Jonathan Kellerman - Flesh And Blood

“An alternative scenario,” he muttered. Five steps later: “Nah, I don’t like it. If Jane suspected Lyle had killed Lauren, that’s something she would’ve been happy to spill. And Lyle doesn’t connect to Michelle and Lance – he’d have no way to know them. No, the way Lauren was dispatched wasn’t a crime of passion. Lyle’s just a circling vulture who never gave a shit about Lauren – this girl had some life.”

“Short life,” I said, and my eyes began to hurt.

We reached the car.

“Lauren sitting at her computer,” he said. “Researching her family tree.”

“Discovering Ben Dugger. Learning about his experiment. She applied to be a paid subject – not for the money, for the connection. Got a confederate job instead, because she was beautiful and poised. Used her looks and her charms to wangle her way into Dugger’s confidence. He sweated, got irate, when you pushed him about having a personal relationship with Lauren. Maybe she turned him on sexually, took advantage of that because that was her specialty. But eventually she sprang the truth on him.”

“Guess what, I’m your sister.”

I nodded. “As family reunions went, it was a bust. The money, but maybe also something else. I’ve always thought Dugger had some kind of sexual hang-up – at the very least he’s sexually unconventional. If Lauren aroused him, discovering she was his sister could have ignited some serious incestuous panic. And rage. Toss in Lauren trying to horn in on his inheritance, and she was finished. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to surface.”

Big tips. Lauren deluding herself that she was the dancer, knew the steps. But her life had been choreographed for her.

He opened the car door and got in. “Inheritance makes me wonder about something else, Alex. That story Cheryl Duke told you about the gas leak. What if that was no accident but an attempt to eliminate another couple of slices?”

My throat got tight, and my breath caught. “Baxter and Sage. The dead dog tipped Cheryl off – she and the kids got lucky. But they also ended up back at the Duke estate. Under the control of the Duke family. It puts a whole new flavor on Kent Irving’s remark about Cheryl being a neglectful mother: setting the stage so no one’s shocked when the kids fall in the pool or tumble over the cliff or have a grisly mishap on that funicular or drown in the ocean.”

“Cheryl fell asleep on the beach, so she’s giving them more to work with.”

“True,” I said. “She’s no genius. But why should she suspect? People without the capacity for evil can’t imagine the worst of intentions.”

“People who can’t imagine become sweet targets.”

“Those kids.” I pictured high walls, metal gates, closed-circuit TV. Riptides.

He shook his head.

“Oh, Jesus,” I said.

“Look, Alex, these people are bad, but they’re not stupid. Bumping off the kids is gonna be messy, period. Doing it so soon after Lauren’s death would be foolish – on the chance that anyone ever connects them to Lauren.”

“But there might be some time pressure here. Tony Duke dying, wanting to tie up loose ends before the will’s read. Isn’t there some way in – just enough to scare them off?”

“What I can do right now is call Ruiz and Gallardo and ask for a look at Jane’s finances. If some sort of money link between her and Duke can be verified – if she made copies of those letters she wrote him – that’ll go a ways toward establishing a motive and justifying another visit to Dr. Dugger and hinting around. The risk, of course, is that Dugger and Anita and Brother-in-Law pull up their tents, get rid of evidence, hide behind lawyers, do whatever they have to do.”

“Money and power,” I said. “Some things never change.”

He started up the car. “People in their position… Why should I lie to you? Getting to them is not going to be easy.”

ROBIN WASN’T HOME. That bothered me. It also made me feel relieved, and that ate at me further.

She’d left a message on the machine. “Alex, I’m still tied up with you-know-who. Now his publicist wants me to stick around for some photographs – showing him how to hold the guitar, finger chords accurately… Silly stuff, but they’re paying by the hour… After the photo session, which could be late, we may go out to dinner. A bunch of us – he’s got an entourage. Maybe at Rue Faubourg, over on Hillhurst, you can try me there later. Or sooner, here at the studio – we’ve moved from the manse to Golden Horse Sound, here’s the number… Be well, Alex.”

I phoned the recording studio, got voice mail, left a message. Was thinking about Baxter and Sage when Robin called back.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi. Sorry for the long day.” She sounded tired and distant and not the least bit sorry.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure, how about with you?”

“You’re not still angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ve been a little absent recently.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s not like I’m not used to that.”

“You are angry.”

“No, of course not – Listen, Alex, I really can’t talk right now, they’re calling me-”

“Ah, stardom,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “We’ll talk later – we need to get away, together. I don’t mean dinner and an orgasm. Real time – time away – a vacation, like normal people take. Okay? That fit your schedule?”

“Sure.”

“Are you? Because whatever you’ve been involved in – that girl – has taken you to another galaxy.”

“I always have time for you,” I said.

Silence. “Look, I won’t go to dinner with the gang. They make a big deal about it – Elvis and his hangers-on. Like summer camp, everyone does everything together. But I’m not part of it, I don’t need to participate.”

“No,” I said. “Finish up, do what you need to do.”

“And leave you all alone? I know you need solitude, but I think I’ve been giving you too much – that’s what I’m trying to get across. Both of us have let things slip.”

“It’s me,” I said. “You’ve been fine.”

“Fine,” she said. “Damning with faint praise?”

“Come on, Robin-”

“Sorry, I guess I am… feeling a little displaced.”

“Finish up and come home, and then we’ll fake out being normal and plan a vacation. Name the place.”

“Anywhere but here, Alex. There’s nothing going on that a little mellowing out won’t cure, right?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Everything will work out.”

I waited until well after Robin’s phone call – until the sound of her voice, the tone, and the content had finally stopped resonating – before pulling the scrap of paper out of my wallet.

Nine-fifteen P.M. My office windows were black, and I’d been imagining a black ocean, small faces bobbing in the waves, sucked down, the circling of sharks, a mother’s endless wail.

Cheryl Duke answered on the fifth ring. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Wow. You called.”

“You sound surprised,” I said.

“Well… you never know.”

“Oh,” I said, “I don’t think you get ignored too often.”

“No,” she said, merrily. “Not too often. So…?”

“I was thinking maybe we could get together.”

“Were you? Hmm. Well, what did you have in mind?”

“It’s a little late for dinner, but I could handle that if you haven’t eaten. Or maybe drinks?”

“I’ve eaten.” Giggles. “You’ve been thinking about food and drink, huh?”

“It’s a start.”

I’ve been thinking about your babies murdered. About finding some way to warn you.