Working it through? Desensitization?
Or maybe he really
Maybe one day I’d call him up and ask for lessons.
It was nine-fifty by the time I got back to Sussex Knoll. A single police cruiser was still patrolling the streets. I must have passed inspection because no one stopped me from pulling up to the gates.
Over the talk box Don Ramp’s voice was dry and tired.
“No, nothing,” he said. “Come on up.”
The gates yawned. I sped through. More outdoor bulbs had been switched on, creating a false daylight, bright and cold.
No other cars in front of the house. The Chaucer doors were open. Ramp stood between them in his shirtsleeves.
“Not a damned thing,” he said, after I’d climbed the steps. “What’d the doctors say?”
“Nothing significant.” I told him about Ursula’s call regarding Melvin Findlay.
His face fell.
I said, “Have you heard anything more from Chickering?”
“He called about half an hour ago. Nothing to report, she’s probably fine, not to worry- it’s not
He threw up his hands, let them fall limply. “The victim. I don’t even want to think of her as that, but…”
He closed the doors. The entry hall was lit, but beyond it the house was in darkness.
He headed for a light switch on the other side of the entry, making scuffing sounds as he crossed the marble.
I said, “Did your wife ever say why McCloskey did it?”
He stopped, half-turned. “Why do you ask?”
“In terms of understanding her- how she dealt with the assault.”
“Dealt with it in what way?”
“Victims of crime often go on fact-finding missions- wanting to know about the criminal, his motives. What turned them into victims. In order to try to make some sense out of it and protect themselves from future victimizations. Did your wife ever do that? Because no one seems to know what McCloskey’s motive was.”
“No, she didn’t.” He resumed walking. “At least not as far as I know. And she had no idea why he did it. Frankly, we don’t talk much about it- I’m part of her present, not her past. But she did tell me that the bastard refused to say- the police couldn’t get it out of him. He was a drinker and a drug-fiend, but that doesn’t explain it, does it?”
“What kind of drugs did he use?”
He reached the switch, flicked, illuminated the huge front room in which Gina Ramp and I had waited yesterday. Yesterday seemed like ancient history. A swan-necked decanter filled with something amber and very clear sat alongside several old-fashioned glasses on a portable rosewood bar. He held out a glass to me. I shook my head. He poured a finger for himself, hesitated, doubled it, then stoppered the decanter and sipped.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Drugs were never my thing. This”- raising the glass-“and beer is about as daring as I get. I never knew him very well- just a bit from the studios. He was a hanger-on. Hung around Gina like a little leech. A nothing. Hollywood’s full of them. No talent of his own, so he got girls to pose for pictures.”
He walked farther into the room, stepped on carpeting that dampened his footsteps and restored the house to silence.
I followed him. “Is Melissa back yet?”
He nodded. “Up in her room. She went straight up, looked pretty beat.”
“Noel still with her?”
“No, Noel’s back at the Tankard- my restaurant. He works for me, parking cars, busing, some waiting. Good kid, real up-from-the-bootstraps story- he’s got a good future. Melissa’s too much for him, but I guess he’ll have to learn that for himself.”
“Too much in what way?”
“Too smart, too good-looking, too feisty. He’s madly in love with her and she walks all over him- not out of cruelty or snobbery. It’s just her style. She just forges straight ahead, not thinking.”
As if trying to compensate for the criticism, he said, “That’s one thing she isn’t- a snob. Despite all this.” Waving his free hand around the room. “Christ, can you imagine growing up here? I grew up in Lynwood when it was still mostly white. My dad was an independent truck driver with a bad temper. Meaning there were plenty of times nobody hired him. We always had enough to eat, but that was about it. I didn’t like having to scrounge, but I know now that it made me into a better person- not that Melissa’s not a good person. Basically she’s a real good kid. Only she’s used to having her way, just plows ahead when she wants something, regardless of what anyone else wants. Gina’s… situation made her grow up fast. Actually it’s kind of amazing she developed as well as she did.”
He sat down heavily on an overstuffed couch. “Guess I don’t need to tell you about kids- I’m just going on because frankly I’m pretty rattled by all this. Where the hell could she be? What about this detective- you reach him yet?”
“Not yet. Let me try again.”
He sprang up and brought back a cellular phone.
I dialed Milo’s home, got the recorded message, then heard it break.
“Hello?”
“Rick? This is Alex. Is Milo there?”
“Hi, Alex. Sure. We just got in- saw a bad movie. Hold on.”
Two seconds, then: “Yeah?”
“Ready to start early?”
“On what?”
“Private-eyeing?”
“It can’t wait till morning?”
“Something’s come up.” I looked over at Ramp. Staring at me, haggard. Choosing my words carefully, I recounted what had happened, including McCloskey’s questioning and release, and the news of Melvin Findlay’s death in prison. Expecting Milo to comment on either or both. Instead, he said, “She take any clothes with her?”
“Melissa says no.”
“How can Melissa be sure?”
“She says she knows the contents of her mother’s closet, could tell if anything was missing.”
Ramp looked at me sharply.
Milo said, “Even a skimpy little negligee?”
“I don’t think it was anything like that, Milo.”
“Why not?”
I shot a glance over at Ramp. Still staring, his drink untouched. “It doesn’t fit.”
“Ah. Hubby at close proximity?”
“Correct.”
“Okay, let’s switch to another lane. What have the local cops done, other than drive around?”
“That’s it as far as I know. No one’s too impressed with their level of competence.”
“They’re not known as stone geniuses out there, but what else should they be doing? Going door to door and antagonizing the trillionaires? Lady staying out late isn’t Judge Crater. It’s only been a few hours. And with the kind of car she’s driving, someone might actually see it. They put out bulletins- for what they’re worth?”
“The police chief said they did.”
“You hobnobbing with police chiefs now?”
