Bones

CHAPTER 24

Moe Reed burst into Café Moghul, wrestler’s body canted forward, shoulders lowered. Aggressive surge, but smiling, as if charging toward victory.

First time I’d ever seen him happy.

Milo swallowed his tandoori chicken and wiped his mouth. “At least someone’s having a good day.”

He’d spent the night in a futile search for street girls who knew Travis Huck. The morning had been office-bound, filled with endless phone discussions, with an escalating series of higher-ups, of whether or not to go public with Travis Huck’s identity.

The debate had reached the chief’s office and the answer had just come down from the mount: Given Huck’s history of judicial abuse, wait for more evidence.

Unless a new victim showed up. “Nothing like body-count politics.”

I’d just finished telling him about Chance Brandt’s bad attitude.

He said, “Generation N, for numb.”

Reed sat down and waved his notepad. “Two hookers.”

Milo put his fork down. “And the question is: ‘What weekly perk comes with a congressional office?’ ”

Reed smiled. “Found ’em on the Strip, Loo. Forty bucks is what they charged Huck. They’re both sure it was him, down to the crooked mouth. And guess what? He wasn’t wearing a hat and he is totally skinned.”

He flipped the pad open. “Charmaine L’Duvalier, real name’s Corinne Dugworth, and Tammy Lynn Adams, that appears to be her righteous I.D. They both work Sunset, mostly between La Cienega and Fairfax. Huck picked Charmaine up right at Fairfax a month or so ago, Tammy Lynn hooked up with him two blocks west. She thinks it could be as recent as six weeks ago. Both times Huck was cruising at three, four a.m. in a Lexus SUV. Color and style match Vander’s, guy gets to use the boss’s wheels for recreation.”

“Any unusual sexual habits?”

“They both recall him as super-quiet. Adams admitted he spooked her.”

“Admitted?”

“These girls like to pretend they’re street-hard, nothing scares them. I pushed her a little and she said, yeah, he kind of spooked her.”

“In what way?”

“Being so quiet. Like he wasn’t even pretending to make it friendly the way a lot of the johns do. Like he’d been paying for it for a long time and it was just another quickie business deal.”

“As opposed to her,” said Milo. “All the romance in her heart.”

“What I’m seeing,” said Reed, “is these girls need to feel in charge, so they come on tough. Makes a lot of johns nervous. Not Huck, sounds like he was totally at ease: Here’s the dough, deliver the goods.”

I said, “What did he pay for?”

“Oral sex.”

“Anything aggressive?” said Milo. “Grabbing their hair, talking in a hostile manner?”

“Nope,” said Reed. “I think he spooked both of them, but only Adams admitted it. She’s been on the streets for five years, says she has a good sense for which guys are off. And Huck impressed her as one of them.”

“But she took him on anyway.”

“First impression he looked well groomed, was driving nice wheels. It was only after she got in that he started to get to her.”

“By being quiet and business-like.”

“Zero talk,” said Reed. “Not making any sort of conversation.”

“You get callback numbers for these girls?”

“Prepaid cells, for what they’re worth. In terms of addresses, neither of them have driver’s licenses and both claim to be looking for permanent residence.”

“Ah, the glamorous life,” said Milo.

“Yeah, it’s b.s. but it’s all I could get, Loo. Both of ’em did agree to ask around about Huck. It sounds naive, thinking they’ll cooperate, but maybe my asking about him kicked up the fear level. He tries to hook up with either of them again, I’m betting they’ll let me know.”

He spotted the woman in the sari, asked for iced tea.

She said, “No food?”

“No, thanks, just tea.”

She walked off, shaking her head.

Milo said, “Excellent work, Detective Reed. Too bad I didn’t know an hour ago.” He summarized the debate about going to the press. “Not that I’m sure it would make a difference. Brass is really edgy about the whole thing falling apart due to lack of evidence, Huck suing the city.”

Reed said, “They really think he’d have the balls to do that?”

“Best defense is a good offense, kiddo. We shine the spotlight on him without enough juice, he’s in the driver’s seat. Can’t you just see him up on the stand, some lawyer guiding him through everything he went through in juvey?”

“What if he’s named as a person of interest, not a suspect?”

Milo said, “That might buy us time, but Downtown isn’t ready for it.” His phone jangled Brahms. “Sturgis. Who? What about? Oh. Yeah, yeah, sure, give me the number.”

He got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“What’s up, Loo?”

“Renewed faith in the flower of our youth.”

The woman in the sari watched us leave, Reed’s tea in hand. As we exited, she drank it.

