Bones

CHAPTER 36

Reed and Milo sat on the leather couch. No one bounced.

Blanche nestled in Milo ’s lap. She smiled; he didn’t notice.

All eyes on the money.

Reed said, “When did Reynolds bring that to you?”

“Yesterday,” I said. “I was about to tell you when Aaron came in.”

Milo said, “Fifteen grand ain’t picnic pay. Maybe it’s time for the anthropologists. Death dogs, too.” Blanche’s ears perked. “No offense.”

Reed said, “Weir and Simone have been paying Duboff for access to the west side for something nasty? He finds out what their bribes are for and gets killed?”

“I doubt he knew, he’d have been screaming,” I said. “But they couldn’t risk his finding out.”

“Guy has free rein to the marsh, if anyone’s going to find it, he is. What if he did find out, then tried to make some extra dough?”

Milo said, “Leaning on a serial killer for more dough is pretty stupid. A nighttime meet, no less. I think the lure was just what Duboff was told: I’ve got something to make you a hero. And the caller had credibility because he knew about the secret part of the marsh.”

Reed thought. “That makes sense, Loo. Duboff brought Reynolds because he wasn’t expecting trouble. Guy started thinking he was the marsh god. But no matter what Aaron found, it doesn’t let Huck off.”

“Well put, Detective Reed. Okay, I’m gonna try to get some speed on that shoe-print analysis.”

“Huck’s the one who rabbited, Loo. More I think about it, more I like the idea of all of them being in on it.”

“Three Nasty Musketeers? Then why would Simone hire Aaron to focus on Huck?”

“She and Weir used Huck but planned on ditching him all along.”

“Weakest link,” said Milo. “Criminal history, drug issues, frequents hookers. Yeah, that fits.”

I said, “Killing hookers makes me wonder if they tailored the murders to Huck because he’s a longtime john.”

“That blood in his drain could be real, or a plant,” said Reed. “But either way, he still smells dirty.”

“Which leads us to another issue,” said Milo. “If he’s expendable, giving him a chance to split is a real bad idea.”

Reed stared at him. “They didn’t and we’re chasing down a dead man?”

“Or Huck’s a lone psycho killer and Simone just happens to be an angry girl with a penchant for lying.”

Reed said, “Cutting up her family? Ripping off her brother’s face. Doc?”

I said, “It’s off-the-scale rage and the family is missing.”

Milo said, “Okay, let’s assume for the moment that Simone, Weir, and Huck did collude. The obvious motive would be getting rid of the Vanders.”

Reed said, “Hundred million worth of motive? Hell yeah.”

“Then how do the women in the marsh figure in?”

I said, “Like we said before, misdirects. If the Vanders were found murdered with no prior context, attention would’ve shot straight to the money. Meaning an unwelcome focus on Simone as sole survivor. But with Huck nailed as a lust murderer first, the Vanders could be seen as collateral damage-victims of a psychopath’s final rampage. That fits the staging of the crimes: concealing the other bodies but making sure Selena was found, so she could lead us to the Vanders.”

“That storage unit,” said Reed. “Board games. We are being played.”

Milo said, “Those bones being acid-washed and prepped means the other women were killed at leisure, maybe warehoused somewhere, then dumped sequentially.”

Reed said, “For all we know, they were on dry ice in the unit.”

I said, “One question: the evil bald guy. Huck or Weir minus his wig?”

Milo said, “You have any feelings on that?”

“Could go either way. But two guys who just happen to be skinned could be part of setting up Huck.”

“Like Nguyen said, Alex, it’s not that rare of a look. But the more I think about it, the more Huck’s shaping up at least a partial patsy. If Huck murdered a bunch of people and was smart enough to leave no trace, why would he rabbit and make himself an obvious suspect?”

I said, “Maybe fear overcame good sense. Or he caught on that Weir and Simone had plans to end his future. With that much money at stake, he had to know he’d never be an equal partner.”

Reed said, “Yeah, thirty-three million is a bit high for wet work. But he goes along with it anyway because killing is his thing.”

“Or Simone seduced him.”

“Another kind of three-way?”

“Why not?” I said. “But, Huck finally figured out he was expendable and ran. Maybe he somehow learned about Aaron’s investigation. Or he just got nervous when your investigation took on steam.”

Milo said, “Simone heaps it on to Aaron: Huck’s big-time weird, she’s always been afraid of him. Huck doesn’t help himself by actually being weird.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if his corpse shows up at a strategic moment-apparent suicide, accompanied by a nice, neat confession note and a tipoff to where the Vanders are buried. A whole bunch of cases close simultaneously and Simone’s one of the richest girls in L.A. ”

Milo rubbed his face. “Hundred million. Wars have been fought over less.”

Reed said, “If Huck pulled a real rabbit, Weir and Simone have to be freaking out.”

