The Museum of Desire

Chapter 17

Dr. Ellen Cerillos’s name was listed at the bottom of a ten-physician roster. Valley Oaks Women’s Wellness Center took up the ground floor of a wheat-colored building on Moorpark just east of Van Nuys Boulevard. On the second, a six-dentist group specializing in oral surgery and cosmetic reconstruction.

Joan Blunt’s waiting room had been small and silent. This space was the size of a double garage and crowded with women, several of whom held babies in their arms. A notable number of the babies squalled. That noise reduced a piped-in new-age music soundtrack to bleeps, burps, and fragments of synthesized tones.

Interesting mix of fragrances: infant-poop, zwieback, perfume, antiseptic wipes.

Heads turned as Milo and I stepped in. Stares followed us as we took our place behind an exhausted-looking woman at the reception window who appeared precariously ready to deliver. An earnest conversation continued between her and a gray-haired receptionist. Scheduled C-section, still working out insurance details. Two other women worked in the front office, both busy clicking keyboards. The only people not paying us any mind.

One of the waiting patients nudged the woman next to her and pointed at us. Murmurs circulated; vocal relay race fueled by curiosity.

The weary woman stepped away and found a seat. The gray-haired woman said, “Yes?”

Milo leaned close, showed his card, covering Homicide with his thumb. His voice was soft, conspiratorial. “Is Dr. Cerillos in?”

“She’s with a patient.”

“Could you please tell her it’s about Richard Gurnsey.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend.”

The receptionist cocked an eyebrow. “She’s booked until seven, why don’t you try later?”

“We may have to,” said Milo. “But if you could tell her.”

“The police, huh?” Loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Yes, ma’am. We’d appreciate if—”

“The police,” she repeated, cranking up the volume. As if sharing a joke with an audience. “Hoe-wold on.”

She got up slowly, walked to the right, and disappeared. Half a minute later, the door to the inner office opened. “Must be a good friend. Fifth door to the right.”

Returning to her desk, she shuffled forms and held up a finger. “Ms. Langer? Step back up for a sec.”

The fifth door was open. To the left, the names of three M.D.’s and a trio of racks for charts.

Inside, room for one practitioner at a time. The white-coated woman behind the desk was in her thirties, narrowly built and buttermilk-pale but for the merest sprinkle of freckles across broad, flat cheeks and a nub nose. Cute in an elfin way. A high-backed desk chair made her look small.

She said, “Please close the door,” and avoided looking at us.

The tint of her eyebrows said her hair had probably begun as strawberry blond. She’d dyed it flame orange and styled it ragged and boy-short. Three thin gold hoops glinted in her left ear, four decorated her right.

Once we’d sat down, she aimed rusty-brown eyes at us. One hand drummed a memo pad atop the desk; the other clutched the tubes of a stethoscope. More framed paper than free space on the wall. I found hers on the far right. M.D., Stanford. Internship, residency, and fellowship in high-risk pregnancy, UC San Francisco.

Milo said, “Thanks for seeing us, Doctor.”

“I’m really pretty busy.”

“Then special thanks.”

“The police about Rick? Has he done something?” Ellen Cerillos plucked at a white lapel.

“Doctor, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Mr. Gurnsey’s deceased.”

Cerillos’s mouth dropped open. Smallish, misaligned teeth. The lack of childhood dental privilege said maybe a poor girl who’d worked her way up. “I don’t understand — deceased? How?”

“I’m afraid he was the victim of a homicide.”

“Oh, my God.” Cerillos sank back in the enormous chair.

Milo said, “You asked if he’d done something. What came to mind?”

“Nothing. It’s just... if the police were here... I mean I didn’t assume anything had happened to him.” Both hands took hold of the stethoscope.

“How well did you know Rick?”

A rosy flush climbed up Cerillos’s neck, shooting from the hollow above the center of her collarbone to a small chin. “We dated. A couple of times. How’d you connect me — oh, his phone?”

Same deduction Joan Blunt had made. The cellular age.

Milo said, “Yes, Doctor.”

“This is unbelievable. I’ve never known anyone before who was — Are you here because you think I can help you in some way? I’m sure I can’t.”

“You and Rick dated a couple of times. Literally, as in two?”

“Maybe three,” said Ellen Cerillos. “Four. That’s it. Four.” The same number of calls between her and Gurnsey.

“Did you stop because of problems?”

The flush took off again, commandeering Cerillos’s entire face. “I didn’t stop, he did. As in see you soon then not calling anymore. I was surprised, there didn’t seem to be problems. At least as far as I could tell.” She tugged at a sprig of red hair. “Talking about my social life with anyone is embarrassing, let alone the police.”

