Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

When she finally left us, he said, “Okay, your turn.”

I told him the value of the Cassatt.

“Two-fifty,” he said. “Hell of a transference- that what you guys call it?”

I nodded. “It smells bad. And I’m probably not the only one who suspects the Gabneys of something fishy.”

I recounted what I’d learned about Kathy Moriarty.

“A reporter, huh?”

“An investigative reporter. According to her sister, she really loved conspiracies, spent her life chasing them down. And she’s from New England- worked in Boston, the Gabneys’ old stamping grounds. Which leads me to suspect she learned about something they did back there and came to L.A. to check it out. Passed herself off as an agoraphobic and joined the group in order to spy and collect dirt.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he said, “but they’re ultra high-priced. Who paid Moriarty’s therapy bills?”

“Her sister said Kathy was always hitting her up for money.”

“That kind of money?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she had someone behind her, a newspaper or a publisher- she’s written a book. Meanwhile, she hasn’t been heard from in over a month. That makes two out of four group members gone. Though in Kathy’s case, the sister says that’s typical. But one thing’s for certain- she was no agoraphobic. She had to be spying on the Gabneys.”

“What you’re setting up,” he said, “is financial scam number two. The Gabneys looting Gina, just like Anger and the lawyer.”

“Three, if you include Ramp and Nyquist.”

“Step right up,” he said. “Jab a needle into the rich lady’s vein.”

“Forty million dollars,” I said, “equals pretty big veins. Even the two million would have been enough to get the gears turning. I especially like the Gabneys, because of the Kathy Moriarty angle. Their move from Boston to L.A.- maybe it was out of necessity, avoiding a scandal.”

“ Harvard avoiding a scandal.”

I nodded. “Even more reason to cover it up. But Kathy Moriarty picked up the trail somehow and decided to follow it.”

Milo ate some more cake, licked his lips, said, “From what you told me, the Gabneys were pretty well regarded professionally.”

“Very well regarded. Leo Gabney would probably be on any psychologist’s list of the top ten living behavioral experts. And as a Ph.D.-M.D., Ursula could write her own ticket. But even a successful therapist’s earning power is limited. You’re selling time, and there are just so many billable hours. Even at what they charge, it would take a hell of a lot of hours to earn a Cassatt. Also, Leo struck me as a bitter man. The first time I met him he spoke of losing his son in a fire. The wound had clearly never healed. He blamed it on the judge giving custody to his wife. On the entire legal system. Maybe he deals with his anger by defying that system.”

“Crime as personal vengeance,” he said. “The thrill- sure, why not. What about Ursula- she have some axe to grind?”

“Ursula’s his protÉgÉe- from what I’ve observed, she does what he tells her. Though Gina’s death seems to have really shaken her up, so perhaps she’s the weak link. I intended to talk to her today, but she left before I had a chance.”

“ProtÉgÉe, huh? But the print ended up in her office.”

“Maybe the print was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Art for her, cash for both of them? Course at these prices, a million or two wouldn’t buy that much art, would it?”

“We have only Glenn Anger’s word on how much Gina received every month. He could have programmed his computer to read any way he wanted.”

“Why would Gina give the Gabneys dough?”

“Gratitude, dependency- same reasons cult members give everything to the guru.”

“Could have been a loan.”

“Could have been, but she’s not around to collect, is she?”

He frowned and pushed his cake aside. “Ramp and Nyquist, the button-down boys, now her goddam shrinks. Suspect hit parade. Poor thing was an equal-opportunity victim.”

“Like ants crawling over a beetle carcass,” I said.

Milo tossed his napkin on the table. “What else do you know about this Moriarty?”

“Just her address. West Hollywood.” I pulled out the paper Jan Robbins had given me and handed it to him.

“Hey,” he said, “we’re neighbors- this is maybe six blocks from my place. Could have stood next to her in line at the supermarket.”

“Didn’t know you went to the market.”

“I was speaking symbolically.” He lifted his briefcase to his knee, rummaged, and pulled out his notepad, copied down the address.

“I can stop by,” he said, “see if she’s still living there. If she isn’t, anything further’s gonna have to wait, ’cause of all the other stuff I’ve got to deal with. You want to spend some time pursuing it, that’s fine, too.”

“Do I get a brand-new private-eye briefcase?”

“Buy your own, ace. We’re talking free enterprise.”

I paid the check and Milo chatted with Joyce, complimenting her further on her food, commiserating on the problems of running a small business, then somehow easing into the subject of Kathy Moriarty as if it were the next logical step. She had no new facts to offer but was able to come up with a physical description of the reporter: mid- to late thirties, medium height and build, brown hair cut short, Buster Brown style, rosy complexion (“like what you’d expect in an Irish girl”), light eyes- either blue or green. Then, as if realizing she’d given more than she’d taken, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Why do you want to know all this?”

Milo crooked his head and led her to the rear of the restaurant- a needless concealment, since we were the only customers. He showed her his inactive LAPD badge. She opened her mouth but said nothing.

He said, “It’s important you don’t say anything to anybody. Please.”

“Sure. Is something-”

“No danger to you or anyone. We’re just making a routine inquiry.”

“About that place- the clinic?”

“Does something about the place bother you?”

“Well,” she said, “like I was telling this gentleman, it is odd so few people come in and out. Makes you wonder what they’re really doing in there- this day and age, you’ve got to wonder.”

“Yes, you do.”

She shivered and seemed to enjoy the conspiracy. Milo obtained another pledge of silence from her. We left the restaurant and headed back toward Sussex Knoll.

“Think she can keep a secret?” I said.

“Who knows.”

“Not that important?”

He shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? It gets back to the Gabneys that someone’s asking questions. If they’re not up to anything, it goes nowhere. If they are, maybe they’ll get scared and do something rash.”

“Such as?”

“Sell the Cassatt, maybe even do some other quick cashing-in that lets us know they’ve been holding on to some other assets of Gina’s.”

Gina. He said her name with an easy familiarity, though they’d never met. A homicide cop’s intimacy. I thought of all the others he’d never met but knew so well…

“… so,” he was saying, “that okay with you?”

“Is what okay?”

He laughed. “You’re making my point for me, champ.”

“Which is?”

“Go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“That you should catch some Z’s and check out Moriarty’s place tomorrow morning. If it’s an apartment building, talk to the landlord or the manager, if you can find them. Any other tenants, too.”

“What’s my premise?”

“Your what ?”