Private Eyes

“So they can avoid ruffling San Labrador feathers and still say they did the job.”

“Chickering have anything new to say about McCloskey?”

He shook his head.

“How did Ramp react to hearing about it?”

“Stared at Chickering, then took a big gulp of Turkey.”

“No surprise at McCloskey being dead?”

“Maybe a glimmer- it’s hard to tell. He’s not registering much of anything. Not exactly your stalwart coper.”

“Unless it’s an act.”

Milo shrugged, picked up the coffee cup, looked at it, put it down. “Don,” he called across the room, “anything I can do for you?”

Nothing from the booth, then a long, slow shake of Ramp’s head.

“So,” said Milo, switching back to a soft tone, “have a chance to go to West Hollywood?”

“Yup- let’s talk outside.”

The two of us went out to the parking lot.

I said, “Is your surveillance guy anywhere around?”

“Trade secret,” he said, smiling. Then: “At this moment, no, but it wouldn’t make a difference, believe me.”

I told him what I’d learned about Kathy Moriarty and Eileen Wagner.

“Okay,” he said, “your Gabney theory’s looking better. They probably scammed in Boston, got found out, and came west to scam some more.”

“It goes beyond that,” I said. “Eileen Wagner was the one who referred me to Gina. A few years later, she’s dead in Boston, the Gabneys leave Boston, and shortly after, they’re treating Gina.”

“Anything in Moriarty’s clipping implying Wagner’s death wasn’t suicide?”

I handed him the scrap.

He read and said, “Doesn’t sound as if anyone was going to look into it. And if it developed into something fishy, wouldn’t Moriarty have kept those clippings in her book?”

“Guess so,” I said. “But there’s got to be some kind of connection- something Moriarty thought she had. Wagner was studying psych at Harvard when the Gabneys were still there. She probably came into some kind of contact with them. Kathy Moriarty had an interest in all three of them. And all three knew Gina.”

“When you met Wagner did anything about her strike you as odd?”

“No,” I said. “Not that I analyzed her- it was a ten-minute conversation eleven years ago.”

“So you have no reason to question her ethics?”

“None at all. Why?”

“Just wondering,” he said. “If she was ethical, she wouldn’t have talked to anyone about Gina specifically, would she? Even to another doctor.”

“That’s true.”

“So how could the Gabneys have known about Gina from her?”

“Maybe they didn’t. Specifically. But after learning the Gabneys specialized in treating phobics, maybe Wagner talked about Gina’s case in general terms. Medical conference- that wouldn’t have been unethical.”

“Rich phobic,” said Milo.

“Living like a princess in a castle,” I said. “Wagner used those words. She’d been impressed by Gina’s wealth. She could have talked about it to one or both of the Gabneys. And when the time came for the Gabneys to seek greener pastures, they remembered what she’d said and headed for San Labrador. And hooked up with Gina because Melissa called.”

“Coincidence?”

“It’s a real small town, Milo. But I still don’t see why Kathy Moriarty had the clipping of Wagner’s suicide in her scrapbook.”

“Maybe Wagner was one of Moriarty’s sources. About the Gabneys’ scam.”

“And maybe Wagner died because of that.”

“Whoa, that’s a big leap,” he said. “But tell you what, when I get back, we can pursue it. Get Suzy to pursue it- what a gal. If the Gabneys have been bleeding Gina’s estate, she’d be the one to find out. The Cassatt could be a good place to start. If it wasn’t legally transferred, she’ll be on them like a hound on hemoglobin.”

“When you get back from where?” I said.

“Sacramento. Suzy’s assigned me a trip up there. Seems Attorney Douse has been in some kind of trouble with the Bar recently but they won’t talk about it over the phone, and even in person they’re demanding proper documentation of need-to-know. I’m booked out of Burbank at six-ten. She’s gonna have the papers faxed to me up there tomorrow morning. I’m scheduled to speak to some bankers at one, do my thing at the Bar at three-thirty. After that, she assures me there’ll be other items on the agenda.”

“Tight schedule.”

“The lady doesn’t suffer slackers lightly. Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said. “Was Bethel listening when Chickering told Ramp about McCloskey?”

“She was in the room, pouring coffee. Why?”

I told him about the waitress’s hurried departure. “It’s possible it was just sensory overload, Milo. I spoke to Noel a moment later and he said she’s been under stress, worried about her job. Maybe hearing about another death was just too much to handle. But I think she was reacting specifically to the fact that it was McCloskey who was dead. Because I think McCloskey was Noel’s father.”

The look of surprise on his face was gratifying. I felt like a kid who’d finally bested Daddy at chess.

“Talk about your leaps,” he said. “Where does that come from?”

“My quivering antennae. I finally figured it out. It had nothing to do with Noel’s behavior- it’s the way he looks. I saw it just a few minutes ago. He was upset about his mother, lowered his face, and gave this defeated look that was a carbon copy of the expression on McCloskey’s face in his arrest photo. The resemblance, once you notice it, is really striking. Noel’s short, dark, handsome- almost pretty. McCloskey used to have that same type of good looks.”

“Used to,” said Milo.

“Exactly. Someone who hadn’t known him in the old days would never have spotted it.”

“The old days,” he said, and walked back inside the restaurant.

***

“C’mon, Don.” Milo propped a finger under Ramp’s chin.

Ramp gazed back with cloudy eyes.

“Okay,” said Milo, “I’ve been there, Don. So I know getting the words out is like passing a kidney stone. Don’t talk- just blink. Once for yes, twice for no. Is Noel Drucker McCloskey’s kid or not?”

Nothing. Then dry lips formed the word yes, and a sibilant whisper followed.

“Does Noel know?” I said.

Ramp shook his head and lowered it to the table. Boils had broken out on the back of his neck and he smelled like the bear cage at the zoo.

Milo said, “Noel and Joel. Bethel have a flair for light verse or something?”

Ramp looked up. His facial skin had the texture and color of old custard, and his mustache was clogged with skin flakes.

He said, “Noel because… she couldn’t.” Shaking his head and starting to droop again.

Milo propped him up. “She couldn’t what, Don?”

Ramp stared at him, wet-eyed. “She can’t… She knew Joel… the way the word… looked… so Noel… three letters the same… remember.”

He eyed the bourbon bottle, sighed, closed his eyes.

I said, “She couldn’t read? She named him Noel because it looked like Joel and she wanted something she could