“Do sociopaths dig irony?”
“They process it differently than the rest of us.”
“Meaning?”
“Shark-eats-minnow is good!”
“How does Moses Grant fit in?”
“Nothing we’ve heard about him so far indicates criminality, so maybe he was an oversized minnow. He gave up his day job and his apartment to run with De Paine because he believed De Paine would help his deejay career. Along the way, he saw too much, reacted with fear or revulsion. That kind of weakness would be a danger sign to De Paine and Fisk.”
“Cleaning house,” he said. “You’re figuring Grant was also there when they did Jordan.”
“Fortuno called him a lackey and whatever else he is, Fortuno’s perceptive. We know Grant drove the Hummer so maybe that night he was the wheelman, waiting somewhere up the block.”
Another long silence.
“You do have a flair for the dark side,” he said, looking past me at the mansion. “Start the car, Jeeves. This zip code’s raising my blood sugar.”
Two twenty-three a.m., lights off at my house. When I stepped in, sounds from a corner of the living room made me jump.
Robin said, “Hi, honey.”
As my eyes habituated, I made out her form. Curled on a sofa, concealed by a blanket but for curls raining on a silk pillow. Blanche nestled in the triangle defined between Robin’s belly and arm. The TV remote sat on the floor.
She switched on a low-voltage lamp, squinted, sat up knuckling her eyes and pushing hair out of her face. Blanche curled a tongue and smiled.
I turned the light off, sat down on the edge of the sofa, kissed her hair. Her breath was the sweet-sour of lemon yogurt.
“I was watching a show, guess I conked out.”
“Must’ve been fascinating.”
“People looking for new houses. Thrilling.”
“Real estate,” I said. “It’s the new sex.”
“The old sex ain’t out of commission, yet…in principle…what time is it?”
I told her.
“Oh, wow. Big night?”
“Nothing dramatic,” I said. “Sorry for not calling.”
“S’okay, I had my home-girl here, we had plenty to talk about.”
“Such as?”
“Girl stuff; you’ll never know. Help me up, Caballero. I need to stretch out in a real bed. Blanchie can stay with us if you want.”
“She snores.”
“So do you, darling.”
“I do?”
“Just once in a while.”
“Is it disruptive?”
She pecked my cheek and got to her feet. I walked her, still wrapped in the blanket, up the hall.
“Do I keep you up, Rob?”
“I have a technique.”
“What?”
“I kick your butt, you roll over, you’re fine.”
“Any excuse,” I said.
She laughed. “Who needs one? By the way, I’m still asking around about De Paine. No one in the biz takes him seriously and no one’s seen him for a while. One other person had that same rumor about the house in the hills but you’ve already dealt with that.”
I kissed her. “Thanks for trying.”
“My middle name.”
I called Tanya at eight thirty the next morning.
She said, “I just got off the phone with Kyle. I know you think I was stupid for confiding in him, but I really know him. He thinks whatever Mommy remembered could’ve had something to do with Pete Whitbread and that sounds logical to me.”
“What do you remember about Pete?”
“Not much. I used to see him on the block but we had nothing to do with each other.”
“Did he hang with anyone in particular?”
“Never saw anyone. What I do recall is that Mommy didn’t like Mary Whitbread.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, but I could tell from the way she acted when Mary dropped by to collect the rent. It embarrassed me a little because Mary was nice to me, sometimes she’d bring me candy. I admired the way she looked. By then I was out of my Barbie stage but I thought Mary looked like a Barbie Mom-glamorous, ultra-feminine. The times she came by, I sensed that she wanted to socialize, but Mommy never invited her to stay. Just the opposite, she seemed to want her out as quickly as possible. One time Mommy had just brewed fresh coffee and Mary remarked how great it smelled. Mommy said, ‘It’s old, I was just going to dump it.’ It was such an obvious lie. Mary left with a look on her face as if she’d been slapped-oops, look what time it is, I’ve got to get going, Dr. Delaware.”
“Another study group?”
“No, that’s later. Ten o’clock lab. I don’t know if any of that was helpful, but it’s all I remember. Thanks for not being mad about Kyle.”
“How’re you doing with the self-hypnosis?”
“Great, excellent, I practiced yesterday. Ran through it a dozen times.”
“Ah,” I said.
Nervous laughter. “Was that too intense?”
“Practice is great, but you may not need that much.”
“You think I’m hopeless.”
“Just the opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have high hopes for you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Delaware. I needed that.”
At ten twenty-eight, Detective Raul Biro phoned to ask if I could make a one p.m. meeting at Hollywood Division.
“Progress?”
“Nothing I’ve heard about. Petra just said she wanted a sit-down. She’s over in Records, figures to be clear by one.”
“I’ll be there. How’s the Whitbread surveillance going?”
“I’m a block up from her place right now. So far, it’s real quiet.”
“Thanks for calling, Raul. See you at one.”
“I won’t be there,” he said. “I’m sticking to Whitbread like Krazy Glue.”
The conference room at Hollywood Division smelled like a catering truck.
On the wall was a poster of Bin Laden wearing a cartoonishly dirty diaper. The caption said, Someone get me out of this dump.
Milo wrestled with a sumo-sized double chili-cheeseburger, Petra nibbled on curly fries and a Mexican salad, Dave Saunders and Kevin Bouleau chopsticked pork lo mein from paper plates.
A wrapped parcel sat in front of an empty chair.
Petra said, “Got you a steak sandwich but I can’t vouch for the quality.”
“Or the species,” said Saunders, twirling a stick.
I thanked her and sat down.
She said, “It’s been a good morning, thanks to our Central brethren.” Flourishing a hand at Saunders and Bouleau.
Saunders’s mouth was full. Bouleau said, “We found Grant’s kill-spot, abandoned building on Santee. A homeless guy who crashes nearby remembers seeing a Hummer pull up and some guys getting out. He isn’t sure if it was two or three and doesn’t know when they left because he was stewed on Night Train. To be honest, this isn’t a person who’s totally sane. But the fact that he spotted the Hummer’s decent evidence, not too many of those cruising that neighborhood.”
Saunders swallowed. “They left blood on the floor and the walls, but took the casings. Initial scrapings are O-positive, which is Grant’s type and common, but I’ll lay odds with anyone who wants to bet against the DNA.”
I said, “Leaving a Hummer in full sight says they were confident about not being discovered.”
Saunders said, “No one’s around there at night and guys who’d shoot their own compadre in cold blood probably figured they could handle a car-booster.”
I thought the topic merited more discussion but kept silent.
Milo said, “Excellent work.”
Bouleau grinned. “It’s what we do.”
Saunders said, “No luck finding any of Grant’s relatives, yet. But we’re relentless.”
“We roar like lions but we dig like moles,” said Bouleau. “And wait, kids, there’s more, little surprise at the autopsy. Mr. Grant was shot to death but first they tried to strangle him. Coroner found a ligature mark around his neck. Grant being so big, it was obscured by fat folds when the C.I. looked him over. No rupture of the hyoid, but there was some bruising and petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes-in the corners, you’d have to be looking for it.”