“Sue Kramer and a male partner,” I said. “Something with an ‘R.’ ”
“Fernie Reyes. I’m impressed.”
“I read their report on Kristal more times than I wanted to.”
“Fernie moved to Scottsdale, does security for a hotel chain. Sue retired and joined a P.I. agency over in San Bernardino. I’ve got a call in to her- here comes your grub.”
The blue-saried woman set a bowl down gently and swished off. My salad was half the size of Milo ’s, which was still more than ample.
“Good, huh?” he said.
I hadn’t lifted my fork. He watched until I did, studied me as I ate.
“Delicious,” I said. Technically true, but tension had blocked the circuit from my taste buds to my brain and I might’ve been chewing a napkin. “What’s off about the suicide?”
“Cause of death was a single gunshot to the left temple, a thirty-eight. She was left-handed, so the coroner felt that supported a self-inflicted wound.”
“Through-and-through wound?”
“Yup, the bullet lodged in the passenger door. The gun was a Smith and Wesson Double-Action Perfected revolver registered to Barnett. He kept it loaded in his nightstand. His story was Lara musta taken it when he was at work, drove to a quiet spot in the Sepulveda recreational area and boom.”
“Did she leave a note?”
“If she did, it’s not in the coroner’s summary.”
“Was the gun returned to Malley?”
“No reason it wouldn’t be,” he said. “He was the legal owner and no foul play was indicated.”
He began shoveling fish and cubes of paneer cheese into his mouth. “Maybe my ambivalence about Malley was misguided. His life went to hell, but looks like he coped by getting rid of everyone he blamed for Kristal’s death. Starting with Lara, because she hadn’t kept her eye on the kid. Then the C.Y.A. system took care of Turner. That left Rand as the last messy detail.
“Why would he wait a full year after Kristal’s death to kill Lara?” I said.
“I was being imprecise. She died seven years and seven months ago. Just one month after Troy and Rand got sent away. What’s the obvious assumption?”
“Maternal grief.”
“Exactly. Great cover.” He pushed food around his plate. “Malley’s a weird one, Alex. The way he started pounding on that piano. I mean the smart thing to do, the cops come calling, is fake being cooperative. He does that, maybe I drop it.”
Unlikely, I thought. “ ‘Last Date’.”
“What?”
“The song he played.”
“You’re saying he was being symbolic? Rand had a last date with life?”
I shrugged.
He said, “Guy keeps his truck locked even though he lives out in the boonies and the damn thing’s sitting right in front of his cabin. Because he knows it’s hard to get rid of every speck of forensic evidence. Maybe he’s an old- fashioned eye-for-an-eye guy, doesn’t give a shit about original biblical context.”
“Other than the similarity to Rand, was there anything iffy about Lara’s suicide?”
“Nothing in Sue’s report.”
“Was she a good detective?”
“Yeah. So was Fernie. Normally I’d assume they’d be damn thorough. But in this case, maybe they saw Barnett as a victim and didn’t think it through.” He frowned. “Bunny MacIntyre likes him but she didn’t vouch for his whereabouts Sunday.”
He poured himself tea but didn’t drink it. “I need to get hold of the entire file on Lara before I talk to Sue. That’ll be fun- reopening a case another D thinks is long-closed. Maybe I’ll use the helpless approach: Here’s what I’m faced with, Sue. I could use some help.”
He grabbed his fork again, held it poised over the bowl. “So how’s your appetite?”
“Fine.”
“Proud of you.”
He downed two Bengal premiums, called for the check, and was slapping cash on the table when his cell chirped Beethoven’s Fifth.
“Sturgis. Oh, hey. Yeah. Good to hear from you, thanks… Would that be okay? Yeah, sure. Let me write it down.”
Tucking the phone under one ear, he scribbled on a napkin. “Thanks, see you in twenty.”
Rising to his feet, he motioned me toward the exit. Some of the twenty-somethings stopped laughing and looked at him as he loped out of the restaurant. Big, scary-looking man. All that merriment; he didn’t fit in.
“That was Sue Kramer,” he said, out on the sidewalk. “She’s right here in the city. Working a suicide, as it turns out, and happy to chat about Lara. So much for reading the file.”
“It’s L.A.,” I said. “Improvise.”
CHAPTER 17
The address was in Beverly Hills, Rexford Drive, south side of the city, between Wilshire and Olympic, where apartment buildings predominated.
“That’s her,” said Milo, pointing to a trim, dark-haired woman walking a champagne-colored toy poodle up the west side of the block.
He pulled up to the curb and Sue Kramer smiled and waved and gathered the dog in her arms.
“You’re not allergic are you, Milo?”
“Just to paperwork.”
Kramer got in the back of the unmarked. As Milo drove away, she sniffed the air. “That good old dirty-cuffs smell. Been awhile.”
“What’re you driving now, Ms. Private Enterprise? A Jag?”
“A Lexus. And a Range Rover.” Kramer was in her fifties, with a tight, leggy figure emphasized by black chalk- stripe pipe-stem pants and a tailored gray jacket over a white silk shell. Her hair was ink-black, cut short and spiked. No jewelry. Black Kate Spade purse.
“Hooh hah,” said Milo.
Kramer said, “The Lexus I earned myself. My new husband’s a financial guy. He bought me the Rover for a surprise.”
“Nice new husband.”
“Maybe the third time’s the charm.” The dog panted. “Chill, Fritzi, these are good guys- I think she’s smelling scumbag back here.”
Milo said, “My last passenger was Deputy Chief Morales. Got stuck driving him to a meeting at Parker.”
“There you go.”
Milo crossed Rexford at Olympic, turned left on Whitworth. “How’re things, Sue?”
“Things are great- pipe down, Fritz.”
“ San Bernardino treating you well?”
“I could do without the smog, but Dwayne and I have a great weekend place in Arrowhead. How about you?”
“Peachy. What brings you to B.H.?”
“In the words of Willie Sutton, that’s where the money is,” said Kramer. “Seriously, it’s a sad one. Divorce case, Korean couple, the usual hassles over money and custody. The husband decided to kill himself, made sure the wife
