MILO SCANNED THE bedroom as we waited. I could see nothing but tragedy, but his trained eye located a bullet hole on the wall facing the bed, just to the right of the wheelchair. He drew a chalk outline around the puncture1.
Mel Abbot continued to hunch2 stuporously in the bed, cuffed3 hands inert4. Milo wiped his chin a couple of times. Each time Abbot yanked his face away, like a baby repelling5 spinach6.
Finally, the howl of sirens. Three black-and-whites on Code Two, a Mutt-and-Jeff detective duo from Van Nuys Division named Ruiz and Gallardo, a squadron of cheerful, bantering7 paramedics for Mel Abbot.
I stood on the landing and watched the EMTs set up their mobile stretcher. Milo and the detectives had moved out of the bedroom, out of the old man's earshot, talking technical. Sidelong glances at the old man. A moist slick of snot mustached Abbot's upper lip. Jane's corpse8 was within his line of vision, but he made no attempt to look at her. A paramedic came out and asked the detectives where to take him. All three cops agreed on the inevitable9, the prison ward10 at County General. The short D, Ruiz, muttered, "Love that drive to East L.A."
"No place like home, ese,n said Gallardo. He and his partner were in their thirties, solidly built, with thick black hair, perfectly11 edged and combed straight back. He was around six-two, Ruiz, no more than five-eight. But for the height differential they could have been twins, and Ibegan thinking of them as outgrowths of some Mendelian experiment: short detectives, long detectives. . . . Anything to take my mind off what had happened.
It didn't work—my head wouldn't shake off images of Jane Abbot's final moments. Had she known what was coming, or had the flash of the gun been sensation without comprehension?
Mother and daughter, gone.
A family, gone.
Not a happy family, but one that had cared enough, years ago, to seek help. . . .
A restraint strap12 unbuckled with a snap, and the EMTs advanced on Abbot. He began to cry but offered no resistance as they eased him onto the stretcher. Then he gazed down at the body and screamed, and waxy13 arms began striking out. One paramedic said, "Now, come on," in a bored voice. Snap snap. The paramedics went about their work, speedy as a pit crew, and Abbot was immobilized.
I ran downstairs, retraced14 the path through the house and out the kitchen door to the flagstone pathway. The sun was relenting, and the lowest quadrant of the sky was striped persimmon. A few neighbors had come out to stare, and when they saw me they edged closer to the gates. A uniform held them back. Someone pointed15, and I ducked out of view, stayed close to the house, which was where Milo found me.
"Taking the air?"
"Breathing seemed a good idea," I said.
"You missed the fun. Abbot managed to slip an arm out and grab hold of one of the EMTs' hair. They shot him up with tranquilizer."
"Poor guy."
"Pathetic but dangerous."
"You really think he did it?"
"You don't?" He slapped his hands on his hips16. "I'm not saying it was premeditated, but hell, yeah. He was holding the gun, and that hole in the wall fits with a shot fired from the bed. My best guess is it happened last night. They probably had the gun in a nightstand, somehow he found it, was using it as a teddy bear, Jane entered the bedroom, freaked him out, and boom."
"Suburban17 security goes bad."
"We see it all the time, Alex. Usually with kids. Which is what Abbotreally is, right? The nightstand drawer's within arm's reach. There's another gun in there—older revolver, a thirty-eight, unloaded. So maybe Jane was being careful. But not careful enough. She forgot about the clip in the gun."
"Tragic18 accident," I said. "You're the detective."
He stared at me. "Spit it out."
"Jane was an experienced caretaker. I can't see her letting him get near a gun."
"She had her hands full, Alex. People get careless. Perfectly competent parents turn their backs while Snookums toddles19 over to the pool."
He stared down the length of the house. "There're no signs of forced entry, there was a box of loose jewelry20 in Jane's dresser and a nice fat safe in the bedroom closet, combination-locked. Not to mention all those paintings. Ruiz and Gallardo's first order of business will be to see if the gun was registered. Solid citizens like them aren't likely to own an illegal piece. If it was theirs, that pretty much clinches21 it."
