Survival Of The Fittest

Turning pages, he said, “Right in Professor Eustace's article. One of the papers he cites as Loomis-funded nonsense was written by Lehmann ten years ago in a journal called Biogenics and Culture.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither has the Library of Congress. Here's Eustace's summary.”

I read. “Intelligence, crime, and weather?”

“To me it's crazy stuff, Alex. Lehmann's main point is people from hot climates are inherently stupider and more “dissolute' than those from Nordic regions because they have less need to build shelters from harsh weather, don't develop a sophisticated culture. In cold-weather regions, only smart and creative people are able to cope and propagate.”

“Survival of the fittest,” I said.

“Lehmann also claims that hot weather creates ill temper that leads to violence. Thus the expression hot blood.”

He flexed the fingers of his good hand.

“Eustace uncovers this,” said Milo, “and a few months later his car goes off the road.”

“Something else about Lehmann,” I said. “His degree's from a place called New Dominion University. That's one of the Loomis diploma mills, isn't it?”

“Yes,” said Daniel.

“And his clinical training was at the Pathfinder Foundation. The same name as the Meta newsletter that carried Sanger's article. Lehmann told me he'd had a career in business before switching to psychology. Most of the books in his office were on management, not clinical psych. He even recited a business motto-“It's not enough that I succeed. You have to fail.' The guy's a Loomis put-up and he's wangled himself a position as a police consultant.”

Milo stopped pacing but kept smoking.

“Not a banner day for gendarmes,” he said. “Speaking of which, Daniel, what does Carmeli have against the department?”

“What do you mean?”

Milo came closer and stood over him. “This is not the time to be coy, friend. Your boss made it clear there's no love lost between him and LAPD. Did he have a run-in with someone? The parade? Something else?”

Daniel rubbed his eyes, removed his windbreaker. The black plastic gun sat in the mesh holster. “It was related to the parade. A security briefing at the consulate, run by Zev for LAPD and our people. Setting up perimeters, crowd control, security, both groups had agreed to share any information about terrorist threats, maintain full communication. Zev had been working overtime, hadn't seen his family much, so he decided to have Liora and the children over to the consulate. That day they were waiting out in the hallway for him to take the family to lunch. Zev ran overtime and as they waited, one of the LAPD officers came over to Liora and Irit- Oded was down the hall playing with a toy car- and sat down next to them. At first he was friendly, trying to talk to Irit, then he realized she was deaf and he concentrated on Liora. Asking her about Israel, Tel Aviv, telling her he'd traveled all over the world.”

“Got to be Baker,” said Milo.

“I'm sure you're right,” said Daniel, very grim. “Liora told Zev the man made her feel uncomfortable. Too friendly, just sitting there when he should have been in the briefing. But she said nothing. That's Liora's style. Then, somehow, the officer turned it into something inappropriate. Sexually.”

“He came on to her?”

“Not explicitly, Milo. But Liora said the connotation was clear. At that point, she got up and walked away. Later, she told Zev and he went- how do you say- ballistic. Complained to the mayor and was told the officer would be removed from parade detail and disciplined.”

“Moved downtown. But he wasn't demoted,” I said. “Still, maybe that's why for all his alleged brainpower he's still a sergeant.”

“Baker,” said Milo, punching his fist. “That son of a whore- so he knew Irit by sight. Knew she was deaf.”

Daniel looked pained. “But to kill someone- a child- over that-”

“Think of it as a tracer bullet,” said Milo. “After the Ortiz boy's murder went off perfectly, Baker and the other New Utopia assholes decided someone else was gonna die, it didn't really matter who, as long as it was someone they judged to be a life not worth living. Alex told me before that despite all the eugenics bullshit, this boils down to killing for fun. What greater fun for Baker than revenge? Mrs. C. rejects him, Mr. C. gets him disciplined, and their daughter just happens to be handicapped. It must have seemed like karma to the bastard. When I knew him, he was into Eastern religions, talked a lot about karma.”

Daniel slumped, stared past us, into the kitchen.

“What?” said Milo.

“It's… disgusting. All of it's disgusting.”

“Each murder has a connection to someone in the group,” I said. “Ponsico and Zena, Raymond and Tenney, Irit and Baker. Nolan Dahl helped with Irit- Baker training him in all sorts of things. And I'll bet Latvinia was one of Dahl's playmates. Maybe Baker's, too. To them, a dark-skinned girl with handicaps was something to be used and thrown away. Baker could have killed her for fun, or because she knew about him and Nolan. Or both. Probably both.”

“And Melvin Myers?” said Daniel.

“He got on the wrong side of someone in the group,” I said. “Someone downtown. Baker or Lehmann?”

Looking into the backpack, Daniel removed a handful of papers and took out a color brochure. I examined it with him.

“The Central City Skills Center: For Fifteen Years, a Citadel of Hope.” The photos showed blind people walking with guide dogs and operating computers, smiling amputees trying on prosthetic limbs.

The course list: sewing, crafts, mechanical assembly. A small-print list of funding sources was followed by a smaller-print professional advisory board. Doctors, lawyers, politicians…

Alphabetized.

Near the middle: Roone Lehmann, Ph.D., psychological consultant.

“Working with the handicapped,” I said. “Must have given him a laugh. But maybe he got a bigger laugh playing financial games with the school. Taking candy from blind babies.”

Milo hurried over and read the roster. “Myers discovers Lehmann ripping off the school and threatens to write an exposE. Maybe he tells Lehmann, even blackmails him, because one thing Myers doesn't lack is gall. Lehmann agrees to pay him off, calls a meet in that alley and someone- probably Baker- finishes Myers off.”

He took the brochure from Daniel.

“The murders,” said the Israeli, “are their way of mixing business with pleasure.”

“The only problem is,” Milo told him, “all we've got is theory. Because the only thing close to evidence- the Polaroids of Nolan Dahl's play-dates- were destroyed. Even if we find Tenney's van in Zena's garage, I have nothing that justifies a warrant.”

“What would it take,” I said, “to move on any of them?”

“A full confession would be peachy, but I'll settle for an incriminating remark. Anything that lets us focus on one of them- a weak link.”

“That might be Zena. She spouts the eugenics line but it seems like role-playing. I'm not saying she's harmless. But so far, she's been less interested in politics than in partying. I have a date with her tonight at ten. Maybe I can get her to open up more about NU. Maybe eventually she can be made to see it's in her best interests to give up the others.”

Milo frowned. “Don't know about the date, Alex. Tenney did make eye contact with you a couple of times and even though you don't think Baker recognized you, you're not sure.”

“Tenney doesn't know me,” I said, “so he's got no reason to suspect me of anything. He's probably just an antisocial guy. What would he tell Baker? Zena's got a new boyfriend? And if I break the date wouldn't that make Zena wonder?”

“Old Andy's a heartbreaker. He changed his mind.”

“Then what?” I said. “Where do you go from there?”