Over the Edge

31

THREE WEEKS after Souza's arrest, Gary Yamaguchi and Slit (nee Amber Lynn Danziger) were found in Reno by a private detective agency hired by the girl's parents. They'd been living in an abandoned trailer on the outskirts of town, subsisting on handouts and her earnings as a part-time counter girl at Burger King. Upon return to L.A. she was released to her parents and Gary was taken into custody as a material witness. When Milo questioned him about the diary, he adopted the same kind of robotic indifference he'd shown me in the alley behind Voids. But a stay in the County Jail and a slide show of the Slasher victims' bodies donated by the coroner, made him somewhat more cooperative.

"The way he tells it," said Milo over the phone, "Jamey called him and asked to get together about a month or so before he was committed. They met at Sunset Park, across from the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was a hot day, but Jamey was wearing a raincoat. Yamaguchi said he looked like a street nut — dirty, staggering, talking to himself. They sat down on a bench, and he started rambling about this book he had that was so important he could be killed for it. Then he pulled it out of his coat, shoved it in Yamaguchi's hands, and told him he was the only friend he had, that his mission was to keep the book safe. Before Yamaguchi could say anything, he ran off.

"Yamaguchi figured the whole thing was a paranoid delusion, said he considered tossing the book in the nearest trash can. Instead — he can't say why — he took it with him, stuck it in a drawer, and forgot about it. After Jamey was committed, he wondered if there had been something to the story, but not enough to examine it. After Chancellor was murdered, he pulled it out and started reading. But he claims he found it boring and gave up after the first few pages. It was then, he says, that he decided to use it. For art. Jamey had told him about his father's suicide, and he combined it with the murder scene and stuck it in a sculpture. He seemed to think it was funny, something about death being the source of all true art."

"He never read the book through?"

"If he did, he didn't catch on to the Bitter Canyon bit because he never tried to exploit it."

"He wouldn't," I said. "He fancies himself a nihilist. Takes pride in being apathetic."

Milo thought for a moment.

"Yeah, you could be right. When I asked him if he thought the book might be important when he encased it in plastic, he gave this snotty smile and said it was an irrelevant question. When I pressed him, he said he hoped it was because the idea of someone's hanging it on his wall without knowing what he had was hilarious. Then he laid on a bunch of crap about art and bad jokes being the same thing. I asked him if that's why the Mona Lisa was smiling, but he shined me on. Weird kid, but as far as I can tell, he has no connection to any of it, so I turned him loose."

"Any indication of why Jamey hid the book from Chancellor?" I asked.

"Nope."

"I was thinking," I said, "that they could have had a falling-out. Jamey wanted to use the diary to stop the construction, and when he saw that all Chancellor cared about was saving his own skin, he took it and left it for safekeeping with Gary. Because Gary was a nihilist and would never use it."

There was a long silence.

"Could be," said Milo. "If Jamey was rational enough to put that all together."

"You're probably right. It was wishful thinking. He was pretty muddled by then."

"Not so muddled he couldn't reach out for help."

I said nothing.

"Hey," said Milo, "that was your cue to recite something about the indomitability of the human spirit."

"Consider it recited."

"Consider it heard."

After he hung up, I finished my breakfast, called the service, and told them where I'd be. There were three messages, two from people wanting to sell me something and a request to phone a Superior Court judge, a man I respected. I called his chambers, and he asked me to consult on the impending divorce case of a famous film director and a famous actress. According to the director, the actress was a cocaine freak on the verge of psychosis. According to the actress, the director was venal, cruel, and a rabid paedophile. Neither really wanted their five-year-old daughter; both were determined the other wouldn't get custody. The actress had spirited the child to Zurich, and it was possible I'd be able to fly there at her expense to conduct my interviews.

I told him it sounded like a mess of the worst kind: flaming narcissism combined with enough money to pay lawyers to keep it messy for a long time. He laughed sadly and agreed but added that he thought I'd be interested because I liked excitement. I thanked him for thinking of me and politely declined.

At nine o'clock I went down to the garden to feed the koi. The largest of the carp, a stout gold and black kin-ki-utsuri, which Robin had named Sumo, sucked on my fingers, and I patted his glossy head before climbing back up to the house. Once inside, I straightened up, switched a few lights on, and packed a carry-on. Then I called Robin at her studio and told her I was leaving.

"Have a good flight, sweetie. When can I expect you back?"

"Late tonight or tomorrow morning depending on how things go."

"Call me and let me know. If it's tonight, I'll wait up. If not, I'll stay here late and finish the mandolin."

"Sure. I'll phone by six."

"Take care, Alex. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Throwing on a corduroy sportcoat, I picked up the carry-on, walked out to the terrace, and locked the door behind me. By ten-thirty I was pulling into Burbank Airport.