Guilt (39 page)

Her mouth formed an oval. “She’s a criminal?”

“She had a police record.”

“Oh, God, what a sucker I am. She told me she was a teacher’s aide, had preschool experience. That’s what the agency told me, because of that I hired her to watch over Boo, Boo was just a toddler.”

Another stare at the arrest form. “You’re telling me I entrusted my Boo to a criminal?”

“Sorry to say, Ms. Moon.”

“I must be the biggest fool in the universe.”

“Anyone can get taken, ma’am.”

“There wasn’t a hint of anything off. She was kind to Boo, Boo liked her, and Boo doesn’t take to everyone.
I
liked her. That’s why when she got pregnant and her energy flagged, I took pity on her and helped her out by hiring another person.”

“Adriana Betts.”

“You’re going to tell me
that
one was an ax murderer?”

“No, ma’am. Clean-living church-girl. How’d she and Simone get along?”

“Fine,” she said. “Why?” She shuddered. “Oh, of course. He killed her, too, so
she
was connected.” She rubbed her face. That plus the pacing; Milo’s spiritual sister. “What was
her
story?”

“I was wondering if you knew.”

“Well, I don’t. Adriana was … there seemed nothing complicated about her. Then again, I liked Simone.” She laughed. “To think I helped her with her pregnancy—gave her clothes, books, encouraged her to take it easy.”

“Adriana came on to relieve Simone.”

“Yes.”

“Your suggestion or Simone’s?”

“Mine. I used the same agency and once Simone was gone Adriana took over completely, did a great job. Then she walked out on me, too. Or so I thought.”

“Did you try to find out why she left?”

She threw up her hands. “My life is hectic, people come and go, you have no idea how hard it is to find dependable help.”

“Like Mel Wedd,” said Milo. “Did he work for Mr. Rader as well as for you?”

“He was the estate manager and, technically, all three properties are the estate. But his day-to-day job was under my supervision.”

“How did he and Mr. Rader get along?”

“He didn’t respect Donny. Or so he told me.”

“Why?”

“Because of Donny’s behavior.”

“Promiscuity.”

She ticked her fingers. “Promiscuity, being constantly stoned, never taking responsibility. Mostly, not caring about the kids. Mel thought that was unconscionable.”

Milo said, “Mr. Rader shut the kids out of his life.”

“To shut them out, he’d have to be aware of them, Lieutenant. He acted as if they didn’t exist. How do you explain that to a child?”

Her hand touched her mouth. “I guess with that attitude, doing things to a baby isn’t so big a stretch.”

Milo said, “Back to Mel Wedd for a moment. Any idea why Mr. Rader would kill him? Assuming he did.”

Another easy opening, if she was manipulating. Once again, she didn’t take it. “No. I can’t imagine.”

Milo looked at me again.

I shrugged.
Still your play, Big Guy
.

He said, “Was Mr. Wedd involved in any of Mr. Rader’s activities with women?”

“Mel? Why would you ask that?”

“Wedd’s been spotted in the company of several attractive women. Streaming in and out of his apartment. Including Simone Chambord.”

“You’re saying Mel
pimped
for that bastard?”

“Or he might have been in charge of the finances.”

“What finances?”

“Paying women off when Mr. Rader was through with them. In Simone Chambord’s case, that may have included getting a car for her. A red BMW. It once belonged to Mr. Wedd but he reported it stolen and Simone Chambord was seen driving it.”

“Oh, this is all too much. What else do you want to drop on me, Lieutenant?”

“That’s it.”

“Insanity,” she said. “Okay, now what do we do about it?”

T
he plan was logical, meticulous, elegant in its simplicity.

Even in the chief’s grudging appraisal. “Assuming you’re lucky, Sturgis.”

At eight thirty a.m., two days after my session with Prema Moon, the tutors from Oxford Educational Services drove through the stout wooden gate of her estate.

Newly scheduled all-day trip to SeaWorld, in San Diego, the kids had visited last year, begged to return. Prema had punted with the classic parental “Soon, one day.”

