Guilt by Association (31 page)

“Evelyn Durrell.”

Her tone was curt, her movements direct, economical, and graceless.

“Bailey Keller,” Bailey said as they shook hands.

“Rachel Knight,” I said. We shook briefly. Her grip was firm, her hand cold. On closer inspection, I saw that the hair pushed
behind her ears was gray at the roots. Her makeup was spare but tasteful: it emphasized hazel eyes—her best feature—and minimized
thin, pinched-looking lips. In short, she looked like the office administrator she was—and one who’d probably begun her career
as a nurse.

Evelyn got right down to business.

“You wanted a list of Dr. Densmore’s clinics, correct?” she asked.

Bailey and I nodded. Evelyn lowered her glasses and held out a piece of paper, then pointed to the first entry with a pencil.

“He’s got six, including this one: the Palisades, Brentwood, Sherman Oaks, Calabasas, and Hollywood—but he hasn’t been to
the Hollywood clinic in quite a while.” She handed us the list. “What else can I do for you?”

“You can tell us where Dr. Densmore will be today,” Bailey said.

“I believe he’ll be in the Palisades center.” Evelyn looked at us over her glasses. “Is that it?”

“Just one more thing,” Bailey said. “Have you seen this man around any of the clinics?”

She held out the picture of the AB guy. Evelyn took it and studied it a moment, then handed it back.

“No, I can’t say that I have,” she said slowly. “Why? You think he’s the one who raped Susan?” she asked, her tone alarmed.

“We don’t know yet. This is just one of several avenues we’re checking into,” I replied.

“Mind if I ask your receptionist?” Bailey said.

“Go right ahead,” Evelyn answered. “But… you’re not going to show that picture to the patients’ parents, are you?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Bailey reassured her.

I thanked Evelyn for her help while Bailey went over to the receptionist. When I joined them, the girl’s eyes got even wider.
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before,” she said.

Or anyone like him, I was sure. We said good-bye and drove to the Brentwood health center, where we met with similar results.

“Be easy to head out to the Palisades from here,” Bailey said.

“It would,” I agreed.

She turned onto Sunset, taking the scenic route, and I watched as we rolled past pretty people, nice cars, and palm trees.

We found the Palisades health center. It was just where Evelyn said it would be. And we found Densmore there—just where she’d
said he would be. That Evelyn was one organized administrator.

Bailey showed the AB guy’s photograph around, but no one recognized him. Densmore was in a meeting and wouldn’t be out for
another couple of hours, so we said we’d be back later and headed for his gated community instead. Now that we had a photograph,
maybe one of the guards would remember seeing him.

Luckily cop-groupie Norman Chernow was on duty.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” he said cheerily, smiling and nodding at Bailey.

What was I, chopped liver? I had a badge too. Maybe I should’ve shown it to him. Maybe I should’ve shown him my gun too.

“Have you seen this guy around here?” Bailey said. She handed him the photograph.

Norman held it close to his face and squinted. “No, doesn’t look familiar to me. Want me to ask the other guards?”

“That’s okay, Norm. I’ll do it,” Bailey said diplomatically.

It was as important to watch the guards’ reactions as it was to hear what they had to say. If someone flinched, then claimed
to know nothing, we’d need to dig further. We parked and went into the guardhouse to query the other two guards. Unfortunately
they didn’t so much as bat an eyelash when they said they hadn’t seen him.
Damn.

“Mind if we go on up and ask around the neighborhood?” Bailey said.

“Sure, absolutely, Detective,” Norman said. He leaned in toward Bailey conspiratorially. “Tell you the truth, these guys aren’t
like us,” he said, tilting his head toward the guardhouse. “They don’t work too hard, if you know what I mean.”

Norman hadn’t left much to decipher in that statement. Bailey assured him she did know what he meant, and Norman opened the
gates. We drove through and headed up the hill.

“Now what, Detective?” I asked sarcastically. “We going to door-knock everyone in the hood?”

“Do I hear a note of jealousy?” Bailey asked with a superior smirk.

“No,” I lied. “But when he sees that my badge is bigger than yours, he’ll say, ‘Detective who?’ ” I replied smugly.

