Rage

CHAPTER 42

I led Valerie to a lawn chair outside. The same chair Cherish Daney had occupied the first time we’d been here. Solemn and weepy, reading a book about coping with loss.

Her grief had seemed genuine. Now I wondered what she was really crying about.

“I want to take a shower.”

“Soon, Valerie.”

“I want hot water.” She bounced her knees together, tickled one. Looked up at the sky. Scrunched her mouth. Glanced back at the block building, now silent. “It’s my fuckin’ water, I want it. The bitches can’t use it up.”

“I’m sorry they did that, Valerie.”

“Bitches.” She lifted a twist of hair from her shoulder, ran it across her mouth, licked.

I said, “You know more than anyone. Do you have any idea where Drew and Cherish went?”

“I told you.”

“You said Drew left before and that Cherish was mad.”

“Yeah.”

“But where’d they go, Valerie? It’s important.”

“Why?”

“Cherish is mad at him. What if she went to yell at him?”

“He’s okay,” she said. “He goes places.”

“Like where?”

“Places.”

“What kinds of places?”

“Nonprofits.”

“He takes you to nonprofits.”

Silence.

I said, “You help him and the other girls are jealous.”

“Bitches.”

“He trusts you.”

“I get it.”

“Get what?”

Silence.

“You get it so you help him,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you get?”

Long silence.

“Valerie? What do you- ”

“Love.”

“You understand love.”

“He prolly went to a church,” she said. “I don’t know the names. I want to shower- ”

“A church.”

Silence.

“Valerie, I know these questions are a pain, but they’re important. Did Cherish get mad at Drew a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“About what?”

“Not making money.” She let go of the hair, held up a fist, and glanced at the main house.

“She felt he didn’t make enough money.”

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

“She wanted a trip to Vegas.”

“She told you that?”

Silence.

“Drew told you.”

Back to hair-twisting.

“Drew told you Cherish wanted to go to Vegas.”

Shrug.

I said, “Sounds like he talked to you about everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did he want money?”

She faced me. “No way. He was for the soul.”

“The soul?”

“God’s work,” she said, touching a breast. “He got chosen.”

“And Cherish?”

“She did it for the money, but tough shit, he won’t give it to her.”

“Drew has money he won’t give her?”

A smile spread across her lips.

I said, “Secret money.”

She shut her eyes.

“Valerie?”

“I got to take a shower.”

She clamped her arms across her chest, kept her eyes shut, and when I spoke she hummed. We’d been sitting in silence for several minutes when Milo came out of the cube with Crandall Wascomb. He glanced at me while walking. Escorted the old man out.

He returned with uplifted eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

“Valerie’s been helpful but she and I are finished for now.”

Movement under the girl’s eyelids.

Milo said, “Helpful?”

“Valerie says Drew has money Cherish doesn’t know about.”

Valerie’s eyes opened. “It’s his. You can’t have it.”

“Never heard of finders keepers?” said Milo.

She didn’t reply. Clamped her eyes shut.

Noise from the front of the property opened them.

A uniformed officer came through the gate.

Milo said, “Now it gets noisy.”

The Van Nuys patrol officer was followed by his partner, then six members of the newly formed downtown crimes-against-juveniles squad arrived wearing dark blue LAPD windbreakers. Five female detectives, one man, each of them bright-eyed and hyped, ready to arrest someone. Shortly after, a Van Nuys sex crimes detective named Sam Crawford showed up looking put-upon. He conferred with the head juvey cop and left.

The head was a stocky wire-haired brunette in her forties. Milo briefed her, she gave the word, and all but one of her squad entered the cube. A younger detective who introduced herself as Martha Vasquez took custody of Valerie, saying, “Sure, hon, you can do that,” when the girl asked to shower. Walking her to the converted garage while scanning the rest of the property.

Milo motioned me over, introduced the brunette as Judy Weisvogel and told her who I was.

“Psychologist,” she said. “That can come in handy.”

Milo briefed her some more, emphasizing Drew Daney’s abuse of the girls, mentioning suspected homicides but staying spare with the details.

Weisvogel said, “Good morning world, it’s going to get complicated. Do we have a crime scene, over there?” Indicating the main house.

“Haven’t had time to look around yet,” said Milo. “At the very least it’s a fugitive thing.”

“Missing perv and wife. Definitely separate cars?”

“The girls say they left separately and both cars are gone.”

“How much time elapsed between their respective rabbits?”

“From what the kids say a day or so.”

“Okay, I’ll phone in for a warrant and we’ll get techies over to toss the place. I’ll need a bunch of social workers, too, but they don’t get in the office till nine.”

“Civilian life,” said Milo.

Weisvogel said, “Ain’t it a party? No idea where Mr. and Mrs. Perv are off to?”

“Nope. She may not be a perv.”

“Whatever.” Weisvogel took out her pad. “Give me their names for a BOLO.”

Milo recited. “Drew Daney. He could also be traveling as Moore Daney Andruson.”

“Anderson e-n or o-n?”

