True Detectives (26 page)

“But you do know about a dead mommy. And a dead baby,” said Moe, remembering the Reverend Wohr’s account of his brother’s cold attitude toward the infant. “Little, tiny baby with a name. Gabriel. Like the angel. Now he
is
a little angel, Ramone.”

Wohr didn’t respond.

“Dead baby, dead mommy, dead babysitter, Ramone. Quite a scoreboard for a guy who doesn’t
know
about stuff like that.”

Wohr’s bony butt levitated out of the chair and for a second Moe thought he’d need to restrain the idiot. But Wohr sank down heavily, hugged himself, shook his head. Tugged at his cheeks.

“You’re in it for triple murder, Ramone.”

“Oh, Jesus God.”

“Maybe you’re not that bad of a person,” said Moe. “Maybe it really bothers you.”

“Aw, man—you should—in here.” Slapping his forehead. “Bad pictures, sir. Even though I never actually
seen
nothing.”

“Pictures of what?”

“You know.”

“Tell me, Ramone.”

“Dead people. I worked hard at turning them off. The pictures.”

“Trying to switch the channel.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Did getting
paid
to forget help, Ramone?”

“Huh?”

“One of your transactions,” said Moe. “Keep your mouth shut for the opportunity to keep pimping to rich folk.”

Stolid silence, but no denial.

Moe went on, “You might’ve cleared your own head but the law doesn’t see it that way, Ramone. You’re in the middle of it. It won’t be any big stretch making this a three-strikes deal, Ramone. But even without that, we’re talking …” To Petra: “Like forever?”

She said, “I’d guess forever plus a hundred years or so.” She edged closer to Wohr. “Poor little Gabriel. Talk about a tiny skeleton, like a toy, at first you don’t even think it’s real.”

“You found him?” Wohr blurted.

“Any reason we shouldn’t?”

“No, no, no. I just…”

Moe hardened his voice. Crowded Wohr. Got closer to Petra, in the process. Her girl-scent helped take the edge off Wohr’s stench. “You just what, Ramone?”

“I never heard he got found.”

“But you heard he got killed.”

Silence.

“Here’s the deal, Ramone: Some people don’t like surprises, but we do. Helps relieve the boredom. We’ve got all sorts of surprises about things you can’t even imagine.”

Wohr’s eyes passed from Moe to Petra, back to Moe. The guy’s body was slumped and shaky and pathetic, but the eyes belonged to a stronger, shrewder man.

All the dope he’d pumped, all the booze he’d soaked up, his IQ could be down to double digits and he’d still retain a certain type of cunning.

He said, “You know what you know, but I don’t know nothing.”

Moe sensed it: The danger point, any minute the mope could clam, ask for a lawyer.

Time to take another plunge. “Well, then, Ramone, we’ll share—so everyone will know everything. You got paid off to keep quiet about the murders, but it was only a small-time payment. You never cashed in like you could’ve.”

Wohr’s eyes froze but he couldn’t plug up the sweat glands slicking his face and neck.

Petra’s perfume no longer masking the stink.

Wohr’s mustache trembled.

Moe said, “Maybe you didn’t cash in because you were scared. Maybe you’re basically a small-time guy, happy with small-time compensation—happy to keep peddling skin to rich folk. Maybe making nice to rich folk lets you pretend your own life is expensive, not cheap like Adella and Gabriel and Caitlin.”

Wohr shook his head.

“Thing is, Ramone, that flesh you kept peddling was Alicia’s and she had enough, wanted you to cash in big. She was tired of partying in shitty motels like the Eagle because you were too scared to make demands. She got frustrated. Downright pissed-off frustrated. To the point where she bitch-slapped you on the street, front of the whole neighborhood.”

“No one saw nothing,” Wohr snapped.

Moe smiled. “You think?”

Realizing his error, Wohr shook his head hard enough to fling sweat. Droplets landed on Moe’s khakis. Petra’s black pants, too. Neither cop moved to wipe it off.

Wohr said, “What I’m sayin’, Alicia wouldn’t do that, she never hit me.”

“Then how do you think we know about it, Ramone? I was there.” Letting that sink in. Describing Eiger’s and Wohr’s clothes made Wohr shake like he’d detoxed too fast.

Moe said, “She called you stupid, disrespected you, then hauled off
and bitch-slapped you.” Moe rattled off the address on Taft. “I saw it, Ramone. Not a love pat, a real hard smack, you could hear it up the block. And what do you do? You just slink off like some beat-down dog, go get juiced up at Bob’s, then you buy some dope from another mope over near Cherokee, then you wander around Hollywood all day and into the night, walking and drinking and smoking, like some useless, abused mutt. And
then
, because you
still
can’t get rid of the anger at being disrespected but you can’t stand up to Alicia, you go looking for someone you
can
control. Because Delishus looks ten and reminds you of all those little girls you peep when they don’t know you’re lurking outside their bedroom windows.”

“I don’t do that—”

“Your niece Sarah says you do.”

