“Anyone get a good look at the car?”
“Nope,” he said. “Too dark, it all happened so fast, blah blah blah. Needless to say, Chamberlain’s freaked out, planning to visit his folks in Vermillion, South Dakota.”
He rubbed his face. “This is some dragon-lady we’re dealing with, Alex. Maybe Connie was onto something when she sued her.”
I said, “So the working theory is Ree stalked Chamberlain while his building was being monitored by Hollywood narco and struck as soon as they left.”
“Why not? No better time for Hollywood narco not to notice,” he said. “When’s the best time to break the speed limit, kiddo? When the cops are busy giving someone else a ticket. Ree watched the tweakers being taken away, spotted Chamberlain come out for some late-night exercise? Sounds perfect to me.”
“It depends on her driving a second vehicle.”
He put his hands behind his head. “Gee, that would be tough.”
I said, “Okay.”
“You still can’t accept it, huh?”
“I accept it. No point crossing from denial into stupidity.” Mouthing the words but even I could hear the rote-quality. And the resentment.
He said, “Okay, I just ate your grub, so I’ll be temporarily open-minded. Is there something about this chick, psychologically speaking, that’ll make me think better of her? And I don’t mean all that love-beads bullshit. I never trusted the whole flower-child thing. I’m in Asia, they’re having love-ins.”
I shook my head. “Nothing new to add.”
“Then unfortunately I’m gonna stick with the basics as I see ’em, Alex. The Sykes family was a breeding ground for psychopathology. Connie was a thoroughly unpleasant person with homicidal tendencies and Ree is an outwardly pleasant person with homicidal tendencies. She’s also a helluva lot better at killing people than her sister because she observes Rule One: Want something done right, do it yourself. Unfortunately for me, she’s also good at staying under the radar, so hopefully she won’t consider anyone else an obstacle.”
“Why would Chamberlain be an obstacle?”
“Same reason as Winky: He could be Rambla’s daddy and Ree defines bliss as single motherhood.”
“Can’t be him and Winky,” I said. “She’d know.”
“Would she, Alex?” His smile was unsettling. If he wasn’t my friend I wouldn’t have liked him.
I said, “Guess not.”
“I mean I don’t want to be accused of a dirty mind, but let’s hope the kid wasn’t conceived during a Malibu gangbang. If that’s the case, there’s a whole slew of horndogs with targets on their foreheads.”
CHAPTER 32
Two days after the attempted murder of Boris Chamberlain, the case hit the news.
The L.A. Times devoted two paragraphs to “what LAPD sources describe as the emotional fallout from a heated guardianship battle.” Focus on the Sykes sisters, no mention of Chamberlain or Melandrano. TV offered similar content in the usual short-attention-span spurts, along with a DMV photo of Ree Sykes.
The newspaper byline was Kelly LeMasters, once a Times staff reporter, now a freelancer and writing a book. That volume was based on the movie-star homicides Milo and I had worked on last year. After a rocky beginning, LeMasters and Milo had forged a working relationship; no mystery about the identity of her “sources.”
Milo’s motivation was obvious: a woman that dangerous on the lam, going public was the logical step. No reason to feel sorry for Ree. Still …
I’d been struggling to accept her as a multiple murderer but maybe the real issue was that she’d fooled me completely. I knew that mental health pros were no better than anyone predicting violence, emphasized that when teaching forensic psych to gung-ho grad students.
In the case of Sykes v. Sykes, I’d manage to convince myself I was different.
Delusions were everywhere.
I took a punishing run up Mulholland and two miles beyond, staggered home drenched, aching, wheezing like a chain smoker.
After showering and dressing, I checked my messages. Perfect time for there to be none.
Three in ninety minutes, the joys of success.
A judge I respected far less than Marv Applebaum wanted to discuss — big surprise — an “unpleasant” custody case. A “professional career consultant” offered to “grow your practice beyond your wildest dreams, Doctor!” A Clara Fellows had left a call-back number.
I decoded the operator’s error: Kiara Fallows. The clerk who’d taken leave from Marv’s court. Wondering why she’d called, I tried her first.
A soft, whispery voice said, “This is Kiara.”
“Dr. Delaware returning your call.”
“Who?” she said. “Oh. Yes. Deputy Wattlesburg said you needed to talk to me?”
I’d told Lionel not to bother. The old courtroom vet being helpful?
“Nothing urgent,” I said. “I was just curious how you knew about the Sykes case.”
“The what?”
“Deputy Wattlesburg said you’d mentioned a guardianship suit in probate court—”
“Oh,” she said. “The two sisters. I guess I did — he’s annoyed with me. Lionel. For quitting. When he told me you called he also let me know I’d blown a big opportunity, working for the county, the benefits, the pension.”
“Did the Sykes case have something to do with your leaving?”
“It did kind of freak me out,” she said. “Someone getting killed over a child? But no, the main reason was it’s too far for me to drive. The gas mileage, I wanted something closer to home.”
“Where’d you hear about the murder?”
“People talking.”
“At the courthouse?”
“They’re always going on about something there.”
“Okay, thanks for clarifying.”
“That’s it?” she said. “You were just curious?”
“I was involved in the case as an expert witness, am still trying to make sense of it.”
“That’s scary,” she said. “Being a part of it, I mean. Someone going nuts and you could never tell they were dangerous. Like that workplace violence you hear about, no way to predict who’s going to go off the deep end. Hey, could I ask you a favor? Being a doctor, you wouldn’t happen to know of anyone who needs an office manager or something like that? I’m real good at planning and organizing.”
“If I think of anyone I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. And good luck to you. Figuring out the craziness, I mean.”
I was tackling Joe Pass guitar solos, doing damage to “Satin Doll,” when Milo rang in.
“Looks like we got her, Alex. Skid Row, walking distance from the damn courthouse. I was right about her never leaving town. She parked her car at Union, somehow got another set of wheels that she used to drive-by Chamberlain, maybe ditched that, too.”
I said, “Criminal mastermind.”
“You know as well as I do, amigo. It ain’t that hard to be bad.”
“How’d you find her?”
“The tipoff was the kid,” he said. “How many healthy-looking women with well-nourished toddlers you gonna see at an SRO flophouse? Minutes after her face hit the tube we got three separate sightings. I’m outside the building right now.”
“Congratulations.”
“Listen, I know this isn’t the news you wanted so if you turn me down, I won’t blame you. But with the kid involved, the possibility of this turning into a hostage situation is bugging me. Your knowing what makes Mama tick — I could use you here.”