We pulled up to the Densmores’ house. “Seriously, we can’t
knock on every door,” I said as we got out of the car. “What’s your plan?”

“Let’s hit Mom and Susan. They should both be home by now,” Bailey said. “By the time we’re done with them, I’ll have a plan.”

Bailey rang the bell
at the Densmore manse, and this time Janet herself answered the door.
Must be the maid’s day off.
We exchanged the requisite pleasantries, and Janet ushered us in.

We told her why we were there and showed her the photograph. She took it and frowned. “I’ve never seen this man, and I’m sure
I’d remember if I had.” She handed the photograph back to Bailey, her expression puzzled. “What on earth could he be doing
in this neighborhood?” she asked. Then she heard her own words and looked down. If we were showing her his picture, it was
pretty obvious what he might’ve been doing in this neighborhood. “Let me call Susan.” Janet pulled a cell phone out of the
pocket of her khaki pants and punched in a number.

Seeing her make the call, I thought maybe Susan wasn’t home after all. Then I reminded myself that in a house this big, you
couldn’t just yell and expect anyone to hear you.

Seconds later, Susan appeared in faded and torn jeans and a gray T-shirt with a zippered pocket on the chest. I estimated
that worn-down-looking ensemble cost more than three hundred dollars. But Susan looked like a million bucks. Though I’d heard
the elation in her voice when I’d told her Luis was in the clear, seeing her now gave me visible proof of just how much that
news had meant to her. I felt
fairly certain that the relaxed demeanor and easy smile I saw today wasn’t just a return to the “old” Susan; it was the emergence
of a new, more confident Susan. One who’d proven not only that she was right but that Daddy could be wrong. Maybe something
good had come of this tragedy after all.

“Hey, Susan,” I said. “How’re you doing?”

“Okay,” she said in a tone more buoyant than I’d ever heard before.

I asked her about school and we chatted for a moment, then I got to the point.

“We’re working on another lead. Would you mind looking at a photograph and telling us whether you’ve ever seen this man before?”

Susan paused at first, but then she lifted her chin. “I don’t mind,” she said. Her brave expression made me feel proud and
sad at the same time.

Bailey handed the photograph to her, and I watched her take a deep breath before looking at it. She peered down, then blinked
twice as her brow furrowed. “I don’t recognize him at all,” she said. She looked at the photograph again, then shook her head
and handed it back to Bailey. “I’ve never seen that guy.”

Bailey and I glanced briefly at each other. No dissembling here—they really didn’t know the guy. I couldn’t say I was surprised.

We said we’d let them know what developed and headed back to the car.

“Now what?” I asked Bailey.

She shrugged. “We look around, I guess.”

“That’s it? That’s your plan?”

“You got a better one?”

I thought for a moment and looked up and down the street. Bailey stood on the driver’s side of the car, key in hand. I spoke
to her over the hood.

“If our boy was in this neighborhood, doesn’t it stand to reason that someone who’s out on the street a lot would’ve been
the most likely to see him?” I asked.

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean squat to the two geniuses we found in the guardhouse,” she said acidly.

“They’re just two guys who roam all over the hood. I say we look near the Densmores’ house and see who’s floating around.”

“And just hope to get lucky?” Bailey said derisively.

“You got a better idea?”

She shook her head.

We moved down the street and found three gardeners who deciphered enough of my broken Spanish to understand that they should
tell us if they recognized the man in the photograph. They shook their heads. No luck. Two nannies strolling their babies
together. “No, no. Don’t see him here.” Three more nannies walking dogs. The nannies were happy for the chance to take a break,
the dogs less so. But again, nothing.

Then I spotted a lithe young woman in spandex pants and a matching midriff-baring spandex top. She was running backward in
front of a stringy older man, whom she was exhorting to “keep up the pace” and “pump those arms.” She had a perfect tan and
the kind of body bikinis were made for. I wanted to stick my foot out and trip her. I looked at Bailey, who nodded at me,
and we headed in her direction. The woman’s sun visor and glasses blocked a view of her face and eyes, so I couldn’t tell
if she saw us approach. But if she did, it didn’t faze her. She kept barking orders as though she and the old man were the
only two people on earth.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Bailey said, using her cop voice. That got the woman’s attention. She paused and looked at us, an annoyed
expression on her face.