Ramone’s mouth dropped open.

Moe smiled. “It’s your day for surprises, my friend. Just like you were surprised to find Officer Kennedy right there when Delishus’s head was where it shouldn’t.”

“Aw … no.” Moan of despair, not denial.

Placing both hands on Wohr’s shoulders, Moe exerted pressure. “We know
everything
. And you still don’t have the smarts to stop playing with us in order to better your situation.”

Wohr lowered his chin to his chest. Sniffled.

Moe gave an eye-signal to Petra.

She said, “I, for one, am feeling sorry for you, Ramone, because you’re not a violent person. But who I’m really feeling sorry for is Alicia. Poor girl was getting smart, all she wanted to do was stop selling her body. How long has she been on you to make some serious dough from those murdering bastards?”

Head shake.

“How long, Ramone?” she said, gently. “Probably right from the beginning, right? Because Alicia saw an easy big payoff—I mean, we’re talking multiple murder, rich folk, kind of a no-brainer.”

“Too scary,” muttered Wohr.

“To pressure the rich folk?”

Nod.

“Unfortunately, Alicia didn’t see it that way,” said Petra. “Maybe because you were still selling her to the people who did those murders.”

“Alicia doesn’t get it,” said Wohr.

Present tense dictated the next move.

Moe released Wohr’s shoulders from his grip, drew two Polaroids out of a blazer pocket.

Alicia Eiger’s multi-stabbed back, and a full-frontal close-up of her gray, lifeless face.

“Ramone, Alicia is never going to get anything anymore.”

Wohr stared. Began shaking violently. “Oh, Jesus God.” Lurching forward, he retched. Both detectives scooted back. Nothing but stink emerged from his gaping mouth. “Oh, Jesus, oh Jesus God Jesus.”

Feeling masterfully cruel—enjoying the feeling—Moe said, “Oh, yeah, four murders. Add a dead girlfriend to the scorecard. And you set her up.”

Wohr’s legs shot back, hit the legs of his chair. “No way, no, no, no—”

Moe and Petra moved back in. Inches away, totally in the mope’s face. Moe held the Polaroids in one hand, used the other to take hold of Wohr’s jaw and rotate Wohr back toward the images.

Expecting Wohr to shut his eyes. But Wohr punished himself and looked.

Some capacity for guilt?

Moe said, “Hitting her back wouldn’t have been nice, but it sure would’ve beat making that call, Ramone.”

Wohr murmured unintelligibly. Moe released the pressure on the guy’s jaws. Wohr rubbed his mandible. “You didn’t have to hurt me.”

“You don’t need me to get hurt, Ramone. You’re hurting yourself just fine. Maybe, like Detective Connor said, you’re not a bad person, but you sure are a
weak
person. Always taking the easy way out. But funny thing, that always seems to put you in a hard place, doesn’t it?”

Slow nod.

“We’ve got your throwaway cell, Ramone. We know about the call you made to set up Alicia.”

Hoping hoping hoping.

Wohr licked his lips. Blinked hard.

Victory!

“That’s accessory to Murder One, Ramone. Now we’re giving you the chance to help yourself, friend. But you’ve just
got
to stop lying—to yourself.
We
already know the truth.”

Wohr groaned. Knuckled an eye.

“Maybe you never intended to get Alicia killed, maybe you just thought they’d scare her. But that’s not how a jury’s going to think.”

“She hit me,” said Wohr. “Again. I got tired of it.”

“There you go,” said Petra. “Mitigating circumstances.” More like motive and evidence of premeditation. “If we had a history of domestic violence calls to your crib, that might help you. Without that, who’s going to believe a big strong man was afraid of a small woman?”

Wohr said, “You don’t know Alicia. She’s fierce.”

“Was fierce,” said Moe, waving the Polaroids. “Even if we believe you, who cares? We’re not who you’re going to have to convince.”

Wohr didn’t answer.

Moe checked his watch. Stood and did a Milo stretch. In addition to looking relaxed, it felt good after all those hours sitting.

Petra got up, too.

Moe’s yawn was genuine. He pocketed the photos. “We gave you a chance to better your situation and once again, you made the wrong choice. Hope you enjoy incarceration, Ramone, because that’s all you’ve got ahead of you.”

Petra opened the door, called for a jailer.

Raymond Wohr said, “Gimme a pen and paper. I’ll write you a different book.”

When the detectives agreed, the fool started crying.

D
r. Steve Rau said, “A private eye.”

“I
work
for a private eye, Steve. I’m an actress by training.”

“Obviously a good one.”

More stunned than angry. But no one liked being lied to. His wife had made a fool of him, Liana had no way of knowing if this was turning into bad déjà vu.

She’d positioned herself close to the door, just in case.

After the night they’d spent together, kind of a cart-after-the-horses thing.

Steve said, “Liana …” As if trying on her real name for size. “So that first time was an assignment?”

