Jonathan Kellerman: Breakdown

Nguyen headed for the door, Milo following.

Moftizadeh said, “This isn’t right, look at objective elements here, John. Given the lack of physical evidence against my client, Murder One is highly unlikely. He killed no one, he wielded a shovel. A man with no criminal past and unlikely to have a criminal future. A man whose charitable contributions to inner-city—”

Nguyen waved him silent. “Forget about abusing a corpse. The least I’m willing to consider is accessory before the fact.”

“But that wouldn’t be accurate, John. He really was informed after.”

“That’s his story.”

“It’s a true story.”

Nguyen pulled the statement out of his pocket and scanned. “No way will he avoid a serious charge on Imelda Soriano. Even if I believe that he swallowed DePauw’s ludicrous story and I don’t, even by his account he was aware Soriano was cold-blooded homicide — and don’t insult my intelligence with that panic crap. Santos was shot because she had incriminating information about the murder of Zelda Chase and Soriano was shot because she was seen speaking to Santos. This is witness elimination, pure and simple, and that’s special circumstances.”

J. Yarmuth Loach said, “I can tell you something.”

Moftizadeh said, “Hold on—”

“I can tell you why. The first domestic was... what happened to her. She knew Zelda didn’t fall over, outside. Enid had locked her in the house for two days. Kept her in the cellar. Fed her soup. The domestic wasn’t supposed to see it but she disobeyed Enid and went downstairs to sweep the steps and heard something and got a key.”

Milo said, “Soup.”

Loach nodded. “Canned vegetable soup. She... fortified it.”

“With?”

“Something from her garden,” said Loach. “She likes doing it. Devising her own pesticides.”

Nguyen and Milo sat back down. “If Mr. Loach is willing to write down what he just said, along with a statement specifying his awareness that Imelda Soriano was a premeditated homicide that he helped cover up, I’ll go with after the fact. Even on her.”

Moftizadeh said, “Appreciate that offer, John, but we really need more.”

“Once he’s convicted, if you petition for reduced sentence based on infirmity, I won’t challenge you. He could be out in a short time.”

Loach said, “I’ll take it.”

Moftizadeh said, “Yarmie—”

“I’ll take it. I can’t stay here.” As if ready to check out of an inferior hotel.

Nguyen said, “You have more stationery in your briefcase?”

“I do, John.”

“Get it out. Start composing, Mr. Loach.”

The handwritten addendum was examined and agreed upon. Two pages in Loach’s shaky hand, signed and dated.

Nguyen placed both sheets in his pocket.

Moftizadeh said, “In view of the reduced charges, let’s revisit the issue of bail. Give me something reasonable.”

“Reasonable being...”

“What Mr. Loach can actually pay. It’s in your best interests, John. He’ll be of far greater utility to you once he’s out of this terrible environment.”

John Nguyen smiled. “I could go with that logic if it was only three victims, Fahriz.”

“Pardon?” said Moftizadeh.

“Have I said something confusing? We’ve got your client’s story on three murders but there’s a fourth.”

“I don’t under—”

“Three plus one equals four, Fahriz.”

Moftizadeh turned to Loach. Loach’s eyes bugged.

“What the hell’s going on, John?”

Nguyen said, “Fresh evidence. Out-of-the -oven evidence. Fill them in, Lieutenant.”

Milo said, “A man named Roderick Salton — your client’s assistant — was murdered by poisoning prior to the other three homicides. That crime took place nowhere near Mrs. DePauw’s property and, in fact, Mrs. DePauw was out of town. Unlike Mr. Loach who, on the day in question, used his corporate credit card to pay for lunch at the Water Garden restaurant. Food for two, wine for one. Which makes sense because Mr. Salton was a Mormon.”

“That’s an assumption—”

“Restaurant staff identify Mr. Loach and Mr. Salton as dining together that day. One server describes the atmosphere as shifting from friendly at the beginning of the meal to tense by the end. Given Mrs. DePauw’s proclivity for poison, we checked her whereabouts and she was at the Grand Hyatt in Lake Tahoe. She flew in privately the previous night, returned two days later to L.A. by commercial jet.”

Loach blurted, “Of course she was gone. She went there for an alibi!”

Nguyen said, “That was the plan the two of you cooked up?”

“I—”

Moftizadeh barked, “Quiet, Yarmie!”

Loach buried his head in his arms and began mewling.

No sympathy from his lawyer, just morbid fascination.

Milo said, “I’m sure Mr. Loach is correct. Mrs. DePauw went to Tahoe to establish an alibi after she furnished Mr. Loach with a toxic substance from her garden called aconitum. Deadly stuff, Mr. Loach slipped it into Mr. Salton’s food. By the end of the day, Mr. Salton was dead, his body dumped after dark near the courthouse on Hill and Washington.”

Nguyen said, “A neighborhood and a facility that Mr. Loach knew well, as he’d filed papers there on behalf of Mrs. DePauw on various real estate disputes.”

Moftizadeh’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Without admitting acceptance of this... tale, what possible motive would my client have to kill this Salting person? And what evidence do you have that remotely supports such a fanciful—”

“Sal-ton,” said Milo, spelling it. “The motive was similar to Soriano and Santos. Mr. Salton knew too much. But unlike Soriano and Santos, he had the ability to do something about it.”

“How in the world—”

“Hear me out, Counselor. We know for a fact that Zelda Chase entered Mr. Loach’s office and made statements about Mr. Loach killing her mother years ago.”

Nguyen said, “Which was taken for psychotic ranting but was obviously true.”

“That,” said Moftizadeh, “is categorically false. We just—”

“You spun a yarn,” said Nguyen. “We’ve got it on paper.”

“This is absolutely—”

Milo said, “What Zelda Chase told Roderick Salton sparked his curiosity enough for him to look into her claims. We have his fingerprints on documents obtained from Mr. Loach’s files on Mrs. DePauw. Specifically, papers pertaining to Zelda Chase. Being a moral person, Mr. Salton raised the issue with Mr. Loach. Being an immoral person, Mr. Loach suggested they discuss it over lunch and contacted Mrs. DePauw. Who did her Bad Chef bit.”

“The rest,” said Nguyen, “was history for poor Mr. Salton. Nasty death, he suffered. So whatever happens on Chase, Soriano, and Santos, your client’s going down on Salton. With special circumstances.”

“Ridiculous,” said Moftizadeh, regarding his mute, hunched client with horror. “Tell them, so, Yarm. This is a yarn, never happened.”

J. Yarmuth Loach sat up slowly. Looked at each of us. Belched again.

Then he vomited all over the table.

Enid DePauw and J. Yarmuth Loach remained in jail. He began refusing food and had to be intubated in the medical ward. Flip Moftizadeh persisted in filing requests for bail based on a variety of theories. All were refused.

Prisoner DePauw, the once-popular, self-described “mentor of disadvantaged girls,” saw her social status slip when it was learned that two of her victims were Latina and that one, Imelda Soriano, had been distantly related to a neighbor of a member of the Chicas Locas gang. On the thirteenth day of her incarceration, she was ambushed and beaten and ended up in the infirmary. Once treated, she was sent to a one-prisoner isolation cell and compelled to wear orange scrubs.