Jonathan Kellerman - Obsession

“Where?” said Petra.

“If my recollection serves me well, the first time was at a club called The Hi Hat. Maria danced there, as well as at other nighteries.” Lizard-smile. “Sans clothing. The Hat and the others were owned by various individuals of…a certain Mediterranean descent. From time to time, Maria became romantically entangled with some of these various individuals as well as with other individuals.”

“Other?”

Fortuno smiled. “Comedians, drummers, assorted riffraff. Maria was rather…easy to please. Unfortunately, there came a time when one of the individuals-of a certain descent-became deceased in a highly non-natural manner and Maria Baker became concerned for her personal safety. I, having just moved to Los Angeles, and through my associations with law enforcement in both cities, was able to facilitate her passage here. Maria took well to the climate. Meteorologically and professionally.”

“The profession being stripping.”

“As well as other aspects of show business.”

Milo said, “She became a casting agent.”

Fortuno broke into laughter.

“What’s funny?” said Petra.

“Who told you that?”

“She did.”

“Maria, Maria,” said Fortuno. Humming a few bars from the West Side Story tune. “ That was music, Leonard Bernstein…Detectives, the primary aspect of casting that Maria Baker ever encountered was removing her clothing for gentlemen in Canoga Park.”

“Porn actress?” said Petra.

“I’m sure none of us are devotees of the genre,” said Fortuno. “However, we all know that the real Hollywood is Canoga Park.”

“Mary Whitbread was her stage name? That doesn’t sound too sexy.”

“The genre relies upon clichés, Detective. Or used to, back when the product was shown in theaters and plots were believed essential. One common motif is the innocent maid debauched. One rather successful film was a full-length feature titled Losing Her Innocence . The story line was hackneyed but effective. A Victorian chambermaid travels to London and is seduced by lords and dukes and the like.”

“The maid was Mary Whitbread.”

“Thirty years ago,” said Fortuno, “she had girl-next-door looks. The director thought she was so perfect that he used her real name as the basis for her nom de film .”

“Baker to Whitbread.”

Fortuno closed his eyes. “The essence of wide-eyed Victorian purity. Even as her orifices were explored.”

“Who was the director?”

“A gentleman named Salvatore Grasso. Deceased.”

“In a highly unnatural manner?”

“If you consider a stroke unnatural.”

“Wide-eyed purity,” said Milo. “You’re a fan of her work.”

“On the contrary, Lieutenant Sturgis. It bores me.” Half shutting his lids. “As I’m sure it does you .”

“Did your relationship with Mary ever turn personal?”

“With me,” said Fortuno, “everything is personal.” Turning away from Milo he faced Petra and leered. “Did I fuck her?”

She didn’t budge.

“The answer is yes. I fucked her. I fucked her at will, every which way, on numerous occasions. That doesn’t make me the member of an exclusive club. Nor was the relationship emotional.”

“Casual sex.”

“Your generation didn’t invent it, dear.”

“Tell us about the relationship.”

“I just did.”

“You helped her move to L.A., set her up in the porn business, and sampled the wares.”

“I didn’t set her up. I introduced her to various individuals. My sampling of the wares was by mutual consent.”

“Blaise De Paine is twenty-eight. You’ve known him since he was born.”

“I have.”

“What can you tell us about him?”

“Nothing more than I already have.”

“What’s the relationship between De Paine and his mother like.”

“Such as it is.”

“They don’t get along?”

“Mary probably thinks she’s a wonderful mother.”

“She isn’t?”

“Actresses,” said Fortuno. “It’s all about them .”

“Who’s his father?”

Fortuno held up his palms.

“There’s something you don’t know?” said Petra.

“There are many, many things I don’t know, Detective Connor. In this case, paternity would be difficult to ascertain. As I said, Mary was eclectic.”

“Was?”

“I haven’t had contact with her in a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“She lost her interest in courtesanship and found a substitute passion.”

“What’s that?” said Petra.

“Real estate. She owns buildings, collects rent, believes that makes her nobility.”

“How’d she get the money to buy buildings?”

“The old-fashioned way,” said Fortuno. “She fucked for it.”

“Any person in particular?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“How about some names of her benefactors?”

Wanamaker said, “How about not.”

Petra said, “We don’t care about any of the creeps he’s going to spill on, unless they’ve been involved in murder.”

“Same answer,” said Wanamaker.

“Whose murder?” said Fortuno.

“A man named Lester Jordan.”

Fortuno didn’t react, but holding still seemed to take effort. “Don’t know him.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Couldn’t be surer.”

“Boy,” said Petra, “here we were thinking you were the Human Rolodex and look at all these holes in the data bank.”

Fortuno reached for his nose again. Picked with gusto.

“Life,” he said, “can be disillusioning.”

“Who else did De Paine hang out with?”

“I don’t pay attention to who punks hang out with.”

“You don’t like him.”

“He’s got no-”

“Moral core, I know,” said Petra. “As opposed to all your other vendors and clients.”

“Knowledge is power, Detective. I provide a legitimate service.”

“The federal government seems to feel otherwise.”

Wanamaker cleared his throat.

Petra said, “De Paine trashed the place he rented from Mr. Benezra and he cut out on several months’ rent.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“You knew he was a mope but you gave him references?”

“Mr. Benezra asked me to help find a short-term tenant at a rundown property he planned to demolish imminently. I happened to be speaking to Mary and she happened to mention that her son was looking for lodgings.”

“Thought you hadn’t seen her in a while?”

“She called me.”

“Why?”

“To help find lodgings for her son.”

“Where was he living at the time?”

“That she didn’t say.”

“Mary Whitbread owns properties,” said Petra. “Why would her son need to look for lodgings?”

“You’d have to ask her that.”

“She didn’t want him close by?”

Fortuno said, “That’s certainly possible.”

“He’s caused trouble for her.”

“I’m not aware of any specifics, but once again, it wouldn’t-”

“The notion of his being involved in murder doesn’t shock you.”

“I am un shockable, Detective.”

“Where did De Paine live after he left the house on Oriole Drive?”

Long, slow head shake. White strands came loose and Fortuno tamped them back in place. “I’ve told you all I know.”

Petra waited.

Fortuno drank orange juice.

Wanamaker reached for his pocket watch.

Petra said, “I know, the big hand’s on bureaucracy and the little hand’s on bureaucracy.” To Fortuno: “Give us something else about Blaise De Paine.”

Fortuno finished his juice, wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Wiped the sleeve on the couch and flicked pulp off a cushion.