Gone

CHAPTER 30

The Brazilian rosewood door of Erica Weiss’s law firm should’ve been used for guitar backs. Twenty-six partners were listed in efficient pewter. Weiss’s was near the top.

She kept me waiting for twenty minutes but came out to greet me personally. Late thirties, silver-haired, blue-eyed, statuesque in charcoal Armani and coral jewelry.

“Sorry for the delay, Doctor. I was willing to come to you.”

“No problem.”

“Coffee?”

“Black would be fine.”

“Cookies? One of our paras whipped up some chocolate chips this morning. Cliff’s a great baker.”

“No, thanks.”

“Coming up with black coffee.” She crossed a field of soft, navy carpet to an entry square of hardwood. Her exit was a castanet solo of stiletto heels.

Her lair was a bright, cool, corner space on the eighth floor of a high-rise on Wilshire, just east of Rossmore in Hancock Park. Gray felt walls, Macassar ebony deco revival furniture, chrome and black leather chair that matched the finish of her computer monitor. Stanford law degree tucked in a corner where it was sure to be noticed.

A coffin-shaped rosewood conference table had been set up with four black club chairs on wheels. I took the head seat. Maybe it was meant for Erica Weiss; she could always tell me that.

An eastern wall of glass showcased a view of Koreatown and the distant gloss of downtown. To the west, out of sight, was Nora Dowd’s house on McCadden.

Weiss returned with a blue mug bearing the law firm’s name and logo in gold leaf. The icon was a helmet over a wreath filled with Latin script. Something to do with honor and loyalty. The coffee was strong and bitter.

She looked at the head chair for a second, settled to my right with no comment. A Filipina carrying a court-reporter’s stenotype machine entered, followed by a young spike-haired man in a loose-fitting green suit who Weiss introduced as Cliff. “He’ll be witnessing your oath. Ready, Doctor?”

“Sure.”

She put on reading glasses and read a file while I sipped coffee. Then off came the specs, her face got tight, and the blue in her eyes turned to steel.

“First of all,” she said and the change in her voice made me put my cup down. She concentrated on the top of my head, as if something odd had sprouted there. Pointing a finger, she turned “Doctor” into something unsavory.

For the next half hour, I fielded questions, all delivered in a strident rhythm dripping with insinuation. Scores of questions, many taking Patrick Hauser’s point of view. No letup; Erica Weiss seemed to be able to speak without breathing.

Just as suddenly, she said, “Finished.” Big smile. “Sorry if I was a little curt, Doctor, but I consider depositions rehearsals and I like my witnesses prepared for court.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

“I’d bet against it, but I don’t bet anymore.” She peeled back a cuff and studied a sapphire-ringed Lady Rolex. “In either event, you’ll be ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment.”

Ten-minute ride to McCadden Place.

Still no Range Rover but the driveway wasn’t empty.

A yacht-sized, baby-blue ’59 Cadillac convertible hogged the space. Gleaming wire wheels, white top folded down, tailfins that should’ve been registered as lethal weapons. Old black-and-yellow plates bore a classic car designation.

Brad and Billy Dowd stood next to the car, their backs to me. Brad wore a light brown linen suit and gestured with his right hand. His left arm rested on Billy’s shoulder. Billy wore the same blue shirt and baggy Dockers. Half a foot shorter than his brother. But for his gray hair, the two of them could’ve passed for father and son.

Dad talking, son listening.

The sound of my engine cutting made Brad look over his shoulder. A second later, Billy aped him.

By the time I got out, both brothers were facing me. The polo shirt under Brad’s jacket was aquamarine pique. On his feet were perforated, peanut-butter-colored Italian sandals. Cloudy day but he’d dressed for a beachside power lunch. His white hair was ragged and he looked tense. Billy’s face was blank. A grease stain rorschached the front of his pants.

He greeted me first. “Hi, Detective.”

“How’s it going, Billy?”

“Bad. Nora’s nowhere and we’re scared.”

Brad said, “More worried than scared, Bill.”

“You said- ”

“Remember the brochures, Bill? What did I tell you?”

