I waited in Linda’s office while she checked to see if any adjustment problems had cropped up in the aftermath of the concert. A few teachers reported some unruliness, but nothing they couldn’t handle. At noon I stopped in with those teachers and, having convinced myself everything was going smoothly, left.
At 1:00 P.M., Mahlon Burden called. “Any progress, Dr. Delaware?”
“I met with your son last night.”
“Excellent. And?”
“He had nothing new to offer about Holly, but he did say you visited him about a month ago. You were concerned about her.”
Pause. “Yes, that’s true. I knew Howard had been… sneaking her over to his house. He and his wife thought I didn’t know, but of course I did. Since they were spending more time together, I thought he might be able to tell me why she’d been looking sad.”
“Sad?”
“Withdrawn. Uncommunicative. More than usual.”
“When did that start?”
“Let me think back- late September or the beginning of October. I remember because my fall catalogue had just gone out. Excuse me for not mentioning it when you were at the house, but with everything that’s been going on- the memories- it slipped by. I haven’t been functioning at full capacity.”
“Did you suspect her contact with Howard was causing the withdrawal?”
“I didn’t suspect anything, Doctor. I was simply trying to develop hypotheses. Now, of course, you’ve provided me with one. The death of the black boy. That occurred late September. He and Holly may have been closer than I thought. What else do you know about him other than that he was a drug user?”
“Some people who knew him doubt he was a drug user.”
“People?”
“Ted Dinwiddie.”
“Ted Dinwiddie.” Burden gave a small laugh. “Not exactly an Einstein, that one. Howard used to do his homework for him. Where was Novato killed?”
“South L.A.”
“South L.A. Before the riot we used to call it Watts- never could understand that, people burning down their own homes, fouling their own nests. Did your detective friend mention which gang he belonged to?”
“There’s no evidence he belonged to any gang.”
“In this city, drugs means gangs,” he said. “Or at least that’s what they say. What else can you tell me about him?”
“That’s it.”
“All right, then. What’s next on our agenda?”
“Mr. Burden, I haven’t learned anything that would vindicate Holly. And to be honest, I don’t see myself moving in that direction.”
Pause. “That’s very disappointing, Doctor.” But he didn’t sound disappointed. Or surprised. “Have you considered talking to members of Novato’s family- delving into his background?”
“He was from back east, didn’t have family out here. And frankly, Mr. Burden, I don’t see that as being helpful in terms of what you want.”
“Why’s that, Doctor?”
“There just doesn’t seem to be any connection to Holly.”
Silence on the other end.
“I’m sorry,” I said. ‘I don’t see anywhere to take the evaluation that would fulfill your needs.”
He said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Why don’t you come over again? The two of us can put our heads together, develop some hypotheses.”
“Maybe in a while,” I said. “I’m a little tied up now.”
“I see,” he said. “But you’re not closing the door?”
“No,” I said. “The door’s never closed.”
“Good.” Pause. “Quite a ruckus down by the school yesterday. Papers said Councilman Latch brought in a rock singer to entertain the children. Making political hay?”
“Bales of it.”
“Why not?” he said. “Seize the moment. Next thing you know, they’ll be dancing on my daughter’s grave.”
An hour later Milo called and I told him of my meeting with Howard Burden, described the mental deterioration Howard had seen in his sister after Novato’s death. Her holding the rifle. Wanna see two.
He said, “What’d she wanna see two of?”
“No idea.”
“Hmm,” he said. “How ’bout wanna see two people dead? Massengil and someone else.”
“Latch?”
“Could be,” he said. “Two shitbirds with one stone. Talk about your civic responsibility. Or maybe she was planning to do Massengil at the school, head off somewhere else for victim number two. It’s not unusual for these nutcases to have elaborate plans- delusions. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I? Anyway, all this does is firm up the lone-assassin picture, puts her hands on the weapon a good two weeks before the shooting- shows premeditation. She was mentally shaky to begin with, got stressed out by Novato’s death, became unglued, spent a month and a half building up anger, going to the gun rack, getting the feel of the thing. Then, boom. How’m I doing- psychologically?”
“Good enough.”
“It’s not gonna sound too good to Daddy.”
“I just spoke to him, put him on hold.”
“Till when?”
“Indefinite.”
“Didn’t have the heart to cut him off?”
“I’ve got nothing to offer him,” I said. “But for all I know, his defenses are about to come tumbling down. I wanted to go easy.”
“Thought you didn’t like the guy.”
“I don’t, but that doesn’t alter my responsibility. Besides, the guy’s pathetic- got nothing left in the way of family. His son hates him- it’s obvious he just wanted me to talk to him because there’s no communication between them. So I went easy.”
“Interesting,” said Milo.
“What is?”
“Having a job where you’ve got to be watching yourself all the time, caring about people’s feelings.”
“Part of your job too.”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But mostly the people I care about are dead. Speaking of which, I got in touch with Santa Monica College. Novato did register for summer session, but he dropped out after a week.”
“Long enough to get his name listed at the Employment Center.”
“That’s what I thought too. Probably why he registered in the first place. No ID, no references, would have been hard to find a job.”
“Dinwiddie would have liked the student thing. He yearns for school days.”
“My question,” Milo said, “is why Novato would want a low-paying job if he was selling dope.”
“A cover? Smith said they were getting sophisticated.”
“Maybe. Be that as it may, I don’t know that any of it is worth pursuing. My source at the Holocaust Center flies in from Chicago this afternoon. Got an appointment down there at five- that’s the last thing I’m gonna do on it. Ever been there?”
“No.”
“You should see it. Everyone should.”
“I’m free at five.”
“You drive.”
Scaffolding and an enclosed wooden perimeter marked a construction zone next to a two-story building made of white brick and black marble.
“That’s the museum,” said Milo. “House of Tolerance. They just broke ground last month.”
Traffic was congested for a half-block radius around the site. Motors groaned, clay dust billowed, hammer thuds and saw whines rose above the combustive groan of idling engines. A hard hat in an orange vest stood in the middle of Pico, directing a crane as it backed up onto the boulevard. A female traffic cop whistled and white-gloved a steadily building herd of autos into submission.
Milo leaned toward the center of the Seville and looked in the rearview mirror. A moment later he looked again.
I said, “What is it?”
“Nothing.” His eyes swept back and forth.
“Come on, Milo.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “A while back I thought someone might be on our tail. It’s probably nothing.”