Bad Love

for years. I understand illness and recovery.'

'What makes you think she knows anything that could help you?'

'At this point she's my last hope, Mr. Rosenblatt. The creep who's after me is picking up his pace. He murdered someone in Santa Barbara yesterday- de Bosch's daughter. She was pregnant. He cut her up, made it a point to go after the fetus.'

'Oh, God.'

'He's stalking me,' I said. 'To tell the truth, I'd be safer in New York than here. One way or the other, I may come out.'

Another exhalation. 'I doubt she can help you, but I'll ask.'

'I really apprecia-'

'Don't thank me yet. I'm not promising anything. And fax your credentials to me, so I can check them out. Include two verifiable references.'

'No problem,' I said. 'And if your mother won't speak to me, please ask her if she knows anything about the term 'bad love.' And did your father report anything unusual about the nineteen seventy-nine conference. You can also throw out some names: Lyle Gritz, Dorsey Hewitt, Silk, Merino.'

'Who're they?'

'Hewitt's a definite killer- murdered a therapist out here and was shot by the police. Gritz was his friend, may have been an accomplice. He may also be the one who killed your father. Silk and Merino are possible aliases.'

'Fake names?' he said. 'This is so bizarre.'

'One more thing,' I said. 'There's an LAPD detective working the case out here, named Milo Sturgis. I'm going to inform him of your father's murder and he'll be contacting the New York police and asking for records.'

'That won't help you,' he said. 'Believe me.'

25

Milo was no longer at Records, and Sally Grayson's number was picked up by a male detective who hadn't seen her all morning and had no idea who Milo was. I left a message, and wondered why Joshua Rosenblatt had been so sure the police couldn't help.

My offer to go to New York had been impulsive- probably an escape reflex- but maybe something would come out of my talk with Shirley Rosenblatt.

I'd leave as soon as possible; Robin would have to move out now.

I looked out at the pool, still as a slab of turquoise. A few leaves floated on top.

Who cleaned it? How often?

I didn't know much about this place.

Didn't know when I'd be able to leave it.

I got up, ready to drive into Beverly Hills to find a fax service. Just as I put my wallet in my pants pocket, the phone rang and my service operator said, 'A Mr. Bucklear wants to talk to you, doctor.'

'Put him on.'

Click.

'Doctor? Sherman Bucklear.'

'Hello.'

'Have you received my correspondence?'

'Yes, I have.'

'I haven't received any reply, doctor.'

'Didn't know there was anything to reply to.'

'I have reason to believe you have knowledge of the whereabouts-'

'I don't.'

'Can you prove that?'

'Do I have to?'

Pause. 'Doctor, we can go about this civilly or things can get complicated.'

'Complicate away, Sherman.'

'Now, wait a sec-'

I hung up. It felt great to be petty. Before I could put down the phone, the service patched in again with a call from New York.

'Dr. Delaware? Josh Rosenblatt, again. My mother's willing to talk to you but I've got to warn you, she can't handle much- just a few minutes at a time. I haven't discussed any details with her. All she knows is you knew my father and think he was murdered. She may have nothing to tell you. You may end up wasting your time.'

'I'll take the chance. When would you like me there?'

'What's today? Tuesday… Friday's bad and she needs her weekends for total bedrest- Thursday, I guess.'

'If I can catch a flight tonight, how about tomorrow?'

'Tomorrow… I guess so. But it'll have to be in the afternoon. Mornings she has her therapy, then she naps. Come to my office first-500 Fifth Avenue. Schechter, Mohl, and Trimmer. The thirty-third floor. Have you faxed me your credentials yet?'

'Just on my way out to do it.'

'Good, because that'll be a prerequisite. Send me something with a picture, too. If everything checks out, I'll see you, say, two-thirty.'

• • •

I found a quick-print place on CaNon Drive and faxed my documents to New York. Returning home, I postponed telling Robin and called an airline, booking myself a ten p.m. flight out of LAX. I asked the ticket agent about hotels.

She said, 'Midtown? I really don't know, sir, but you might try the Middleton. The executives from our company stay there, but it's expensive. Of course, everything in New York is unless you want a real dive.'

I thanked her and phoned the hotel. A very bored-sounding man took my credit card number, then grudgingly agreed to give me a single room for two hundred and twenty dollars a night. When he quoted the price, he suppressed a yawn.

• • •

I told Robin about Rosenblatt first.

She shook her head, took hold of my hand.

'Four years ago,' I said. 'Another gap filled in.'

'How'd he die?'

'The son didn't go into any details. But if the killer's being consistent, it was probably something to do with a car or a fall.'

'All those people. My God.' Pressing my hand up against her cheek, she closed her eyes. The smell of glue hung in the garage, along with coffee and dust and the sound of the dog's breathing.

I felt him nosing up against my leg. Looked down at his wide, flat face. He blinked a couple of times and licked my hand.

I told Robin of my plan to fly east and offered to have her come with me.

She said, 'There'd be no point to it, would there?'

'It's not going to be a vacation, just more digging up people's misery. I'm starting to feel like a ghoul.'

She looked off, at her tools and her molds.

'Only time I've been in New York was a family trip. We went all the way up to Niagara Falls, Mom and Dad squabbling the whole time.'

'I haven't been there, myself, since grad school.'

She nodded, touched my biceps, rubbed it. 'You have to go- things are getting uglier and uglier here. When are you leaving?'

'I was thinking tonight.'

'I'll take you to the airport. When will you be coming home, so I can pick you up?'