“Be positive,” said Billy.

“Exactly.”

I said, “Brochures?”

Billy pointed at the house. “Brad went in there again.”

Brad said, “First time was superficial. This time I opened some drawers, found travel brochures in my sister’s nightstand. Nothing seems out of place except maybe some extra space in her clothes closet.”

“Packed to go,” I said.

“I hope that’s it.”

“What kind of brochures?” I said.

“Places in Latin America. Want to see them?”

“Please.”

He jogged to the Caddy and brought back a stack of glossies.

Pelican’s Pouch, Southwater Caye, Belize; Turneffe Island, Belize; Posada La Mandragora, Buzios, Brazil; Hotel Monasterio, Cusco, Peru; Tapir Lodge, Ecuador.

“Looks like vacation plans,” I said.

“Still, you’d think she’d tell us,” said Brad. “I was going to call you to see if you found any flights she took.”

Nora’s passport hadn’t been used.

I said, “Nothing so far but still checking. Does Nora ever fly privately?”

“No. Why?”

“Covering all bases.”

“We’ve talked about doing that,” said Brad. “Mostly, I’ve talked about it. Being so close to Santa Monica Airport, you see those beauties take off and it looks real inviting.”

Same thing Milo had said. For the Dowds it could be more than fantasy.

I said, “What did Nora think?”

“She was ready to do a time share. But once I found out the cost, I said forget it. The cool thing would be owning my own plane but that was never an option.”

“How come?”

“We’re not close to that financial league, Detective.”

“Did Nora agree with that assessment?”

Brad smiled. “Nora isn’t much for budgeting. Would she charter something on her own? I suppose it’s possible. But she’d have to get the money from me.”

“She doesn’t have her own funds?”

“She has a checking account for day to day, but for serious money she comes to me. It works out better for all of us.”

Billy’s eyes rose to the sky. “I never get to go anywhere.”

“Come on, Bill,” said Brad. “We flew to San Francisco.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was two years ago.”

“That’s a long time.” Billy’s eyes got dreamy. One hand dropped toward his crotch. Brad cleared his throat and Billy jammed the hand in his pocket.

I turned back to Brad. “It’s not in character for Nora to take off without telling you?”

“Nora does her own thing on a limited level, but she’s never traveled for any length of time without letting me know.”

“Those trips to Paris.”

“Exactly.” Brad glanced at the brochures. “I was going to contact those resorts, but if you want to do it, you can keep the information.”

“Will do.”

He rubbed the corner of one eye. “Maybe Nora will waltz in tomorrow with a- I was going to say with a terrific tan, but Nora doesn’t like the sun.”

I waved the brochures. “These are all sunny spots.”

Brad glanced at Billy. Billy’s eyes were still aimed at the sky. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, Detective. Just wish I…anyway, thanks for stopping by. If you learn anything, please let me know.”

“There’s something you should know,” I said. “Reynold Peaty was murdered last night.”

Brad gasped. “What! That’s crazy!”

Billy froze. Stayed that way but his eyes locked into mine. Nothing absent about his gaze now.

Brad said, “Billy?”

Bill continued to stare at me. Pointed a finger. “You just said something terrible.”

“I’m sorry- ”

“Reyn got murdered?” Billy’s hands balled. “No way!”

Brad touched his arm but Billy shook him off and ran to the center of Nora’s lawn, where he began punching his thighs.

Brad hurried over, talked in his brother’s ear. Billy shook his head violently and walked several feet away. Brad followed, talking nonstop. Billy stepped away again. Brad persisted through a series of Billy’s head shakes and grimaces. Finally, Billy allowed himself to be ushered back. Flared nostrils doubled the width of his pug nose. Thick white spittle flecked his lips.

“Who killed Reyn?” he demanded.

“A neighbor,” I said. “They had an argument and- ”

“A neighbor?” said Brad. “One of our tenants? Who?”

“A man named Armando Vasquez.”

