Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

Reed was the last to arrive, apologizing for the delay, an armed robbery call that had taken time to palm off. Blond, crew-cut, baby-faced, and built like the power lifter he was, he wore a white shirt with short sleeves that fought to contain his biceps, a gray wool clip-on tie, black jeans, and black cop oxfords shined glossier than Binchy’s Docs.

Both young D’s mostly worked their own cases, primarily assaults and robberies because of late Westside murders were in short supply. When Milo beckoned, it often meant lots of sitting around and watching, a gig few detectives enjoy. Binchy and Reed never balked and both excelled at remaining sharp over long, tedious stretches.

Who says the younger generation has no attention span?

Without bothering to introduce me to the rookies, Milo stepped up to the board, pointer in hand. “This is a nasty one involving multiple murder and there’s no guarantee surveillance is gonna pay off but we have to try.”

Directing the preface to the rookies. They sat up straight and stared directly ahead.

Milo tapped Deandra Demarest’s and Henry Bakstrom’s photo enlargements. “These are the faulty citizens we’re after.”

He embarked on a quick, efficient summary, starting with Thalia’s murder and progressing to those of Gerard Waters, Kurtis DeGraw, and possibly Ricki Sylvester.

Next topic: the ruby. The mention of fifty-seven carats and the image of the gem got all four of them wide-eyed.

Sean Binchy said, “Super-bling, it’s like a movie.”

Milo said, “Funny you should say that, this guy thinks he’s an actor.” Tapping Phil Duke’s ten-year-old DMV shot. “He’s involved on some level but the specifics are unknown beyond romancing Sylvester. What we do know is he’s related to Deandra and is the right age to be her daddy. However, no kids or marriage show up in his records.”

Moe Reed said, “He romanced Sylvester in order to get her to play along?”

“That’s the working hypothesis, Moses.” He recounted Sylvester’s role as executor, her frequent house calls, the role her grandfather had played in Leroy Hoke’s criminal enterprise. “In general, she’s privy to tons of insider information relating to Thalia.”

Reed said, “And now she’s parts unknown. So either a rabbit or bad news for her.”

Milo nodded. “DeeDee and Henry like to clean house, there’s logic to either possibility. Any other questions, so far?”

Head shakes.

“Onward to the surveillance, kids.” Tap tap on Phil Duke’s house.

Milo read off the address.

Binchy said, “That’s real close to here.”

“Fifteen minutes, tops. That’s the good news. The bad news is if you could pick a surveillance target, this one would be way at the bottom of your list. Respectable low-crime neighborhood, quiet, not a lot of trees or any other kind of cover, and the parking regs work against us: no street parking during morning drive-time — seven to nine — then again from six to eight P.M. After that, there’s a brief okay-period from eight to nine P.M. Why they bothered I don’t know because at nine it reverts to no overnight until five a.m. Obviously, we can’t risk a sit-by, so we’re limited to drive-bys and we can’t be conspicuous.”

He returned to the head of the table and sat down. “Cruising past in the same vehicle over and over is going to attract the wrong kind of attention. Don’t even think about walk-bys. And even though Phil Duke’s dirty, he’s not our priority, at least not yet. So if he does appear — and he probably will, like tending to his gardening, he’s picky about his front yard — we make a note of it but keep going. He’s an anchovy, we’re trolling for sharks.”

Pulling sheets of paper out of a folder, he dealt them like playing cards.

I got one, too, but no need for education, I’d helped put together the contents.

Surveillance schedule arranged in a grid. Two observers per two-hour shift, driving serially with several minutes between them, each pass requiring a change of vehicle.

The motor pool, twelve forfeitures rushed over from the West L.A. lot.

Milo drank coffee as the four young cops read. When everyone looked up, he said, “Anyone not drive a stick?”

Head shakes.

“Good, we’ve got a Ford truck with a three on the column. The teams are Detective Reed and Officer Burgoyne, Detective Binchy and Officer Monchen. That’s in reverse order, after the lead team finishes, which is myself and Dr. Delaware.”

My title sparked Burgoyne and Monchen’s curiosity. They studied me.

Milo said, “You heard me right. Doctor. Psychology, he’s our behavioral consultant and too highly educated for this kind of thing. But you know the staffing situation and he offered and years ago he took a race-car course, so I’m sure he can keep up.”

Binchy said, “Do you get to use your Caddy, Doc?”

The rookies’ eyes widened.

I said, “I wish.”

Milo said, “Okay, you all just read the drill but now I’m going over it. When it’s your turn to drive, you leave here on one of three predetermined routes to the target and cruise past at medium speed — no hot-rodding, no dawdling. You see DeeDee or Bakstrom you radio in immediately but keep going. You see nothing, you return here, your partner takes off, you pick up a new set of wheels and take another of the three routes. What we’re aiming for is a steady but not obvious stream of observation. Got it?”

Nods.

“Your shift lasts for two hours, during which you’ll probably complete seven to nine circuits. After that, you’re off for two hours and another team takes over but you stick around here, just in case things get interesting and backup is called for. Sticking around includes grub and water but no personal phone calls, you’re on call and can’t afford to miss a message. Obviously, we’re not talking a twenty-four-seven regimen, unless any of you have figured out a way to survive without grub and water and sleep.”

Sean Binchy said, “I heard there’s a guy, MIT or something, working on stretching human capacity with hormones.”

“If he wasn’t in Boston, Sean, I’d ask him to join us.”

Nervous laughter from the rookies, a wee smile from Moe Reed.

“Given our mortal limitations,” said Milo, “I’m starting with a fourteen-hour surveillance period. I’m not saying there’s anything magical about that time period but we need to prioritize and bad guys like darkness and this is the best I’ve come up with, courtesy of Dr. Delaware’s input. A couple of days of this proves useless, maybe I’ll change my mind and switch to something completely different. Questions?”

Silence.

“You’ll each get a two-way and wear your issued firearm. Communication will remain open between all of us. When I’m not driving, I’m the command post. When I am driving, Detective Binchy and Detective Reed will take over.”

“It’s kind of an algorithm,” said Ashley Burgoyne, poring over the grid.

“Dr. Delaware informs me a whole bunch of combinations are possible over the long run. Right now, I’ll settle for no one getting made or hurt.”

Day 1, shift 1, four thirty-five P.M.

Milo, leading off in the Ford truck, spotted Phil Duke walking around from the back of his house.

By the time I cruised by there in a malodorous Audi, Duke was picking leaves out of his flower beds. Same Catalina Jazz Club T-shirt, baggy shorts, rubber thongs. Limited wardrobe? Waiting for the big score before going couture?

I slowed down enough to snag a look at his face. Bland, nothing furtive. Maybe he was a cold bastard. Maybe we were wrong about him.

By the time Milo made his second circuit in a Toyota Tercel, Duke was gone.