Serpentine: An Alex Delaware Novel Page 8

  She scooted across the onyx.

  I said, “Nice place.”

  Milo said, “If you like cozy.”

  The great room was fifty by thirty with a double-height vaulted ceiling. Crossbeams were painted with floral loops of pale blue and pink. Quarter-sawn oak floors had been foot-polished to a patina you couldn’t fake. The fireplace was large enough for Milo to step into.

  California impressionist paintings in period frames adorned the walls; hillsides vibrant with poppies and lupine, oak groves, rocky coasts, harbor scenes of burly fishermen hauling in catch.

  Mr. Exquisite Taste had peppered his place with unframed canvases of “cutting-edge thought-through-woke conceptual imagery,” which translated to rectangles in various tones of sludge.

  We’d finished our water when Val Des Barres reappeared, drinking from a can of Diet Coke. “I figured water was safe but if you want one of these?”

  Milo said, “We’re fine, thanks.”

  “Thank you for taking the time. I would’ve come to the meeting but I had to be out of town.”

  Milo said, “Actually, ma’am, we’re not here about neighborhood watch.”

  “Oh? Please don’t tell me something even more serious has happened. The burglaries were scary enough.”

  Milo crossed his legs. “We’re here about a homicide that took place thirty-six years ago.”

  Val Des Barres’s blue eyes popped. “Thirty-six? That’s kind of weird…but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “What is, ma’am?”

  “A few weeks ago I heard about a thirty-six-year-old murder. A person I met at a charity benefit in San Francisco. She’d lost her mom when she was a child and did mention that it happened on Mulholland. That sure caught my ear, so we started chatting.” She frowned. “You can’t be talking about the same person?”

  “Ellie Barker,” said Milo.

  “Ellie. I never got her last name. Oh, my, it is her.” Her face puckered like that of a kid eyeing a too-pricey toy in a window. “It was a brief conversation. Another person at her table said she had influence and could help, so we exchanged seats. Unbelievable.”

  She put down her can. “I still don’t get why you’re here.”

  Milo sighed.

  Val Des Barres said, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Ma’am, we’ve received information that Ellie Barker’s mother may have lived here.”

  Val Des Barres rose an inch off her seat, buttocks suspended briefly in midair before lowering. “Here? What makes you say that?”

  “Sorry, I can’t get into details.” He gave an uneasy smile and braced himself for outrage: hands on knees, neck taut. One of those tough-part-of-the-job days.

  Val Des Barres said, “Huh. Was she an attractive woman?”

  “Reasonably.”

  “I suppose she could’ve been one of them.”

  “One of who?”

  “Father’s collection,” she said. “At least that’s how I thought of it. I collected leaves, rocks, and flowers, Dad had pretty women. My brothers had another word for it: harem. It really bothered them. It began shortly after my mother died. The changes in Father. But he continued to be a good dad to me, so I wanted him to be happy.”

  Milo said, “May I ask when your mom passed?”

  “I’m almost forty-seven and I was ten, so thirty-seven years ago. It wasn’t a sudden thing, just kind of…evolved.”

  Milo looked at me. I said, “How so?”

  “For the first year or so, Father didn’t date. Or go out much at all. I’d hear him crying in his bedroom, he lost weight. Eventually he started.”

  “Going out.”

  “And dating,” she said. “He’d bring some of them home. Younger women, pretty, he liked blondes. Mother had been a blonde. In the beginning they’d just spend some time here with him—have a drink or a snack. Then I guess he got more comfortable and you’d see them at breakfast. Then it began to stretch. Weeks at a time. More than one woman.”

  I said, “Big change for you.”

  “It would have to be, I suppose. But honestly, I don’t remember it bothering me. Maybe I’m in denial, but what I recall is feeling relieved because Father was happier. My brothers didn’t like it, that’s for sure. But they were away—Bill was in prep school, Tony was in college. Dad doted on me, and some of them—his women—were lovely to me.”