The girl was barely five feet tall, seventeen, hard-bodied and glossy-tan, with luxuriant red hair, light freckles, and cornflower eyes.

Younger version of her mother. The two of them sat holding hands, a pair of pixies perched on a massive royal-blue damask couch.

The crimson silk sitting room gleamed like blood under a Swarovski chandelier. The fixture’s long gold chain was wrapped in aqua satin, suspended from a twenty-foot coffered, gilded ceiling. Mullioned windows framed velvet acreage. Massive stone fireplaces graced both ends of the room. Renoir over one, Matisse over the other. Both paintings looked real.

We’d waited at the Brentwood Park gatehouse for several minutes before being allowed entry.

“I’m so proud of Sarabeth,” said Hayley Oster. She wore a plum-colored Juicy Couture velour sweat suit. Hot day, but the manse was as chilly as a supermarket deli case. Her daughter’s matching size 0 Juicy was moss green.

Oster, as in malls and shopping centers.

Milo said, “We’re proud, too, ma’am.” His smile caused Sarabeth to press closer to her mother.

Hayley Oster said, “You’re sure I can’t get you something to drink? It was extremely gracious of you to come down here and spare us a trip to the police station.”

“No, thanks, ma’am. We appreciate your calling.”

“It was the least I could do, Lieutenant. After Sarabeth became embroiled in that to-do with Chance Brandt at school, we made it clear that things had to change. Right, honey?”

Smiling at her daughter, but an elbow delivered a prod.

Sarabeth looked down and nodded.

Hayley Oster said, “The way my husband and I see it, Lieutenant, privilege is a blessing that should not be abused. Neither of us come from wealthy families and scarcely a day goes by that we don’t thank our lucky stars for how far we’ve come. Harvey and I believe blessings should be repaid in kind. We do not tolerate poor character. Which is why we’ve always had reservations about Sarabeth associating with Chance.”

The girl appeared ready to argue. Thought better of it.

“I know you think I’m being harsh, baby, but one day you’ll see I’m right. Chance is unsubstantial. All looks, nothing beneath the veneer. Worse, he lacks moral fiber. In a sense, that makes me even prouder of Sarabeth. Though she found herself in the company of amorality, she chose to think independently.”

The girl’s eyes rolled.

Milo said, “Why don’t you tell us about it, Sarabeth?”

“It’s just what I said to Mom.”

“Tell them,” said Hayley Oster. “They need to hear it directly from you.”

Sarabeth inhaled and shook out her hair. “Okay… okay. Someone called last night. Over at Sean’s house.”

“Sean who?” said Reed.

“Capelli.”

Hayley said, “Another shallow young man. That school seems to breed them.”

Milo said, “Someone phoned Sean?”

“Uh-uh,” said Sarabeth. “Called Chance. We were at Sean’s.”

“Just hanging.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tell us about the call.”

“He said he was a cop-one of you guys. Asked if anyone else came into the office when Chance was there. Chance kept pranking, saying ‘Yeah’ over and over. He thought it was funny.”

“The call?”

The girl didn’t answer.

Another elbow prod made her say, “Ouch.”

“Poor darling,” said Hayley Oster, through tight jaws. “Let’s get this over with, posthaste, Sarabeth.”

“He lied,” said Sarabeth. “Chance. ’Cause there was someone who did come in.”

“To the office.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“He just said that he knew him but he wasn’t going to tell because he’d have to be pulled in by the cops again and his dad would get all up in his buttho-”

“Sara!”

“Whatever,” said the girl.

“Whatever, indeed, young lady. Use language in a way that advertises your virtues.”

Shrug.

Milo said, “Chance told you he lied to avoid getting involved.”

“Yeah-yes.”

Hayley Oster smirked. “Looks like that backfired.”

We found the boy at the Riviera Tennis Club, playing singles with his mother. She nearly dropped her racket when we walked across the court.

“Now what?”

“We missed you,” said Milo. “Your son, in particular.”

“Oh shit,” said Chance.

“Indeed.”

The information came quickly, Chance sweating under full sun, wiseguy pretensions erased from his Polo-ad visage.

Not someone he knew, someone he recognized.

Milo said, “From a party.”

“Yeah.”

“Whose?”

“Theirs.” Hooking a thumb at Susan Brandt.

She said, “What are you talking about? When’s the last time we threw a party, your dad hates them.”

“Not that,” whined her son. “One of those fund-raisers-the boring shit you make me go to.”

“Which boring shit in particular?” said Milo.

Chance pushed yellow hair out of his eyes. “One of ’em, dunno.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, son.”

