahiti with Todd. Not that anyone’s likely to suspect him, anyway. Officially, no crime’s been committed. And as a one-man shop, I’m spread too thin to check him out while looking for Nyquist and doing the number Melissa wants me to do on Anger and Douse. I can’t justify telling her Ramp’s a higher priority than Anger and Douse, because I’ve got nothing to back me up, and those two are already moving against her. Also, it would most likely freak her out even further, and I don’t see that being constructive right now, do you?”

“No.”

He thought for a while. “What I’m gonna do is make a call. Someone I know who happens to have a real private-eye’s license but doesn’t use it much. Not too brilliant or creative. But patient. He can keep an eye on Big Don while I hit the financial trail.”

“What about Nyquist?”

“Nyquist is unlikely to make a move without Ramp.”

The food came. Milo cut, chewed, said, “They sure know how to do their tri-G’s.”

We ate for a few minutes.

“My turn,” I said.

“One sec,” he said. “Got a couple more tidbits- related to Gina’s first husband, Dickinson. Remember Anger’s crack about off-the-rack suits? Turns out the reason Dickinson couldn’t wear one is he was a dwarf.”

“I know. I found a picture of him.”

Surprise brightened his eyes. “Where?”

“At the house. Up in the third-floor attic.”

“Little freelance archaeology? Good for you,” he said. “I couldn’t find any pictures of him at all. What’d he look like?”

I described Arthur Dickinson and Gina as a mummy bride.

“Weird,” he said. “First hubby an old gnome, second one full-sized but interested in boys. All in all, I’d say the lady wasn’t oriented toward the physical.”

“Agoraphobia,” I said. “The classical Freudian explanation says it’s a symptom of sexual repression.”

“You buy that?”

“Not in all cases, but maybe this one. It supports my theory of Gina’s marrying Ramp because of a need for friendship. The fact that they used to know each other helped their rapport along- once Melissa put them in touch with each other. Old friends reattaching, mutual needs- happens all the time.”

“I’ve got more,” he said, “on Arthur. Seems, in addition to making a fortune with the strut, he also dabbled in the movies. From the financial end. And some of the deals he did were with Apex Studios. So far I haven’t been able to connect him to any film Gina or Ramp or any of the other pretty faces worked on, or find proof that he knew them prior to McCloskey’s trial. But I’d say it’s a decent possibility.”

“The old Chief Justice Rag,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Jim Douse’s uncle was Chief Justice Douse.”

“Hammerin’ Harmon?” said Milo. “Yeah, I remember Anger saying that. So what?”

“Didn’t he sit on the court when McCloskey came to trial?”

He thought. “When was that-’69? No, Harmon was gone by then. The soft-hearted guys were already taking over. When Harmon ran things, the apple-green room was real busy.”

“Even so,” I said, “as chief justice emeritus, he’d have plenty of residual clout. And Arthur Dickinson was a client of his firm. What if Jacob Dutchy’s being chosen for the McCloskey jury wasn’t coincidence?”

“What if,” he said, then repeated it. “You do love your conspiracies, lad.”

“Life’s robbed me of my innocence.”

He smiled and cut more steak. “So what does any of it have to do with our lady in the lake?”

“Maybe nothing. But why don’t you ask McCloskey? Given what we know, maybe you can open him up. Maybe he needs opening up. Despite all our theories about complex financial motives, maybe what happened to Gina just boils down to simple revenge. McCloskey let his anger stew for nineteen years, finally reverted to type and paid someone to get her.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I do believe the guy’s pretty much of a zero, mentally. And from what I’ve been able to find out, he has no known associates- just hangs out at the mission and plays penitent.”

“Suppose the operative word is plays. Even bad actors can improve over time.”

“True. Okay, yeah, I’ll give him another chance at confession. Tonight. Can’t do the financial thing anyway till the banks open.”

Joyce came over to see how we were doing. Our compliments made her glow. At least someone’s day had been made. She brought us coffee and dessert on the house. Milo forked a piece of double chocolate cake and said, “Great. Fabulous. Best I ever had,” and she turned incandescent.