He spelled it. “His wheels are a white Jeep. She drives a Toyota. C-H-E-R-I-S-H.”

“Some name. You don’t think they met up somewhere and split?”

“One of the kids said she was mad at him,” said Milo.

“ ’Cause she figured out what he was about?”

“Don’t know. The kids are aware of what’s been going on. They taunted two girls who were sexually active with him.”

“If missus did figure it out she sure took her sweet time about it, didn’t she?” said Weisvogel. “What do you think, Doctor, one of those see-no-evil pathological denial head cases?”

I said, “Could be.”

“I walked into that room, saw those girls, first thing came to mind was ‘harem.’ God only knows what we’re going to find when they get examined.”

“It sounds as if he was selective. Chose one or two girls who got special privileges. The girl I spoke to thinks she loves him.”

Weisvogel slapped her hands on her hips. Her wrists were as thick as a man’s. “So how long have you been looking at this fine citizen, Milo?”

“Been looking at him for murder for a week or so. The other stuff just came up.”

“The other stuff,” said Weisvogel. “Well, it’s obviously gonna take a long time to unravel. Speaking of which, Doctor, any chance you could be available, therapy-wise? I don’t care how many girls he actually fooled with, they’re all going to be affected, right? The department psychologists are pretty much tied up doing personnel evaluations and we could use some help.”

“Sure,” I said.

She seemed surprised by my easy assent. “Okay, good, thanks. I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, let’s keep each other posted, Milo.”

“Will do, Judy. Speaking of which, there’s a safe-deposit box on a desk in the bedroom. Cherish left it out in the open next to her instructions. Those instructions were set out on a piece of blotter paper- like a presentation. To me that says looky here, clear invitation to scrutinize.”

“Those instructions,” said Weisvogel, “reminded me of some stupid memo you’d get in the service. She abandons these kids and writes out a manual. Hubby rapes the kids but they need their medicine and their nutritious breakfasts. What a whack job.”

“Be interesting to see what’s in the box, Judy.”

She shook her head. “Before the warrant and the techies get here? Tsk tsk.”

“Daney’s a suspect in six murders, maybe seven. I can make a case for exigent circumstances.”

Weisvogel looked doubtful.

Milo said, “Judy, he took the girls off the property to molest them, so the house won’t be your primary crime scene, his Jeep will. We need to find him asap and there could be something in the box that gets us closer.”

“What, you think the whack job left a map?”

“There are all kinds of maps, Judy.”

“That’s pretty darn enigmatic, Milo. I’m not comfortable messing with the goodies prematurely. All I need is some defense attorney squawking about chain of evidence.”

“It’s in plain view, despite obvious opportunities to conceal,” said Milo. “Ain’t that an invitation to search?”

Weisvogel smiled. “You should’ve gone to law school. Beats honest labor.”

“I could’ve opened the box before you got here, Judy.”

“You certainly could’ve.” Weisvogel stared up at him. Her eyes were green, lighter than Milo ’s, almost khaki, with specks of blue scattered near the rims. Unwavering. “What if the box is locked?”

“I’ve got tools.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Milo smiled.

Weisvogel said, “Hell, what if it’s ticking- I know, you’ll bring in a robot. Seriously, it could cause evidentiary problems, Milo.”

“Problems can be solved. Let’s find the bastard before he does more damage, then sort out the details.”

Weisvogel looked over at the house. Clicked her teeth together. Ran her hand through her terrier hair. “So you’re ordering me, as my superior, to open this alleged box.”

“I’m asking you to be a little flexible- ”

“What I’m hearing is you pulling rank on me. Seeing as I’m merely a D-two and you’re brass.”

Weisvogel’s turn to smile. Tobacco teeth.

“I’m brass?” said Milo, as if he’d been diagnosed with a noxious disease.

“Sorry to drop it on you so suddenly,” said Weisvogel. “So am I getting this whole chain-of-command thing right?”

Still smiling.

Milo said, “Yeah, yeah. Someone bitches, it was all my idea.”

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” said Weisvogel, “Lieutenant.”

She joined her detectives in the cube and Milo told me, “Out to the car.”

“For what?”

“Tools.”

“Don’t have any.”

“You’ve got a crowbar. And I’ve got this.” Reaching into a jacket pocket, he brought out a small penlight and a ring of stainless-steel burglar picks.

“You carry those all the time?”

“Some of the time,” he said. “When I think important objects are gonna be left in plain sight.”

The house was tidy, just as it had been the first time, kitchen scrubbed, hallways vacuumed.

As we entered the master bedroom, I sighted down the hall at the windowless, converted laundry room where Rand had slept.

Milo went into the bedroom and I joined him. The desk sat to the left of the double bed. Plain and rickety, painted brown, a thrift-shop piece that barely managed to fit in Drew and Cherish Daney’s cramped sleeping chamber.

Milo gloved up and checked the closet.

“His duds are here, but hers aren’t. Looks like she packed up for the long haul.”

“And he didn’t.”

