California Girl (24 page)

BY THE TIME
Andy was halfway through his interview, Marie Stoltz was concussed by headache. She offered him a smile that made him wince. She tried to talk about the growing “environmental movement,” which favored organic products like Orange Sunshine.

He thought she might vomit. He was going to ask some personal questions, such as her idea of trust in a marriage to a man who spent a lot of time three thousand miles from home. Maybe get her to corroborate that he was in Washington on that night. But he couldn’t. He talked her into letting him just walk around on his own, get the feel of the place, snap a few pictures. She shut the office door when he went out.

Andy walked the labeling floor and the warehouse, the shipping and receiving docks. Chatted with the marketing people and the salespeople and the R & D people. Rollins looked like a kicked dog. Max strode between the plant buildings in straight lines, clipboard tight, his steps spaced for best distance and speed. He nodded to his son.

Andy took some pictures but nothing the
Journal
could really use. If he did manage to get Teresa to approve a business-section puff piece on RoMar Industries, it almost certainly wouldn’t require art. But it didn’t hurt to have some file shots, just in case something interesting were to take place at RoMar.

It was a small miracle he’d even found the time to come here, with all the extra work Jonas was dumping on him. Since Nick’s penmanship demo, Dessinger was loading him up with the worst assignments—soft features, society events, charity fund-raisers, the damned art museums. Teresa tried to intervene but Jonas had rank.

He snapped the case back over his camera. Squinted up at the midday sky. He had come here for information but he had failed to find it. He’d wanted to get closer to Roger Stoltz. To see if Stoltz knew some things about the murder of the girl he was supporting. To see what Marie knew.

Hell, he’d wanted to shove Representative (R) Stoltz of California against a wall, grab his throat, and make him confess that he had murdered his mistress.

Even though he’d been three thousand miles away the night she died.

Like he was right now.

So why do all this? Because Andy didn’t like him? Because Stoltz was one of the few people who could make Monika smile? Because Stoltz had capitalized on the death of the orange groves, which had helped ruin Max, then employed him? Because he’d gotten Clay to join some heartless government agency that let him get killed in a worthless jungle? Because the good-looking, smooth-talking, vote-begging phony had had the balls to give Janelle Vonn money and a car and a place to live? Because Roger Stoltz had had the balls to offer her something real while he, Andrew James Becker, had been too timid and guilty to even call her when she’d asked him to?

Andy sighed and shook his head. Watched his father march from R & D to Admin.

Leave it to Nick now, he thought. He had given Nick everything he’d learned. Everything he’d seen. And read and heard and thought. From the fact that Janelle was a paid Sheriff’s Department informant to the wound marks on Stoltz’s hand. From Jesse Black’s story of Janelle’s pregnancy to the mystery man. From the guy with the FBI plates searching Janelle’s cottage to the letters she’d written to Lynette. And now Andy could tell Nick about Stoltz and the bedsheets missing from the apartment Stoltz had offered to Janelle. An apartment in which Janelle didn’t play house. Not with Stoltz, anyway. Where four days before she was murdered Janelle had sat at the kitchen table with a man suspected of two murders and who had beaten his own parents half to death. An apartment where, three days after she was murdered, Stoltz had stood at a window and wiped his eyes.

Three thousand miles away.

Too bad.

Andy told himself that he had tried. It had felt right. Maybe for the wrong reasons. Now Nick could have it all.

On his way out he knocked on the office door. His father told him to come in. Max was sitting in Marie’s chair and tiny Marie was curled in his lap like a child. She cracked open one eye and gave Andy a wily, frightened look.

“Leave your visitor’s badge in the box on the counter, son.”

He had just started up his ice blue Corvair when he remembered something for the first time in eight years. Thanksgiving, 1960. David home from San Anselmo’s, Clay with his smart friend Eileen. Nick and Katy. The Stoltzes and three Vonns. Meredith.

They were all in the family room for after-dinner drinks and conversation. Wine racing in his head and lust charging almost uncontrolled through him every time he looked at Meredith Thornton or brushed against her.

Roger and Marie Stoltz were seated in Max and Monika’s blue and white recliners. Lynette and Janelle Vonn were brought to them like babes to Jesus.

