Private Eyes

Todd? Maybe he seduced her to get closer to the two million. In any event, he’s someone she would have picked up if his car broke down near the house and she saw him thumbing. And now he and Ramp are both on the move.”

“Ramp’s still around. I drove by his restaurant before I stopped by the house. His Mercedes was in the lot and I peeked my head in. He was out cold- stinking drunk, Bethel clucking over him like a mama hen. I left and parked across the street, observed the place for a while. No sign of Nyquist.”

“One thing, Milo. If Ramp’s planning an escape, why would he tell me and telegraph it?”

“No,” he said. “That wasn’t telegraphing- that was covering. Giving himself a plausible motive for leaving: overwhelmed with grief, the poor sucker left with nothing. So no one’ll suspect Tahiti with Todd. Not that anyone’s likely to suspect him, anyway. Officially, no crime’s been committed. And as a one- man shop, I’m spread too thin to check him out while looking for Nyquist and doing the number Melissa wants me to do on Anger and Douse. I can’t justify telling her Ramp’s a higher priority than Anger and Douse, because I’ve got nothing to back me up, and those two are already moving against her. Also, it would most likely freak her out even further, and I don’t see that being constructive right now, do you?”

“No.”

He thought for a while. “What I’m gonna do is make a call. Someone I know who happens to have a real private-eye’s license but doesn’t use it much. Not too brilliant or creative. But patient. He can keep an eye on Big Don while I hit the financial trail.”

“What about Nyquist?”

“Nyquist is unlikely to make a move without Ramp.”

The food came. Milo cut, chewed, said, “They sure know how to do their tri-G’s.”

We ate for a few minutes.

“My turn,” I said.

“One sec,” he said. “Got a couple more tidbits- related to Gina’s first husband, Dickinson. Remember Anger’s crack about off-the-rack suits? Turns out the reason Dickinson couldn’t wear one is he was a dwarf.”

“I know. I found a picture of him.”

Surprise brightened his eyes. “Where?”

“At the house. Up in the third-floor attic.”

“Little freelance archaeology? Good for you,” he said. “I couldn’t find any pictures of him at all. What’d he look like?”

I described Arthur Dickinson and Gina as a mummy bride.

“Weird,” he said. “First hubby an old gnome, second one full-sized but interested in boys. All in all, I’d say the lady wasn’t oriented toward the physical.”

“Agoraphobia,” I said. “The classical Freudian explanation says it’s a symptom of sexual repression.”

“You buy that?”

“Not in all cases, but maybe this one. It supports my theory of Gina’s marrying Ramp because of a need for friendship. The fact that they used to know each other helped their rapport along- once Melissa put them in touch with each other. Old friends reattaching, mutual needs- happens all the time.”

“I’ve got more,” he said, “on Arthur. Seems, in addition to making a fortune with the strut, he also dabbled in the movies. From the financial end. And some of the deals he did were with Apex Studios. So far I haven’t been able to connect him to any film Gina or Ramp or any of the other pretty faces worked on, or find proof that he knew them prior to McCloskey’s trial. But I’d say it’s a decent possibility.”

“The old Chief Justice Rag,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Jim Douse’s uncle was Chief Justice Douse.”

“Hammerin’ Harmon?” said Milo. “Yeah, I remember Anger saying that. So what?”

“Didn’t he sit on the court when McCloskey came to trial?”

He thought. “When was that-’69? No, Harmon was gone by then. The soft-hearted guys were already taking over. When Harmon ran things, the apple-green room was real busy.”

“Even so,” I said, “as chief justice emeritus, he’d have plenty of residual clout. And Arthur Dickinson was a client of his firm. What if Jacob Dutchy’s being chosen for the McCloskey jury wasn’t coincidence?”

“What if,” he said, then repeated it. “You do love your conspiracies, lad.”

“Life’s robbed me of my innocence.”

He smiled and cut more steak. “So what does any of it have to do with our lady in the lake?”

“Maybe nothing. But why don’t you ask McCloskey? Given what we know, maybe you can open him up. Maybe he needs opening up. Despite all our theories about complex financial motives, maybe what happened to Gina just boils down to simple revenge. McCloskey let his anger stew for nineteen years, finally reverted to type and paid someone to get her.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I do believe the guy’s pretty much of a zero, mentally. And from what I’ve been able to find out, he has no known associates- just hangs out at the mission and plays penitent.”

“Suppose the operative word is plays. Even bad actors can improve over time.”

“True. Okay, yeah, I’ll give him another chance at confession. Tonight. Can’t do the financial thing anyway till the banks open.”

Joyce came over to see how we were doing. Our compliments made her glow. At least someone’s day had been made. She brought us coffee and dessert on the house. Milo forked a piece of double chocolate cake and said, “Great. Fabulous. Best I ever had,” and she turned incandescent.

When she finally left us, he said, “Okay, your turn.”

I told him the value of the Cassatt.

“Two-fifty,” he said. “Hell of a transference- that what you guys call it?”

I nodded. “It smells bad. And I’m probably not the only one who suspects the Gabneys of something fishy.”

I recounted what I’d learned about Kathy Moriarty.

“A reporter, huh?”

“An investigative reporter. According to her sister, she really loved conspiracies, spent her life chasing them down. And she’s from New England- worked in Boston, the Gabneys’ old stamping grounds. Which leads me to suspect she learned about something they did back there and came to L.A. to check it out. Passed herself off as an agoraphobic and joined the group in order to spy and collect dirt.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he said, “but they’re ultra high-priced. Who paid Moriarty’s therapy bills?”

“Her sister said Kathy was always hitting her up for money.”

“That kind of money?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she had someone behind her, a newspaper or a publisher- she’s written a book. Meanwhile, she hasn’t been heard from in over a month. That makes two out of four group members gone. Though in Kathy’s case, the sister says that’s typical. But one thing’s for certain- she was no agoraphobic. She had to be spying on the Gabneys.”

“What you’re setting up,” he said, “is financial scam number two. The Gabneys looting Gina, just like Anger and the lawyer.”

“Three, if you include Ramp and Nyquist.”

“Step right up,” he said. “Jab a needle into the rich lady’s vein.”

“Forty million dollars,” I said, “equals pretty big veins. Even the two million would have been enough to get the gears turning. I especially like the Gabneys, because of the Kathy Moriarty angle. Their move from Boston to L.A.- maybe it was out of necessity, avoiding a scandal.”

“Harvard avoiding a scandal.”

I nodded. “Even more reason to cover it up. But Kathy Moriarty picked up the trail somehow and decided to follow it.”

Milo ate some more cake, licked his lips, said, “From what you told me, the Gabneys were pretty well regarded professionally.”

“Very well regarded. Leo Gabney would probably be on any psychologist’s list of the top ten living behavioral experts. And as a Ph.D.-M.D., Ursula could write her own ticket. But even a successful therapist’s earning power is limited. You’re selling time, and there are just so many billable hours. Even at what they charge, it would take a hell