“Whatever…”

“For God’s sake,” said Susan Brandt, “just tell them what they need and we’ll finally be free of this.”

Chance bounced a tennis ball.

His mother sighed. Switched her racket to her left hand and slapped him hard across the face with her right. Perspiration sprayed. Finger marks rouged the boy’s cheek.

He had six inches and fifty pounds on her. Seemed to expand as his hands became fists.

She said, “You keep screwing around and I’ll do it again.”

Milo said, “There’s no need for that, ma’am. Let’s keep everything friendly.”

“Do you have children, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then you don’t know anything.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Even so-”

Chance said, “A guy, okay? It was that Malibu thing, the lame bull-shit thing where everyone wore Hawaiian shirts and pretended to be a surfer.”

Susan Brandt said, “That one.” To us: “He’s referring to a Coastal Alliance benefit we attended last year-last fall. Despite what he says, we generally don’t make him go to any of our charitable events, but that one, it was an outdoor barbecue, casual dress, other people brought their kids. It was supposed to be a family affair, rock music and hot dogs.” To her son: “You eat, you dance, you go home. Is that so bad?”

Chance rubbed his face.

His mother said, “We didn’t know anyone there, only reason we went was Steve’s firm donated and the senior partners were in Aspen, needed someone to attend.”

“I saw the dude drinking beer.”

Milo said, “Where did this party take place?”

“At the Seth Club,” said Susan Brandt.

“Describe this person, Chance.”

“Old.” Smile. “Like Dad. Blond hair, bullshit hair.”

“Dyed?”

“Yeah. Some old tool trying to look like a surfer. Bigtime Bondo job on the face.”

“Bondo?” said his mother.

“It’s putty used to patch cars,” said Moe Reed.

Chance patted his cheek. The finger marks had begun to welt.

Milo said, “The guy had plastic surgery.”

The boy snickered. “Ya think?”

“Chance,” warned his mother.

The boy’s eyes heated. “What, you’re gonna hit me again? In front of the cops? I could get you busted for child abuse, right?”

Milo said, “Easy now.”

“You never hit me before, why you want to go do that?”

“Because…” Susan Brandt wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to-”

“Right, it’s for my own good.”

She touched his arm. He shrugged her away ferociously.

Reed ushered her a few feet away. Eye-to-eye with Chance, Milo said, “Blond, tucked, what else?”

“Nothing.”

“How old?”

“Like Dad.”

“Middle age.”

“Guy was a total tool-fucked-up hair.”

“Fucked up, how?”

“Shaggy, moussed up. Retro-bullshit like… Billy Idol. All that shit in his face, like whoa, it’s True Value Hardware.”

“Tell us about this guy and Duboff.”

“He showed up.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“When?”

“Dunno.”

“Was it close to when you started volunteering or toward the end?”

The boy thought. “Start.”

“So three, four weeks ago.”

“Right at the start.”

“So this guy comes in to see Duboff. Go on.”

“Not in, out. The parking lot,” said Chance. “I’m inside, bored fuckless, look out the window, there’s two of them.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking. I didn’t hear what they were saying, didn’t give a fuck. That’s why I didn’t say the whole thing to you when you called.”

“When this guy and Duboff were talking, did it look friendly?”

Mental exercise strained the boy’s eyes. “Dude gave Duboff something. Duboff looked happy.”

“What’d he give him?”

“Envelope.”

“What color?”

“Dunno-white. Yeah, white.”

“Big or small?”

“A regular envelope.”

“And Duboff looked happy.”

“He shook dude’s hand.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dude drives off.”

“In what?”

“Mercedes.”

“Color?”

“Black? Gray?” said the boy. “Who the fuck remembers?” Staring defiantly and calling to his mother: “C’mon, Susie. Give it your best shot.”

Susan Brandt wept.

Milo said, “We’re going to show you some pictures, Chance.”

As we drove away from the country club, Reed said, “One day, there’s going to be a domestic violence call to their house.”

Milo said, “Good bet… unfortunately, what the kid had to say boils down to nada. Blond guy who drives a Mercedes and who the kid swears ain’t Huck.”

I said, “Unless the guy was paying Duboff off for something.”

“Like what?” said Reed. “Swimming privileges in the marsh?”

Milo laughed. “Congrats, Detective Reed.”

“On what?”

“Bitter sarcasm, you have now achieved optimal workplace adjustment. My bet is the guy was making a donation to the herons and gulls. Chance saw him at an ocean benefit, we’re talking eco-sensitivity.”

“Water guy,” said Reed.

“Meanwhile, we drown.”