Then Bailey pulled out her badge. “LAPD. We’re investigating a crime. Could we have a few moments of your time?”

The woman’s expression changed from annoyed to perplexed, but she stopped and the older man looked at us gratefully. He leaned
forward, hands on thighs, and took the chance to catch his breath.

“Can you tell us whether you’ve seen this person in the neighborhood?” Bailey handed the photograph to the man first.

He looked at it while he continued to wheeze. His mouth turned down, and he shook his head. “Nope.” He handed the photograph
back to Bailey. “This about that little girl who got raped?”

Bailey ignored him and gave the picture to the trainer.

She took it and lifted her sunglasses to get a closer look. She frowned at first, then nodded. “Yeah, he looks familiar. I’ve
seen him around, though I don’t know who he was visiting. I remember thinking he looked… wrong, you know?”

We sure did. Bailey took the trainer’s information. Her name was Miley Barone, and she was also a life coach. Of course she
was.

“How many times did you see him?” I asked.

“Not a whole bunch. Three? Maybe four?” Miley guessed. “He mighta been here more than that, though, and I just didn’t see.
I’m up here a lot, but I work all over the neighborhood.”

“Do you remember when you last saw him here?” I asked.

“Maybe two or three weeks ago. I think I was working with Sookie Tuckman.”

Two or three weeks ago. Likely just before the rape.

“Where does Ms. Tuckman live?” I asked.

“On Briar Court, about two blocks from here.” She pointed in the direction of the address.

Bailey and I exchanged looks. That was just one block away from where the Densmores lived.

Bailey got Miley to list the names of her clients in the neighborhood and promised not to let them know that Miley had been
the source. The trainer didn’t seem to realize that the older man might be her bigger problem, but I decided not to point
this out. We
thanked Miley and her client for their time and left. As Miley barked out, “Let’s go!” the man looked back at us wistfully,
then slowly cranked himself up to a slow trot, his expression grim.

We waited until we were in the car to high-five.

“Let’s see, whose idea was it to walk the hood?” I crowed, rubbing it in.

“Mine,” Bailey replied. She drove out through the gates, and I looked over at her.

“I swear, I will push you down,” I threatened.

“Try it, Knight. We’ll see what happens.” Bailey grinned. She had at least three inches and some considerable muscle on me.

“But I will have the element of surprise on my side, grasshopper.”

We laughed, and within a few minutes we were back at the Palisades Health Center for Children. This time, Densmore was waiting
for us. Impatiently.

The receptionist buzzed us in, and a nurse escorted us back to an office at the end of the examination rooms. Densmore was
standing next to the desk. Through the window behind him, the late-afternoon light was beginning to fade.

“I’ve got another meeting to get to, and based on your track record, this is going to be yet another dead end. So make it
fast,” Densmore said irritably.

“I don’t know if your office administrator, Evelyn Durrell, told you, but—,” I began.

Densmore cut me off abruptly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been in meetings all day. No one’s had a chance to tell me
anything. What is it?”

“We have reason to believe that this man may be involved in the assault. We’d like to know if you recognize him,” I said.
Bailey held out the photograph of the AB guy.

Densmore took it and looked at it. His jaw twitched, then he shook his head. “No. Are you saying he’s the rapist? Or that
he’s some
kind of accomplice?” Densmore’s voice was tense, angry. But I couldn’t blame him. I’d sound pretty pissed off too if I thought
I was looking at the picture of the man who’d raped my daughter.

Bailey took back the photograph.

“We don’t know yet,” I replied. “Once we get him identified, we can find out whether his DNA is in the database.”

Frank Densmore nodded curtly, then looked at his watch and cleared his throat. “Call me when you know something. I’m late
for my next meeting.” He picked up his jacket and keys and herded us toward the door, but I stopped with my hand on the knob.

“Dr. Densmore, we’re concerned as to why this man may have targeted Susan—,” I said.

“How the hell would I know that?” he interjected angrily. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to figure out?”

“We’re not magicians, Doctor,” I pointed out, my voice steely. “You’ve told us that you have no known enemies, and you couldn’t
remember having had any problems with patients’ families. We can only work with what we have.”