Rage

I had no answer for that.

She played with my sleeve. “Am I being a bore? Sorry, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Anything but. Go on.”

“This was supposedly a random crime, right? The boys never knew Kristal before they abducted her.”

“They said they just happened to spot her wandering around by herself. Why?”

“It seems odd,” she said. “A little girl in a mall, all those shoppers. You’d think she wouldn’t get very far before someone intervened.”

“Post-Christmas sales,” I said. “Everyone was out for a bargain. Maybe no one noticed because there wasn’t an obvious struggle. To a casual observer it could’ve looked like a couple of teenagers babysitting a younger sib.”

“I suppose,” she said.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Kristal was two, right?”

“A month shy.”

“That’s a peak period for separation anxiety. Why wouldn’t there be a struggle?”

“Some kids are more trusting than others,” I said.

“And some neglected and abused kids show no stranger anxiety at all. Was there any indication of child abuse?”

“The autopsy didn’t reveal any old breaks or scars and the body was well-nourished. I suppose that if Nina’s claims about drugs and isolation are true, there could have been some level of neglect.”

“How close did the Malleys live to the mall?”

“About half a mile.”

“So Lara probably shopped there often.”

“She did.”

“How far were they from the housing project?”

“Around the same distance. You’re thinking the boys knew Kristal even though they claimed they didn’t?”

“They hung out at the arcade, would’ve had opportunity to see her. Perhaps they’d noticed Lara’s attention span lapsing before, had even talked to Kristal when she took her eyes off her. That would’ve made it easier for them to take her.”

“Premeditation,” I said. “The boys plotted the whole thing beforehand and they lied about that because it would’ve made them look worse? You think that was what plagued Rand?”

“Or just the opposite, Alex. Rand told you he was a good person. He was trying to minimize his guilt, and what better way to do that than to pin the bulk of the blame on others? Troy, for one. But also Lara, because Rand had seen her let Kristal wander off before. It’s certainly nothing Lara would ever admit, but it could’ve plagued her, contributed to her depression and her suicide. All of which Barrett had put behind him. Until Rand brought it up. Talk about pushing buttons.”

My digestion had come to a halt and steak sat in my gut. “Rand wasn’t bright, I suppose he could’ve read the signals wrong, been that clumsy. You have a fertile mind.”

“I’m just thinking out loud, sweetheart. Like you do.”

“What a fun couple we are,” I said.

“We really are, Alex. Anyone can talk about stupid stuff.”

CHAPTER 21

Unseasonably warm,” said Milo. “Unlike the reception I got at Chaderjian.” His broad back rounded as he stuck his head inside the fridge.

He’d been back from Stockton for an hour, had driven straight to my house, announced that the airlines were out to starve him. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter were already out on the counter. He’d drunk half a carton of milk without bothering to use a glass.

“You’re running low on provisions,” he said, voice muffled by enamel. “The lack of jelly, jam, preserves, or reasonable facsimile is inexcusable.”

“Want some potato chips and a cupcake in your school lunch, junior?”

“Hnh.” He foraged, straightened, massaged his sacroiliac with one palm. “This will have to do.” His big hand concealed whatever he carried to the counter. He set it down next to the bread.

Carton of peach yogurt. Something else Allison had brought over… had to be weeks ago.

“It could be bad,” I said.

“So am I.” Flipping the lid, he sniffed, frowned, spooned gobs of glossy, beige stuff into the sink, flushed with a spurt of tap water that spotted his tie.

Another sniff. “Jam at the bottom’s still good.” A spoonful of orange goop landed on a slice of bread. Peanut butter got slathered on another slice and he slapped the two halves together. Folding the sandwich double, he ate standing up.

“Bon appetit.”

“No French, don’t have the patience, today. Mon ami.”

“No cooperation from C.Y.A.?” I asked.

“You’d think,” he said, “that wardens and all those other prison types would be simpatico with cops, seeing as we’re both committed to the public safety.” He wiped his lips. “But you’d be wrong. Our job’s putting bad guys away, they’re chronically overcrowded, get buckets of shit tossed in their faces and all sorts of other indignities. So their goal is moving miscreants out. They made me feel like a germ, Alex.”

“No counseling?” I said.

“What?”

“That’s what they call C.Y.A. guards. Counselors.”

He laughed. “There was a squirrelly feel to the place, Alex. Lots of silence, no mistaking the tension. Later, reading the local paper, I found out there’s all sorts of rumbling about an investigation of the whole C.Y.A. system by the legislature. Too many dead wards. Top of that, their record-keeping’s even worse than the department’s. But all was not lost- got any more yogurt?”

“Mi fridge es su fridge.”

“Now it’s Spanish? Go get a gig at the U.N.”

“Talk about miscreants.”

He created a second concoction using honey as the sugar source, consumed it at a more measured pace.

Four gulps, sitting down.

“Say what you want, but sometimes gluttony pays off,” he said. “I hadn’t had a thing to eat since the night before, the dive I was staying at didn’t have room service, and by the time I got outside, I was feeling pretty mean. First place I spotted was a bar and grill two blocks from the prison. Bartender got the kitchen to microwave a plate of spareribs, and we started talking. Turns out he used to work as a prison cook, left seven years ago.”

“A year after Troy’s murder.”

“Ten months to be exact. He remembered Troy’s murder clearly, was there when they took the body out. Couple of counselors carried it right through the kitchen out to a loading dock. Didn’t even bother to wrap it, just put the kid on a board and used belts to keep him from sliding off into the soup. Bartender said Turner didn’t look much bigger than a plucked turkey, was about the same color.”

He strode to the fridge, pulled out a beer, popped the top, sat back down.

I said, “Bartender had a good eye for detail.”

“It helped that there was no love lost between him and the prison. He claims they fired him for no good cause. His other clear memory is that there was a prime suspect for the murder. Not a Vato Loco, an independent freelance knife-boy named Nestor Almedeira. The V.L.s and the other gangs used him and guys like him when they wanted to keep a low profile. And guess what? Said prince got out a few months ago and his last known address is right here in L.A., the Westlake District.”

“Almedeira ever work for nongang clients?”

“As in Barnett Malley? Who knows? As far as I can tell, Malley never visited. Ditto for Rand. All Troy got was