I said, “Maybe that’s why Simone hacked up the picture.”

Milo said, “Low frustration tolerance.”

“If that’s the case, she and Weir are working on Plan B right now. Get rid of any evidence that incriminates them, gussy up the case against Huck.” My head tightened. “That’s why Duboff had to die. He could link Weir to the marsh.”

Reed said, “Oh, man. These people are from another planet.”

Milo said, “We forgot something. If Huck was dead, Wallenburg wouldn’t be shielding him.”

I said, “Maybe she thinks he’s alive. Anyone can send a text message.”

“So who’s the Adams family she just visited? Creepy and kooky folk Wallenburg just happens to know? Boot up your computer, Alex.”

Reed was faster than Milo on the keyboard and he knew the access codes. Within seconds, he’d pulled up county records.

Anita Brackle née Loring had given marriage a third shot two years ago.

Civil ceremony in Van Nuys court. The lucky groom, Wilfred Eugene Adams, black male, sixty-two years old, home address in Mar Vista.

His name pulled up three DUIs, the final conviction six years previous.

Reed said, “Probably another rehab romance.”

Milo said, “RDate-dot-com, there’s a business opportunity for you. Okay, let’s check it out.”

“We’re holding off on the dogs and the anthropologists?”

“Not at all. Call Dr. Wilkinson.” Tiny smile. “While you’re at it, she can also check out the western edge of the marsh.”

Reed’s jaw dropped.

Milo said, “Goes with the job, kiddo.”

“What does?”

“Long periods of futility livened by moments of chagrin.”

Reed made the call as Milo and I waited in the unmarked. As he headed for us, he looked defeated.

Milo said, “Maybe she turned him down for a second date.”

The young detective got in back.

“Everything okay, Moses?”

“Not in, left a message.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Text messaging, I should’ve thought of that.”

“What, ’cause you’re the techno-generation and I’m the poster boy for horse and plow and just gave up on my Betamax?”

“What’s that?”

“A brand of buggy whip.”

A Dodge van sat in the driveway of Wilfred and Anita Loring Brackle Adams’s bungalow. If Wilfred was home, he wasn’t advertising the fact. Anita’s voice was a gritty drill bit that threatened to pierce the locked door from behind.

“You go away.”

“Ma’am-”

“I will not open my door and you can’t force me to open it.”

Fourth time she’d recited the mantra.

Milo said, “We really can return with a warrant.”

“Then you’d really better do that.”

Milo leaned on the bell. When he stopped, Anita Adams laughed. The sound was rocks in a tumbler.

“You see humor in the situation, ma’am?”

“You’re playing the bell, like some sort of brainwashing tactic. Why don’t you go get some of that rap music and blast it all over the street. See how popular that makes you with the neighbors. ’Specially when it turns out you had no good cause to…”

Milo and I returned to the unmarked. Her taunts reached nearly to the curb.

“Sweet lady,” he said. “Gosh, I wish she was my mom.”

We sat in the car and watched the little frame house. I drank cold coffee and he swigged Red Bull. Five minutes in, he phoned Moe Reed. Liz Wilkinson and three grad students interning at the bone lab were on their way to the western edge of the marsh. Insufficient daylight prevented a comprehensive search but they’d do a spot examination. Wilkinson suggested a helicopter sweep, and sure, the dogs were fine.

Nothing back on the shoe print.

Milo clicked off just as a car pulled up behind us.

Steel-colored Maybach. Debora Wallenburg got out and looked up and down the street before approaching the unmarked. Aqua Chanel suit, silver hair pulled back severely, lots of diamond glint.

“Tired of the Chevy, Counselor?”

Wallenburg flinched but recovered quickly. “You’re following me. Charming.”

“Have a chat with your elusive client recently?”

Wallenburg laughed. “Here goes the tape loop.”

“What’s funny, Counselor, is your viewing the situation as a yukfest.”

“I view it as theater of the absurd.”

“The way you claim to feel about Huck, I’d expect you to be taking it seriously.”

“Your alleged case.”

“Your client’s demise.”

Wallenburg’s cheek muscles twitched. Courtroom training delayed her response. “What are you talking about?”

“When’s the last time you actually spoke to ol’ Travis?”

Wallenburg cocked a hip in a display of mellow. Tension around the eyes blew the performance.

“Just like I thought,” said Milo.

“Is this the moment where your artful goading causes me to blurt out some crucial piece of information, Lieutenant?”

“It’s the moment that I tell you I know Huck didn’t call, you got a text message and assumed. No offense, Counselor, but maybe it’s an age thing. Digital naïveté.”

“You’re mad,” said Wallenburg.

“More like peeved.”

“I meant in the mental illness sense.”

“Insult registered, digested, soon to be excreted.”

