Self-Defense (22 page)

“Maybe they came to do serious harm but
didn’t find her home. Or maybe they and Peter have nothing to do with it. What
if it
is
someone connected to Shwandt—remember how the Bogettes
threatened justice? Or some other nut who’s latched on to Lucy—someone who
noticed her at the trial.”

“How would anyone know she was away?”

“They watched her—stalked her. Remember,
she leaves her drapes open.” Tension in my voice. “Is there anything that makes
you doubt her?”

“No, that’s the thing. She’s calmed down
now, but when I first got here she was petrified. Shaking. Either genuine terror
or great acting, Alex. And she doesn’t have a typewriter, so the note couldn’t
have been written here. Where else would she write it between two and five in
the morning? Where the hell would she get
rat
shit?”

“That’s reminiscent of Shwandt.”

He nodded.

“Was anything else disturbed?” I said.

“No.”

I took in the skimpy decor.

“You should see the bedroom,” he said.
“Single mattress on a board, a cheapie end table, nothing on the walls. Her
clothes aren’t bad, but she doesn’t have much.”

“Nunnish.”

He looked at me sharply.

I said, “So what’s bugging you about it?”

“I just don’t trust my instincts with
her.”

He dropped his chin into one palm. Black
and gray stubble popped through the pockmarks.

“How long have you been here?” I said.

“Since five-forty.”

It was after eleven.

“Why’d you wait so long to call me?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt your beauty
sleep.”

“Seriously.”

He frowned and pushed hair off his
forehead. “After I calmed her down, we talked. Capital T. I told her I was
gay—I know you warned me, but it just seemed right. I followed my instincts;
once in a while it works.” Looking at me.

“Okay. How’d she take it?”

“Almost as if she was relieved.”

“Maybe she is,” I said. “On two counts.
She’s not personally rejected, and she can be with you while avoiding the mess
of a sexual relationship.”

“Whatever.... Sorry if I jumped the gun,
Alex. I didn’t want to screw anything up. But sitting there, holding her, she’s
crying, her head on my shoulder, I could just see something happening, and all
she needed was another rejection. I figured—”

“Obviously, you figured right.”

His smile was slow to form. “Mr.
Validation—ever think of working with people?”

“Are you going to call the lab to do a
crime scene?”

“If I do, this could get really messy.
Once those wheels start rolling, it’ll be impossible to keep it quiet.
Someone’s bound to talk: Bogeyman juror harassed.... It’s only a matter of time
before the press dogs find out and start peeing all over it. Then they start
focusing on her and learn she tried to kill herself and got committed. Who’d
love
that?”

“Shwandt’s lawyers,” I said. “Mentally ill
juror. Grounds for instant reversal.”

“Especially coming on the heels of the
copycat. My bet is they’d get the whole thing thrown out.”

“Lucy would be humiliated,” I said.

“Big time.” He got up and paced.

I looked over at the note. “Is there any
conceivable way this could be
related
to the copycat? Could the Bogettes
or someone else in Shwandt’s camp have hatched up some scheme to get his
conviction reversed?”

“Who the hell knows? Those girls are crazy
as shit. Low-IQ fanaticism, the worst kind.”

“It would sure be a low-IQ plan. No other
jury will ever let Shwandt walk the street again.”

“Yeah, but if he’s in court, they get to
see
him. For all I know, they’re planning to
liberate
him out of
there.”

I read the note again. “ ’Die twice.’
Could that mean humiliation as well as the real thing?”

He shrugged. The shower stopped.

“Okay,” he said. “Till we clear this up,
priority one is keeping her safe. If she manufactured this, the worst thing is
I get snookered. So where do I stash her? She says she’s got no close friends
and no family other than him.” Glancing at the picture on the TV. “And he is a
junkie, by the way.”

“I know,” I said. “His father told me.”

“When did you speak with
him
?”

“Yesterday. I tried to get hold of you to
tell you. I have some other stuff to talk about too, but let’s figure out what
to do with Lucy first.”

“I could put her in a hotel, but any place
above a fleabag is gonna eat into her money pretty damn fast.”

“What about Ken? He’s in real estate—deals
with distressed properties. Even if he doesn’t have anything himself, he might
know of a low-cost, short-term rental. Here or up in Palo Alto. Maybe she
should go out of town for a while.”

“It’s a thought,” he said. “She talked
about him a little, wanting to thank him for saving her but not knowing how to
approach him. How weird it was having a brother she didn’t know. Then she
changed the subject to the Puckster. Worried that he hasn’t called.”

“Worried, not angry?”

“Worried. I got the feeling she’s been
worrying about him for a long time.”

“I’m sure she has,” I said. “She say
anything more about him?”

“No, and I didn’t push.... Okay, can you
reach Ken?”

“I’ve got his card.”

The bedroom door opened and Lucy came in
the room, toweling her hair.

“Definitely nothing else missing,” she
said. “My stuff’s all intact.”

“Good,” said Milo. He got up and held out
a chair for her.

“Another trial,” she said. “Carrie’s poor
parents going through it again—all the families. You really think those
horrible girls could be behind this?”

“We don’t know,” said Milo. “But
publicity’s their meat. That’s why we want to keep you safe and do it quietly.”

“My—” She bit her lip.

“What, Lucy?” I said.

“The... oven. I’d been starting to wonder
if I really—but do you think someone could have done that to me? Drugged me
somehow? Remember how I mentioned feeling drugged to you, a couple of sessions
ago?”

I nodded.

