Twisted

CHAPTER 24

Mac Dilbeck looked at the photo of Marcella Douquette. “Our victim.”

Petra said, “Maybe our main victim. She’s got no record but was living with a member of a known criminal enterprise. Could be the other kids just happened to be in the parking lot at the wrong time.”

The two of them were having coffee at Musso and Frank, the front room, one of the stiff-backed booths. Hollywood oldsters and retro types Petra’s age loped in and out. Petra was having apple pie and Mac had chosen rhubarb with vanilla ice cream. Luc Montoya, occupied with his new case, a Selma Avenue stabbing, was off the Paradiso case permanently.

Mac forked loose an equilateral triangle of pie and guided it smoothly into his mouth. It was five P.M. and he’d been on for a day and a half, but his gray sharkskin suit was immaculate and his white shirt looked freshly pressed. Petra had left a message with Isaac at USC, canceling their P.M. meet. She felt exhilarated by the I.D. on Douquette but on the verge of letdown because of all the whodunit that remained.

Eleven days till June 28, but this was more important, this was now.

Mac said, “You did great work.” He wiped an already clean mouth with a linen napkin. “Out of nowhere you pull an I.D.”

“Abracadabra,” said Petra. She waved an imaginary wand.

Mac smiled. “So, you’re thinking this Lyle character’s the one.”

“He and Sandra Leon lived with Marcella in Venice. The landlord said Leon paid six months rent in advance, hard cash. Gave the name Lewis Tiger.”

“Leon means ‘lion’ in Spanish right?” said Mac. “Lion, Tiger. Cute.”

“If he did this he’s a damned snake,” said Petra. “The Players have no rep for violence but maybe internally it’s different. Maybe Robert Leon rules with an iron fist from his cell in Lompoc. Sandra never visited him but Marcella did, last year. And guess what, she’s the only female who did.”

“You’re thinking she offended the boss.”

“The coroner said she’d had a recent abortion. Maybe that broke some kind of rule.”

“Getting pregnant or having the abortion?”

“Could be either,” said Petra. “Maybe the father was an outsider. Or Lyle. He was living with both girls in a very small house, anything could’ve happened. For all we know, getting pregnant was the ideal- the females’ role in the group is to breed- and by terminating she committed a big-time no-no.”

“Providing young’uns for the clan,” said Mac. “Sounds like a cult. What about Sandra?”

“Sandra’s sick. Hepatitis A. That could’ve prevented her from conceiving, or Lyle knew about it and stayed away. Or he was the one who gave it to her.” She repeated what Katzman had told her about unsanitary sex.

Mac excised and ate a smaller triangle of pie. “Kind of ironic, her trying to fake out like she had cancer and she’s sick with something else.”

“Maybe the group knew all along she was sick and has been taking advantage of it to pull off medical scams.”

“Dangerous game, no? I assume viral hepatitis is pretty serious.”

“Type A goes away by itself, usually by six months.”

Mac put his fork down and ran his index finger along the border of the postmortem photo. “Assuming Marcella was hit by Lyle or another Player, you think Sandra knew about it?”

“When I interviewed her she wasn’t shocked. She was edgy, that’s why I noticed her. Maybe she’s learned to keep things to herself.”

“The Players,” said Mac. “Never heard of them.”

“They mostly work the north end of the state and Nevada.”

“Isaac got you all this?”

Petra nodded.

“The Genius,” said Mac. He pushed his plate away, the pie a half-eaten polygon. “It’s progress, but I’m not sure it’s good enough to keep the downtown boys at bay.”

“We hand them the I.D. and the probable cause and they chase it down?”

“You know how it works, Petra. Maybe it’s best that way. D’Ambrosio’s their captain. He wants five guys, he gets five. He asks for ten, he gets ten. That kind of coverage could be what the case needs.”

“Fine,” said Petra.

“It isn’t, but…” Mac folded his napkin into a rectangle. “I’ll do my best to see you get credit for developing the lead.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“Fair is fair.”

“On what planet?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Wish there was a choice.”

“I understand,” she said. But she was thinking: Maybe there is a choice.