What Andy remembered now, for the first time, was the look on Roger Stoltz’s face as he touched Janelle Vonn’s pudgy eleven-year-old’s arm and smiled down at her. An unmistakable expression, thought Andy. The same one his father had with Marie.

Pity.

“SO YESTERDAY,
Shirley’s doing the laundry and guess what she finds in Kevin’s pants?” asked Lobdell. “In a little ball of chewing gum foil?”

“Uppers,” said Nick.

“How did you know?”

“From his lipping off to his teachers and mom,” said Nick. “And sleeping all weekend. You know, jacked up on the pills all week, then crashing. It came to me this morning when I was thinking about him and my third cup of coffee kicked in.”

Lucky fixed Nick with a look but said nothing while Nick turned off Laguna Canyon Road onto Stan Oaks. They were headed to Cory Bonnett’s for a knock-and-talk. Bonnett looked good but not good enough for a search warrant. Nick figured their chances of catching him at home were small.

“I feel like a dumbass,” said Lobdell. “Here I am a cop, I’m supposed to know these things. The signs.”

“Nobody figures their seventeen-year-old is taking pills.”

Lucky sighed. “Shirley was upset. More than upset. Kevin made it worse, said he had no idea what the pills were, no idea how they got into his pants. I grounded him completely, for starters. I told Shirley I
know a guy in narcotics detail—you know, Gant—who could come over and give Kevin a good shaking up. Really tell him what that shit can do to you. Kevin won’t listen to me or his mom, so I figure maybe a young guy like Gant can scare him straight. But Shirley says if I call the cops on my own son she’ll leave me and take Kevin with her. She’s serious. She really means it. I wasn’t going to have him arrested. That’s not what I meant at all.”

Nick steered up the steep, winding road.

“Gets worse,” said Lobdell. “Last night we sat Kevin down and asked him what was the reason for the pills. I mean, why was he taking that shit? And he says it’s because he hates us, his mom and me. Can’t wait to get out of the house. Hates the rules and the boredom and the homework and the chores and the teachers and me telling him what to do. Wants to be free. Says he’s packing up the second he turns eighteen, going to goddamned Humboldt or some such thing. You know what they got there—rain and dope. Plenty of both. Know what I said?”

“I have an idea.”

“I said fine, son. Do it. A young man should be free. I’ll wish you all the luck in the world. I’ll help you get a used car. They got a decent state college up there. I can send you off with my blessing and a little folding money. And Shirley—”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. She hit the roof. Thinks I’m trying to kick him out. She’s yelling at me and I’m yelling at Kevin again and Kevin’s yelling at her and you know? That was the worst day of my life. I feel worse now than I did after hell week at the academy or that motorcycle wreck or the kidney stones back in sixty-four. I feel like I married a woman I don’t even know and had a kid I don’t even like.”

“I wish I had some advice.”

“That’s the last thing I need. I just wanted to hear myself complain. But Nick?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for giving some thought to my son.”

Nick glanced across at his partner. “You’re welcome.”

“And look at that damned house.”

Nick stopped in the middle of the driveway. The big house loomed on the hillside above them. Redwood and smoked-glass windows and river rock. Like something you’d see in the Colorado mountains, thought Nick. Two stories high, three chimneys, and what looked like a pool house off to one side.

“That’s another thing that pisses me off about these drug people,” said Lobdell, “is all the money they make off of kids like Kevin. Look at the size of that thing. The guy’s twenty-two years old.”

Nick drove slowly up the steep drive. There was another home a hundred yards off to the left and down. And one below it, almost out of view around the hillside. Besides that, just coastal scrub and prickly pear.

Bonnett’s rock, wood, and glass castle dominated the hill. Above the roofline Nick saw only sky and a redtail hawk gliding on a thermal. Felt the temperature creep up as they climbed. Up closer Nick saw a big garage with all three of the doors open. Two vehicles inside. A blue and white pickup truck in the driveway.

Then a swimming pool. A weight-lifting bench loaded with a heavy barbell beside the clean blue water. A row of four green chaise longues. A pool house behind.

They parked and followed a walkway past the pool. It curved through a small stand of yellowing cottonwoods and brought them to a redwood stairway that led up to a deck and the big double front doors. Peepholes in both doors but no windows. Windows on either side of the doors but the blinds were drawn tight.

Nick rang the buzzer and waited. Lobdell knocked.