  “Some.”

  “Different personalities,” she said. “Some more child-oriented than others, I suppose. None of them were mean to me. Father wouldn’t have tolerated that.”

  “You adapted.”

  “I honestly don’t recall it as a huge adjustment. The big trauma was not having Mother. I suppose having Father functional made that easier.”

  Milo said, “The woman in question was named Dorothy Swoboda.”

  “None of their names have stuck with me, Lieutenant. I didn’t get up close and personal with them.” She managed a smile. “I guess I regarded them as recreational for Father. Like golf clubs or sports cars—I know that sounds terrible but my focus was on getting through life with one parent.”

  I said, “Of course.”

  Milo showed her the snapshot in the forest.

  Val Des Barres studied it and shook her heard. “Sorry, can’t say I remember her. But I don’t not remember her, either. It’s certainly possible. She’s the type Dad went for.”

  “How so?”

  “Young, pretty—she’s not blond but that could be fixed pretty easily…I always thought the main thing was finding women unlike Mother. She was British, trained as a physician though she never practiced. Beautiful but she played herself down. Who’s the man? Ellie’s father?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s considerably older than her, same thing as with Father. I suppose it’s trying to deny mortality.”

  She returned the photo. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful. It really is bizarre that Ellie and I happened to find ourselves at the same table. On the other hand, the spiritual world can be like that and I do like to think of myself as spiritual. Not in a crazy way. But haven’t you seen it in the course of your work? Karma, fate, whatever you want to call it? Sometimes the planets just align.”

  Milo said, “Sure.” No giveaway in his tone. All these years and sometimes I still can’t tell when he’s lying.

  Val Des Barres said, “I have to tell you, this is a lot to take in.” Hefting the soda can. “I need something stronger.”

  She left and came back with a tumbler half filled with something amber, sat back down and took a long sip. Eyes clear and searching above the rim of the glass. “Ah, that’s better. I’d offer you guys some but I know on duty you can’t.”

  “Appreciate the intention,” said Milo.

  Val Des Barres grinned. “I’ll cope for all of us.”

  She drained the glass. Placed it on a gilded-mirror coffee table. “I’m still a little shaky. The more I think about this, the weirder it gets. But I don’t want you to think I’m a lush, so that will have to do.”

  Milo said, “Whatever you need, ma’am. Frankly, love to join you.”

  “You’re not saying the death occurred here.”

  “No, ma’am. Up the road.”

  “How far?”

  “Two miles or so.”

  “Mulholland’s a long road,” she said. “It can get pretty dark up here, that’s why the neighborhood got so concerned about the break-ins.”

  “You were ten,” I said, “but never heard anything about it.”

  “I was a highly sheltered ten. And ten back then wasn’t like ten today. Kids have the internet, they’re slammed with all sorts of bad news constantly. It’s way tougher being a child nowadays. That’s why I write books for children. Do you guys have any kids?”

  Dual head sha
kes.

  She said, “Me neither. Married young but it didn’t work out. The books don’t make any money but I do get to hear nice things from parents and sometimes the kids themselves. It helps me deal with my guilt.”

  “About what?”

  “This,” she said, sweeping an arm in a circle. “Living the way I do without earning it.”

  “Your father left you the house.”

  “He left it to all three of us but my brothers are dolls and they let me live here. They’re back east, one’s an attorney, one’s a surgeon. I was planning to be a psychologist, got a B.A. in psych. But when it comes to math I’ve got some learning disabilities and when I found out all the statistics I’d have to take I said forget it. I was always pretty good with writing and drawing. So.” Shrug. “I’ve made a couple of movies, too. From my books.”

  Milo said, “Writing and drawing. You illustrate everything?”

  “I do.”

  “Impressive.”

  “It would be more impressive if I didn’t fund everything.”

  “Still sounds major to me.”

  “Kind of you to say so,” said Val Des Barres. “All one can do is try. Two miles up, huh?”

