Obsession (31 page)

“Must’ve been fascinating.”

“People looking for new houses. Thrilling.”

“Real estate,” I said. “It’s the new sex.”

“The old sex ain’t out of commission, yet…in principle…what time is it?”

I told her.

“Oh, wow. Big night?”

“Nothing dramatic,” I said. “Sorry for not calling.”

“S’okay, I had my home-girl here, we had plenty to talk about.”

“Such as?”

“Girl stuff;
you’ll
never know. Help me up,
Caballero
. I need to stretch out in a real bed. Blanchie can stay with us if you want.”

“She snores.”

“So do you, darling.”

“I do?”

“Just once in a while.”

“Is it disruptive?”

She pecked my cheek and got to her feet. I walked her, still wrapped in the blanket, up the hall.

“Do I keep you up, Rob?”

“I have a technique.”

“What?”

“I kick your butt, you roll over, you’re fine.”

“Any excuse,” I said.

She laughed. “Who needs one? By the way, I’m still asking around about De Paine. No one in the biz takes him seriously and no one’s seen him for a while. One other person had that same rumor about the house in the hills but you’ve already dealt with that.”

I kissed her. “Thanks for trying.”

“My middle name.”

I called Tanya at eight thirty the next morning.

She said, “I just got off the phone with Kyle. I know you think I was stupid for confiding in him, but I
really
know him. He thinks whatever Mommy remembered could’ve had something to do with Pete Whitbread and that sounds logical to me.”

“What do you remember about Pete?”

“Not much. I used to see him on the block but we had nothing to do with each other.”

“Did he hang with anyone in particular?”

“Never saw anyone. What I do recall is that Mommy didn’t like Mary Whitbread.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, but I could tell from the way she acted when Mary dropped by to collect the rent. It embarrassed me a little because Mary was nice to me, sometimes she’d bring me candy. I admired the way she looked. By then I was out of my Barbie stage but I thought Mary looked like a Barbie Mom—glamorous, ultra-feminine. The times she came by, I sensed that she wanted to socialize, but Mommy never invited her to stay. Just the opposite, she seemed to want her out as quickly as possible. One time Mommy had just brewed fresh coffee and Mary remarked how great it smelled. Mommy said, ‘It’s old, I was just going to dump it.’ It was such an obvious lie. Mary left with a look on her face as if she’d been slapped—oops, look what time it is, I’ve got to get going, Dr. Delaware.”

“Another study group?”

“No, that’s later. Ten o’clock lab. I don’t know if any of that was helpful, but it’s all I remember. Thanks for not being mad about Kyle.”

“How’re you doing with the self-hypnosis?”

“Great, excellent, I practiced yesterday. Ran through it a dozen times.”

“Ah,” I said.

Nervous laughter. “Was that too intense?”

“Practice is great, but you may not need that much.”

“You think I’m hopeless.”

“Just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have high hopes for you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Delaware. I needed that.”

At ten twenty-eight, Detective Raul Biro phoned to ask if I could make a one p.m. meeting at Hollywood Division.

“Progress?”

“Nothing I’ve heard about. Petra just said she wanted a sit-down. She’s over in Records, figures to be clear by one.”

“I’ll be there. How’s the Whitbread surveillance going?”

“I’m a block up from her place right now. So far, it’s real quiet.”

“Thanks for calling, Raul. See you at one.”

“I won’t be there,” he said. “I’m sticking to Whitbread like Krazy Glue.”

The conference room at Hollywood Division smelled like a catering truck.

On the wall was a poster of Bin Laden wearing a cartoonishly dirty diaper. The caption said,
Someone get me out of this dump
.

Milo wrestled with a sumo-sized double chili-cheeseburger, Petra nibbled on curly fries and a Mexican salad, Dave Saunders and Kevin Bouleau chopsticked pork lo mein from paper plates.

A wrapped parcel sat in front of an empty chair.

Petra said, “Got you a steak sandwich but I can’t vouch for the quality.”

“Or the species,” said Saunders, twirling a stick.

I thanked her and sat down.

She said, “It’s been a good morning, thanks to our Central brethren.” Flourishing a hand at Saunders and Bouleau.

