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"Sounds like small things have been amplified… this is the girl for you."
Had he sensed something- sniffed out nuances of my impending stupidity? Why the hell hadn't I listened to him?
A blast of honks jolted me. I'd been sitting at the green light at Walden and Sunset for who knew how long and the cute young woman in the VW Golf behind me thought that justified a snarl and a stiff finger.
I waved at her and sped off. She passed me, stopped talking on her cell phone long enough to flip me off again, nearly collided with the curb as her VW struggled with the winding road.
I wished her well and returned to thoughts of Bert Harrison. The other opinions the old man voiced that day- outwardly casual remarks tossed out at the tail end of my visit.
Coincidence or the old therapist's trick of harnessing the power of the parting word? I'd used it myself hundreds of times.
Bert's parting shot had been to bring up Caroline Cossack. Out of context- well after we'd stopped discussing the Ingalls case.
"That girl. So monstrous, Alex. If it's true."
"You seem skeptical."
"I do find it hard to believe that a young female would be capable of such savagery."
Then Bert had gone on to express doubts about Willie Burns as a lust murderer.
"A junkie in the strict sense? Heroin? Opiates are the great pacifiers… I've certainly never heard of a junkie acting out in such a sexually violent ma
Now it looked as if Bert had been right on.
Was all that the intuition of an exceptionally insightful man?
Or did Bert know?
Had Schwi
Bert had admitted knowing Schwi
What if it was anything but casual?
Schwi
Schwi
Psychotherapy. Where all kinds of secrets tumbled out.
If any of that was true, Bert had lied to me. And that could explain all those apologies he'd tendered. His contrition- so puzzling at the time that I'd wondered about Bert's deteriorating mental state.
Bert had encouraged my suspicions: "One regresses. Loses one's sense of propriety. Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive-"
I remembered how he'd wiped away tears.
"Is everything okay, Bert?"
"Everything is as it should be."
Seeking forgiveness because he knew he had to lie to me? Protecting Schwi
But Schwi
Or maybe he was protecting a living patient.
In drug treatment- the kind of intensive treatment Bert would've prescribed for a long-term addict like Schwi
Bert shielding Marge. It made sense. I strained to recall anything in our conversation that pointed to that and came up with one quickly: Bert had deflected any suggestion Marge could've mailed the murder book.
Protecting her, or had Bert been the messenger? A doctor honoring his patient's last wishes.
What if Janie's murder had eaten at Schwi
Janie wasn't only a cold case, she'd been Schwi
Bert would have wanted to help him with that.
The more I thought about it, the better it fit. Schwi
Bert's involvement would also explain why the blue-bound horror had been mailed to me. He'd met Milo a couple of times, but he knew me much better and was well aware of my relationship with Milo. For Bert, my handing over the book to Milo would have been a certainty.
Fingerprints wiped clean. I could see the old man doing that.
What I couldn't see was him driving down to L.A., stealing Rick's Porsche, and returning the car with the original Ingalls file on the front seat. The GTA combined with the HIV detective rumor and that weird encounter with the man who called himself Paris Bartlett had Big Blue written all over it.
Someone in the department. Or once associated with the department. Maybe even the cop buddy I'd hypothesized, stepping in once the wheels had begun to turn.
Theories…
Bert had just called to let me know he was leaving town. A few days ago, he'd mentioned nothing about travel plans.
Escaping because of my visit? Bert and I weren't everyday acquaintances, there'd be no reason for him to notify me of his itinerary. Unless he was trying to distance himself from the fallout.
Or call me off.
By the time I made it to the bridle path that leads to my property, my head ached with conjecture. I pulled up in front of my house… our house. The damn thing looked cold, white… foreign. I sat in the Seville with the engine ru
You could go home again, but what was the point?
My nerves were exposed wire sizzling with impulse. Maybe a long, pretty drive would help cool them down.
Alone.
Milo was right about that.
CHAPTER 34
Milo drove out of Beverly Hills, mulling over the interview with Nicholas Hansen.
The guy was pathetic, a momma's boy and a drunk, no big challenge browbeating him into spilling. But would Hansen change his story once he had time to stew, maybe call an attorney? Even if he did hold fast, his tale amounted to third-party hearsay.
Still Milo knew what he had to do: Go home, transcribe his notes of the interview, making sure he got all the details down, then stash the transcription with all the other good stuff he kept to himself- the floor safe in his bedroom closet.
He took Palm Drive to Santa Monica, then the diagonal shortcut to Beverly, driving like a gangster's chauffeur- slower than usual, checking the scenery all around, scoping out the drivers sitting two, three, four car lengths behind the rented Olds. Taking a different route than usual- past La Cienega, then doubling back on Rosewood. As far as he could tell, everything clear.
One thing the Hansen interview had accomplished: Milo knew now that he couldn't let go of Janie.
All these years he'd coped with department bullshit and propped up his self-image with secret little pep talks, the psychobabble he'd never share with anyone. You're different. Noble. Heroic, nonstereotypic gay warrior traversing a goddamn heterosexual universe.
Rebel with a lost cause.
Maybe all that self-delusional swill was what had helped him conveniently forget Janie. But the moment Alex had shown him that death shot, his heartbeat and his sweat glands told him he'd lived nearly half his life as the worst kind of chump.
Co
Was that insight? If so, it sucked.
He laughed out loud because cursing lacked imagination. He and Hansen were two peas in the same cowardly, ass-covering pod. Alex, ever the shrink- ever the friend- had tried to spin it differently.