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June 28, 1991: Back in Philly, another computer conference. A year before, Doebbler had obtained work with an on-line start-up in San Mateo, only to be laid off, no reason given. Selling optioned stock bought him the house in Oakland and some time to try life as a freelance. A sculptor in Lucite.
At one-fifteen A.M., the body of Melvyn Lassiter, a room-service waiter at the I
“Pasta primavera, broiled salmon. Yummy. The Caesar salad was a bit limp, but once I got rid of the soggy croutons, not half-bad.”
June 28, 1992: Denver, Colorado. Animation conference. Ethel Ferguson, fifty-six, a breeder of standard poodles, was found bludgeoned in a wooded area near her home.
June 28, 1995: Oceanside, California, Matthias Delano Brown, seaman, USN, brained near the docks. Thad Doebbler has taken a three-day vacation in La Jolla, traveling solo, staying at the La Valencia Hotel. (“Lovely; a well-deserved splurge. I saw dolphins from my window.”)
Then: sister-in-law Marta.
Lover Marta.
Thad accounted the affair in prurient detail, rhapsodizing equally about the release of Marta’s “pent-up, Teutonic sexuality” and the pleasure at demeaning Ever Pedestrian Kurt. (“Henceforth referred to as EPT.”)
During the three-month adultery, he traveled to L.A. twelve times, telling his brother that he’d gotten an illustration job at a Beverly Hills ad agency.
“In reality, my job was waiting until EPT had departed for his ever pedestrian employment, then fucking Marta’s brains out- ah, the irony- in her marital bed. She’d start off pretending to be reluctant, but always gave in. She ended up being one hell of a screamer. I decided it would be nice to hear different kinds of screams pouring out of her starting-to-pucker, hausfrau mouth. She was begi
A near-disaster was averted when Kurt returned home shortly after leaving to get a trade journal he’d left near his recliner. “EPT didn’t even bother to come upstairs to say hi to M, just collected his mag and left. He has no social skills, never did. Lucky for M and me, as we were in the throes, co
After that, Marta insisted they tryst at motels over the hill, in Hollywood and West Hollywood.
The “downtown errands” she’d lied about to her friends.
When Marta a
He thought it out, waited until her theater night. Phoned her cell from a nearby booth, telling her he was just around the corner, had pla
She freaked and insisted on taking him. Met him at her car. Before she knew it, he was sitting behind the wheel. Driving away. Looking fine.
She said, Thought you were sick.
He laughed, told her they were through.
She began sobbing, wanted to know why. Begged to know why.
He parked on a dark side street. Took her in his arms, kissed her. Shoved her away roughly and got out.
She went after him. Tried to hit him.
He got hold of her arm, twisted, shoved her to the ground and smashed the back of her skull with the Lucite club he’d concealed in his coat. The specially stitched internal pocket he’d fashioned. Good with his hands, ol’ Thad.
She whimpered. Stopped.
“I’d had this woman at will, knew her as intimately as one can know anyone. Yet her jelly was no different to me than any other. Nevertheless, this jaunt solidified my goals; this was the closest I’d come to ecstasy. And to honoring the memory of that sage, O.R. Something worth appreciating. Worth celebrating yearly.”
Feeling her emotions begin to click off, Petra read the rest of it quickly, turned to the back of the notebook, found the postmortem sketches of Marta Doebbler. And the others.
Something different about his portrait of Marta. Something searching- needy and adoring- in the woman’s eyes.
Dead, but he’d drawn her eyes full of life.
That evening, in her room at the Jack London I
Pleasant room: white walls, blue bedding. Rates higher than the department would normally compensate but she’d found a good deal on the Internet.
Outside was activity. The hotel was right in the heart of Jack London Square. Another time and place she’d have explored. Tonight she had no intention of leaving until the airport ride tomorrow morning.
Washing the burger down with a Coke, she went to the mini-bar, studied the cute little bottles of booze and mixers. Contemplated the advisability of a homemade Tanqueray and tonic. Decided against it.
Her cell phone rattled on the nightstand. Still on vibrator; she hadn’t altered it since the stakeout at Kurt Doebbler’s.
Another potential career disaster. Busting the door in, rushing Kurt and handcuffing him. Waking the poor daughter, too.
Exigent circumstances was her excuse.
Deputy Chief Diaz said that made sense to him.
Kurt Doebbler, lying pinioned on his living room floor, had threatened to sue.
He would’ve- might’ve won big- if not for his brother’s bad behavior.
Blood on the clothing in the closet. Kurt claimed he had no idea Thad was sleeping with Marta, let alone using his house as a crash pad for his yearly murder jaunts.
Probably telling the truth, the clueless nerd. But the D.A.’s theatrical skepticism and the threat of bad publicity had led Pacific Dynamics to lean on Kurt and he’d backed off.
No harm, no foul. Petra felt bad for Katya but that was someone else’s business.
Maybe, at some point, she’d call Delaware about the kid…
No, she wouldn’t, she was a cop, not a social worker. Thad Doebbler would never bash anyone’s brains out again, case closed.
With a little help from a friend.
Isaac, a shooter. His little gift from Flaco Jaramillo. Finally, he’d told her why.
A touch of deviousness in the kid’s makeup that she hadn’t imagined.
Thank God.
She picked up the phone, studied the numerical read-out, hoped it was Eric. They had a di
Whatever.
The phone read out a 213 number. Not Eric, but someone she didn’t mind talking to.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” said Isaac. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“I just thought I’d tell you I was by the station today and there’s a new captain. Someone named Stuart Bishop. He made a point of coming up to me, said he knows you. He seems friendly.”
“Stu? You’re kidding.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No,” said Petra. “Not at all. No problem.” Her mouth hung open. Unbelievable.
Isaac said, “He seemed like a very decent person.”
“He’s terrific. Used to be my partner until he left the department.”
“Oh. I guess he’s back.”
Like Eric, Stu had talked about going private. Unlike Eric, he had family money and co
Then again, they hadn’t talked in months.