Serpentine
- Автор: Келлерман Джонатан
- Серия: Alex Delaware #36
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Random House Publishing Group/Ballantine Books
- ISBN: 978-0-525-61855-3
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Serpentine». Краткое содержание книги:
This murder warrants an immediate call. Milo’s independence has been compromised as never before, as the department pressures him to cater to the demands of a mogul: a hard-to-fathom, megarich young woman who is obsessed with reopening the coldest of cases — the decades-old death of the mother she never knew.
The facts describe a likely loser: a mysterious woman found with a bullet in her head in a torched Cadillac that has overturned on infamously treacherous Mulholland Drive. No physical evidence, no witnesses, no apparent motive. And a slew of detectives have already worked the case and failed. But as Delaware and Sturgis begin digging, the mist begins to lift. Too many coincidences. Facts turn out to be anything but. And as they soon discover, very real threats lurking in the present.
This is Delaware/Sturgis at their best: traversing the beautiful but forbidding place known as Los Angeles and exhuming the past in order to bring a vicious killer to justice.
“Brannon?”
She reached for the tissue box, snagged a chunk, and covered her eyes.
I’d been trained in strategic silence. So had Milo. The same goaclass="underline" getting people to talk.
It didn’t work. Ellie Barker said nothing.
Milo smiled down at her. Every inch, the benevolent uncle.
I smiled, too. Ellie kept her eyes on Milo, never looked my way.
“Do I have to spell it out?” she said. “He dumped me. Right there in the hospital.”
“Sorry,” said Milo.
“So was I. So there it is, I’m pathetic. Yet another character flaw, apparently I have many.”
“He told you that?”
She folded her arms across her chest.
Milo said, “He suffered a serious injury, maybe he’s not thinking straight.”
“He got shot in his back, not his brain, Lieutenant. Oh, he meant it, Brannon always says what he means. I’m stupid for being taken by surprise. Since we moved down here he’s been different.”
“How so?”
“All the usual warning signs that I of course ignored. Distant, restless, distracted — not there. When he told me today, I asked him if there was someone else. He laughed and said how could there be, he was too busy running. That was his real love. His damn marathons.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, indeed — what an asshole!”
Her right hand flew to her lips and covered them. She let it drop. “I can’t believe I just said that. I told myself not to sink to a low level.”
I said, “I’m pretty sure you can be pardoned.”
Her head swung toward me. “Can I? I suppose I can. But I don’t like myself when I’m angry.”
Back to Milo. “Do you know what he said about what you’re doing? That I was obsessed and had no mental space for him. That it stressed him out. This from someone who’s gone all day churning his legs. I said, Bran, you’re never here. He said, That’s not the point. When I am here I need you to be and not running off on a wild-goose chase.”
Milo said, “Sounds kinda narcissistic.”
“You think? Someone who obsesses on his body twenty-four seven? Stretching, running, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups? Drinking smoothies that smell like pond water? Then he said I shouldn’t even be interested in my mother. She abandoned me, I needed to move on.”
“Narcissistic and sensitive.”
“So what does that make me? A gullible idiot.”
I said, “It makes you someone in a relationship.”
She swiveled toward me again. Held her gaze. Hard eyes and mouth. Back to the same distrust I’d seen all along. Oh, well.
“Doctor,” she said, as if reminding herself why she resented me. Suddenly, her features softened and she threw up her hands. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I haven’t been super-warm to you. Sorry about that, too. If Lieutenant Sturgis thinks enough of you to work with you, I should go with the plan. It’s just that my experiences with shrinks — ’scuse me, therapists — haven’t been so great.”
I said, “Understandable.”
She smiled. “That was eminently therapeutic — sorry, I know you’re being kind. Anyway, in the back of my head I always knew he’d do this. He’s got issues.”
Milo said, “Drugs and alcohol.”
“You know?”
“I research people related to cases.”
“Does that include me?”
“You bet.”
“What’d you learn?”
“Nothing you didn’t tell us.”
“I’m boring, huh?”
“I prefer non-criminal. So the Roadrunner blames you for looking into your mother’s death?”
“The Roadrunner?”
“Meep meep.”
She burst into laughter. Reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes. “And of course, he blames me for his getting shot and he’s probably right about that.”
“Actually, he’s pretty wrong, Ellie.”
“Pardon?”
He told her about the arrest.
“A jealous psycho? How bizarre. Part of me wants to rush over right now and let him know. At least one thing you accused me of is pure bull.”
To me: “That would be pretty pathetic, huh? As if it would change anything.”
I said, “Do you want anything to change?”
“Now that,” she said, “was eminently therapeutic. Of course you’re right, I’ve probably known all along it was wrong — he was wrong for me. Why I even started with him... I’m so confused.”
Casting off the covers, she swung her feet over the mattress, inhaled, exhaled, and stood.
“I’m going to make some coffee.”
Milo said, “Make some for us, too.”
Mel Boudreaux was reading his phone in the entry hall. Sports scores. He clicked off.
Milo said, “You mind waiting in the kitchen, amigo?”
Boudreaux said, “Don’t mind at all, ready for a snack.”
He followed Ellie in but emerged a few moments later in the lead. Carrying coffee, cups, and accoutrements on a tray.
Long legs covered a lot of ground. She hurried to keep up. “You really don’t have to, Mel.”
“Need the exercise.” Boudreaux placed the tray on the living room coffee table, saluted, and returned to the kitchen.
Ellie said, “I’ll pour. Cream, sugar?”
Milo said, “Two blacks.” He sipped. “Good stuff.”
“Fazenda Santa Inês from Brazil.” She flinched. “Brannon used to like it.”
“Used to?”
“He got fanatical about training and gave up caffeine.”
“Fun guy.”
“He was,” she said. “At the beginning.” Her face began to crumple.
Milo reached for one of the clean hankies he keeps in his jacket pocket. But, again, she composed herself and put down her cup.
“That deputy chief — Martz — called me and asked if I was happy with your progress. Like she was checking up on you. I hope I didn’t put you in a weird position.”
“Nah, business as usual.”
“I told her I was happy. But if you do have something new, I wouldn’t mind hearing about it. Maybe a little more data than the last time?”
Milo placed his own cup near hers. “We’ve uncovered some minor question marks but nothing close to evidence. If you’re up to it, I have more questions for you.”
“Sure. What?”
“The necklace you showed us. Your father told you your mom left it behind?”
“No, what he told me was he bought it for her, I assumed she left it. How else would Dad have it?”
“Did she leave anything else behind?”
Her eyes slid to the right. “The dress. The one she wore with the necklace in that forest photo. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think it was important. Also, I wear the necklace once in a while but never the dress. It’s in a zip bag in a storage locker back home. Could it be relevant?”
Milo said, “In terms of the murder, highly unlikely. If at some point we get past that and want to learn more about your mom’s background, a label in the dress could theoretically help.”
“It does have a label and I was thinking the same thing so I tried to do some research on my own. The manufacturer was Jenny Leighton, Fort Lee, New Jersey. They were in business until twenty-four years ago. Even with my garment-biz connections, I couldn’t find out if they sold locally or jobbed nationwide. That’s the way it is with the rag trade. Here, today, gone...” She smiled. “If you want, I can fly up and bring the dress back.”
“Not necessary.”
“You think it’ll be another dead end.”
“I wouldn’t call it high priority.”
“Fair enough. So what are those minor question marks you mentioned?”