CHAPTER
28
Lemuel Eccles Jr., aka “Lee,” was thirty-eight and rock-jawed, with meaty shoulders, blue eyes that tended to wander, and longish light brown hair lightened to blond at the tips.
Your basic aging surfer. This one sported a manicure, a two-thousand-dollar charcoal chalk-stripe suit, a purple Hermes tie, a canary-and-violet pocket square.
His card said he was an attorney specializing in real estate.
Milo said, “Leases and mortgages?”
Eccles said, “Used to be, now it’s evictions and foreclosures. Basically I’m a vulture.” His smile was practiced and pretty, but lacked staying power. We’d been in the interview room for less than a minute. Eccles had spent most of that time sneaking glances at Petra Connor.
Easy to see why, especially given the competition. Her lips had moistened since yesterday, her eyes were clear, her skin tone had warmed. She wore a simple gold chain and diamond-chip ear-studs. The drape of her black pantsuit was even better than that of Lee Eccles’s suit.
The first few times she caught Eccles checking her out, she pretended not to notice. Finally, she smiled at him and edged closer.
She’s in a committed relationship with a former detective named Eric Stahl, but you use what you have.
Milo sniffed the chemistry early on and let her take the interview.
“Lee,” she said, as if savoring the word, “we’re so sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Eccles loosened a jacket button. “I guess I shouldn’t be totally surprised because he led what you guys would call a high-risk life. But still…”
“You can never be prepared for something like this, Lee.”
Eccles’s eyes filmed a bit. A tissue box sat nearby. Petra didn’t offer it. No sense highlighting vulnerability.
Eccles used his pocket square to swipe quickly, took the time to refold and put the handkerchief back with four points showing. “What exactly happened?”
Petra said, “Your dad was murdered and we’re determined to catch the bad guy. Anything you can tell us will be a big help.”
“The first thing you need to know,” said Eccles, “is he was crazy. I mean that literally. Paranoid schizophrenic, he was diagnosed years ago, not long after I was born. He and my mom divorced when I was four and I rarely saw him. After I got out of law school, he found me somehow and dropped in at my office. I was foolish enough to bring him home. It didn’t take long for things to get hairy. Right from the beginning he scared Tracy-my wife. He ended up scaring me, too.”
“In what way, Lee?”
“He wasn’t actually violent but the threat of violence always seemed to hover around him and in a sense that was even worse. The look in his eyes, the way he’d suddenly go silent in the midst of a conversation. Then one time, we let him sleep over and he punched holes in the wall. Woke us up in the middle of the night, we were terrified. When I went in to see what was wrong, he was sitting on the floor, huddled in a corner, claimed he’d fended off an intruder. But the alarm was still on, no one had gotten in. I finally calmed him down and left. Later, I heard him crying in bed.”
“What an ordeal,” said Petra.
“I learned that it kicked in when he drank. Problem is, that was often. Eventually, Tracy and I agreed: No more visits, we really needed to cut him off. The next time he showed up we told him and he got pissed off and cussed us out. I offered to rent him a motel for as long as he needed and we could still see each other during the day. That pissed him off even more, he stormed off. A few weeks later he showed up and tried to force himself inside the house-pushed the door as I held it. That’s when I decided to have him committed. I tried three separate times. For his sake as much as for ours, he needed to be cared for in a supervised setting, not drift around on the street. Each time I showed up in court, some do-gooder Legal Aid type was there to block me. Some asshole who’d never met him but claimed to be defending his rights. Apparently they scan the dockets and even when someone’s only requesting a seventy-two-hour hold, they come to make trouble.”
“Oh, man,” said Petra.
Lee Eccles said, “I’m talking publicly funded wienies who know all the angles and brain-dead judges they probably take out to lunch. I’m an attorney and I still couldn’t get it done. After the third time, I talked to a buddy who does health law and he said don’t waste your time and money, until he actually assaults-which means drawing blood-or makes a suicide attempt, it’s not going to happen. Even then, all they’re going to do is warehouse him for a couple of days and turn him loose.”
“Not enough imminent danger,” said Petra.
“What a crock. The mere fact he was living on the street put him in imminent danger. Obviously.” His strong jaw shifted to the side. Settled back in place. “You know what I’d like to do? Haul one of those wienies over to the morgue and show them what their meddling accomplished.”
He tugged at his tie knot. “Do you have any idea who did this to him?”
Him. He. No Dad, Pops, Father, the Old Man.
“Unfortunately not yet, Lee. Do you?”
“I wish. Where was he killed?”
“In an alley near Hollywood and Western.”
“Oh, Jesus,” said Eccles. “That’s right where I dropped him off when I bailed him out of jail.”
“When was that, Lee?”
“About a month ago, he’d gotten busted for pushing someone while panhandling. He used his call to beg me to get him out. I figured he’d get out anyway, be pissed if I didn’t help him so I paid the bail and picked him up and dropped him where he wanted to be dropped. Where he instructed me to drop him. Like I’m his limo driver. So that’s where it happened?”
Petra said, “Did you observe where he went after you dropped him off?”
“No, I just booked out of there as fast as I could.”
“Did you notice him making any contact with someone?”
“No. But something just occurred to me, it’s probably psychotic delusion but I might as well tell you. On the ride from the jail he got on one of his rants about some guy hassling him, he was scared. Then he got all paranoid with me, I was a goddamn lawyer, lawyers ran the system, why couldn’t I help him? I said if he was scared I could find him somewhere to stay. He went ballistic, accused me of wanting to lock him up in some ‘loony bin’ and throw away the key, I was like all lawyers, a scumbag. I said, ‘You’re the one complaining someone’s after you, I’m just trying to help.’ That made him clam up, ignore me totally. When I reached where he wanted, he said, ‘Stop here,’ and he got out, didn’t bother to look back.”
Petra said, “Who’d he say was he scared of?”
“Trust me, it was delusional. An old delusion.”
“What do you mean?”
“This guy he complained about didn’t exist. He’s been bitching about it my whole life. According to my mother since he actually was locked up in a mental hospital.”
“Where’s that?” said Petra.
“A place that no longer exists,” said Lee Eccles. “Ventura State Hospital, he got committed for an indefinite term but was out in pretty short time according to my mother. Back then it was easier to commit someone, a judge put him in after he busted some guy’s jaw in a bar, got on the stand and claimed the guy was implanting radio speakers in his head.”
“How long ago was this, Lee?”
“Let’s see, I was thirteen… no, fourteen, I was playing baseball, which means I was in high school. So twenty-three years ago. I remember the baseball part because I was always worried he’d show up at a game and embarrass me.”
“So what’s the old delusion?”
