“Thanks, you’re a peach.” Stifling her own yawn. “Why is that contagious, Doctor?”
“I have no idea.”
“The mysteries of science,” she said. “Guess I should do a little domestic duty. Eric just finished a monthlong job. Defense contractor in Arizona, industrial spy thing that turned out to be paranoia. He’s been shuttling back and forth, we haven’t seen each other much. If this thing ever cooks up, it’ll be more of the same.”
“Go for it, kid,” said Milo. “Eric have an iPod?”
“Ha. Eric only listens to music when I switch it on. The man can sit and do nothing like I’ve never seen.” She smiled but didn’t budge. “So…eventually these bastards are going to have to show themselves, right?” Putting her palms together prayerfully. “I’m hoping to get Mary’s phone records sometime tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll catch Raul up on everything. He’s doing great…I should tell him so.”
Lowering her volume with each sentence so that by the end she was muttering.
Her shoulders rounded and her head dipped an inch. She looked older and tired, but just for the seconds it took to draw herself up and shake her hair loose. “Well, let’s hope they get stupid-one more thing, guys, confidential. James Rahab-the sergeant who wrote up Roger Bandini’s death-comes up on a list of Fortuno’s possible sources in the department.”
“How’d you find that out?” said Milo.
“Stu found out from his fed buddy. Who also informed him we will have no more access to Marvelous Mario.”
I said, “Bandini wasn’t looked into because Fortuno fixed the investigation for Mary?”
“If she thought a serious investigation into Bandini would’ve put Petey in danger, she’d have a motive to call in a favor. On the other hand, it may simply be coincidence. Rahab was righteously on patrol that night-training a rookie. And on the surface, Bandini’s death
“Where’s the rookie he was training?” said Milo.
“I don’t even have a name. Only reason the Feebie told Stu was as a consolation prize-as in, This is the last thing you’re getting.”
“Or because he’s getting us to work for him. We uncover something, he can add to the indictment against Fortuno.”
Petra thought about that. “Could be…anyway, no reason to do the History Channel when I can’t get anything done on a current homicide. Nighty-night, fellas.”
At ten the following morning, I phoned Herbert Stark.
A woman singsonged, “You’ve reached Myra and
“Mr. Stark, this is Dr. Alex Delaware, I’ll do my best to make this fascinating. Years ago you did your civic duty only to run up against some incredible police incompetence. If you can find it in yourself to reopen your mind-”
A deep male voice broke in: “So that my brains fall out? Fascinating? Not quite. Minimally thought-provoking? Possibly.”
“Thanks for-”
“Byron said you seemed quote unquote thoughtful. That’s high praise from my son. I almost became a psychologist. No money and too many family obligations got in the way. So the cops have finally decided to take a look at that little sociopath. What’d he do, now?”
“Killed several people,” I said.
“Oh, what a shock,” said Herbert Stark. “It’s always that way, isn’t it? I just finished reading a book about serial killers-not pulpy crap, a professional textbook by a former investigator who got drummed out because he spoke his mind. His thesis is that ninety-five percent of the time the guilty party is interviewed early on in the investigation and the police have a name right there in front of them. You believe that?”
“Could be.”
“I believe it. Byron said you don’t put much stock in profiling.”
“Not much.”
“They give you grief for that in the department?”
“Not at all.”
Stark grunted. “What do you think I can tell you that I already didn’t try to tell those Einsteins in blue?”
I wanted to ask him to go over everything, but that would provoke a tirade. “When you came to believe those two girls had been killed, did you share your suspicions with anyone other than the police and your wife?”
“Of course I did,” said Stark. “After the cops sat on their hands, I told a few people in the neighborhood. I figured if enough people got riled up, we might be able to stimulate some action.”
“How many people did you tell?”
“After all these years you expect a count? I limited it to people I had a good sense about. Didn’t matter, no one cared.”
“Was one of the people a woman named Patricia Bigelow?”
“Yes,” he said. “She was the first.”
“Because-”
“First of all, I knew her. Second, I trusted her. Shortly after she moved in, my younger son, Galen, fell skateboarding and we worried he’d broken his leg. But he had an exam to study for, we didn’t want to bother with the emergency room if it wasn’t a break. My wife had talked to Patty a few times, knew she was a nurse, so she went around the corner and asked her to look at Galen’s leg. Patty came by, inspected it, said she wasn’t a physician, but it was a sprain. She iced it and wrapped it and we took Galen to the pediatrician the next morning, and she’d done everything perfectly. I also told her about the girls because she had a girl of her own-a child, nine, ten years old. I felt it was my obligation to let her know that her landlady’s spawn was a menace. Why are you asking about her?”
“She died recently of natural causes and alluded to some terrible things that had happened while she lived on Fourth Street. That’s what got the current investigation going.”
“She believed me,” said Herbert Stark. “My God…couldn’t tell from her reaction.”
“What’d she say?”
“Nothing, that’s my point. She nodded and thanked me for informing her and asked me how Galen was doing, then she ushered me out. I thought it was ungrateful and a bit rude. I was trying to help. But she did move out soon after.”
“Did she ever say why she was moving?”
“We didn’t talk after that.”
“Did your wife talk to her?”
“I doubt it and she’s not here to ask, up in Seattle, some kind of knitting convention.”
“When you warned Patty did you mention both Pete Whitbread and Roger Bandini by name?”
“Of course, there was no doubt who loaded that van. Have you found the bodies?”
“Not yet.”
“What are the chances?” said Stark. “After all these years. Which is no one’s fault but the vaunted LAPD. Holmes and Marlowe are laughing.”
Click.
I tried Milo and Petra, got voice mail all around. While I brewed coffee, my service called. Herbert Stark recalling another detail?
The operator said, “Doctor, I’ve got a Kyle Bernard on the line.”
Kyle’s barely audible voice said, “Dr. Delaware? Sorry to bother you but is there any way we can get together? Tanya has a two-hour seminar right now, so on the off chance you’ve got an opening…”
“Is there a problem, Kyle?”
“It’s…I’d just like to toss some things around with you.”
“I can’t discuss Tanya, Kyle.”
“Yes, yes, I know, confidentiality. But there’s no rule against listening, is there?”
“What’s on your mind?”