He took baby steps, turned in a small, tight circle, hitched22 his trousers. "Least I know why she didn't return my calls."
"You're right about the art," I said. "If it's real, it's worth a fortune. One hell of an estate. One hell of a community property. I wonder who inherits."
He rotated, faced me, eyes half closed but alert, like those of a resting guard dog. "And the point is ..."
"Mel Abbot's only child died ten years ago, Jane's, just a few days ago. Now Mel will be declared incompetent23 and someone else will be placed in charge of all the assets. Probably a court-appointed conservator. My guess is relatives will start lining25 up. I wonder who's next in line, from a legal standpoint."
"Some cousin from Iowa. So what?"
"Maybe not," I said. "Jane mentioned a prenup, but that could've applied26 only to divorce, not death. If Mel's will signed everything over to Jane, that would've put Lauren in place to inherit. But with Lauren dead, her closest living relative could step up to the plate. And look who just called you and asked about Lauren's finances."
His head shot forward, and the eyes opened wide. "Daddy dearest— Oh, man, you have a devious27 mind."
"He did call. Hours after Jane died."
"Jane and Lauren both hated his guts28. There'd be no reason for him to think anyone made him a beneficiary."
"Any will come up for Lauren?"
"Not yet."
"If she died intestate," I said, "her estate will end up in probate and be up for grabs. I'm no lawyer, but my bet is that, as her closest living blood relative, Lyle will have a strong claim. Sure, getting through the paperwork will be a hassle, and there'll be estate taxes to pay, but if those paintings are real, even a chunk30 would be serious money. Lyle's hurting financially. A Picasso or two would do wonders."
"He offs his ex and plants the gun in the old guy's hand?"
"Like you said, no love lost between them."
"C'mon, Alex. He can't be stupid enough to do it and call me the same day. Talk about obvious." He frowned. "But it wasn't obvious, was it? Not till your warped31 mind seized upon it. You are one creative puppy."
He began pacing along the side of the house. Low chatter32 from the front of the property created an irritating soundtrack: noise but no reason.
"Lyle's calling you was blatant," I said. "But, like you said, people get careless. Did he seem the subtle type to you? The guy's angry, depressed33, out of work, drinks, stomps34 around his property with a loaded shotgun. If that's not a recipe for violence, I don't know what is."
"You're saying he did Jane and Lauren? No big bad Duke conspiracy35 or Shawna cover-up?"
"Who knows?" I said. "The other thing to think about is everyone around Lauren is dying. Which fits with Jane not being more forthcoming because she did know something explosive. Either way, pinning it on Abbot seems awfully36 convenient."
"For argument's sake, let's say Lyle was the shooter. He shows up and Jane just lets him in?"
"She might Ve. Even with tons of hostility37, there was that early bond— the years they'd been together, familiarity, chemistry. I've seen it plenty of times working custody38 cases. The nastiest divorces. Two people trying to rip each other's hearts out in court, then they find themselves alone and end up in bed. Maybe Lyle put on a big show of grief—that's the one thing they shared. Lauren's death. For all we know he didn't even cometo kill her. They started talking, Lyle segued into money talk like he did with you, Jane lost it, and one thing led to another."
"So why's the old guy still breathing?"
"Because Lyle's no genius, but he did have an inspiration. Picture it this way: The argument begins downstairs. Jane orders Lyle out, he refuses. She rushes upstairs, thinking to lock herself in the bedroom, then call the police. Lyle goes after her, gets in the bedroom, shoots her. It's dark, they could've wrestled39 from a spot near the bed—the hole in the wall. He misses that time but hits his mark twice, and Jane goes down. Abbot's asleep—maybe deeply, he's probably on medication. The gunshot wakes him up. He sits up. Disoriented. A senile old man confronted with sudden loud noise and darkness. His consciousness is clouded anyway. He wouldn't have focused immediately— Where were his glasses?"
"On his nightstand."