“That one. Shit, right from the get-go I had a bad feeling about him, but his application was in order and nowadays you can’t turn down a tenant based on intuition.” He tugged at a lapel. “Jesus. What happened?”

“What worried you about Vasquez?”

“He seemed like…you know, the cholo thing.”

“Where is he, Brad?” said Billy. “I wanna kill him back.”

“Shh! An argument? How’d it get from talking to murdering?”

“Hard to say.”

“Christ,” said Brad. “Talking about what?”

Billy’s eyes were slits. “Where’s the lowlife?”

“In jail,” said Brad. To me: “Right?”

“He’s in custody.”

“For how long?” said Billy.

“A long time,” I said.

“Tell me when he gets out so I can shoot his ass.”

Brad said, “Billy, stop!”

Billy glared. Breathed heavily.

Brad tried to touch him. Again, Billy shook him off. “I’ll stop now, fine, okay. But when he gets out I’ll shoot a bullet up his ass.” He punched air.

“Billy, that’s- ”

“Reyn was my friend.”

“Bill, he wasn’t a real- okay, okay, whatever, Bill, I’m sorry. He was your friend, you have every right to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed.”

“Fine, be pissed.” Back to me: “An argument? Jesus, I was going to go by that building today or tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Brad cocked a head toward his brother. Billy was studying the grass. “Making the circuit.”

About to fire and evict Peaty.

Billy punched his palm. “Reyn was my friend. Now he’s dead. That’s fucked up.”

I said, “What did you and Reyn do together, Billy?”

Brad tried to step between Billy and me but Billy twisted around him. “Reyn was polite to me.”

Brad said, “Billy, Reyn had some problems. Remember I told you about them- ”

“Driving too fast. So what, you do that, Brad.”

“Billy…” Brad smiled and shrugged.

Billy cocked his head at the Cadillac. “Not in the ’59, the ’59’s too fucking slow- that’s what you always say, too fucking slow to move its big old fucking ass. You drive fast in the Sting Ray and the Porsche and the Austin- ”

“Fine,” Brad snapped. He smiled again. “The detective gets it, Bill.”

“You say the Ray’s as fast as that girl in your class…what was her name- er, er, er, Jocelyn…the Sting Ray’s as fast as Jocelyn…Jocelyn…Olderson…Oldenson…and just as expensive. You always say that, the Sting- ”

“That’s a joke, Bill.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Billy. To me: “Reyn drove too fast a long time ago and got in trouble. Does that mean he has to get his ass killed?”

Brad said, “No one’s saying that, Billy.”

“I’m asking him, Brad.”

“It doesn’t mean that,” I said.

“It fucking pisses me off.” Billy broke free again, headed for the driveway. Climbing over the Caddy’s passenger door with some effort, he sank down, arms folded, and stared straight ahead.

Brad said, “Climbing in like that, he knows that’s against the- he must really be upset, though for the life of me I can’t tell you why.”

“He considers Peaty his friend.”

He lowered his voice. “Wishful thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“My brother has no peer group. When I first hired Peaty I noticed him staring at Billy like Billy was some kind of freak. I told him to stop doing that and he did and after that he was friendly to Billy. I figured he was kissing up to me. Anyway, that’s probably what Billy’s responding to. Anyone who treats him like half a man is his buddy. After you guys dropped in at the office, he told me you were his buddies.”

Over in the Cadillac, Billy started rocking.

I said, “He’s pretty upset for having no relationship at all with Peaty.”

“My brother has trouble with change.”

“Learning someone you know has been murdered is serious change.”

“Yes, of course, I’m not minimizing it. All I’m saying is it’s harder for Billy to process that kind of thing.” He shook his head. “Shot to death over a stupid argument? Now that Billy’s not listening, can you tell me what really happened?”

“Same answer,” I said. “I wasn’t protecting Billy.”

“Oh. Okay, sorry. Look, I’d better go calm him down, so if- ”

“You’re sure Billy and Peaty didn’t associate.”

“I’m positive. Peaty was a janitor, for God’s sake.”

I said, “He’s been to Billy’s apartment.”

Brad’s lower lip dropped. “What are you talking about?”