Saunders’s mouth was full. Bouleau said, “We found Grant’s kill-spot, abandoned building on Santee. A homeless guy who crashes nearby remembers seeing a Hummer pull up and some guys getting out. He isn’t sure if it was two or three and doesn’t know when they left because he was stewed on Night Train. To be honest, this isn’t a person who’s totally sane. But the fact that he spotted the Hummer’s decent evidence, not too many of those cruising that neighborhood.”

Saunders swallowed. “They left blood on the floor and the walls, but took the casings. Initial scrapings are O-positive, which is Grant’s type and common, but I’ll lay odds with anyone who wants to bet against the DNA.”

I said, “Leaving a Hummer in full sight says they were confident about not being discovered.”

Saunders said, “No one’s around there at night and guys who’d shoot their own compadre in cold blood probably figured they could handle a car-booster.”

I thought the topic merited more discussion but kept silent.

Milo said, “Excellent work.”

Bouleau grinned. “It’s what we do.”

Saunders said, “No luck finding any of Grant’s relatives, yet. But we’re relentless.”

“We roar like lions but we dig like moles,” said Bouleau. “And wait, kids, there’s more, little surprise at the autopsy. Mr. Grant was shot to death but first they tried to strangle him. Coroner found a ligature mark around his neck. Grant being so big, it was obscured by fat folds when the C.I. looked him over. No rupture of the hyoid, but there was some bruising and petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes—in the corners, you’d have to be looking for it.”

Saunders said, “Like you said, they tried to choke him out, dude was too big, so they shot him.”

Petra said, “Any sign of a struggle?”

“Nope. And given Grant’s size, a frontal attack would have produced upwardly angling pathways. The tracks in Grant say he was probably prone when he got drilled. The room was basically an empty shell, big cold place, some discarded rusty engine parts in a corner, it used to be a machine shop or something.”

Milo said, “Big guy like that just lies back and takes it?”

“Coroner wonders if he was tranquilized, let’s see what the tox screen says.”

I said, “Choking’s more personal. More of a thrill.”

“My thought exactly, Doc,” said Bouleau. “But his neck was too thick so practicality won out.”

Petra said, “Attempted strangulation could also mean two people. Meaning Fisk’s car left near Lindbergh Field could’ve been a ruse.”

“He drives down there, comes back some other way?” said Saunders. “If he knows he’s being looked for, why would he return?”

“Because De Paine needed him,” I said.

“Dude must pay well,” said Bouleau.

Milo said, “Dude has income, from trucking heroin, dirty pictures, anything else people lust for. He does well enough with dope to leave behind a grand worth of H at Lester Jordan’s. We know he used speed and booze as a kid, but with that kind of self-control, he probably doesn’t shoot smack. But maybe Moses Grant was into H and that incapacitated him same as Jordan. When’s the tox coming back?”

Saunders said, “Couple of days, three, four. We were lucky to get the autopsy prioritized.”

Petra said, “How’d you pull that off?”

“To be honest, we had nothing to do with it. Coroner saw lig marks in addition to bullet holes, got curious, put Grant at the top of the pile.”

I unwrapped my steak sandwich, revealed a three-ounce sliver of something oily corrupting two halves of crumbly French roll. Closer inspection revealed curling cutlet verging on cinder, lettuce in need of Viagra.

Petra said, “Ooh. Sorry—share my salad.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Oh, man,” said Saunders, “whatever that is could turn a carnivore into a vegan. Want some Chinese, Doc?”

“No, thanks.”

Milo hoisted his burger. “I’m not offering.”

I said, “This is when you find out who your friends are.”

“I’m watching out for your cholesterol.” He put down the sandwich. “Westside can’t compete in the evidence department, folks, but there’s more to hear about Mr. Whitbread/De Paine than dope, and it ain’t pretty.”

Three pairs of eyes sparked with curiosity. Milo told the story.

Petra said, “Animal guts. That is one sick Chihuahua.” She shoved her salad aside.

Kevin Bouleau said, “It’s nasty but if Grant really was a solid citizen who just happened to hang with two bad guys, I’m not seeing any connection to our case.”

“So far we haven’t learned anything to the contrary, Kev.”

“Damn shame. I like it better when bad guys meet an untimely end. More leads and you don’t have to feel as sorry unless they’ve got nice relatives.”

“Weeping mothers, the worst,” said Dave Saunders. “So where do we go from here?”