"He could've seen nothing. Lyle spots him, considers killing40 him, realizes Abbot's no direct threat, and comes up with a better idea: plant the gun near or in Abbot's hand and leave quietly. He might've even pressed Abbot's finger on the trigger and fired and that's where the hole in the wall came from. Even if Abbot's head does clear and he recalls some details, who's going to believe him? What's his story? A mystery intruder with no signs of forced entry? A bogeyman who leaves his weapon behind? But I'll wager41 Abbot comes up with nothing. He's out of it. A few days in the prison ward at County and he'll probably be completely vegetative."
A door slammed at the front of the house. We stepped forward to see the paramedics trundle Abbot out. The old man lay strapped42 on the stretcher, eyes closed, mouth agape. As the EMTs carried him across the motor court, they chatted and seemed relaxed. No threat from the cargo43. Neighborly necks craned as Abbot was loaded into the ambulance. Siren sonata44 as the uniform at the gate cleared an exit path and the ambulance sped away. Two vans drove up. One white, with the coroner's logo on the door, was allowed through the gates. The silver one with a network affiliate's call letters on the roof next to a satellite antenna45 was waved to the curb46.
"The party begins," said Milo. "At least it's Ruiz and Gallardo's bash."
"I can just hear tonight's broadcast," I said, as a young redhead in a yellow pantsuit stepped out of the news van. "'A Sherman Oaks man was arrested today on suspicion of murdering his wife. Neighbors described Melville Abbot as friendly but feeble—'"
"That's still where the facts point, Alex."
"Guess so," I said. "And Ruiz and Gallardo do seem like nice guys. Why complicate47 their lives?"
"Oh, my," he said. "What the hell went down during your childhood to make you enjoy complications?"
"When my mother was pregnant with me she got startled by an obsessive-compulsive pit bull."
The woman in yellow approached with a cameraman and a soundman in tow. The boom hovered48 over her coiffure as she flirted49 with the uniform at the gate. Smiles all around, then the cop shook his head and the reporter pouted50 and the news crew drifted toward the growing clot51 of suburban observers.
Milo said, "Let's get the hell out of here. Just walk straight through and don't make eye contact. If Ms. Bubblehead chirps52, remember she's a vulture, not a canary."
"You heading home?"
He laughed harshly. "You kidding? I love the goddamn Valley—hey, how about a nice little jaunt53 to Reseda."
The commuter54 rush. Ventura Boulevard was constipated, and a glance at the freeway overpass56 revealed a chromium still life. Milo stayed on surface streets, sitting too straight in the driver's seat, jaw57 muscles pumping, lips twisting, one big hand shoving aside the hair lick that shadowed his brow—repeating the futile58 gesture over and over.
Silent, talking to himself. Assessing the possibilities I'd inflicted59 upon him.
I might've felt guilty, but my mental camera was working overtime60 too, flashing images of Jane Abbot's gray-green corpse. Then: the trussed bundle of ruin that had been Lauren's final pose.
I tried to switch channels, but the alternative fare wasn't any prettier. Michelle and Lance, burned to cinders61. Shawna Yeager brutalized un-thinkably, then kicked into a hidden grave. Agnes Yeager probably still pictured her only child's beautiful face, but by now Shawna would be nothing more than bones. Mothers and daughters. Entire families, disappeared ... Past Haseltine the traffic eased up. Milo said, "Finally."
The same soil-and-paint smell, the same irate62 dogs.
When we reached the chain-link around Lyle Teague's property, the sun was a brick-colored skullcap on a flat, gray pate55 of horizon, and the smear63 of illumination in the lower sky had dulled to excremental64 brown.
Grimy chemical light revealed the shabby neighborhood at its worst. A few kids with shaved heads lounged in front of the apartments across the street, slouching and drinking, enjoying delusions65 of immortality66. Their grins shifted to fear and distrust as we pulled up. When Milo parked a bottle shattered against the curb. By the time we got out of the car, the kids were gone.
The beefy padlock on Teague's front gate was in place, but the pickup67 with the chrome pipes and the overgrown tires was missing, and we had a view of the carport littered with machine parts and broken toys.
