Motive (32 page)

She sighed. “What a mess. Still, homicide? This has nothing to do with the family. Nothing at all.”

“You have no idea where he could be.”

She shook her head. “When he called the first time, I asked him where he was staying. He said he hadn’t settled yet, would let me know. He never did.”

“You never pursued it.”

“There was nothing to pursue. The extent of our contact was that single call. I tried to be social, offered to get together once he settled but he never took me up on it. Since you’ve poked around, perhaps you’ve learned that my social life is rather constricted.”

“We wouldn’t know about that.”

Sullivan’s stare was long, searching, angry. “Well, I’ll take you at your word on that. The occasional fund-raiser, yes, and I try to get in a
round of golf once in a while. But my focus is my husband. He’s paraplegic. Drunk driver.”

“Sorry, ma’am—”

“What’s done is done, one soldiers on.” She sat back. “Now please, let’s end this. It’s been a long day.”

Milo said, “We’ll be out of your hair in a sec. Do you have a phone number for J.J.?”

“I keep telling you—hold on … you know, I think I might. Only because I’m compulsive, when I get a call, I log it.”

Flipping open an iPad, she scrolled and read off seven digits.

Milo said, “That’s the one he gave Fellinger, Ms. Sullivan. It’s been disconnected.”

“Oh. Then I guess you’re out of luck.”

I said, “Working in the same building, you’d have to see each other occasionally.”

“Not as often as you might think,” said Sullivan. “Over the past few months I’d estimate J.J. and I have bumped into each other four or five times, tops. Always on the elevator, where else do people mix in an office building? We exchanged smiles but obviously one doesn’t converse in a compartment full of strangers. Now, if—”

I said, “Your father worked in aerospace. What did Jens’s father do?”

“That’s relevant to his alleged murderous behavior? Which I still find hard to believe, would you care to give me some details?”

Milo said, “Sorry, can’t.”

“One-way street?” said Flora Sullivan. “Then again, you’re men.”

I repeated the question.

She said, “I didn’t answer you the first time because I don’t know what J.J.’s father did and I wouldn’t be surprised if J.J. didn’t, either, because the bastard abandoned Leticia when J.J. was a baby. Mother was always talking about how she had to struggle just to get by.”

“No sibs?”

“No.”

“When did she pass on?”

“Hmm … a long time ago, she wasn’t that old. Heart attack. She smoked and drank and her diet wasn’t great. She worked in a diner—greasy spoon, you know? Probably ate the crap they served.”

I said, “She was a cook?”

“Short-order,” she said. “Poor Leticia spent her life literally slaving over a hot stove.”

The elevator we boarded was packed. I thought of John Jensen Williams using the compartment as a stalking ground, wondered how many other women had qualified as prey.

We got off and walked to where Ursula Corey had met her death. Just another patch of concrete now. Milo stared for a while then we took the stairs up to where I’d left the Seville.

“What’d you think of Sullivan?”

“Probably clean but that doesn’t mean Williams won’t try to contact her again.”

“That’s why I told her he was suspected of homicide. He does call or show up, I want her to be scared shitless and rat him out.”

A block later: “Nifty how you used Bonelli to gain entry, then finessed the issue.”

“I hoped she’d appreciate the discretion.”

“She must’ve, because you also pried out that recap of Williams’s blighted childhood. Mama working the griddle.”

“Mama with a drinking problem,” I said. “Maybe angry and bitter about being abandoned by Papa.”

“Tsk tsk,” he said. “Toss in poor nutrition and it’s all explained.”

Stalled in a queue of cars snailing up the exit ramp, I phoned Robin and told her I’d be heading for Oxnard.

She said, “Now? You’ll sit on the freeway.”

“We’ll grab a bite first.”

“Come home, I’ll cook for both of you.”

“Love to see you but don’t bother, I’ll pick something up.”

“No bother, I’ll do a one-dish,” she said. “How about pasta with leftovers? Those
bigoli
things you liked the last time and whatever I excavate in the fridge … okay, here we go, there’s some pastrami from the weekend. I’ll toss in eggs, a little bacon, do a riff on carbonara.”