They followed the deck around the house. The windows all had blinds and the blinds were drawn. The north wall of the house was dark with stain. Moss between the slats. But on the sunny exposures the redwood had turned silver-gray in the sun. Lizards stuck to the warm boards of the west wall. Nick looked out to the blue Pacific wedged between the brown canyon hills. Smelled the sage and eucalyptus and just a hint of ocean blowing into the canyon from the sea.

They walked down to the pool house. The sliding glass door of the
house was open. Curtains wafted in and out in the canyon breeze. Nick rapped on the glass with his knuckles, said “O.C. sheriff’s deputies.”

The voice came at him close and strong. “Beat it.”

“We’re here to see Cory,” said Nick. Hand to his auto. Hammer of the gun caught on the lining of his sport coat. Nudged it away with his fingers.

“Ain’t here so beat it.”

Suddenly the curtains shot to the side. Big man right in front of Nick. Lobdell’s arm came from behind him, .45 leading the way. Nick jumped back and drew cleanly.

Guy in the window put his hands up. Eyes big. Shaking his head. “I don’t have a gun,” he said.

“Step outside,” said Nick.
“Now.”
His heart pounded and his hands had gone cold.

“Don’t shoot, man. I don’t have a gun.”

“Step outside,”
said Nick. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Good. Easy. You can do it.”

Nick moved back and the man stepped from the pool house. Nick’s age—thirty or so. He was big, naked except for a swimsuit. Skin dark. Long black hair and a sharp little beard like a musketeer. Hands out but not up. A look on his face like he’d done this before and could strangle someone.

Lobdell turned him, looked him over, holstered his Colt. “Good way to get shot,” he said.

“I was asleep.”

“Middle of the day?” asked Lobdell. “Must have had a good night. What’s your name?”

“Dirk George. No outstandings, not using, not holding, not packing, not in the mood for cops.”

“I smell beer so at least you’re drinking,” said Lobdell.

“No law against that,” said Dirk.

“You house-sitting, Dirk?” asked Nick.

Dirk George looked at Nick. Still had the strangle look. “What’s it look like?”

“Answer the question,” said Nick.

“Cory’s gone, man. I don’t know where. I don’t care where. I’m staying in the pool house, watering the flowers. Keeping an eye out for the little piggies.”

Nick’s anger spiked. He looked at Lobdell, then back at Dirk. Dirk was all invitation. The let’s-fight look. You saw it in jail when you were young. Sometimes had to accept, just to make a point.

“We want to ask Cory a few questions,” Nick said.

“He isn’t here. The big house is locked up and nobody’s home.”

Something moved behind the curtains. Nick saw bare feet below the swaying fabric. Red nails. A silver ring on the left middle toe.

“Come on out, miss,” he said.

The girl hesitated, then pushed through the curtain and onto the patio. Janelle’s age, Nick guessed. Long blond hair. Beautiful suntanned skin. Blue eyes and freckles. A denim jacket with a rainbow embroidered on the pocket flap. Cutoff shorts.

Nick recognized her from Janelle’s memorial service. One of the girls who’d come with Jesse Black. Andy had told him her name. Gail.

“Hi, guys,” she said.

“See, we’re guys, not pigs,” said Nick. A flat stare at the man in the swimsuit.

She blushed and looked submissively at Dirk. Nick decided that if Dirk hurt her for what she said, he’d take it out of Dirk’s suntanned hide somehow.

“Will you come with me, please?” Nick asked her.

She looked at him with a distrusting innocence.

“You don’t have to, babe,” said Dirk.

“I saw you at Janelle’s service,” said Nick. He took a couple of steps toward the big house.

Gail hesitated, then followed.

Nick walked into the stand of cottonwoods and stopped. Gail unrolled her coat sleeves against the chill in the shade.

“I’m sorry for all of that,” he said. “I’m Nick Becker. Sheriff’s investigator.”

“I’m Gail.”

“Dirk has a bad attitude.”

“He hates the fuzz.”

“That’s up to him. We just had a few questions for Cory. Know where he is?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t tell me where he went. He asked me to stay here, keep an eye on things.”

“You, not Dirk.”

She nodded.

“Why are you hanging around with Mr. George?”

“He’s not so bad.”

“I mean, if it’s just for dope, you can always buy your own.”

“Weird statement from a cop.”