"Gone," I said.
Milo peered through the chain-link diamonds. "This one I don't scale. Let me call his number."
As he reached for his cell phone, the house's front door opened a crack, then wider as Tish Teague stepped out into the dirt, holding the hand of a brown-haired girl around five years old. The child's eyes were open, but she looked sleepy. The second Mrs. Teague wore a baby blue tank top and too-tight white shorts that sausaged her hips. Her bra strap did the same for her torso, turning her into a mass of soft rolls supported by pasty, dimpled legs. Blue tattoo68 on the left biceps. Her hair was drawn69 up at the top, rubber-banded into an off-center thatch70.
Milo waved, but she just stood there, bland71, pale pudding of a face aiming for stoic72.
"Mrs. Teague," Milo called. "Is your husband home?"
Headshake. Her mouth formed "No," but the sound failed to make it across the yard.
"Where is he, ma'am?"
Instead of answering Tish returned inside, came back minus the child and with her hair loosened. Walking halfway73 across the dirt, she stopped, folded her arms under her bosom74, and shouted, "Hunting."
"Hunting what?"
"Usually he brings back birds. Or a deer."
Milo muttered, "Dan'1 Boone." To Tish: "Where's he hunt, ma'am?"
"Up near Castaic. What do you need him for?"
"Doing some follow-up, ma'am— May we come in?"
"Follow-up on what?"
"Your husband phoned me today, and I was getting back to him. How long's he been gone?"
Tish blinked three times. "Coupla days."
"So he must've called me from somewhere else. He have a cell phone?"
"Nope."
"But he did take camping gear."
"Yeah."
"Guns too."
"He's hunting," said Tish.
"What, the shotgun?"
"I don't know what he takes. He wraps everything up in plastic. I don't pay attention to guns— Why all these questions?"
"Just curious."
"What, you're saying Lyle could shoot someone?"
Milo paused. "Has that been on your mind, ma—"
"No way," she said. "He keeps that stuff just for home protection and hunting—that's all, and I like that. He's a good man, why're you hassling him?"
"I don't mean to hassle, ma'am. So you haven't heard from Mr. Teague in two days?"
"I told you, he don't have one of those." She pointed to the cell phone. Her tone said the deficiency was a crime for which someone needed to be blamed.
"Hmm," said Milo. "Well, he did call me."
"Well, he didn't call me." Tish aimed for defiance75, but her gray eyes filled with hurt. She stepped a few yards closer. "Sometimes he uses a pay phone— What did he want?"
"To talk about Lauren."
"Her? What for?"
"She was his daughter, ma'am."
"Not if you asked her.'"
"What do you mean, ma'am?"
Crossing her arms, she covered several more feet, stopped well before the gate. Bare feet, toes grayed with dust. The nacre of chipped pink polish glinting through. "She wasn't nice to us."
"Lauren wasn't?"
"Not to me or him or the girls."
"I thought she brought the girls Christmas presents."
Tish smirked76. "Oh, sure. Big deal. She comes in wearing her cool clothes and her cool makeup77 and hypers them up with all that candy and junk, and then when she leaves I'm nice enough to thank her and say she can take home some of the apricot pie I baked from fresh apricots because that's the kind of person I am, she laughs at me and looks down at the pie slice I'm offering her and says, 'No, thanks.' Like I stuffed shit in a crust or something. Then she says, 'At least you've got better manners than him. Thanking me. Which you should, 'cause I didn't have to do this.' And I'm like, 'What do you mean?' And she's like, 'You better believe you should thank me, 'cause you don't deserve a damn thing from me—you're not even my family and neither is he and neither are your rugrats.'"
Tish's lip trembled. "Just like that. Nasty mean. One minute she's playing with the girls, and then she's insulting us. I could've trashed her back, but I just said, 'Well, sorry you don't like apricot pie. Good-bye.' And she laughed again and was like, 'I came here 'cause I've got class—something you'll never know, chubby78.' Then she prancie-pranced out the door."