“Ain’t that thought-provoking.” He sidled over to the desk. The legs were wobbly and the top slanted downward. A jam glass held pens and pencils. The green blotter paper Cherish had used to frame her instructions was still there. One of its corners was held in place by the box.

Gunmetal safe-deposit box. Extra-large size, the kind banks offered preferred customers.

Milo examined the lock, lifted the box, and inspected the bottom.

“Columbia Savings stamp. They’ve been out of business for years.”

“Surplus, like the school lockers,” I said. “They’re parsimonious.”

He frowned. “All that county money and they’re living like this.”

“If Valerie’s right, there was a lot of conflict about money. Maybe because Drew was siphoning funds and stashing it away.”

“His secret cache. That coulda been bullshit he gave the kid to impress her.”

“I’d bet on reality. He had all the power right from the start with Valerie, didn’t need to prove himself.” I pointed to the box.

He set it down. Looked at the lock again. Examined his picks and selected one. Lifting the box, he hefted. “Kinda light. Maybe Cherish found the dough, took it, and split. The question is, Where’d he go with all his clothes still here?”

“He could’ve gotten to the money first. Picked up on Cherish’s suspicion, sensed the walls closing in and left.”

“With no clothes?”

“He travels light. I’m thinking Vegas because he told Valerie that Cherish wanted to go there.”

“The old projection game? Yeah, Vegas would fit his style, easy for a scumbag to blend in. Okay, enough conjecture. Gimme that.” Pocketing the burglar picks and reaching for the crowbar.

He wedged the point under the box’s lid and bore down. The lid popped up with no resistance and threw him off balance. He fought for equilibrium and I had to swerve to avoid being hit by the bar.

“She left it unlocked,” he said.

“There’s your invitation to search.”

First came a gray felt cloth, the kind used to keep tarnish off silverware. No money under that, but the box was half-full.

Milo removed each object and placed it on the desk.

Nothing that weighed much.

A yellowed Stockton newspaper clipping, seven and a half years old. Local coverage of Troy Turner’s murder in prison. Troy ’s name underlined in red pencil, along with a sentence connecting him to the Malley case. Kristal Malley’s name double underlined.

A pair of woman’s jade drop earrings.

“Any guesses?” he said.

“Maybe Lara’s.”

A black hard-shell eyeglass case. Inside was half a blackened spoon, a cheap lighter, and a crude syringe fashioned from an eyedropper, and a hypodermic needle. Brown gunk soiled the glass. In the red velvet lining of the case, the gold-lettered address of an optometrist on Alvarado.

Under the address, a scrap of paper taped to the inside lid.

Property of Maria Teresa Almedeira.

“Nestor’s mother,” I said. “Nestor swiped it to house his works. After Daney killed him, it became his souvenir.”

Milo reached in the box again and drew out a flimsy knit blouse, royal blue with a horizontal red stripe. Holding it aloft by the sleeves, he checked the label. “Made in Malaysia, size S. This could also be Lara’s.”

I said, “It’s Jane Hannabee’s. She was wearing it the day I met her at the jail. Brand new. Weider was trying to pretty her up.”

“And Daney deprettied her…” He examined the garment closely. “Doesn’t look like any blood.”

“He stabbed her in her sleep. She wouldn’t have worn something new. He wrapped her back up in plastic, rummaged through her stuff, took a souvenir.”

“Okay, if the earrings are Lara’s, maybe her mother can verify… check this out.”

Photocopy of a county document. Application to foster a child.

The ward in question was a sixteen-year-old female named Miranda Melinda Shulte. Drew and Cherish Daney had both signed the papers but they had never been sent in.

“Number seven,” I said.

Milo rubbed his eyes. “There’s no evidence he killed any other girls. Why her, Alex?”

“She’d only been here a week, but Beth Scoggins described her as aggressive, moving in on Beth’s queen-bee status. Daney needs them to be passive. Maybe she asserted herself too much. Or she thought she wanted his attentions, but when the time came, she resisted.”

“Not playing the game,” he said. “There could be a family out there somewhere, wondering.”

Or even worse, there isn’t.

I said, “When we find him, maybe we can learn where he buried her.”

“Love your optimism.” He placed the foster form on the desk. Stared at it. Returned to the box.

Pharmaceutical bubble pack. Nine bubbles, seven of them empty. Two round, white pills, scored diagonally. Stamped “Hoffman” atop the midline, “ 1” below it.

The label on the pack said: Rohypnol, 1 mg (flunitrazepam).

“Party pills,” I said.

Milo said, “Next.”

Out came Rand Duchay’s C.Y.A. I.D. tag. The photo showing Rand looking baffled.

Last, at the bottom, a manila envelope not much larger than a playing card, fastened by a string and eyelet. Milo ’s gloved hands fumbled with the string. He cursed, finally got the string uncoiled. Brought the envelope close to the desk and shook it out carefully.

Out tumbled a tiny bracelet. Square, white plastic cubes strung on a pink thread.

Seven cubes. A letter on each.

K R I S T A L