At seven thirty she announced, “Surprise!” to a quartet of sleepy young faces.

“How come, Mom?”

“Because Sam and Julie say you’ve all been great with your studies.”

“Oh.”

“Whoa. Cool.”

“When are we going?”

“Right now, everyone get dressed. Afterward, Sam and Julie will take you to a great Mexican restaurant and you can all stay up late.”

Mumbled thanks. Big smile from Boo.

At ten fourteen a.m. a brown, dust-caked, kidney-punishing Dodge van rolled through that same gate. Entering Prema’s spread required a thousand feet of climbing past the wrought-iron barrier that blocked access to the tree-shrouded private road. At the top were three identical barriers of weathered oak inlaid with oversized black nail-heads, each equipped with a call box.

Per directions, Milo drove up to the left-hand box. As we waited to enter, I spotted a black glass eye peering from the boughs of a pine. Closed-circuit lens focused on Prema’s gate. Then another, aimed at Donny Rader’s. Maybe he’d installed his own security system. Or Prema cared more about his comings and goings than she’d let on.

I pointed the cameras out to Milo. His placid nod said he’d already seen them.

Four beeps from the call box, the gate swung open smoothly, we rattled through. The brown van had been borrowed from the Westside LAPD impound yard. Cheap stick-on signs on each flank read
Adaptive Plumbers
. The 213 number below was printed in numerals too small to read from a distance. If someone actually called it, they’d get a disconnect.

I sat up front in the shotgun seat. Behind me was a tech sergeant named Morry Burns who occupied himself playing Sudoku online. The slew of equipment he’d brought, including a portable dolly, occupied the van’s rear storage area. Behind Burns sat K-9 specialist Tyler O’Shea and a panting retriever mix named Sally.

Milo said, “Pooch okay?”

O’Shea said, “She’s awesome. Lives to do the job.”

“All-American work ethic.”

“El Tee, I’ll take her any day over your garden-variety so-called human.”

Prema Moon was waiting for us in the parking lot west of her mansion. The area was an easy acre, paved beautifully, ringed by river rock, cordoned by low privet hedges. Space for dozens of cars but only four today, all compact sedans. Three bore the bumper sticker of a Spanish-language Christian station. The fourth had customized plates reading
TRFFLES
.

The mansion hovered in the distance, a frothy, pink-beige Mediterranean that almost succeeded in looking old, perched assertively on the property’s highest knoll. Windows gleamed like zircons. Red bougainvillea climbed the walls like gravity-defying rivulets of blood. The hue of the stucco was a perfect foil for an uncommonly blue sky.

Several smaller outbuildings dotted the property, same color, same genre, as if the mansion had dropped pups. North of the structures, walls of cypress surrounded something unseen. To the rear of the property was a black-green cloud of untamed conifer, sycamore, eucalyptus, and oak.

As we got out of the van, Prema strode toward us, holding a sheaf of papers. She wore form-fitted black jeans, a black mock turtle, red suede flats. Her hair was combed out and shiny, held in place by a thin black band. She’d put on lipstick and eye shadow and mascara.

New take on gorgeous.

Milo said, “Morning.”

“Morning, Lieutenant. I just called the tribe, they’re halfway to San Diego, should be gone until eight or even nine. Is that enough time?”

Milo said, “We’ll do our best.” He introduced her to Morry Burns.

She said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Without answering, Burns laid down a pair of metal carrying cases, returned to the van, brought out the dolly. A third trip produced the flat sides of several unassembled cardboard boxes. He walked up to Prema. “Is there some hub where all your computers feed?”

“Like command central? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think or you don’t know?”

Prema blinked. “No, there’s nothing like that.”

“How many computers on the premises?”

“Don’t know that, either. Sorry.”

“You have a smart-house setup? Crestron running the lights, the utilities, your home theater, all your toys?”

“We do have a system, but I’m not sure the computers go through it.”

“Show me your personal machine. We’ll work backward from there.”

“Right now?”