I repeated what Annalise Holzer had told me.

“Lost articles?” he said. “That makes no sense at all.”

“Is Billy absentminded?”

“Yes, but- ”

“We were wondering if Peaty stopped by at your instruction.”

“My instruction? Ridiculous. As far as I knew, he didn’t drive, remember?” Brad wiped his brow. “Annalise said that?”

“Is she reliable?”

“God, I sure hope so.” He scratched his head. “If she said Peaty dropped by, I guess he did. But I’ve got to tell you, I’m astonished.”

“That Peaty and Billy would associate?”

“We don’t know they associated, just that Peaty dropped things off. Yes, Billy’s absentminded but usually he tells me when he’s left something and I tell him don’t worry, we’ll get it tomorrow. If Peaty did drop something off I’m sure that’s where it ended.”

He looked over at Billy. Rocking harder. “First Nora taking off and now this…”

I said, “They’re adults.”

“Chronologically.”

“Must be hard, being the protector.”

“Mostly it’s no big deal. Sometimes it’s a challenge.”

“This is one of those sometimes.”

“This is a real big sometime.”

“At some point,” I said, “we’d like to talk to Billy about Peaty.”

“Why? Peaty’s dead and you know who shot him.”

“Just to be thorough.”

“What does it have to do with Billy?”

“Probably nothing.”

“Is Peaty still a suspect for that girl’s murder?”

“Still?”

“All those questions you asked about him when you came to my house. It was pretty obvious what you were getting at. Do you really think Peaty could’ve done something like that?”

“It’s an open investigation,” I said.

“Meaning you won’t say. Look, I appreciate what you guys do but I can’t just let you browbeat Billy.”

“Browbeating’s not on the agenda, Mr. Dowd. Just a few questions.”

“Believe me, Detective, he has nothing to tell you.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“Of course I am. I can’t allow my brother to be drawn into anything sordid.”

“Because he’s chronologically an adult but…”

“Exactly.”

“He doesn’t seem retarded,” I said.

“I told you, he isn’t,” said Brad. “What he is no one’s ever been sure. Nowadays he’d probably be called some kind of autistic. Back when we were kids he was just ‘different.’ ”

“Must’ve been tough.”

“Whatever.” His eyes shifted sideways toward the Cadillac. Billy rested his head down on the dashboard. “There isn’t a mean bone in his body, Detective, but that didn’t stop other kids from tormenting him. I’m younger but I always felt like the older brother. That’s the way it’s remained and I’m going to have to ask you to respect our privacy.”

“Maybe it would be good for Billy to talk,” I said.

“Why?”

“He seemed pretty traumatized by the news. Sometimes getting it out helps.”

“Now you sound like a shrink,” said Brad. New edge in his voice.

“You’ve got experience with shrinks?”

“Back when we were kids Billy got taken to all kinds of quacks. Vitamin quacks, hypnosis quacks, exercise quacks, psychiatric quacks. No one did a damn thing for him. So let’s all just stick to what we know best. You chase bad guys and I’ll take care of my brother.”

I walked over to the Caddy, Brad’s protests at my back. Billy sat up, rigid. His eyes were shut and his hands clawed the placket of his shirt.

“Nice seeing you again, Billy.”

“It wasn’t nice. This is a bad news day.”

Brad got in the driver’s seat, started up the engine.

“Real bad news,” I said.

Billy nodded. “Real real real bad.”

Brad turned the ignition key. “I’m backing out, Detective.”

I waited until they’d been gone for five minutes, then walked up to Nora Dowd’s door and knocked. Got the silence I’d expected.

Empty mailbox. Brother Brad had collected Nora’s correspondence. Cleaning up everyone’s mess, as usual. He claimed Billy was harmless but his opinion was worthless.

I got back in the Seville and drove away, passing Albert Beamish’s house. The old man’s curtains were drawn but he opened his door.

Red shirt, green pants, drink in hand.

I stopped and lowered the car window. “How’s it going?”

Beamish started to say something, shook his head in disgust, went back inside.