“My bella signorina. If you’re up to it, sounds great.”

Milo said, “What does?”

“Homecooked meal.”

“Yes yes yes.”

Robin heard that and laughed. “Darling, I talk to
wood
all day. Your handsome face combined with his appetite will make me feel valued. Plus I’m celebrating.”

“What?”

“I just spoke to you-know-who, told him I wouldn’t be making replicas for him or anyone else. Surprisingly, he was a gentleman. Maybe it’s ’cause he’s just out of rehab. And uncharacteristically lucid. Whatever the reason, I’m feeling free.”

The food was on the table when we arrived. Huge batch of spaghetti, three times as much as we usually prepared.

Robin drank wine, Milo and I stuck with water followed by coffee. Blanche positioned herself strategically to the right of Milo’s chair, just out of Robin’s view, sucking up the not-so-occasional strands he dangled near her flews. Anytime Milo reverted to feeding himself, her head rubbed against his leg. If he rubbed back, she did her cat-purr thing.

Robin said, “Intense goings-on under the table.”

Milo said, “Animal magnetism.”

Over a final dose of coffee, she said, “May I ask what you guys hope to learn up there?”

Milo said, “At this point, anything.” He summed up.

She said, “This Williams character did his own killings for fun but Corey’s wife was a business deal?”

I said, “More like mixed media. He got paid but she was his biggest trophy because she was out of his league.”

“Stealing the boss’s bit-of-fun? That and getting rid of an ex I can see,” she said. “But a father going after his own kids?”

Milo said, “They stand to inherit Ursula’s half of the business.”

“He’s big-rich already, he would murder his only children for more?”

I said, “In this case, more means huge money but it’s beyond that. The girls represent his old life and he craves a new one. In a single day he had their childhood home stripped bare and shipped their horses off to slaughter. Luckily for the girls, he lacks subtlety and acted strangely enough to scare them clear up to Canada.”

“Taking a girl’s horse,” she said. “That’s sure letting her know her fantasy is over.”

“At this point, his fantasy is all that counts.”

“What a bastard. Two bastards. You think they just happened to get together?”

I said, “More like puzzle pieces fitting together. Williams is attuned to weakness, Corey is emotionally unstable. During the divorce negotiations, Williams sniffed out Corey’s mounting rage when no one else did. When the time was right, he made himself available. Unlike Corey, he
does
know how to be subtle, probably raised the subject in a way that wouldn’t incriminate him if Corey balked. That’s why I think his acting out at work is significant. He’s stopped pretending to be normal.”

Milo said, “Maybe because Corey paid him big-time for the hit and he no longer needed the job.”

Robin said, “But the big picture is hatred of women.”

I nodded.

“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” She touched my face. “Talking to wood doesn’t seem half bad.”

We set out for Oxnard just before eight. Smooth sailing all the way to the 101 and we were well into the West Valley when Milo’s phone burped a few digitalized notes from Brandenburg 6, Movement 1. Shame to do that to a masterpiece.

“Sturgis … who? Don’t know anyone—oh, yeah, I do, put her through … this is Lieutenant Sturgis, what’s up … really? From where did they … all right, I’m listening.”

He’d neglected the hands-off and all I could hear was a female voice chirping nonstop.

When that ended, he said, “Anything else you want to … yeah, sure … tell them I’m available if they want to speak directly … I understand that … pardon? Oh, sure.” He laughed. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that … yes if it does happen, I’ll vouch for you, promise.”

He stared at the silent phone. “You won’t believe who that was. Sassy little Laura Smith, Ashley and Marissa just phoned her, she wouldn’t say from where, but we already know. The main thing is they wanted her to pass along a message to me, even though they don’t generally trust the police. They’re scared for their lives, want their father ‘busted.’ Sooner rather than later.”

“Putting in their order.”