  “We’re not sure of the exact spot and probably won’t be.”

  “Either way,” she said, “anytime I go into town I pass right by. Sad. Ellie told me she was a little girl, has no memory of her mother. I was fortunate, have lovely memories.”

  She stood and fluffed her hair. “I’ve got so much to be thankful for. Going to get some writing done, no need for more of this.”

  Pinging the tumbler with a fingernail. The sound resonated in the cavernous space.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Milo took out his pad. “We’d like to talk to your brothers. Could you give me their numbers?”

  Val Des Barres said, “Sure,” and recited clearly. “Just spoke to Tony. His birthday. I sang him ‘Happy Birthday.’ Say hi to both of them.”

  We got up. Before Milo took a step, she’d taken his hand in both of hers. “Good luck helping Ellie. She seemed so wounded.”

  Dropping the hand, she headed for the stairs. As if beckoned, Sabino appeared. He opened the door, walked us out and to the Impala. The unmarked’s data screen seemed to fascinate him.

  “Very nice computer.”

  “Does the trick,” said Milo. “Been working here long?”

  “Twenty-four years.”

  “Nice place.”

  Sabino’s hand rose to his heart and stayed there. “Lucky.”

  * * *

  —

  We rolled down the cobbled drive, passing the team of gardeners, now paused for food and drink beneath one of the pines.

  Milo said, “Think Miss Val could have alcohol issues?”

  I said, “If she does she’s not hiding it. Why?”

  “She gets stressed, heads straight for the bourbon. She seems too good to be true. Painting a rosy picture of Daddy but it couldn’t have been easy losing Mommy and then he goes all Sultan on her.”

  “She admitted she might be in denial.”

  “So?”

  “There are no ironclad rules but I’ve found it’s the tightly buttoned-up ones who have the most issues.”

  “You liked her.”

  “Nothing unlikable about her, so far. The main thing is she gave off no tells I picked up. Including when she said she didn’t recognize Dorothy. Did you catch something I didn’t?”

  “Nah. So some people are just well adjusted even when shit happens.”

  I smiled. “Most people are. The planet keeps spinning.”

  A few moments later he said, “What about the way she reacted to our coming in under false pretenses? Wouldn’t most people get at least a little peeved? Couldn’t everything we just saw be an act?”

  “Like I said, no rules. But I’m not ready to establish a surtax on nice.”

  “Nice makes me fidget. What’s that say about me?”

  “Nice guy with a tough job.”

  “Ha.”

  I said, “Maybe it’s your year for nice. First Ellie, then Val.”

  “Wonderful,” he said. “Who did I piss off?”

  * * *

  —

  He drove until he reached the place Du Galoway had guessed to be near the death-spot. Pulled over sharply and stared out at the haze and returned to the road.

  I said, “Lonely place to end up.”

  “Poor Dottie,” he said, shifting into gear. “Val didn’t recognize her but she didn’t say impossible. So what Galoway figured from the Caddy makes sense. Good-looking woman escapes a bad marriage, comes to L.A., hooks up with Professor Scalpel and joins his fan club. Whatever his daughter’s level of insight, I’m not buying her image of Daddy as a great guy who just happens to collect women like stamps. To me that says Des Barres had no problem depersonalizing women. And we know where that can lead.”

  “Something began at the house and finished on the road.”

  “The only other thing that comes to mind is Stan Barker stalked her to L.A., found out how she was living, and got enraged. But then why would she end up in Des Barres’s car? If, on the other hand, Des Barres was involved, it makes sense. Do her in the house, store the body until it’s safe and drive her away. Or it did happen on the road: Invite her for a late-night drive, pull over, shoot her, reposition her behind the wheel. Release the hand brake, torch the car, and you’re done. No big deal walking back to the house in the dark. And a guy that rich, sacrificing a Caddy wouldn’t be a big deal.”

  I said, “If he had good insurance, there’d be no loss at all.”