“I don’t dig guys like him and Cory with girls like you and Janelle. Cory and Dirk are creeps. Girls like Janelle and you are suckers. The creeps put up money or the dope and they get you.”

Gail said nothing. Shrugged.

“Were you and Janelle good friends?” asked Nick.

“No. We both liked Jesse. He liked her better than me. But we all got along.”

“See her that last night by any chance?”

She shook her head. “No. I went to a concert.”

“What was Cory up to that night?”

“I don’t know. Me and Cory had a thing a long time ago.”

“Couldn’t have been that long,” said Nick.

She shrugged again. Straightened her back a little. Took a deep breath and stared through him.

“Look,” he said. “We’re not here to find anybody’s stash. We’re not here to hassle Dirk or you. We wanted to talk to Cory. So can we just look around a little?”

“You can’t. That’s why Cory asked me to stay here. You have no permission to search. That’s what he told me to say.”

Nick nodded. Held her gaze for a moment. Had a feeling she wanted to help him. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

Nick waited but she didn’t offer anything.

“Creeps like Dirk can be hard on a girl,” he said.

“Anything beats home, Mr. Detective.”

“Where’s home?”

“Pacific Palisades.”

“Big dollars.”

“Plastic.”

“I grew up in Tustin,” he said. Then he took a chance. Figured it would open a door or not. “Have you tried the Orange Sunshine air freshener?”

She smiled and colored. Prettiest skin Nick ever saw.

“I sprayed myself by accident,” said Nick. “Tripped for a whole day and slept like a baby.”

“I stayed high for two days once,” she said.

“I found the bottle in Janelle’s car.”

Gail shuddered inside her coat.

“What have you heard?” asked Nick.

“Heard?”

“About Janelle.”

“Everybody says it was someone from Tustin.”

“And?”

“Something to do with her old life there. Being Miss Tustin and the magazine picture and her brothers. Her mom committed suicide with rat poison.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Gail looked down at the walkway. Nick did, too. Two-by-sixes with alyssum and lobelia growing up through the spaces.

“I went to the Troubadour to hear Jesse play about a week before the murder. She was there. We sat together with some other people. Jesse took her home.”

Nick waited. Felt like Gail had something to say.

“You think Cory knows something about Janelle?” she asked.

“He’s dangerous,” said Nick. “She was hanging out with him. She
liked the danger. See, she was helping us. Telling us things, for money. If Cory found out about that, he’d do something bad.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Keep it to yourself, Gail. I trust you.”

“The night she died, Cory and I were supposed to go see the Doors. He was going to pick me up at seven. He called me at quarter to and said he didn’t feel good, was staying home. I said I’d come over and he said no. That meant he was with someone else. He knew I knew. I figured, screw him. So I drove up to Hollywood myself and saw the band.”

“Was he with Janelle?”

Gail shrugged. “Probably. She was his new thing.”

New thing,
thought Nick.

“I knew Janelle when she was little,” said Nick. “Just a girl. I need to find out who did this to her.”

“Was it really, actually, all the way cut off?”

Nick nodded. “Completely off. You going to let me have a look around here, Gail? Or shall I just come back with a warrant?”

“You can’t go in his house. It’s got alarms and everything.”

“Then how about the grounds? The pool house and the garage and the property? Whatever’s open and in plain sight?”

Gail nodded. “Yes. Okay.”

Dirk cussed her when she told him they could look around. Lobdell cuffed him to a eucalyptus tree and told him to shut up or he’d arrest him for trespassing, assault, and disturbing the peace.

Dirk looked puzzled and pleased when Gail said she’d bring around a couple of chairs and beers and keep him company.

THE POOL HOUSE
had a small living room, and a short hallway with two rooms in the back. A bar with stools. A dinette. Dishes piled in the sink. Beer cans on the counters. Pretzels and canned nuts.

The fruit bowl on the little table contained two bananas, an orange,
and a Smith & Wesson .357 magnum with a two-inch barrel. Nick used a tissue to pop the cylinder for a look at the serial number. Six magnum loads, six shiny primers looking at him. He balanced the gun on the fruit and wrote the numbers in his notebook.

“That’ll blow a hole in you,” said Lobdell. “There ought to be some way to keep creeps from having things like that.”

“Too many of both,” said Nick. Closed the cylinder.