Petra said, “Hey, bring a girl over and call it a party.”
“There you go.”
Moe scowled. “A party is what Adella was promised. You believe Book about not knowing she was being set up?”
“I do.”
“What about Book's claim of not knowing what happened to the baby?”
“On some level, he knows Ax killed the baby-that's part of the self-loathing. But right now he can't-won't admit it. Which is exactly why he needs to be kept under wraps. Give him time to stew, I work on him, he opens up more.”
“Or just the opposite,” said Moe. “What if his head clears and he shuts up? Or worse, he goes into some sort of medical crisis.”
“I'll have a doctor check him.”
Moe pondered. “I don't know…”
Aaron said, “You heard that tape. Without me, Book would be strawberry jam at the bottom of a canyon. I just handed you a bonanza.”
The detectives exchanged looks.
“What am I missing, guys?”
Moe said, “We've got our own bonanza.”
Aaron took in the details of Raymond Wohr's admission to setting up Adella with Zen-serenity. Same for the news of Alicia Eiger's murder, the cell phone trace verifying Wohr's call to Ax Dement three hours prior to the stabbing.
When it was over, he said, “That fits perfectly with my info, guys: Adella knew Ax from Riptide, but not Book. She was Ax's problem because Ax was the baby's daddy. Meaning Book's being straight about just being bait. This is all coming together-eyewitness testimony on Ax for Adella, and logic telling us he's the prime suspect for Alicia.”
Petra said, “The way this bastard dispatches women, I'm wondering what else he's done. Book's pretty sure he's at Daddy's ranch right now?”
“You're wondering what else could be dug up there,” said Aaron. “Like baby bones.”
“The thought occurred to me.”
Moe rubbed a massive bicep.
Aaron's arms still throbbed. Where were you when I needed you, bro?
He said, “Same old story: Girl gets pregnant from the wrong guy, tries to capitalize, oversteps. In terms of burial site for the baby, that could be. Leo Carrillo, where Ax and Book drove out to get high. Like it was some shrine.”
Moe said, “Why a shrine for Book, if he's clean?”
“Don't know-so maybe Book does know more about the baby. Either way, I'd get a K-9 out there.”
“Another day at the beach,” said Petra. To Moe: “Whether or not Ax is at Daddy's, there's probable cause to go in.”
Moe nodded.
Aaron said, “One more thing: What does Wohr say about Caitlin?”
“Seen her once or twice.”
“On the level?”
“We think so.”
“So Caitlin's a whole other story.” So what the hell have I gotten myself into. Good morning, Mr. Dmitri…
Petra said, “Not necessarily. Ax could've killed Caitlin just because that's what he does. He didn't need Book so he didn't tell Book about it.”
Aaron said, “Not wanting Book to know too much because he's mentally unstable. Yeah, I like that.”
Moe said, “For all we know, Ax is biding his time before getting rid of Book. A suicidal, self-starving dope-head? Who's going to be suspicious if he does turn into strawberry jam?”
Aaron said, “Guy's feather-light, I could've tossed him myself.”
Moe said, “The motive for Caitlin could be a lust thing, or the same as Adella. She knew too much. Because of her relationship with Adella. Or Rory Stoltz flapped his gums and confided in her, she got horrified, threatened to go to the cops. Instead of shielding her, Rory told Book. Or went straight to Ax and warned him.”
“Selling out his girlfriend?” said Petra. “Cold.”
Aaron said, “I'm certain Rory scores dope for Book so he's clearly not the All-American kid his mama thinks he is. Little prick wants to parlay his PA. job into a big-time Industry gig, it pays to prioritize.”
Petra said, “Utter corruption, perfect tutorial for the Industry.”
Aaron said, “Meaning, Caitlin's bones could be buried on that ranch. All the more reason to go in.”
Moe said, “Book's medical condition still bugs me.”
“You want him, he's yours. But that means publicity, lawyers, stuff you won't be able to control. Keep him here and I'll get a doctor and someone rock-solid reliable to watch him.”
Imagining Liana's face when she learned her new assignment. Female and gorgeous should make the actor feel right at home. Hell, Liana could wear a blond wig. “By the time we get back here, Book'll be gelling his hair and eating steak.”
“Get back from where?” said Moe.
“Our little party.”
“Our?”
“What can I say, Moses? I'm into plural pronouns.” Aaron thought he saw Petra smile. But now she was looking detached and he couldn't read her at all. “Moses, I'm not asking you for an explicit expression of appreciation. But I did get you pure gold, why would you want to cut me off?”
Now Petra definitely was smiling. Moving to hide it behind a slim, white hand.
Moe's eyebrows rose. He said, “What do you think, partner?”
She said, “Doesn't bother me, but you're the primary.”
Moe ran a finger inside his shirt collar. Massaged his arm again, as if soothing an ache, and faced Aaron. “Thank you. Bro.”
CHAPTER 43
The party started at four a.m.
Bring your own Kevlar vest; no RSVP required.
The open layout of the Dement spread dictated a cover-of-darkness soiree. Gray night, rather than black, courtesy of a skimpy frosting of stars and a filmy half-moon.
LAPD Detectives Moses Reed, Petra Connor, and Raul Biro rode in unmarked sedans. Deputy D.A. John Nguyen sat in the back of Petra's car, LAPD Detective (ret.) Aaron Fox accompanied his brother.
Ahead of them, six officers borrowed from the twelve-person Fugitive Warrant Squad rumbled along in a reconditioned military Humvee, experts in the art of surprise.
Bringing up the rear, fifteen sheriff's deputies, including two lieutenants and a captain. All those khaki uniforms because Malibu was sheriff's turf.
All that khaki brass because now that the deal was set, everyone wanted to rub up against celebrity.
Celebrity had almost screwed the deal, sheriff's honchos arguing for a “comprehensive interdepartmental planning session,” “strategic delays,” the need to be careful with this “high-profile family.”
That translated to a butt-covering snail-trail pushing the raid well past daybreak, initiating entry to the property with a phone call from the gate, offering the Dements or one of their employees a chance to drive down from the ranch and spring the padlock.
John Nguyen said, “Oh, sure, and let's have O.J. supervise the search.”
Nguyen's boss made a call and restored logic.
As a face-saving gesture, the sheriff's captain, a man named Carl Neihrold, got to cut the lock.
That took a while because the bolt was heavy-duty and Neihrold had been desk-jobbing for years, hadn't used cutters since his rookie year doing dope raids.
Several grunts later, the steel gave way and the gate swung open.
“Forward,” said the chief fugitive cop, a man named Juan Silva. “Headlights off, five miles per.”
Sounding confident, but no one knew what lay ahead.
The entry road was over half a mile of dirt meandering through high grass, the occasional oversized clump of rosemary, thatches of poppies, wind-dwarfed sycamores, drought-loving California oaks.
No sign of guard dogs, no alarm bells.
Fifty yards from the road's upsweep to a broad plateau, Aaron noticed tiny blinking lights in the boughs of a large oak. Short-lived, then gone. As if stars had plunged to earth and died on contact.
Seconds later: more pinpoint strobes, this time from a nondescript clump of sage.