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.
He took the couch, lowering himself slowly, taking more time to cross his legs.
“Sorry for the creaking,” he said. “Coffee?”
Milo said, “Thank you, sir.”
“You pour, my shoulder hurts.”
Milo semi-filled three cups. Hesse said, “You’ve got finesse for a husky fellow. Great to meet you. I’m sure Dr. Rick told you. My forte was finance but I did get behind some small-screen productions, including cop shows.”
He rattled off several titles, most forgettable or forgotten, plus a long-running drama that could’ve earned him a few mansions.
“You look like the real deal, Lieutenant. You, on the other hand, are what casting directors like. The two of you would make a great pair. Either of you ever done any T.A.’ing?”
Milo said, “Teaching assistant?”
“Technical advising,” said Hesse. “Terrific money, even with the tightening up. It’s the kind of line item that makes its way through the budgetary process because compared with all the waste, it’s penny ante.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, sir.”
“I wouldn’t advise either of you trying to break in solo, too much competition, too much hassle. But as a pairing, you’ve got something different. Synergy. They could tap into your repartee as well as your expertise. Who knows, you might score a reality show or something. Though you’d probably need to retire first. Want some phone numbers?”
“Sure, thanks,” said Milo. “Before that, could we talk about why we’re here?”
“Cut to the chase,” said Heck Hesse. “I like your style. Go.”
Milo handed the photo across the table. “We’re trying to identify these people.”
Hesse said, “I need my glasses — over there, near the art section.” Pointing to a bookcase filled with oversized spines. From Renaissance to Basquiat.
Milo retrieved a pair of specs with lime-green frames and handed them over. Even assisted, Hesse squinted.
He began on the left side, the way most readers of English do. “This one” — tapping Dorothy’s image — “I don’t know her but I may have a vague memory of seeing her there, that doesn’t help you... the guy I saw plenty of times. Some sort of scientist? Doctor?”
Milo said, “Engineer.”
“So you know him,” said Hesse. “So why come to me?”
“We don’t know much about him.”
“Neither do I, other than what I told you. Engineers are buttoned-up types, this one probably had a second adolescence, trying too hard to be a hippie. Silk shirts from Battaglia, good luck with that, the whole key to being a hippie was pretending to come off poor. My daughters tried it. Then they found out being poor was no picnic.”
Hesse’s eyes shifted to the right. “This one I don’t know... this one, the chubby one. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who went missing. Am I right? That what you’re after?”
We got up and studied the photo.
The woman to Des Barres’s immediate left had a narrow face and fashion-model cheekbones. The woman Hesse had labeled chubby was anything but overweight. Just a bit of extra padding on her cheeks.
More fresh-faced than exotic.
Everything’s relative.
Milo said, “What else do you know about her?”
“So I’m right.” Hesse slapped a knee. “Good to know the brain’s still working. That said, don’t ask me about names, haven’t been able to hold on to names for longer than I’ll admit. What I do remember is once I was there with a... friend. The manager comes upstairs looking upset and tells us there’s a cop downstairs asking questions. Nothing that could involve us, a girl went missing, could we please go downstairs and talk to them. Naturally, I’m not tickled. Upstairs was a place to get privacy, good drinks, listen to that Indian Beatle music, jasmine or whatever in the air. Although by that time, it’s losing business. But they lowered the membership, I love a bargain... anyway... I’m loosening up after a tough day, aluminum had just gone nuts, or maybe it was the raw ore... bauxite. I ended up making a killing but what a day, it damaged my arteries, heh. But I go downstairs because it’s a cop, let’s keep it simple. He shows me a picture of this one.” Tapping. “I say no idea, he thanks me and leaves.”
Hesse sat back. “The whole thing was two minutes, if that. But still not a pleasant experience. That’s what we remember, right? The bad stuff and the good stuff, everything in between gets shoved in the mental dumpster. What was bad wasn’t the cop, per se. It was any cop. My situation back then. You guys, even when you’re not trying to, you get accusatory. I get it. You see the worst in everyone. But it doesn’t make you fun to talk to.”
He smiled. “Not you two. This is fun. Maybe nowadays they train you better in human relations, psychology, whatever.”
Milo said, “We do have some top-notch psychologists.”
“Well, that’s good. Anyway, I’m sorry for her, she looks like a nice girl — corn-fed. As to why she’d be at The Azalea, I don’t have to tell you.”
“Please educate us, sir.”
“Forget sir. Heck.” Velour legs crossed painfully slowly. “Think about it: What does L.A. mean to everyone in the outside world? New York, China, Russia, India, everywhere.”
“The film business.”
“Bingo. Like that movie, the Steve Martin one — guy’s brilliant, plays the banjo. Cute blonde gets off the bus and says, ‘Where do I go to become a star?’ Hilarious but not far from the truth. A girl’s got good looks, not too much in the brainpan, she comes here, ends up broke. Then what? You need me to spell it out.”
“Prostitution.”
“Literally or conceptually,” said Hesse. “The premise is the same: I can sell my looks so why not? During The Azalea’s heyday, it was free love, anyway, so you had social norms on your side. Even with that, females giving it away like crazy, there was a pecking order. You want a hippie chick with unshaved legs studying for a Ph.D., fine but that is not to everyone’s taste. Hairy legs wouldn’t make it through the door of The Azalea.”
Hesse chuckled. “Unless you’re a guy who likes guys and thinks the bear thing is the thing.” Peering at Milo’s trousers and winking. “So, sure, some of the poor dears ended up as call girls. Or just plain hooking on the street if they got addicted to hard drugs. But there were also plenty of ambiguous situations. Cutie goes home with a rich guy, spends a few days, he gives her cash, takes her shopping, she spends a few more nights, even weeks. Some of them even got married. Plenty of women who call themselves socialites started off that way.”
He pointed to Des Barres’s goatee. “He looks like some cartoon devil, no? No Adonis, that’s for sure, but with three cuties hanging on to him, his money made him feel gorgeous. He do something to Corn-Fed?”
“No indication of that.”
“Then what?”
“It’s part of another case, Heck. Complicated. Sorry.”
“Can’t argue with complicated, complicated always wins.” Hesse returned the photo. “That’s all I can tell you, let me get you those phone numbers for T.A.’ing.”
Milo said, “Do you recall if the detective who asked about her was L.A. or Beverly Hills?”
Head shake. “If he said, it didn’t register. All I wanted was to get myself back upstairs. I can tell you what he looked like but all these years, that’s not going to help you.”
“Tell us anyway.”
“The reason,” said Hesse, “that I remember is a thing about me. Faces stay in here forever” — tapping his forehead. “One of my granddaughters is studying psychology, she said I’m a super-recognizer.”