“I thought I was just tired,” she said.
“Too much work, not enough sleep. But—could it be?”

“Anything’s possible,” I said.

She raised her knees to her chin. Her arms
were around her legs and her body looked very small. “Well, do what you need to
get to the bottom of it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll handle whatever comes
along.”

“Publicity would mean more than just a new
trial,” I said. “Instant celebrity, including the three days you spent at
Woodbridge.”

That made her flinch. “Oh... the crazy
juror... oh, boy.”

Looking at Milo.

He said, “I’m going to fingerprint your
apartment myself instead of calling in the lab. It’ll take longer, but I’ll be
able to keep it under wraps. Depending upon what I find, we’ll take it from
there. Has anyone visited you recently?”

“No. No one.”

“I’ll also find you a temporary place for
the next day or so. After that, we thought we’d ask Ken to look into something
’cause he’s in real estate. You okay with that?”

“Guess so. Sure.” To me: “Would he want
to?”

“At the hospital he mentioned wanting to
meet you. Though I’m sure he’s a little nervous about it.”

She smiled. “Like I’m really scary.”

“The unknown is scary.”

The smile faded.

She began packing, and I returned to
Malibu and called Ken’s office. No secretary. I spoke to his answering-machine
tape, and he came on the line as soon as I mentioned my name.

“Hi, doc, what’s up?”

I told him.

“Someone broke in?”

“Lucy said she found the door open when
she came home.”

“Shit. I bet
I
left it open. I was in such a hurry to
get her to the hospital—”

“No, the lock was fixed after that, and
the handyman claims the door was locked. So either he was careless or someone
jimmied it.”

“Why would—maybe someone was casing the
neighborhood, knew she was out. Did they take anything?”

“No, they just left the note. Detective
Sturgis is looking into it, but we need to keep it quiet. To avoid publicity
that might hurt Lucy and give Shwandt a retrial.”

“Hurt her how?”

“If the story gets out, someone could do
some checking and find out about her seventy-two hours at Woodbridge.”

“Oh. Yeah, I see what you mean. That would
be terrible.”

“In the meantime, we’re trying to find a
safe place for her to stay. Your brother’s still out of town, and we wondered
if you could put her up in Palo Alto.”

“That’s okay with Lucy?”

“She’s a bit nervous about meeting you,
but you’d be doing her a great favor.”

“Then, sure. But she doesn’t even need to
come up here. The company’s got lots of vacant properties in L.A. Most are
low-income, but some are pretty nice.... I think there’s a really good one in
Brentwood, totally furnished. I was planning to fly down tonight anyway; let me
check—unless you think she should leave town.”

“No,” I said. “A secure place down here
would be fine.”

“I could stay with her, if that’ll help. I
couldn’t stick with her every moment, but I’d be home most nights.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Ken.”

“Sure, no problem. Glad to be useful.”

Milo called at three-thirty to say he was
on the way over. He arrived just after four.

“Got her over at the Ramada on Beverly
Drive and Pico, registered under my name.” He gave me the room and the phone
number.

“She okay by herself?”

“Seems to be. I gave her all the usual
precautions, though I can’t see how anyone could possibly find her there.”

“After spending more time with her, any
new thoughts about her credibility?”

“She seems
goddamn
credible, nothing shaky or flaky. If
she’s lying, she’s either totally nuts or a stone psychopath, and I can’t
believe I’m that gullible.”

“It’s not a matter of gullible. All of us
are like locks. No matter how strong the bolt, there’s always a key out there
that opens it.”

“So what’re you saying? I’m a sucker for
her?
You
think she’s lying?”

“I think she’s a very confused young
woman. The dream, now this.
I’m
having trouble sorting out reality, so I
imagine it’s pretty tough for her.”

“You only answered one question.”

“Do I think you’re a sucker for her? I’d
term it emotionally susceptible, and, yeah, you sure are. Do I think it’s bad?
No. She needs help and you’re providing it. Like you said, the worst that can
happen is you get snookered. Any more discussion about your being gay?”

“Nope, it didn’t come up.” He looked
burdened.

“What?” I said.

“What’s the other stuff you said you
wanted to talk to me about?”

“The Karen Best scenario looks a little
less theoretical. I was over at the Sand Dollar yesterday and happened to get
served by a waitress named Doris Reingold. She was on Best’s list—been working
there all this time. She told me Gwen Shea recruited staffers regularly for
nighttime catering gigs. Karen’s name didn’t come up—there was no way to work
it into the conversation. But Best did say Karen was friendly with the Sheas.
It’s logical they’d have thrown some work her way. So maybe she worked the
Sanctum party.”

“Why didn’t the private eye find any of
this out?”

“Maybe he was incompetent and didn’t ask
the right questions. The staff kept catering gigs quiet. The Dollar’s owner
didn’t approve.”

He pushed back from the table and
stretched his legs. “You just happened to get served by her, huh?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“And you just happened to be eating
there.”

“Place has a great view,” I said.

He looked at the glass doors. “Like you
need to go somewhere for that.”

“I didn’t turn any rocks over,” I said.
“Doris thinks I’m just a friendly guy who tips big. And it’s at least
thought-provoking, isn’t it? Karen fits the girl in Lucy’s dream, she
disappears the night before the party. Big bash like that could have taken a
couple of days to set up. Maybe she went up early. If the Sheas hired her and
something happened to her, that would be a fine reason for them to act evasive
with her father. Throw in Trafficant and
his
disappearance, and it’s a
little more than random numbers, wouldn’t you say?”