The Dandelion Murders by Rebecca Rothenberg

Author:Rebecca Rothenberg [ROTHENBERG, REBECCA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446569996
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Some hours later she made for the bathroom, stumbled over chair fragments, and just managed to resist the impulse to hurl them at the wall: given their malevolent karma, they would probably rip through the wallboard between her and number six (FREAK ACCIDENT KILLS SLEEPING BABY IN EAST PARKERVILLE), and actually the pause reminded her to wear shoes and thus avert a tragic encounter with the shards of glass on the bathroom floor.

Still half-asleep, she shuffled down to the pay phone and called Tom Martelli, who was more confused than interested to hear that someone had broken into her room.

“You mean Sam’s bedroom?”

Oh. Right. “Uh, no,” she said uncomfortably, “my motel room. I’m not living at Sam’s right now; I’m staying at that motel on Walker Road where Jonathan Levine lived.” Pause. “In his room, actually.”

Dead air at the other end of the line; she had finally managed to stump Tom Martelli. “In Levine’s room,” he said eventually, choosing to ignore the first half of her speech.

“Yeah, well, you know, it was vacant… “She trailed off, then added defensively, “You said you were done with the room!”

“Oh, we’re done with it, it’s not illegal.” Another long silence; then, keeping his voice level as though talking to a dangerous lunatic, he said, “Look, I appreciate your, um, enthusiasm, but I thought we had agreed that you weren’t to get involved in this. So why don’t you go on home.”

Home? Where was that? “Actually, I sort of like it here. That is, the room’s awful, but I like my neighbors. And I think they might know something about Levine. So are you going to come over and investigate?”

“That’s Parkerville police jurisdiction. Why call me?” he said icily.

“Because Levine was your case!”

“Levine? Why should this have anything to do with him? Prob’ly just a straight robbery. You’re a likely target over there. Stand out like a sore thumb—a rich white sore thumb, which is another reason to go back home. But you call Wiggins at Parkerville police. He’s a good man,” he said dismissively.

“Tom!” She caught him just as he was hanging up. “Those phone numbers Levine jotted down. Did you check them out?”

“Yep,” he replied, then continued reluctantly. “The L.A. number belongs to a Dr. Lucy McAdams at the UCLA School of Public Health. The other one is, uh”—rustling papers—“Gary Wilson. He’s with the state attorney general’s office. I haven’t been able to get hold of either one. I’m waitin’ on them to call me back.”

“Oh. What is happening with the case?”

There was the familiar evasive silence. Then, “Nothing much,” he admitted. “The LAPD are looking into his life down there.”

The pulse drummed in her ears. “Anything look likely?”

“A couple leads, nothing definite. By the way,” he added with audible effort, “if you happen to run across any helpful information during the very short time before you move out of Walker Road, I hope you’ll pass it on to me.”

“Sure, of course,” she said distractedly, and hung up, too rattled even to enjoy the small triumph.

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