the kids.”
“No, ma’am. It was just a question that came to mind.”
“There was never any danger,” she said. “Rand was a good person.”
Same claim he’d made. Neither Milo nor I answered.
Cherish Daney said, “I don’t expect you to believe this, but eight years transformed him.”
“To?”
“A good person, Lieutenant. He wasn’t going to be with us long term, anyway. Just until he found a job and a place to stay. My husband had made inquiries with some nonprofits, figuring maybe Rand could work at a thrift shop, or do some landscaping work. Then Rand took the initiative and came up with the idea of construction. That’s where he went Saturday.”
“Any idea how he ended up in Bel Air?”
She shook her head. “He’d have no reason to be there. The only thing I can think of is he got lost and someone picked him up. Rand could be very trusting.”
“He never phoned you?”
“He didn’t have a phone,” she said.
He’d called me from a pay booth.
Milo said, “How close is the construction site?”
“Up a few blocks on Vanowen.”
“Not very far, in terms of getting lost.”
“Lieutenant, Rand spent his entire adolescence in prison. When he got out he was extremely disoriented. His world was a buzz of confusion.”
“William James,” I said.
“Pardon?”
“Pioneer of psychology. He called childhood a blooming, buzzing confusion.”
“I probably learned that,” said Cherish. “I took psychology in seminary.”
Milo said, “So you kept in regular contact with Rand while he was in custody.”
“We did,” she said. “Right after Troy died, we initiated contact.”
“Why then?”
“Initially, we were more involved with Troy because we knew him before the trouble.”
“The trouble being Kristal Malley’s murder,” said Milo.
Cherish Daney looked away. Her stoop became more pronounced.
“How’d you know Troy before, Mrs. Daney?”
“When my husband and I were students, part of our community service seminar involved identifying needs in the community. Our apartment wasn’t that far from 415 City, so we knew its reputation. Our faculty adviser thought it would be a good place to find kids with needs. We talked to Social Services and they identified several prospects. Troy was one of them.”
“Rand wasn’t?” I said.
“Rand never got his name on any lists.”
“Troublemaker lists?” said Milo.
She nodded. “We met with Troy a couple of times, tried to get him involved with church or sports or a hobby, but we never really connected. Then, after… he must’ve mentioned us to his lawyer because she contacted us and said it would be a great time to start counseling him spiritually.”
Bible in a cell. Smooth talk about sin.
“Why didn’t you connect initially?” said Milo.
“You know how it is. Kids don’t always take to talking.”
She looked to me for confirmation. Before I could offer any, Milo said, “Being arrested help Troy’s communication skills?”
She sighed. “You think we’re naive. It’s not that we were unaware of the enormity of what Troy had done. But we recognized that he’d also been victimized. You met his mother, Doctor.”
“Where is she?” I said.
“Dead,” she said. Snapping off the word. “After Troy’s body was ready for burial, the Chino coroner’s office contacted us. They couldn’t find Jane and we were the only other people on his visitor list. We contacted Ms. Weider but she no longer worked for the Public Defender. Troy’s body sat at the morgue until our dean agreed to donate a plot in San Bernadino where some of the faculty members are buried. We conducted a service.”
She touched her crucifix. Suddenly, tears streamed down her face. She made no effort to dry them. “That day. My husband and myself and Dr. Wascomb- our dean. A beautiful, sunny day and we watched cemetery workers lower that pathetic little coffin into the ground. A month later, Detective Kramer called us. Jane had been found under a freeway ramp, one of those homeless encampments, wrapped up in a sleeping bag and plastic tarp. Which is the way she always slept, so the other homeless people didn’t think anything of it until she still hadn’t budged by noon. She’d been stabbed sometime during the night. Whoever killed her wrapped her back up.”
She shuddered, pulled out the tissue paper bookmark and wiped her face.
Milo said, “How long was that after Troy’s death?”
“Six weeks, two months, what’s the difference? My point is, these were lost boys. And now, Rand.”
“Any idea who’d want to hurt Rand?”
She shook her head.
“What was his mood like?”
“Disoriented, as I told you. Reeling from freedom.”
“Not happy at all about getting out?”
“To be honest? Not really.”
“Did he have any plans other than getting a job?”
“We were taking things slowly. Helping him settle in.”
“Could we see his room?”
“Sure,” she said. “Such as it is.”
We followed her through a compact, tidy living room; a dim galley kitchen and eating area; then a low, narrow corridor. One bedroom, the master, with barely enough room for the furniture that filled it. A single bathroom served the entire house.
At the end of the hall was a windowless space, eight-foot square. Cherish Daney said, “This is it.”
Cheap paneling covered the walls. Capped off pipes sprouted from the vinyl floor.
Milo said, “This used to be a laundry room?”
“Service porch. We moved the washer and dryer outside.”
A framed Bible scene- Nordic Solomon and two Valkyrian women claiming motherhood of the same fat, blond infant- hung over a foldable cot. A white plastic lamp sat on a raw wood nightstand. Milo opened the drawers. Well-thumbed Bible on top, nothing in the bottom.
A dented footlocker served as a closet. Inside were two white T-shirts, two blue work shirts, a pair of blue jeans.
Cherish Daney said, “We never even got a chance to buy him clothes.”
We walked back to the front of the house. She peered through a window. “Here’s my husband. I’d better go help him.”
CHAPTER 14
Drew Daney came through the gateway gripping two large bags of groceries in each arm. An even larger mesh sack filled with oranges dangled from his right thumb.
Cherish took the fruit and reached for one of the bags.
