Jonathan Kellerman - Alex Delaware 04 by Silent Partner

Author:Silent Partner [Partner, Silent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

I reached Milo the next morning and told him what I’d learned.

He said nothing for a moment, then: “I’ve got us a history lesson lined up at eleven. Maybe we can tie up some more loose ends.”

He arrived at ten after ten. We got in the Seville and he directed me east on Sunset. The boulevard was Sunday-empty even on the Strip. Only a thin gathering of brunchers and featherheaded rockers hunched at sidewalk cafés, mixing with coke whores, call girls, and call boys trying to shake off the night before.

“Wholesome,” said Milo. He pulled out a cigar, said, “You got me started on these again,” lit up, and blew soapy-looking smoke out the window.

“What is that? Panamanian?”

“Transylvanian.” He puffed with enthusiasm. Within seconds the car was fogged.

We cruised past La Brea, past Western. No more café scene, just fast-food stands, pawnshops, discount outlets, and darker skin tones. Through the window came laughter and transistor music seasoned with bursts of Spanish. Families strolled the boulevard—parents young enough to be kids themselves, marshaling broods of black-haired cherubs.

“Now that’s wholesome,” I said.

He nodded. “Cream of the crop—I mean it. Poor devils ransom everything they own to the goddam coyotes, get raped, robbed, and ripped off trying to make it over the fence. Then we treat ’em like vermin and send ’em back, as if the goddam country wasn’t built on immigration—hell, if my forebears hadn’t stowed away on a steamer and snuck in through Canada, I’d be digging potatoes somewhere out in County Cork.” He thought about that. “Seen postcards of County Cork. Maybe better off?”

We passed through the Hospital Row that stretched between Edgemont and Vermont, rode past Western Peds, where I’d spent so much of my life.

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

“Just keep driving.” He ground the cigar out in the ashtray. “Listen, there’s something else I should tell you. After I left you yesterday, I took a drive out to Newhall and spoke to Rasmussen’s old lady—Seeber.”

“How’d you find her? I never gave you her name.”

“Don’t worry, your virtue’s intact. Newhall sheriffs took her statement on the accident. I got the address from that.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Seems to have made a good recovery—already has another guy shacking up with her. Skinny Casanova with junkie eyes and dirty arms, thought I was raiding and was halfway out the window before I calmed him down.”

He stretched, yawned. “Anyway, I asked her if Rasmussen had been working much recently. She says no, his temper had gotten him into too many scrapes. Nobody wanted him on their crew. She’s been supporting the both of them for the past six months with the roach wagon gig. Then I popped the matter of the thousand bucks he left her on the pillow, and she almost wet her pants. Even though the sheriffs released the money to her, she’s scared I’m gonna confiscate it—what’s left of it. Chances are Junkie’s shoveled most of it up his arm.

“I calm her down, tell her if she cooperates she can keep it, keep all the rest of it too.

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