Tish released her arms, let the wrists go limp. "She prancie-prances around like she's doing one of her strip dances—which is the class she had, a stripper and a whore. So who's she to be snobbing and styling on me? I was so mad, it gave me a migraine, but at least she was out of here. Then, just as I'm closing the door, she turns around and starts coming back, and I'm like, Okay, Tish, you controlled yourself good, but she's asking for it. I really thought we were gonna get into it, and I tell you, I was ready. But she musta figured that out or maybe it was the girls, running around the house, in and out of rooms, screaming and wild, all hypered up 'cause of her. Or maybe she was just a chicken—whatever."
"She didn't come back."
"She didn't come back all the way—just stopped in the middle, rightback there." Gesturing behind her. "Then she gives me a look and laughs and shakes her ass24 outta here. Laughing—loud, so the neighborhood could hear. That's what she was after—to humiliate79 us."
Milo said, "So what do we do for the next round of yuks?"
"Try to find Lyle?"
We got in the unmarked, and he drove back to Ventura Boulevard. "Sure," he said. "Let's call out the hounds and track the sonofabitch. And when we find him, we'll have a weenie roast and tell ghost stories. While we're at it, we can work in some fishing."
"Fishing and hunting," I said. "Wonder how many firearms he's pack-ing."
"Given that bad eye of his, he wouldn't be much good with a bow and arrow."
"Jane's dead, and he just happens to be gone," I said.
"I'll call the sheriffs up at Castaic, see if they can locate him, but I'm not putting in a requisition for a search party. Lyle may have all the charm of a warthog with piles, but at this point, before the ballistics and the registration80 on the gun that did Jane come in, he's no suspect. And her other husband is. Ruiz and Gallardo should have word soon enough on all of it."
"Even if the gun was registered to Jane or Mel," I said, "that doesn't rule out an outside shooter. Let's say Jane was afraid, made a run for the bedroom, and grabbed her own gun, but whoever frightened her got hold of it."
"When it comes to theories, you are human flypaper, my friend. First Dugger for Dr. Bloodlust, now Father of the Year for Lyle."
"I've always been goal-directed."
"Me too," he said. "Least that's what my third-grade teacher said. But screw goals. I need to connect the dots, and right now I don't even have a pencil."
At White Oak he said, "The thing that bothers me is maybe I narrowed my focus too quickly. I'm not saying the Duke thing or Lyle is wrong, but there's always the danger of tunnel vision."
"What do you mean?"
"I know Lauren . . . meant something to you, but the hard truth is she sold her body for a living, and women who do that live dangerously. Thewhole thing could trace back to some other John. Hell, I haven't even followed up on her supposed modeling—the garment industry connections. There's a real clean business for you—sweatshops and kickbacks81."
"What about Shawna and Duke>" I said.
He rotated his head, winced82, rubbed his face. "I don't know, Alex. My gut29 still tells me Shawna isn't related to the rest of it."
"Your gut's worth listening to."
"Thanks, Doc—see you next session."
We traveled in silence all the way to Beverly Glen and Valley Vista83, where Milo began the trip back to the city.
He let out a long, raspy sigh. "I respect your intuition also, Alex, but even an O-C pit bull takes a breather between bouts84. Let's both step back for a while. Maybe try to relax."
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puncture
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| n.刺孔，穿孔；v.刺穿，刺破 | |
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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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spinach
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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corpse
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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perfectly
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strap
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waxy
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retraced
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pointed
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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suburban
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tragic
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toddles
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jewelry
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clinches
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| n.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的名词复数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议）v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的第三人称单数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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incompetent
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ass
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lining
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applied
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devious
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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chunk
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warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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chatter
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depressed
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stomps
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conspiracy
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awfully
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hostility
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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antenna
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| n.触角，触须；天线 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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commuter
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| n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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overpass
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| n.天桥，立交桥 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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excremental
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| adj.排泄物的，粪便的 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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humiliate
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| v.使羞辱，使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
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registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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kickbacks
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| n.激烈反应( kickback的名词复数 )；佣金，回扣 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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84
bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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