The Murder Book

"If you could solve cold cases, that would be helpful."

"Cold cases," he said. "A murder."

I nodded.

"The body may be cold," he said, "but I wonder if the memory ever really cools. Care to tell me about it?"

I didn't. Yes, I did.

CHAPTER 23

I described the Ingalls murder without mentioning names or places or the murder book. But there was no sense withholding Milo's name. Bert Harrison had met Milo, had given a statement to Milo on the Bad Love case.

As I talked, he rarely allowed his gaze to wander from my face.

When I finished, he said, "This girl- the one who poisoned the dog- sounds monstrous."

"At the very least, severely disturbed."

"First a dog, then a person… that's the typical pattern… though you have only the neighbor's accusation to go on."

"The behavioral warning in the girl's chart is consistent with the neighbor's report. She didn't belong in that school, Bert. String-pulling by her family probably got her in- safe hiding during the investigation of the murder."

He folded his hands in his lap. "And no word on the other possible victim… I assume Milo's been looking for her."

"No sign of her, yet," I said. "Most likely she's dead. The disturbed girl seems to have vanished, completely. No paper trail at all. That reeks of more string-pulling."

"A supportive family," he said.

"In terms of aiding and abetting."

"Hmm… Alex, if the case was taken out of Milo's hands twenty years ago, how did he manage to be reassigned?"

"He was unofficially reassigned," I said. "By someone who knew we worked together and was sure I'd give him the message."

"What message, Alex?"

I thought about how much to say. Told him about the murder book and its probable link to Pierce Schwi

"Pierce?" he said. "So that's why you're here."

"You knew him?"

"I did. I know his wife, Marge, as well. Sweet woman."

"Milo and I were up at her ranch a few days ago," I said. "It's a good bet Schwi

"Claims?" said Harrison. "You doubt her?"

"She seemed truthful."

"I'd believe her, Alex."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's an honest woman."

"And Schwi

"I have nothing bad to say about him either."

"How well did you know him, Bert?"

"We ran into each other from time to time. In town- shopping, at the Little Theater."

"Are you aware of any confidante he might've had other than Marge? Someone he'd have trusted to send the book? Because it was mailed to me seven months after he died."

"You're certain it emanated from Pierce?"

"The photos are LAPD crime-scene shots, probably purloined from old files. Schwi

"The owner," he said, "is a lovely woman named Roberta Bernstein, and she's in Europe. O'Neill & Chapin are her pet terriers." He pressed a blunt little index finger to his lips. "Sounds like the totality of evidence does point to Pierce…"

"But?"

"No buts, Alex. You've put together a solid argument."

"Any idea who he might've passed it to?"

He crossed his legs, hooked a finger under the hem of a purple trouser leg. "The only person I ever saw Pierce with was Marge. And as I said, I doubt she's involved."

"Because she's honest."

"And because Pierce was protective of her, Alex. I can't see him exposing her to something like that."

"Sounds like you knew them both pretty well," I said.

He smiled. "I'm a psychiatrist. I'm allowed to theorize. No, we never really socialized, but this is a small town. You meet the same people over and over. I suppose I'm drawing upon Pierce's body language when they were together."

"Protective."

"Very much so. Marge seemed to take well to that. I found that interesting. She'd never lived with anyone before. Her family goes way back in this region, and she's taken care of that ranch nearly single-handedly for years. People of a certain age can get set in their ways, not take well to the demands of a relationship. But Marge seemed quite content with domestic life. They both did."

"Did you know Pierce had been a detective?"

"Marge told me," he said. "Soon after Pierce moved in. I believe it was at the theater, as a matter of fact. Out in the lobby, during intermission. She introduced me, and we began chatting about a crime story in the newspaper- something down your way, bank robbers, a shoot-out, the criminals had escaped. Marge said something along the lines of 'If Pierce were still on the force, he'd solve it.' "

"How'd Pierce react to that?"

"If I recall correctly, unreactive. Didn't say much of anything. That's the way he usually was. Reserved."

Milo had described Schwi

I said, "Marge told us Pierce had grown serene."

"She'd know best… so Pierce was Milo's partner. How interesting. The world grows smaller yet."

"The way he died," I said. "Falling off that horse. Any thoughts about that?"

He uncrossed his leg, tapped a rosy cheek, and allowed his hand to brush against an ornate concertina. "You suspect something other than an accident? Why, Alex?"

"Because that's the way my mind works."

"Ah," he said.

I could hear Milo laughing.

"Small world," he repeated. "That's about all I can tell you… can I fix you some tea, Alex? Wait- you're a guitarist, aren't you? I've got something in back that might interest you. A turn-of-the-century Knutsen Hawaiian harp-guitar. Perhaps you can tell me how to tune the drone strings."

His spare bedroom was filled with instruments and antique music stands, and I hung around for a while watching him fiddle and tinker, listened to him expound on music and rhythm and culture. He began to reminisce about his time in Chile. Ethnographic research in Indonesia, a summer of musicology in Salzburg, ministering to Israeli kibbutz children who'd been traumatized by terrorism.

No mention of his Santa Barbara days- the years he'd spent at a school for troubled kids, just a few miles away. The kind of place someone like Caroline Cossack might easily have ended up. That high-priced travesty had caused more problems than it had solved.

Bert had a selective memory for the positive. Perhaps that's why he'd seemed reluctant to imagine a young girl evincing brutality.

He stopped narrating and threw up his hands. "I'm such a bore- you've probably begun wondering if I'm going senile."

"I haven't at all, Bert." Though I had thought: He seems distracted.

"The truth is, I have lost some short-term memory. But nothing beyond my age norms."

"Your memory seems fine to me," I said.

"That's kind of you to say…" He gestured around the room. "All this- all these toys, Alex, they're a wonderful distraction. A boy needs a hobby." Pudgy fingers took hold of my forearm. His grip was forceful. "We both know that, don't we?"

I stuck around for tea, finally told him I needed to get back to L.A.

As he walked me to my car, he said, "That girl. So monstrous, if it's true."

"You seem skeptical."

He nodded. "I do find it hard to believe that a young female would be capable of such savagery."

"I'm not saying she acted alone, Bert, or even initiated the murder. But she could've lured the victims, and either receded into the background or participated."