“Poor spoiled kids, reality is not going to be kind to them. Their story is they learned he was the one who’d stolen their horses so they drove to his condo and confronted him. Really unloaded on him, like they were used to. This time instead of sitting there and taking it, he grabbed both their wrists and squeezed hard enough to hurt them.
With a ‘maniac look’ in his eyes. When the girls tried to break free, he shoved them hard enough for Ashley to fall down. Marissa tried to help her up and all of a sudden Daddy’s in their face again, blocking the door, and now he’s got a gun in his hand. They both started crying, Marissa admitted wetting herself. They started begging but Corey just stood there with a crazy smile on his face, like he was a stranger. They really thought they were finished. Fortunately, someone knocked on the door and that seemed to snap him out of it and while he was distracted, they pushed past him and got the hell out of there.”

“They didn’t think to call the cops.”

“Like I said, they don’t trust the cops. Also, they were probably too freaked out to think about anything but escape. They’re not geniuses to begin with, Alex. Look how they’ve continued to use their credit cards, thank God I got the accounts blocked.”

“Daddy with a gun,” I said. “He’s dissociating in order to accomplish things he wouldn’t ordinarily dream of.”

“Like killing his kids. And paying to have his ex murdered.”

“Ursula cheated on him, the girls gave him attitude, finally he reached his limit.”

“Lunatic with a gun,” he said. “That changes things. Let me inform Gonzales.”

He made the call to Gonzales’s home. Gonzales said, “Thanks, we’ll be ready for anything. You almost here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“My wife claims she’d still love me if she could remember my face so it’ll take me twenty, maybe twenty-five, to remind her. But my rookie will greet you, name’s Sheila Entell. The gun change
your
plans?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Milo. “I figured to drop in on Corey, play nice, see what I could pry out of him about Williams.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m not sure, Frank. Okay if I call Entell directly?”

“Guess so,” said Gonzales. “No, scratch that, I’ll get there sooner, have to make it up to the wife but so be it.”

“Don’t want to sow discord, Frank.”

“One sec.” Silence on the line; Gonzales came back on, speaking softer. “Moved to another room. Yeah, my princess will be discording plenty, she cooked homemade tamales, all steamed and ready to go. Beef, chicken, these sweet ones she does with dried fruit. But she also invited her mother, catch my drift?”

Milo laughed. “Happy to oblige.”

“One thing,” said Gonzales. “Dropping in this late won’t ring any of Corey’s bells?”

“I was figuring to pour on the charm but let’s talk when I get there.”

“Hmm,” said Gonzales. “Charm, I’m trying to imagine that.”

Milo hung up. I said, “What quid pro quo did Laura Smith ask for?”

“If she gets busted again, I get her out of it. Totally.”

“Such faith. Touching.”

“No sense disillusioning her,” he said. “Being young’s hard enough.”

Gonzales’s extended-cab GMC pickup truck was parked half a block from Richard Corey’s condo, taking up a whole bunch of red-zone. Gonzales wore sweats and a zip-up jacket, held out a sheet of aluminum foil.

“Tamales, she let me bring some of the sweet ones, here.”

We ate. I said, “Delicious.”

Milo said, “You’re married to the perfect woman, Frank.”

“So she tells me. Nice old Caddy. Impound?”

Milo said, “His.”

“Really. Original engine, Doc?”

I said, “Third rebuild.”

“Nothing like loyalty—okay, Sheila’s waiting up there.” Pointing to a side street running perpendicular to the harbor. “Corey hasn’t left, his lights are still on, you can see the TV blinking behind those drapes. We got a lucky break, the next-door neighbor left a couple hours ago, so if it does get weird, less risk of innocent bystanders.”

Milo said, “No reason for it to go weird, Frank.”

“I know,” said Gonzales, “but you know.”

The building slipped into view under a nearly starless sky, dark bulk checked by amber rectangles of curtained windows. Gonzales whistled softly and a woman in her early twenties stepped out of the shadows. A blond ponytail poked from the back of her baseball cap. Her face was finely boned. She wore a leather motorcycle jacket, jeans, and running shoes. The jacket looked too large for her; ample room for a shoulder-holstered 9mm.