Guilt

mid-orbit.”

Milo spooned some fried rice onto his plate.

The chief said, “Not into ribs, today, Lieutenant?”

“This is fine, sir.”

The chief smirked. “Establishing your independence? That makes you feel like a grown-up, be my guest.” To me: “This is a mess.”

He reached for the plate. Another rib got gnawed to the bone.

I said, “Another thing I did-”

“Another thing? Jesus Almighty, you figure you’re running your own investigation?” His eyes shifted to Milo. Milo’s head was down as he shoveled rice into his maw.

The chief turned back to me. “What?”

I told him about the morning’s hike. “None of the principals entered or exited the compound but I did learn that it’s a pretty busy place. In the space of three hours, I saw a seven-man groundskeeping crew, a grocery delivery, a repairman from a home-theater outfit, and a plumber. I copied down the tags-”

“Why?”

“I figured it might offer a possible way to get in-”

“Sturgis pretends to be a gardener or a plumber? Habla espanol, Sturgis? Know how to unclog a sink? I do, my father was a plumber, I spent my summers elbow-deep in rich people’s muck. You ever do that, Sturgis? Wade in rich folk shit?”

Milo said, “Frequently, sir.”

“Don’t like the job?”

“Love it, sir. It is what it is.”

The chief looked ready to spit. “Don Quixote and Sancho Panza … so, being a psychologist, Doc, you figure a crafty way to gain entry would be to hitch a ride with one of the peasants who services the castle, once you’re inside, you just mosey around at random in the hope of stumbling across definitive evidence?”

“I was hoping to catch Moon, Rader, or any of the kids leaving. But when I saw the volume of traffic, it occurred to me there might be an opening.”

“If Moon or Rader had left, you figured to tail them.”

“Discreetly.”

His face darkened. “Dr. Do-A-Lot. You talk to animals, as well?”

“If I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry.”

“Overstepped?” He laughed. “More like you’ve invented new dance moves. What day does the garbage get taken out at that place?”

Milo said, “I’ll find out.” He walked to the dining room doorway, talked on his cell.

The chief returned to his ribs, tried some pepper steak. Pincer-grasped a plump little pink shrimp out of the fried rice. “Not hungry, Doc?”

“Actually, I am.” I tried a rib. Greasy and delicious.

“Just like you,” said the chief.

“Pardon?”

“You’re like the damn ribs. Unhealthy but satisfying. Congratulations, Sturgis plodded along but you’re the one who learned something.”

“He-”

“No need to defend him, I know what he is, he’s good at what he does, as good as I’m gonna get. You, on the other hand, are a different animal. You piss me off without trying. You also make me wonder what the department would be like if everyone was super-smart and psychotically driven. Don’t tell Sturgis I said that, you’ll hurt his feelings.”

He and I ate in silence until Milo returned.

“Garbage collection’s in two days, sir.”

“Be there before the trucks arrive, Sturgis. Wear comfortable clothes and bring enough empty barrels to haul away every bit of trash. Don’t be noticed. Separate anything with DNA potential and run a match to the baby bones. Maybe this Qeesha character is still alive and shedding cells, we find an eyebrow pencil, a tampon, whatever, that links her to the bones, we’re a step forward. We also get an accurate victim count, two not three, and think of her as a homicidal bitch who killed her own kid.”

Milo said, “DNA analysis could take a while.”

“I’ll speed it through to the max.”

“Until then-”

“Until then you and your geniuses try to do what the doctor, an allegedly untrained civilian, was apparently able to accomplish: Watch the goddamn place without being seen. Prema or Donny or Qeesha appear, they get tailed. With finesse. Seduction, not rape, Sturgis.”

“Got it, sir.” Milo started to rise.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting back to work.”

“This is work, Sturgis. Amusing the boss. Now don’t let me down, I want to see some calorie consumption.”

CHAPTER 45

Amusing the boss translated to a quarter hour of near-silent scarfing. The chief was a lean man but he had a staggering capacity for intake. We watched him polish off the ribs and pick all the shrimp out of the rice before he shot a French cuff and smiled at his Patek Philippe. On cue, the burly duo got up and headed toward us. The chief got to his feet, buttoned his jacket.

He looked down at Milo. “Who’s paying for this repast?”

Milo said, “If you’d like-”

“Just kidding, Sturgis, I don’t exploit the workingman. Or in your case, Doc, the theorizing man.”

He threw bills on the table. “Stay as long as you like. Just be gone in ten minutes so you can resume what the city pays you for, Sturgis.”

Before his minions could reach him, he race-walked out of the room.

Milo looked at the picked-over rice. “Would your Hollywood buddies call that a good meeting?”

“My buddies?”

“Contacts, whatever.”

“Well,” I said, “depends on whether the picture gets made.”

We left the restaurant, headed to a parking lot across Hill Street.

Milo said, “He talked a good case but what I got out of it was ‘let’s stall.’ ”

“Why’d you call him?”

“I didn’t, I called Maria. She listened, hung up, two minutes later his secretary informs me where to go for lunch.”

I said, “He’s got to know he can’t forestall the inevitable.”

“Maybe, but he’ll sure try. So with Prema getting the bugs and the tools, what’s our theory?”

“Maybe competitive culling.”

“Meaning?”

“One female eliminates another’s offspring in order to maintain dominance and eliminate competition for the desirable male. Big cats and primates do it all the time, and where polygamy exists, humans do it, too.”

“Donny’s the baby’s daddy?”

“Movie star, attractive younger woman with a penchant for manipulation?”

“Yeah, that’s a recipe. So what, Donny was big-time naughty with Qeesha-Simone, whatever-but Prema wants to hold on to him anyway?”