“We’re at the beginning of the investigation, Doctor. If you could just bear with us.” Cerillos glanced at a desk clock backed by a pharmaceutical company’s label. “A few more minutes, I’ve got a waiting room full of patients.”

“We’ll do our best. So four dates, then he stopped calling. Kinda rude.”

“I thought it was. I decided I wasn’t going to call him. Then I relented. For closure, you know? You wonder. I reached him at work, he didn’t sound surprised that I was asking.”

I said, “As if he was used to it.”

“Exactly. As if that was his pattern. So I said to myself, Okay, Ellie, you’ve been played. And proceeded to forget about him. It wasn’t that difficult, there’d been nothing emotional, just...” The blush intensified. “He was just a player. What surprised me is he’d never come across like one. He knew how to act romantic. Emphasis on act. Or I was just gullible.”

“Did he offer you any explanation?”

“He apologized, told me I was a great girl but he needed to move on. Which I took to mean another woman.”

“Did he ever mention other women?”

“Never,” said Cerillos. “Some guys do that, it’s moronic, but Rick never did. Are you saying he mistreated someone and they took it out on him?”

Milo said, “I wish we knew enough to theorize, Dr. Cerillos.”

“But I’m not the only woman you’re talking to.”

“You’re not. So he could come across romantic.”

“Looking back, he was obviously following a routine. Pretending to be interested. The whole medical thing, he kept telling me how smart I was. Smarter than him, he hoped that wouldn’t be an issue.” She smiled. “I suppose it might’ve been had it lasted.”

I said, “How’d the two of you meet?”

The smile dropped like a dry leaf. “Must I get into that? This feels invasive.”

Milo said, “Sorry about that. It’s just that Rick was killed pretty brutally and we haven’t made much progress.”

She winced. “Brutally. My God, don’t even tell me.”

“The point is, Doctor, anything we can learn about Rick — his habits, his approach to life—”

“His approach was obviously hooking up with gullible females.”

“How’d you meet?”

Her small frame shifted forward. “At a restaurant. The Proud Rooster, it’s in Brentwood, they have a cocktail lounge where you can get a light dinner. I live nearby, had been there a couple of times. That particular night, I’d had a tough day. On call for someone else’s patient, fifteen-hour delivery and then the baby ended up being born with a defect that hadn’t been picked up on screening. I drove straight from the hospital to the Rooster, ordered a sandwich and some wine, and tried to decompress. Not at the bar, they have tables, I don’t sit at bars.”

Milo said, “Why’s that?”

Ellen Cerillos said, “It’s been my experience that men who spend extended time at the bar can be less than... appropriate.”

I said, “Rick was also at a table.”

She nodded. “Two tables away, also by himself. I didn’t see him at first, in between us a couple. But when they left Rick and I had a clear view of each other. He didn’t notice me at first, then he did and smiled. Friendly, not gross. I thought he was cute. More than cute, he’s — was a solidly good-looking guy, obviously took care of himself. We exchanged a few more looks and then he went to the bar and bought two drinks, one for me, one for him. I said sure, sit down.”

She looked to the side. “Am I the first on his call list you’re talking to?”

“Why would that be important, Doctor?”

“I wouldn’t want to think that you’re prioritizing me. There’s absolutely no reason to do that.”

“No, there’ve been others.”

“A whole bunch, I’d imagine.” Cerillos frowned and pushed the stethoscope to the side. “I need to cut this short. I’m just out of my fellowship and have a ton of student debt. Getting this job was a great deal, I can’t risk having it jeopardized.”

Milo said, “Our showing up jeopardizes you.”

“Agnes told me everyone was looking at you.”

Milo said, “We came here in person because we left messages and no one got back.”

“Messages with who?”

“Your front desk.”

“Oh, shit, Agnes — she can be... well, whatever. That’s all I know about Rick.”

Milo said, “Four dates then he cut it off.”

Ellen Cerillos blinked. “Precisely. That’s certainly nothing to kill someone over. And please don’t give me that line about woman scorned, hell hath no fury. In my experience it’s men who get angry and stalk.”

She licked her lips.

I said, “You’re speaking from experience.”

Cerillos fiddled with the tubes of her stethoscope. “My second year of med school. A respiratory therapist got it in his head that we were destined for each other. We’d never even gone out, just had coffee in the cafeteria. Then he asked me out and I said no. Then a second time. And a third. That’s when the problems started. He never got violent but he did get scary. Threatening demeanor, calling incessantly, showing up at my apartment with flowers. Eventually, he was arrested for stalking three other women. One he beat up. They wanted me to testify. That terrified me and I refused and the police did their best to make me feel guilty. So you can see why I’m not thrilled when you drop in and dredge up my personal life.”

