Jonathan Kellerman - Flesh And Blood

A tiny tremor scooted across Salander’s lips.

LeMoyne kept turning pages. “He’s trying to intimidate you, Andy.” To Milo: “That’s rubbish. On what grounds?”

“The thing is, Andy,” said Milo, “there’s a legal status called material witness that can reduce your freedom substantially. Same for ‘suspect.’”

Salander blanched. “I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t do anything.”

“That may be so, but my job is to suspect, not to adjudicate. And after a couple of days in custody-”

“Bullshit,” said LeMoyne, starting to get up. “Stop scaring him.”

“Please stay seated, sir.”

“Bullshit,” LeMoyne repeated, but he settled back down. “This is obscene. Oppressive. You of all people should-”

Milo turned his back on LeMoyne. “The thing that bothers me, Andy, is I specifically asked you to be available. Because you’re the last person who saw Lauren Teague alive, and that makes you a definite material witness. From my perspective, the fact that you agreed to be available but reneged makes you an interesting person.”

Long pause.

Salander said, “I’m sorry-”

“Oh, Christ,” said LeMoyne. “Stop talking, Andrew. Shut up-”

“You went back on your word, Andy. That and the fact that you’re hiding out in this garden spot-”

“We are not hiding,” said LeMoyne, picking up the phone. “I’m calling my lawyer. Ed Geisman. Geisman and Brandner.”

“Be my guest,” said Milo. “Of course, once that happens, I won’t be able to control the ensuing publicity – agent and suspect apprehended in cheap hotel. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.” Half-turning back toward LeMoyne. “It was my impression that agents preferred to sell stories, not create them.”

“Defame me and I’ll sue you.”

“If I defamed you, I’d deserve to be sued, sir. But release of accurate facts doesn’t constitute defamation.”

Salander said, “Justin, this is crazy, why are we fighting? I didn’t do anything. All I want is – I don’t care about the story.”

“Quiet,” snapped LeMoyne.

Milo smiled. Edged closer to the bed. “The story. So this is a story conference.” He laughed. “You guys are taking a meeting.”

“It’s not like that,” said Salander, wiping moist eyes.

“Stop blubbering,” ordered LeMoyne. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I’m sorry, Justin-”

“Stop apologizing !”

“Let me guess,” said Milo, stepping between the men. “Insider’s view of a blond beauty’s murder. Are you thinking big screen or made for TV?”

“No,” said Salander. “No, no, it’s just – Justin said if we registered the idea with the Writers Guild we could be protected – it would be like life insurance.”

“Ah,” said Milo. “You think if someone comes gunning for you, the Writers Guild’ll ride to the rescue? Must be a new service they provide.”

Salander began crying.

“You asshole,” said LeMoyne. “You enjoy scaring him, don’t you?”

“He’s already scared,” said Milo. “Isn’t that right, Andy?”

“Don’t call him by his first name. It’s demeaning. Call him ‘mister.’ Treat him with respect.”

“I don’t care what he calls me, Justin.” Salander sniffed. “I just want to be safe.”

“That’s the problem,” said LeMoyne.

“What is?” Panic in Salander’s voice.

“You don’t care . You always fall short in the caring department. As well as in the thinking-things-through department.”

“Stop it, Justin-”

LeMoyne slammed the script shut. “This is bullshit. I’ve got appointments on hold, canceled meetings – Do what you want, Andy. It’s your life, take it where you want to-”

“The thing is,” said Milo, “I don’t care if you register the story. Make a million bucks from Lauren’s death, it’s the American way. But not before you tell me what you know. Because if you hold out, that puts into play yet another restriction of your freedom: withholding evidence.”

“Oh, bullshit,” said LeMoyne. “This is just total bullshit. I’m out of this, Andrew.”

“I need your help, Justin.”

LeMoyne gave a sick smile. “Oh, I don’t think so, Andy. I think you do just fine by yourself.”

“I don’t .” Salander wiped his nose with his arm. “I really need support, Justin-”

“That’s a brand-new shirt, use a tissue , for God’s sake.”

Salander looked around the room helplessly. Milo located the Kleenex box on the floor and handed it to him.

“What should I do, Justin?”

“Do what you want.”

Silence.

“I don’t know,” said Salander, throwing up his hands. He reached for the beer can.

“No more,” said LeMoyne. “You’ve had enough.”

Salander’s hand jerked back. He hugged himself. “Oh!” he said. “This is… so restrictive.”

LeMoyne shook his head. “I’m leaving.” But he didn’t move.

“What should I do?” Salander repeated.

Milo said, “How about telling the truth?”

Arms still wrapped around his torso, Salander began to rock. His smooth forehead creased. Thinking hard.

LeMoyne said, “For this I give up a lunch at Le Dome.”

SALANDER’S DECISION CAME moments later, heralded by a long, breathy sigh.

“Yes, I am scared,” he said, shivering. “First Lo, then her mother.”

No mention of Michelle and Lance. He had more to fear than he knew.

Milo said, “Jane Abbot’s death confirmed your suspicion.”

Salander nodded.

Milo leaned over him. “I need to tell you, Andy. There may be others as well.”

“Oh my God-”

“Terror tactics,” muttered LeMoyne.

Milo stepped over to the desk and shadowed the older man. “A little fear wouldn’t be a bad idea for you either, sir.”

LeMoyne’s face lost color, but he smiled. “I’ve swum with the sharks, my friend.”

Milo smiled back. “You’ve swum with trout , my friend. We’re talking Great White.”

“Ah,” said LeMoyne. “I shudder.”

“What others?” said Salander.

“Associates of Lauren,” said Milo. “Now tell me what scares you, Andy.”

“I think I may know why Lo was murdered – I mean, I can’t be sure – but right from the beginning I wondered about it.”

“Wondered about what, Andy?”

“The money. It’s always about money, right?”

“More often than not.”

Salander rocked some more.

Milo said, “Tell me about the money.”

“She – Lo – I always wondered how she supported herself. ’Cause she never worked much except for that part-time research job, and that couldn’t pay for Moschino and Prada and Jimmy Choo, right? Also, her attitude – she had that relaxed thing about money that you only get if you have it, know what I mean? In fact, when I first met her I thought she was a rich kid – inherited wealth. But she said she’d been on her own for years, so – I mean, I wasn’t nosy, but it made me wonder. She was a full-time student. Where was it all coming from? Then – after I moved in, maybe a month after – she happened to leave some mail out on the kitchen counter. On top was investment stuff, her portfolio, from some broker up in Seattle. I’m no snoop, but she left it right out there on the table, so how could I help but see the zeros?”

“Lots of zeros.”

“Lots,” Salander agreed. “I never asked her about it, we never talked about it. And she was supergenerous – when we went out for a meal together, she always insisted on paying. When we antiqued, she’d buy me things – cuff links, vintage shirts.”