Billy Straight

“If I did, don't you think I'd tell you?” Harder tone with Ron. “Jesus.”

Petra closed her pad. “Thanks for giving the okay to search, sir. It will save us time and paperwork. If you don't mind putting it in writing-”

Schick barked on cue: “Before we go that far, let's pin down the details.”

“Let them do their job, Larry,” said Ramsey. To Petra: “Whatever turns up, I guarantee you, it will have nothing to do with Greg.”

Schick made his mouth very small and ran a finger under thick black bangs. Why would a grown man opt for a hairstyle like that? Something to catch jurors' attention? Maybe the meerschaum was a prop, too.

Reality, fantasy…

Petra said, “I'll get some paper for you to write on, sir.”

Schick said, “Hold on please, Detective. Cart, you're upset, and you're going to get taken advantage of. I've seen the things that occur during searches. Breakage, pilferage. I strongly advise you-”

“Let them break stuff, Larry. I don't give a shit. Like I said, tear the whole place down.” He faced Petra. “You're just theorizing, right? You can't be seriously thinking Greg had anything to do with this.”

Schick said, “At the very least, I insist upon being present during any search.”

“Fine,” said Petra. To Ramsey: “One more thing: Greg Balch's behavior the night of Lisa's murder. When the two of you returned from Reno-”

“Detective,” said Schick. “There has to be a better time for this.”

Ramsey said, “What about his behavior?”

“Did he act differently in any way?”

“No. The same old Greg.”

“The day we visited your house your Mercedes was gone. Where was it?”

“What does that have to do with Greg's behavior?” said Ramsey.

“Sir, if you'd just bear with me-”

“The Mercedes was being serviced,” said Ramsey. He'd told her that, but if the redundant questioning bothered him, he didn't show it. “Too many toys- there's always something in need of fixing.”

“Did Greg bring the Mercedes in?” said Petra. Ron had turned around, was studying the house.

“Or the dealer picked it up,” said Ramsey.

“What needed to be done to the car?”

“I have no idea.”

“So it was driving okay.”

“Yes, it was fine. Maybe it needed a routine oil change, I don't know.”

“What Mercedes dealer do you use?”

Ramsey put a finger over his mouth. “Some place nearby- in Agoura, I think.” He laughed harshly. “As you can see, I'm very in touch with my life.”

Petra smiled at him. “The second time I came to your house, the Mercedes was back in the garage. Who brought it over?”

“Same answer: Either someone from the dealer or Greg. I think it was Greg, but what's the diff-”

“How did Greg and Lisa get along?” Petra said, talking faster, a little louder. If Schick hadn't been there, she'd have stepped closer to Ramsey, invading his personal space, forcing eye contact. Even with the attorney hovering, it was a silver bullet of a question, and Ramsey's head moved back.

“Greg and Lisa? Fine- everyone got along fine.”

“No problem between them?”

“No. I can't believe you're wasting time on- He's my closest friend, Detective Co

“At the pageant?” said Petra.

“At the pageant, but he knew her before. They-” Ramsey stopped.

“They what, sir?”

“They dated. Nothing serious, just a few times, so don't go construing. It was over by the time Lisa and I started dating. Greg had no problem with it. If he had, would he have introduced us?”

Why, indeed. Suppositions drag-raced through Petra's head.

Beauty queen with sights set on the industry. Believing, at first, that Balch was a Hollywood heavyweight- maybe Balch had used that as a pickup line. They start dating, he pours on the b.s., but she sees through it, learns where the real clout is.

Throwing the small fish back, she goes for the whopper.

“Everyone got along,” said Ramsey, but his voice had weakened and he was picking at his mustache.

Schick's stick face was all adrenaline, but he still wasn't moving. Same for Ron. It made Petra feel as if the two of them were fading out of view, bit players, spotlighting her and Ramsey.

She said, “Okay, sir, thanks for your help- do you have a key to the house?”

“Here,” said Schick, taking out a ring and fingering a brass Schlage.

Someone else to answer for Ramsey, take care of him.

Being a star, even a minor one, was a return to childhood.

Drawing Ron fifty feet away, under the largest of the oaks, Petra kicked acorns and said, “Anything I missed?”

“Not that I see. Be interesting to know if the Mercedes was taken in for service. You're thinking it might have been Lisa's murder car?”

Petra nodded.

“Different cars for different kills,” said Ron. “Keep us guessing.”

“Balch is looking nice and dirty, isn't he?”

“Filthy.”

“Want to try to call some Mercedes dealers?” said Petra. “Maybe some stay open past six.”

“Will do.” He removed the cell phone from his pocket.

She gazed over at Ramsey and Schick. They'd drifted back to the Rolls. Schick was leaning against the front fender, caressing the meerschaum, offering some kind of lawyerly counsel. Ramsey seemed uninterested.

“Cars,” said Petra, “were also Lisa's preferred venue for sex. The case is pure L.A.”

“The Jeep for Lisa would entail driving back and forth from here,” said Ron. “Balch and Ramsey got back from Reno just a couple of hours before Lisa was abducted. Not enough time, so I bet on the Mercedes or the Lexus or another of Ramsey's wheels- which would be good for Balch if he was trying to shift suspicion. We should also try Burbank airport, that charter company Ramsey uses. Balch has got to have access to the account.”

“Rabbiting by charter?” said Petra.

“Just a possibility.”

Images flashed: Two young bucks head for Hollywood, but only one ends up rich. With the girl, too. Balch had mentioned two failed marriages. Another reason for him to be bitter.

She remembered his remarks about Lisa's temper, her “going off on Cart.” At the time, it had puzzled Petra. Why was good-buddy Greg giving the boss a motive? Now it made perfect sense.

Something else: Balch, a total slob, had been wearing brand-new white te

Because the old ones were soaked with blood?

She said, “I want to chat more with Mr. Adjustor. Thanks for making the calls.”

“Remember the name of the charter company?”

“Westward Charter. The pilot they use is Ed Marionfeldt.” Rattling off facts without consulting her pad. Everything coming together; a new rhythm. She walked back to Ramsey and Schick.

Still by the Rolls, but neither man was talking. Schick studying Ramsey; Ramsey staring at the ground. As Petra got closer, he looked up.

“Mr. Ramsey, when you returned from Tahoe, you were extremely tired, went to sleep earlier than usual. Correct?”

“I was bushed. We were going since early morning.”

“Greg Balch drove the two of you from Burbank airport to your house.”

“Yes.” Mention of Balch's name seemed to weary Ramsey.

“Then you and Mr. Balch had di

“Some kind of lease agreement. I own office buildings.”

Petra copied that down. “All right, please bear with me: Who cooked di

Ramsey smiled. “We're talking sandwiches and beer.”

“Who made the sandwiches?”

“Greg.”

“Not Estrella Flores?”

“She went off duty at seven, was already in her room.”

“Doing what, sir?”

“Whatever it is she did in there. I think I heard the TV.”

“Where's the maid's room?”

“In the service wing. Off the kitchen.”

“Okay,” said Petra, adding some details to Schick's caricature. Concentration lines on the forehead, pout creases. “So Greg prepared the sandwiches and poured the beer.”