“What happened to your stalker?”

“He pled guilty and got a couple of years in prison. It was a tough time for me.” Looking at the desk. “But you probably know that.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re the police. You also probably know I got a DUI.”

“It came up, Doctor.”

“It could’ve affected my licensing,” she said. “But it was a stupid arrest. I was.85, instead of.80. My lawyer got it turned into a ticket and told me I didn’t need to report it.”

“Glad it worked out,” said Milo. Out came his pad. “What’s the name of the guy who stalked you?”

Rusty eyes widened in terror. “You can’t tell him I told you!”

“We have no intention of contacting him, Doctor. We’d just like to know where he is.”

“Why?”

“For your sake. What if he’s in L.A. and found out you dated Rick?”

“All those months ago?”

I said, “Was he rational to begin with?”

“Oh, God,” said Cerillos. “It can’t happen again!”

Milo said, “How about this, Doctor. The moment we find out where he is, we’ll let you know. Most probably he’s nowhere near and you’ll be reassured. Because you have wondered, right?”

Slow head shake.

“I also promise you that he’ll never know we spoke to you, Doctor. Scout’s honor.”

“Scouts,” said Cerillos. “I was a Brownie.” She exhaled twice. “Tibor Halasz. With a ‘z’ at the end.”

Milo pulled out his phone.

She said, “What are you doing?”

“Just what I said.”

“Now? You can do that? On a phone?”

“Sure can.”

“Scary,” said Cerillos. “Orwellian.” She snatched up the stethoscope.

Milo worked, I waited, Cerillos opened a drawer and applied lip balm.

He said, “Here we go. Mr. Halasz moved to Illinois and got into more trouble. Aggravated assault four years ago, nine-year sentence in a state penitentiary starting a year ago.”

“He beat up another woman?”

“Doesn’t say, Doctor. In any event, he’s in no position to bother you.”

“Or to kill Rick,” said Cerillos, dropping her head, then looking up. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“So what else can you tell us about Rick?”

“There really isn’t much to tell. Simple guy.”

I said, “Into his basic needs.”

“Very basic,” she said. “For him it was all about physicality. Which isn’t a problem if you don’t force it. And he didn’t. But at some point, if you’ve got a brain in your head, you want more. Like substantial conversation.”

“Rick didn’t supply that.”

“Never. Small talk and then... predictable, I suppose. I came to realize he did me a favor by not prolonging something that wouldn’t have gone anywhere. So I don’t resent him and I’d certainly have no reason to hurt him.”

She hung the stethoscope around her neck. “This is going to sound mean but after I got my head straight, he didn’t mean anything to me. I hadn’t thought about him at all until Agnes came in and told me why you were here. Now I do have to go.”

“Fair enough, Doctor. Here’s my card.”

Cerillos took it and scanned. “Homicide. What an ugly word.”

Back in the waiting room, we passed through a visual gauntlet. Nursing women shifted their babies away from us, others stared.

In the car, I said, “Nice of you to run Halasz.”

“Did it for myself. Maybe I’d actually have a suspect. But should life be easy?” He started up the car. “So what do you think about Gurnsey’s choice in women?”

I said, “Cerillos and Blunt are highly educated and extremely bright. Other than that, it doesn’t seem as if he went for a type.”

“More like who he could pick up and put against a wall. You find Cerillos any more interesting than Blunt?”

I shook my head.

“Damn,” he said. “Great minds moving in the same futile direction. How about the fact that the other women dumped Gurnsey but Gurnsey dumped Cerillos?”

“She could’ve told us different,” I said. “Maybe some of the others did.”

“Making themselves look good. Good point. Unfortunately.”

He phoned Reed, told him to add the Proud Rooster to his canvass list.

Reed said, “Sure, it’s right on the way, just finished at Shutters and Loew’s. No one remembers Gurnsey. I also called a few animal shelters, see if anyone adopted two pit mixes. Waste of time, L.T. Pits and Chihuahuas make up a big proportion of roundups, we’re talking thousands of dogs. Record keeping is sketchy and we have no idea when these two dogs were actually acquired. Plus, they could’ve come from another source — puppy-milled, bred for fighting, bought in a parking lot.”

“A dog’s life,” said Milo.

“On the bright side, Sean had good luck with Roget’s phone records, they’re coming tomorrow.”

“Fingers crossed, Moses.”

“Speaking of crosses,” said Reed, “be nice to crucify this bastard.”