“You got something better to do?” Burns began stacking his dolly.

Milo pointed to the papers in Prema’s hand.

She said, “I pulled phone records for the last six months. Every line that goes through this property.”

Without looking back, Burns said, “Landlines and cells?”

“Yes.”

“Your employees have personal cell accounts?”

“I’m sure they do—”

“Then that’s not every line.” He made another trip to the van.

“Well … yes,” said Prema. “I just wanted to help.”

Tyler O’Shea appeared with Sally in tow.

Prema said, “A dog?”

Milo said, “While you work with Detective Burns on the hardware, Officer O’Shea will be exploring the property with Sally.”

O’Shea, young, virile, muscular, gawked at Prema. When he managed to engage eye contact, he beamed.

She smiled back. O’Shea blushed.

“Hi, Sally, aren’t you a pretty girl?” She reached to pet the dog. O’Shea blocked her with his arm. “Sorry, ma’am, she needs to concentrate.”

“Oh, of course—concentrate on what?”

Milo said, “Finding anything interesting.”

“You think you’ll find evidence here?”

“We need to be thorough, Ms. Moon.”

Sally’s leash strained as she oriented herself toward the forest. Her nose twitched. She panted faster.

Prema said, “Sally’s one of those … dogs that look for bodies?”

O’Shea said, “That’s part of her repertoire, ma’am.”

“Oh, my.” Head shake.

“What’s back there in the trees, ma’am?”

“Just trees. Honestly, you’re not going to find anything.”

“Hope you’re right, ma’am.” O’Shea clicked his tongue twice. He and Sally headed out at a quick trot.

Morry Burns returned. Tapped his foot. Checked his watch.

Milo said, “Who’s working on the premises today, ma’am?”

“Just the core staff,” she said. “The maids and the cook. Do you need to talk to them?”

“Eventually. Meanwhile, go with Detective Burns. Dr. Delaware and I will stroll around a bit.”

Prema forced a half smile. “Of course. He’s a psychologist, anything can be interesting.”

First stop: the four walls of cypress. An opening on the east side led us into a flat area the size of two football fields. One corner was devoted to a safety-fenced half-Olympic pool with a padlocked, alarmed gate. The opposing corner housed a sunken tennis court. Diagonal to that were a regulation basketball court, a rubber-matted area set up with four trampolines, a moon-bounce, a tetherball pole, two Ping-Pong tables, and a sand pit that hosted a plastic slide, a swing-set, a seesaw, and a yellow vinyl tunnel-maze.

Milo said, “Kid-Heaven, courtesy Super Mom. What’s that, making up for her own shitty childhood?”

“Could be, if you’re in an analytical mood.”

“You’re not?”

“Let’s find the maids and the cook.”

The interior of the house was what you’d expect: the requisite vaulted rooms, quarry-emptying expanses of marble, enough polished wood to threaten a rain forest. The art on the walls was professionally spaced, perfectly framed and lit: oil paintings biased toward women and children
as subjects and the kind of pastel landscape that combats insomnia.

The maids were easy to find. Imelda Rojas polished silver in the dining room, Lupe Soto folded laundry in a white-tiled utility room the size of some New York apartments, Maria Elena Miramonte tidied up a playroom that would thrill a preschool class. All three women were in their sixties, solidly built and well groomed, wearing impeccable powder-blue uniforms.

Milo spoke to them individually.

Easy consensus: Senora Prema was wonderful.

Senor Donny was never here.

Despite that, Rader’s name elicited tension but when Milo asked Imelda Rojas what she thought of him she insisted she didn’t know. He kept up the questioning but stepped aside early on and punted to me. My doctorate wasn’t any help, at first; Maria and Imelda were unable, or unwilling, to articulate their feelings about Rader. Then Lupe Soto opined that he was “a sinner,” and when pressed, specified the nature of Rader’s iniquities.

“
Putas
, always.”

“Lots of girls.”

“No girls, senor,
putas
. Is good he no live here. Better for the chillin they no see that.”

“He used to bring
putas
here?”