Petra said, “We all have the same goal: find these two sweethearts. Robert Fisk is a gym rat and a martial arts freak plus he likes to dance. But all my inquiries in those directions have gotten nowhere. Blaise De Paine visited his mommy right before Jordan’s murder, so we know he’s on speaking terms with her. Raul’s watching her house as we speak. No luck subpoenaing her phone records, her only crime is giving birth to the little bastard and he hasn’t been formally identified as a suspect. On top of that, everything’s tightened up on data searches because of Fortuno. If you guys learn something that connects Grant to De Paine, I’ll try again.”

“We will sharpen our claws and dig,” said Bouleau. “If Grant is a citizen he left tracks. So you got a face-to-face with Fortuno, huh? We Downtown folk never get to meet celebrities.”

“Not an impressive piece of humanity, Kev. You didn’t miss anything.”

“Maybe so, but I’m still looking for stories to tell my grandkids when I’m drooling on the front porch.” Bouleau turned serious. “Given the Fortuno link and De Paine being a music guy, you see any showbiz connections to any of this?”

Petra said, “I’ve asked around and so has Dr. Delaware’s girlfriend—she works with musicians, helped I.D. De Paine in the first place. Guy’s not a player, just dabbles on the fringes.”

“Sounds like ninety-nine percent of the mopes in Hollywood,” said Saunders. To Petra: “No offense, but doesn’t your captain have a SAG card?”

“He does, but he’s done real work for it.”

Bouleau said, “Like what?”

“Technical advising.” Not mentioning Stu Bishop’s minor acting roles.

“Really?” said Bouleau. “Can he get me a card? I’ll advise anyone about anything.”

Saunders said, “De Paine lives on the fringe but has expensive wheels registered to a bogus corporation. Dude like that isn’t likely to be crashing in a studio apartment in the middle of the LAX flight path.”

I said, “Maybe he’s living in a house his mother owns.”

Petra said, “I’ve already looked into that. Mary’s total holdings are the four Mid-Wilshire duplexes Myron sold her and a six-unit in Encino. De Paine isn’t staying at any of them.”

“Those are the properties in her name,” I said.

“She’s got a shadow corporation? I guess anything’s possible.”

Dave Saunders said, “Time to check the DBA files, Detective Connor.”

Kevin Bouleau said, “Narcotics have anything to say about De Paine?”

Petra said, “They don’t know him.”

Saunders said, “He’s dealing all these years and never got busted for anything?”

“Apparently.”

“Lucky boy,” said Bouleau. “Or he’s connected. Fortuno knows lots of criminal lawyers.” Slow smile. “Which is a redundancy, right?”

Saunders said, “Back to the world of showbiz?”

“If only, partner.”

To us: “Kevin wants to be Will Smith.”

Bouleau said, “Why not? Have you seen
Mrs
. Smith? But hey, am I off the mark? Fortuno’s a fixer and it sounds like this boy may have gotten fixed.”

Petra said, “It’s possible something was stifled before it got to the arrest stage, but if charges were never filed, good luck finding out. Good luck finding anyone who’ll admit
thinking
about Fortuno.”

Saunders dabbed his lips with a napkin.

Kevin Bouleau said, “So we’ve got a Class A whodunit. Guess we were due…okay, so Dave and I just continue working Grant and you do your thing on Lester Jordan, and if the high road meets the low road, we confer. Any psychological issues to consider here, Doctor?”

I said, “The neighborhood where Grant was shot wasn’t populated but it was still brazen for Fisk and De Paine to cruise around in a Hummer at night. Ditching Fisk’s car in San Diego and returning here to kill Grant was also high-risk, considering they had easy access to the Mexican border or could’ve headed east for Nevada.”

“L.A.’s their comfort zone?” said Petra.

“I think there’s more to it than that. Lester Jordan’s murder was accomplished with guile, but Fisk left his print on Jordan’s window. If you’re right about Grant being tranquilized, that was more guile. But Grant was big and strong and resisted so they shot him point-blank. They took the shell casings but didn’t bother cleaning up his blood. Then they dumped him where he was sure to be found.”

Milo said, “Mix of evasive and brazen.”

I said, “There’s an amateurish quality to all of it—playing at clever while being blatant and exhibitionistic. That fits with De Paine’s theatrical demeanor and with Fisk’s body-consciousness. It also points to a thrill motive. Jordan and Grant may have been eliminated to cover something up, but the killings took on their own meaning.”

“Once you off your daddy, the rest gets easier,” said Saunders.