The Murder Book

'Nothing to forgive,' I said. 'You gave me good advice, I screwed up.'

'You made a mistake, son. Mistakes can be remedied.'

'Some.'

'Robin's a flexible woman.'

He'd met Robin twice. I said, 'Is that your natural optimism speaking?'

'No, it's an old man's intuition. Alex, I've made my share of mistakes, but after a few years one does get a sense for people. I'd hate to see you misled.'

'About Robin?'

'About anything,' he said. 'Another reason I'm calling is that I'm planning to travel. Perhaps for a while. Cambodia, Vietnam, some places I've been to, others I haven't.'

'Sounds great, Bert.'

'I didn't want you to try to reach me and not find me here.'

'I appreciate that.' Had I come across that needy?

'That sounds presumptuous, doesn't it?' he said. 'To think you'd call. But… just in case.'

'I appreciate your telling me, Bert.'

'Yes… well, then, good luck.'

'When are you leaving?' I said.

'Soon. As soon as final arrangements are complete.'

'Bon voyage,' I said. 'When you get back, give a call. I'd love to hear about the trip.'

'Yes… may I offer one bit of advice, son?'

Please don't. 'Sure.'

'Try to season each day with a new perspective.'

'Okay,' I said.

'Bye, now, Alex.'

I placed the receiver back in its cradle. What had that been about? The more I thought about the conversation, the more it sounded like good-bye.

Bert going somewhere… he'd sounded sad. Those comments he'd made about senility. All the apologies.

Bert was a first-rate therapist, wise enough to know I hadn't wanted advice. But he offered a parting shot, anyway.

Try to season each day with a fresh perspective. Last words from an old friend facing deterioration? Taking a trip… a final journey?

There I was again, off on some worst-case tangent.

Keep it simple: The old man had always traveled, loved to travel. No reason to think his destination was anywhere but Southeast Asia…

The phone rang again. I switched it to speaker and Milo 's voice, distant and flecked with static, filled the kitchen. 'Any new insights?'

'How about an actual fact?' I said. 'Nicholas Hansen couldn't have been involved in Janie's murder. Early in June he was finishing up his last year at Columbia. After he graduated, he went to Amsterdam and spent the summer at a life-drawing course at the Rijksmuseum.'

'That assumes he didn't come home for the weekend.'

' New York to L.A. for the weekend?'

'These were rich kids,' he said.

'Anything's possible, but I just don't see it. Hansen's different from the other King's Men. His life took a whole different turn, and unless you can uncover some present-day dealings with Coury and the Cossacks and Brad Larner, my bet is he distanced himself from the group and maintained that distance.'

'So he's no use to us.'

'On the contrary. He might be able to provide insights.'

'We just drop in and say we want to chat about his old pals the sex-killers?'

'Any other promising leads at the moment?' I said.

He didn't answer.

I said, 'So what'd you do today?'

'Nosed around about Coury, Junior. His daddy was the nasty piece of work the papers made him out to be. Used gang-bangers to collect the rent. And looks like Junior's continued the relationship. The dubious citizens working his parking lots have that homeboy thing going on.'

'Funny about that.' I told him about my visit to the garage.

'Chopping the Seville as a cover story?' he said. 'Did it ever occur to you Coury didn't want to do the job 'cause he wasn't buying your story? Jesus, Alex-'

'Why wouldn't he buy it?' I said.

'Because maybe someone in the enemy camp knows we've been snooping around the Ingalls case. You got the goddamned murder book in the first place because someone knew we worked together. Alex, that was goddamned stupid.'

'Coury wasn't suspicious, just apathetic,' I said, with more confidence than I felt. 'My take is that he doesn't need the money.'

'Was he doing other chop jobs?'

'Yes,' I admitted.

'Meaning he works, but he just didn't want to work with you. Alex, no more improvisation.'

'Fine,' I said. 'Gang connections would have given Coury ready personnel for odd jobs. Like taking care of Luke Chapman, and possibly Willie Burns and Caroline Cossack. Maybe Lester Poulsenn, too. I located him- safely, all computer work- and guess what, he died less than two weeks after Caroline left Achievement House. Shot in the head in a house in Watts, then the house was burned down. He'd just been transferred from IA to Metro, meaning maybe he was working on Janie's case, right?'

'Burned to death,' he said. His voice was tight. 'What was he doing in Watts?'

'The paper didn't say. Sacramento paper, by the way. A detective got murdered in L.A. but the L.A. papers didn't print a word about it.'

'The article say where in Watts?'

I read off the address.

No answer.

'You still there?'

'Yeah… okay, meet me in Beverly Hills in an hour. Time for art appreciation.'

CHAPTER 32

Nicholas Hansen's green BMW sat in the cobbled driveway of the house on North Roxbury Drive. The street was lined with struggling elms. A few trees had given up, and their black branches cast ragged shadows on the sparkling sidewalks. The street was quiet but for a Beverly Hills symphony: teams of gardeners pampering the greenery of mansions up the block.

Milo was parked in a new rental car- a gray Oldsmobile sedan- six houses north of Hansen's vanilla hacienda. By the time I'd switched off the engine he was at my window.

'New wheels,' I said.

'Variety's the spice.' His face was pallid and sweaty.

'Something else happen to make you switch?'

'Contacting Hansen is a risk and maybe not a smart one. If he's still in touch with the others, everything hits the fan. If he's not, there may be no real payoff.'

'But you're going ahead, anyway.'

He yanked out a handkerchief and sopped moisture from his brow. 'The alternative is doing nothing. And who says I'm smart?'