  “There you go. The house is huge, Alex. All sorts of places to get away with stuff. Maybe there’s a basement with thick walls. Plus those outbuildings. Toss in all that acreage and you’ve got plenty of kill-spots and hidey-holes. A gun goes off far from the action, who’s gonna know?”

  “And with the women coming in and out, one of them not returning wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “So you’re with me on this. Good. I don’t like when you get that skeptical look on your face.”

  I said, “When’s the last time that happened?”

  “No idea, I’ve repressed the memory.”

  He glanced at his Timex. “Let’s get back and see what the Des Barres’s sons have to say about life back in the good old days.”

  He set up in my kitchen, fortified by leftover Genoa salami, pepperoncini, tomato slices, and onions, all on slabs of sourdough he’d sawed off savagely.

  “Man, your leavings are better than most people’s meals.”

  Robin and I do try to eat well but a while back we realized we’d begun to buy groceries with him in mind.

  He chewed as he tried Dr. Anthony Des Barres’s phone. Listened and shook his head.

  “ ‘If I do not answer I’m likely in surgery, if it’s an emergency dial 911.’ Let’s try Brother Lawyer.”

  A hearty, melodious voice picked up at the other end of William Des Barres’s cell. “This is Bill. My sister said you’d be calling.”

  “Did she tell you what it was about?”

  “Something about one of Dad’s harem gals disappearing years ago.”

  “Her name was Dorothy Swoboda.”

  “Means nothing to me, Lieutenant. When that period of Dad’s life was in full gear, I was at Phillips Andover. It’s a prep school in Massachusetts.”

  “All the way across the country.”

  “I was an idiot jock, sir. Hockey, ice and field. Water polo, soccer, lacrosse. Opportunities in L.A. were lacking. Also, I didn’t approve of what was happening to Dad. Before Val’s mother died, he’d been pretty much a regular dad.”

  Milo said, “Val’s mother, not yours?”

  “Correct. Arlette was Dad’s
second wife,” said Bill Des Barres. “My mom—and my brother’s—was Helen. She died when we were young, and Dad married Arlette pretty soon after and had Val. None of that evil-stepmom business, Arlette was great to us, became our functional mom. She was British and refined and soft-spoken.”

  He cleared his throat. “When she died it meant we’d been orphaned twice. We weren’t little kids, I was fifteen, Tony was nineteen, but still.”

  “And then your dad changed.”

  “Took him a while, but yes. I rarely came home, ended up at Yale, then U. of Chicago Law because my brother was in med school there. Both of us stayed in Illinois. The only thing we regretted was being so far from Val, she was a cute kid. But she claimed Dad was taking great care of her, said she was fine.”

  “Did you have your doubts?”

  A beat.

  “How should I put this?” said Bill Des Barres. “Dad basically was a good guy. Like most fathers back then, he worked all the time. But after Arlette’s passing he started taking more time for himself. Brought them in, first for overnights, then days, then some were sticking around longer. Using the pool, sunning themselves. I wondered about the effect on Val but to be truthful, I didn’t lose sleep over it. I was a self-centered adolescent. And like I said, Val never complained, she always seemed happy.”

  “Still does.”

  “What can I say, Lieutenant. My sister’s got one of those inherently sunny dispositions. She could’ve turned out to be a total spoiled brat but she didn’t because materialism was never her thing. Give her paper and pencil and she’s humming along. She’s super-talented, writes and illustrates books, did a couple of animation movies—anyway, in terms of this Dorothy whatever, can’t help you.”

  “Could I email you a picture of her?”

  “It’s not going to change anything,” said Des Barres.

  “Would you mind, anyway?”

  “Why not, go for it.”

  “Really appreciate it, sir. Thanks for your time, sir.”

  “Got plenty of it, Lieutenant. Kids are married and moved out, wife’s off on a bird-watching tour of Central America, dog’s ancient, sleeps and farts all day.”