“My clients that concern you at this time are Mr. and Mrs. Adams,” she said. “They request that you cease harassing them.”

“Thought you were corporate,” said Milo. “How does that get you to front for a couple of working-class alkies who just happen to know Travis from dry-out camp?”

“Oka-ay,” said Wallenburg. “Now we switch to class warfare and denigration of people with the courage to recover.”

“My dad’s shirt was blue and I’ve known a few tipplers but the issue ain’t politics, it’s murder.”

Wallenburg didn’t answer.

“Hell,” said Milo, “what’s a few strangled women with their hands hacked off to a courthouse vet like you?”

“That’s repellent.”

“Thing is,” said Milo, “you’re not even doing good lawyering here. I’m not after your client as the prime bad guy. I’m figuring he was used and tossed. It’s in both our interests to get to the real evil.”

Debora Wallenburg shook her head. Diamond earrings swung. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Then prove it. If Huck’s still respirating, bring him in. He cooperates, everyone stays friendly.”

Wallenburg clicked her tongue. “Hopeless. Stop harassing the Adamses, they’re good people and you’ve got no reason to be bothering them. Last I heard the department’s legal costs had climbed precipitously.”

“A girl named Sue,” said Milo. “What grounds?”

“I’ll think of something.” Wallenburg turned to leave.

“Huck’s a foot soldier, Counselor. I want the officers.”

“You people,” said Wallenburg. “Everything’s war.”

“Or at least armed conflict. Prove Huck’s alive by bringing him in.”

“He’s innocent.”

“You know that because…”

Wallenburg began walking away.

“The key is timing, Deb. Once we get a warrant for this house, there’s no telling.”

“You’re in Fantasyland. Mile. Talk about no grounds.”

“Tell that to Judge Stern.”

“Lisa was a classmate of mine.”

“Then you know how she feels about victims’ rights. And how she views attempts by officers of the court to meddle in extracurricular matters.”

Wallenburg ran a manicured finger across her lips. “What a nice man you are.”

She got in the Maybach and sped off.

I said, “When did you call Judge Stern?”

“Must be two years ago,” he said. “Gang shooting, slam dunk, easy paper.”

“The science of war.”

“More like marching in the dark.”

At four forty-seven p.m. an L.A. Unified school bus pulled up to the house. A blond girl in a red T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers got out and headed for the door. Ten or so, slight and stick-limbed, she labored under the weight of a mammoth backpack.

I said, “Baby Brandeen,” more to hear the sound of it than to inform him.

“Makes me misty, lad. They grow up so quickly.”

Before the girl reached the door it opened. A short, heavy, white-haired woman reached out and drew her inside. Instead of closing, she took the time to glare at us. A man materialized behind her, tall, black, bearded. Weary eyes, even at this distance.

Wilfred Adams said something to his wife.

She snapped back, flipped us off, slammed the door.

Milo said, “Maybe Huck is alive. She’s sure protecting something.”

His phone rang again. Moe Reed checking in a second time, from the marsh’s western edge. No obvious signs of disturbance, but the same cadaver dog had arrived and was looking “interested.”

“Pretty place,” said Reed. “Got that Garden of Eden thing going on.”

Milo said, “Find me the snake.”

He lit up a cigar, had puffed twice when Debora Wallenburg’s Maybach roared toward us from the north. The car pulled alongside the unmarked. A tinted window lowered silently.

Wallenburg’s hair was loose. She’d refreshed her makeup, but couldn’t hide fatigue.

“You missed me,” said Milo.

“Oh, I pine. Maybe we can play nice, but first some ground rules: I know the law allows you to lie like a conniving, sociopathic bastard to a suspect. But I wouldn’t recommend trying it with an attorney of record.”

“The client being…”

“I need you to be straight with me.”

“I am nothing if not sincere.”

“What you said before-not seeing Travis as the prime evil. Was that utter bullshit?”

“No.”

“I’m serious, Lieutenant. I need your assurance that we’re operating in the same context. Plus, there can be absolutely no heavyhandedness.”

“Heavy as in?”

“SWAT nonsense, property damage, scaring a small child. My pledge in return is full disclosure.”

“Of?”

“I cannot specify at this time.”

Milo blew a smoke ring, then a second that pierced the first.

Debora Wallenburg said, “You need to trust me.”

He rested his head on the back of the seat. “When and where?”

“Those details will follow in due time. May I assume Dr. Delaware will be there?”

“Huck needs mental health consultation?”

“I’d feel better if he’s involved. That okay with you, Doctor?”

I’d never been introduced. “Sure.”

She said, “Mal Worthy and Trish Mantle and Len Krobsky belong to my tennis club.”

Naming three heavy-hitter family lawyers.

“Give my regards.”

“They all like you.” To Milo: “So, we’re on. I’ll call you.” Slow wink. “Or maybe I’ll text.”