Therapy (Kellerman, Jonathan) by Kellerman Jonathan

Author:Kellerman, Jonathan [Kellerman, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2004-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

He came by the next morning just before eight, marched into my kitchen, drank coffee and ate two bagels standing at the counter, and said, “Ready?”

I drove over the Glen into the Valley, then east, across Sepulveda, into the heart of Encino.

This was Boomtown Valley, high-rises shining like chrome in the morning sun, traffic jams worthy of downtown, the flavors of money and boosterism comingling easily. But Edward Koppel’s office was located in a straggler from an earlier age: a shopworn, two-story stucco box on Ventura just past Balboa, stuck between a used-car lot crammed with secondhand Jaguars, Ferraris, and Rollses, and a storefront Mideastern restaurant.

Behind the building was a small, outdoor parking lot accessible through an alley, with most of the spaces marked RESERVED. Entrance was through a glass door. Identical setup to the building that housed Mary Lou Koppel’s group, and I said so.

Milo said, “Here I was thinking some big-time executive suite setup. Maybe Koppel specializes in small buildings he can rent out easily. Why don’t you park at the far end, over there.”

He directed me to a spot where we could observe every vehicle that arrived. Over the next half hour, four vehicles did. Two compacts driven by young women, a bottled water delivery truck, and a faded green, ten-year-old Buick that disgorged a sloppy-looking, heavyset man wearing wrinkled pants and an oversized brown polo shirt. He carried a brown paper bag and looked half-asleep as he stumbled up the stairs.

Ten more minutes brought two more Toyotas bearing secretarial types. Soon after, the heavy man exited, and drove off, minus his sack.

“What was that?” I said. “A literal bagman?”

Milo frowned, read the face of his Timex, didn’t answer.

Half an hour after we’d arrived, we were still sitting there. Milo seemed fine, eyes alive under half-closed, hooded lids, but I was getting itchy. I said, “Looks like Mr. K keeps tycoon’s hours.”

“Let’s pay his office a visit.”

*

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