“That part’s true. Still researching Malley and can’t come up with a damn thing. Okay, a face-to-face with Dynamic Drew. Then what? Swipe his toothbrush for the sample?”
“That’s the easy part,” I said. “He likes doughnuts.”
CHAPTER 36
Rain fell the next morning, and the temperatures dropped into the high fifties. L.A. finally auditioning for winter. When Milo pulled the unmarked into the Dipsy Donut lot at ten a.m., the sky had closed and Vanowen Boulevard smelled of wet laundry.
Drew Daney was there, drinking coffee at the same aluminum table. Exact position he’d occupied the first time- a man of patterns.
He had on a brown corduroy car coat, rested his denim haunches on newspaper he’d spread to soak up dampness from the bench. When he saw us, he smiled and waved.
Warm smile. It spread his stubbly silver beard. His eyes crinkled.
This was the face of evil. He could’ve served as a model for a tool supply catalog.
Milo pumped his hand as if they were longtime buddies. “Morning. Not hungry?”
Daney winked. “Waiting for you guys.”
“How about I get us an assortment?”
“Sounds good, Lieutenant.”
Milo left and I sat down opposite Daney. My assignment, should I choose to take it, was to check out nonverbal cues and whatever “psych stuff” I came up with.
“Way I figure, Alex, having you along will play to his ego. Make him feel like a peer… even though you’re peerless.”
I watched Daney’s teeth disappear as his smile shifted to a closemouthed one. “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“Hey, anything I can do to help.” Under his car coat he wore a spotless yellow polo shirt, tight across his broad chest. Well-developed musculature. His complexion glowed and his eyes were clear.
Picture of vitality; sometimes- too often- good things happen to bad people.
I said, “How’s your wife doing?”
The question made him blink. “In terms of?”
“ Rand ’s death. She seemed pretty affected.”
“Of course she was,” he said. “We all are. It’s a process- healing.”
“Your foster kids were affected?”
“Definitely. Rand wasn’t with us long, but he was a presence. You know what it’s like.”
“Dealing with death?”
“That and kids in general,” he said. “The developmental stages they go through.”
“What’s the age range of your wards?”
“They’re all adolescents.”
“There’s a challenge.”
“You bet.”
“Is that by choice?”
“We’re masochists,” he said, chuckling. “Seriously, a lot of people don’t want the baggage teens bring to the table, so Cherish and I figured that’s where our efforts would be best spent.” Boyish shrug. “Sometimes I wonder, though. It can feel like temporary insanity.”
“That I can believe.”
He looked over at the doughnut stand. Crowded, just like the first time.
I said, “ Rand wasn’t that long out of his teens. That could also be an issue for your kids.”
“Sure,” he said quickly, but his eyes told me he wasn’t tracking.
“Perceived similarity,” I went on. “There’s a whole bunch of data on how it relates to empathy.”
“If it could happen to him, it could happen to me?” he said. “Sure, makes total sense. But what I was referring to are the core issues they’re wrestling with. Sense of identity, establishing autonomy. And, of course, they think they’re immortal.” Wry smile. “We did, at that age, right? All that stuff we kept from our parents.”
I forced my own smile. Trying not to think about what this guy did to young girls’ autonomy.
A thirteen-year-old bleeding out in a prison supply room.
I said, “Thank God my parents never knew some of the things I did.”
“You were a wild guy?” he said, shifting closer. Engaging me with those warm dark eyes. As if I were the most important person on earth.
Return of the teeth.
Charisma. The most skillful psychopaths know how to play it like a guitar. Sometimes the smartest ones get to the top of the corporate ladder or the highest rungs of elected office. In the end, though, shallow theatrics are often counterbalanced by laziness and sloppiness.
Doing someone else’s wife in the marital bed.
Writing and shopping a thinly described screenplay and expecting it to make you an overnight millionaire.
Impregnating minors for a hobby and billing the state for their abortions.
For all his wizardry at manipulation, Daney was miles from where he wanted to be, the lifestyle he’d glimpsed after hooking up with Sydney Weider: Brentwood, Aspen, private jets, red carpet fantasies. All that upscale pillow talk fevering his brain.
Look at me look at me look at me!
Eight years later, instead of all that, he was a middle-aged guy running around singing camp songs and trying to cadge money from Dr. Marta Demchuk.
Fool’s move; Demchuk was tough and Daney’s smarmy mojo worked only on the weakest of victims.
He flexed a thick wrist, ran his hand through his thick, wavy hair.
I said, “I was never wild enough to get into serious trouble, but I had my moments.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
“How about you?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Nah, I was a good boy. Maybe too good.”
“Choir boy?”
“I was brought up thinking fun meant good deeds.”
“Preacher’s kid?”
“You guessed it…” A shadow darkened his face.
Then a larger shadow, bearish, tinted the aluminum table pewter.
Daney turned to see Milo looming behind him, holding a greasy cardboard box. “Fresh out of the fat.”
“Smell’s yum, Detective.”
Milo let him have the first pick.
Jelly-filled. Just like last time.
As he chewed with obvious pleasure, I told myself to turn off the analysis, maybe he just loved jelly-filled doughnuts.
He wiped his beard, took another bite. “Aren’t these just the best?”
Milo said, “Guilty pleasures, Rev,” and swallowed a mouthful of cruller.
I got to work on a maple-glaze. Cars drove in and out of the lot. The air got warmer. A flock of pigeons flew over from across Vanowen and began exploring the leavings. Milo tossed them a crumb and they flittered like paparazzi.
Daney said, “There’s your good deed for the day.”
We laughed.
Just a bunch of guys, stuffing their faces with junk food, on a damp day in the Valley.
Milo said, “So have you come up with any insights, Rev?”
Drew Daney scanned the doughnut box, picked out a pink thing topped with chocolate sprinkles. “You haven’t been able to learn anything at all about Malley?”
“I wish. Guy seems to be a cipher.”
“Guess that fits,” said Daney.
“With what?”
“If he had a history of antisocial behavior, he’d want to cover his tracks.”
“Well,” said Milo, “if there are serious tracks, we’ll uncover them.”
“That sounds pretty confident, Lieutenant.”
“We usually get to the bottom of things. It’s just a matter of how long it takes- hand me that chocolate thing.”
The box was within Milo’s reach but Daney stretched to comply. “Anyway,” he said, “after you called last night I spent some time thinking about why Malley would get so violent after all these years. The only thing I can think of is that Rand became some sort of threat to him. Or Malley perceived Rand that way. Now, that would mean the two of them communicated somehow, so I looked at my phone bill to see if Rand made any calls over the weekend. He didn’t. So unless he spoke to Malley from prison, or used a pay phone, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Where’s the pay phone closest to your house?” said Milo.
Daney’s eyes shifted to the left. “You’re able to check them?”