“My boss and I are looking into Caitlin Frostig, that girl who disappeared.” Making herself sound more important than she was.

Performer’s reflex, because life was an audition.

“And I brought her up before you asked,” said Steve. “You must’ve thought that was a strange … I also told you about a couple who disappeared, talk about purveyor of good cheer. Later—when I got home
that night—I did a little computer research. Turns out the couple was running from the law and got caught.” Smile. “But you probably know that.”

“I do.”

“I felt like an idiot,” he said. “Meeting you and bringing up people vanishing. No reason you’d ever call me, you probably thought I was bizarre … so you were back there tonight to work?”

“That was the plan, Steve. It kind of got sidetracked.”

“Pardon?”

“This,” she said. “Everything that’s happened tonight. That had nothing to do with work.”

Though if you happen to have info I can use, I won’t complain
.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I was
thrilled
to see
you
. Liana.” Tasting her name. “I like that better than Laura—not that Laura’s not a fine … you really are Liana?”

“Want to see a birth certificate?”

“Sorry.”

“I should be, Steve. You have every right not to trust me.”

“Since that first time, I’ve been hanging out at Riptide more regularly than before, hoping to see you again. I pretty much gave up. I did have to do some traveling—delivering papers. Have you been back before tonight?”

“No,” she said.

“So this is almost… karma … though I guess it really isn’t that remarkable, just simple probability. I’m there high-frequency, so anytime you drop in, there’s a good chance we’ll meet.”

Liana smiled. “Sounds like another learned paper.”

He slumped. “Mr. Smooth.”

“You’re a good guy. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

She got up, sat beside him on his parents’ fusty old sofa. He reached for her hand, hesitated. She made the move, squeezed his fingers.

“Liana, tonight, seeing you again—it was as … life was finally working out. If that’s coming on too strong, I don’t care. Nor do I care what brought you there in the first place.”

“You’re not coming on too strong.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So we can keep seeing each other? That’s what I care about—I don’t see why it should interfere with your assignment—is that what you call it?”

“It’s just a job, Steve.”

“Sounds like an interesting job.”

“Not usually.”

He played with her fingers. “Undercover operative. Your mission should you choose to accept it.” Slowly spreading grin. “Do you get to wear costumes?”

What do you think
this
is?

Liana said, “The truth is, Steve, I do it because I can’t do what I really want.”

Putting herself out there.

“Acting’s a tough thing,” he said. “I admire your perseverance.”

“The only acting I’ve done for years is voice-overs. For cartoons.”

“Really? Can I hear a few?”

“Some other time.” She kissed him. It made
her
feel better.

They sat there for a while, holding hands.

He said, “There’s no way you could stay the night?”

“I have an audition tomorrow.”

“Private eye or voice-over?”

“The latter,” she said. “Goofy squirrel.” She rattled off a line of stupid rodent dialogue.

He cracked up. “How about this: I’ll set the alarm and we’ll both get up early.”

“Not tonight, Steve.” She reached for her bag, pulled out her genuine business card. “Here’s my number. I promise it’s real.”

He studied it. “You’re in the Valley.”

“Does that disqualify me?”

“Hey,” he said, “Sherman Oaks born and bred until Mom and Dad
decided to socially climb. When can I see you again? Give me a time or I won’t be able to concentrate.”

“If work doesn’t get in the way, how about tomorrow, say eight?”

“I’ve got meetings till eight. Nine, okay? I’ll make a reservation— you like Italian?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Excellent. Il Travino, not far from you in Tarzana.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The next kiss was his move. Longer and softer. For a beaten-down quasi-nerd, his technique was getting good. That second time, in bed, he’d made her feel things she hadn’t felt for a long time. Even that bear-pelt was something she could get used to.

He said, “Now I feel great—let me walk you down.”

“Steve, at the risk of being totally tacky, I’m going to do something totally work-related right now.” She drew out the photo of Adella Villareal and her blue-blanketed baby. “This is another girl related to the case. They found her strangled in Griffith Park.”

Steve winced. Nodded. “I’ve definitely seen her at Riptide. Several times. Never at the bar, always in a corner table, back in the VIP area. Years ago, when the celebs were still—this is
that
kind of case?”

“Could be,” said Liana.

“She had a baby? I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“Why not?”

“She seemed more of a party girl… I guess anyone can be a parent. The baby’s okay?”

“No one’s seen the baby since his mama got killed.”

“Oh, my God. Okay, okay, let me remember what I can … I never saw her with Caitlin. She was always in the back room. Dolled up, laughing. The reason I remember her is because she was extremely … she was a good-looking girl.”

“Sexy,” said Liana.

“In a flashy way. Maybe overdressed … you’ve been to Riptide, it’s casual. And she was never alone—this could get interesting for you and your boss, Liana. Because she was always with the same people.”

He told her who.

She took hold of his face and kissed him hard.

“What’d I do to deserve that?”

“Delivered good news, sweetie. Smooch the messenger. Maybe I will stay the night. But first I need to text my boss.”