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.
Smiling proudly.
“Also, this face wasn’t an average face. You remember The Munsters?”
“Sure.”
“The guy who played Herman, Fred Gwynne. Before that, he was in Car 54, you’re probably too young to recall that one. Take away the Frankenstein makeup from Herman Munster, and picture the face.”
I said, “Long, narrow.”
“With big lips, droopy eyes — like a tired horse. Which isn’t to say Gwynne wasn’t a great actor. And smart, a class act. I met him at a Harvard thing, he was Adams House, I was Cabot. He could sing, draw, very talented. Limited by his size and that face, but still, he delivered some great performances — anyway, the cop who showed up looked like Fred. Not as tall, Fred had to be six-five, six, this guy was probably six... two. But he could’ve been Gwynne’s less impressive brother. Once you took away the mustache.”
Ball-bearing-sized lumps rolled up and down Milo’s jaw, tenting and releasing the skin. His hands had tightened.
Heck Hesse said, “Not the classiest thing, the mustache, but guys were doing that back then. Doing all sorts of tonsorial stuff — muttonchops, that never helps anyone aesthetically. I saw this guy and was surprised the cops allowed it.”
He traced a horizontal line over his upper lip, used both hands to drop at right angles down to his chin.
I said, “Fu Manchu.”
“Nah, Fu was wispy — you see the movie? This thing was geometric. Like a croquet wicket. Dark brown wicket. That sums it up perfectly: Freddy Gwynne with a croquet wicket mustache. Only other thing I remember was he wore a cheap suit. Can’t tell you what color ’cause it’s not a face, only faces stay in here.”
Milo said, “When did this happen?”
Hesse gave a start. His eyes fluttered. “Not so good with time... long time ago... thirty-five years? More?” He slumped.
I said, “With your visual recognition skills, you’d know if you saw the missing woman at the club.”
He perked up. “I would indeed and I didn’t. All I saw was a photo the cop showed me. Was she ever at The Azalea? The cop came around so I’m assuming yes. Or maybe he was just fishing around. You guys do that, I know from working with T.A.’s.”
Quick sidelong glance at the disco ball. “You need to bear in mind that back then I was always upstairs, would go straight up like there was a lit fuse in my keister. Which is what I probably did when the cop asked someone else.”
Louder chuckle. “That was me, back then. Hiding from reality. Nowadays, I’m comfortable. Unfortunately, I’m also ancient.”
Milo thanked him, declined the offer of more coffee and “a little snack.” But we stuck around for a few more minutes, serving as a patient audience for Heck Hesse’s tour of the library and capsule descriptions of his favorite books. (“Oscar Wilde, and not because of that. Guy was a dynamite writer.”) Then a detour into one of the other ambiguously functioned great rooms where he showed us three Emmys. All for forgettable shows.
When we left, the four maids had split into two pairs flanking the door. They stood by as Hesse took his time working the knob.
“I like to do as much for myself while I can,” he said. “Who knows how long that’ll last.”
I said, “You look in great shape.”
“Appearances are deceiving.”
Chapter 27
Hesse stood in the doorway as we walked to the unmarked. Before we reached the car, he shouted, “I bought plenty of those as props. Afterward we gave ’em to the stuntmen, they liked to hot-rod ’em.”
We laughed. Hesse beamed.
Milo said, “Good deed for the day,” as we got in.
The lumps in his jaw had receded but his shoulders were bunched and his hands were restless. He sped south toward Sunset.
I said, “You know the Missing Persons D.”
Pulling over just short of the boulevard, he produced his phone, scrolled for a while, handed it over.
LAPD personnel headshot of a long-faced man with a gray, wicket-shaped mustache. The resemblance to Fred Gwynne more than passing.
Below the image: P. J. Seeger, Detective II.
I said, “Before Homicide, he worked Missing Persons.”
“I’ll take that bet. You thinking what I am?”
“Seeger worked the missing girl and connected her to Des Barres but couldn’t take it further. Years later, he’s in Homicide and gets handed Dorothy’s murder as a low-priority cold case. He began the same way Galoway did, with the Cadillac, and connected it to Des Barres. Now he’s wondering about multiple murders at the mansion but too much time has lapsed to make any progress.”
“Exactly. Dorothy was handed to him as really warm beer, same as with Galoway. In Galoway’s case because he was a rookie and his captain didn’t like him. In Seeger’s case maybe his rep as a drudge was the reason. Whatever the case, without results, the bosses wouldn’t have allowed him much time to poke around.”
I said, “What if both cases stuck with Seeger and after he retired, he began digging around on his own? Asked the wrong questions of the wrong people and ended up run off the road on his Harley. That could explain the time lag between working Dorothy and his death.”
He took his time considering that. “Lemme have the phone back.”
More scrolling, another preset, switch to speaker.
“Hi, Deirdre, it’s Milo Sturgis again.”
A woman said, “Oh, hi. What’s up?”
“I know you said Phil didn’t talk about his cases but did he ever happen to mention any missings from way back?”
“He had so many of those, Milo. Have you ever worked them?”
“Never.”
“Phil hated missings,” said Deirdre Seeger. “He said you put so much time into them and most of them resolve by themselves. He was happy to switch to Property Crimes and then when his application for Homicide finally got approved, he was jumping for joy.”
“So no discussions about specific cases.”
“No, Phil cherished our time together. Cherished me and kept me away from bad things. I mean, sometimes he’d say I’ve got a frustrating one, doll. But that’s about it. How long ago is ‘way back’?”
“Thirty-seven, — eight years, maybe forty. Give or take.”
“That’s right after he got out of uniform and started at Missings. All I know from that time was he kept long hours and came home tired. But my cooking revived him. My desserts, especially.”
“The missing in question is a young woman, Deirdre. Early twenties, hung out in Beverly Hills.”
“That doesn’t help,” she said. “And Beverly Hills? Way outside of Phil’s jurisdiction. What he would’ve called above my pay grade.”
“Okay, thanks, and sorry for bothering you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother, Milo. I’m not exactly on a tight schedule.”
The phone went back into his pocket.
I said, “Frustration can hang you up or push you forward.”
“Seeger somehow got a fire in his belly?”
“Free to do what he wanted, no pressure from above? Maybe bored with retirement?”
“Hmm... never experienced pressure myself but that’s because of my magnetism.”
“No doubt.”
As he reached for the shift lever, I said, “Maybe Galoway remembers something from Seeger’s notes.”
“Didn’t sound that way when we talked to him but can’t hurt to ask.”
Du Galoway’s hearty voice came on after two rings. “Milo. Hey, what’s up? Progress, I hope? You got me thinking about the case.”
“I wish, Du. I’m calling to ask you something.”
“Sure, shoot.”
“Was there any mention in Seeger’s notes about a missing at Des Barres’s place prior to Dorothy’s murder?”