As I got back in the car, she said, “In terms of the candy, we try to keep the food reasonably healthy so the only sweets on hand are a big bag of those little Hershey’s Bars some nice person donated to us last Halloween and they’re probably stale. I’ll try to pick up some Mounds on my way home or tomorrow morning. Why not keep the populace happy?”
“Beyond the call, Sherry.”
“Look who’s talking.” She smiled. “I like coconut, probably steal a few. If she works out I’ll get her a roomie but I figured start as if she’s a newbie, even though she’s been here before. From what I just saw, she’s not big in the memory department.”
Amnesia could be another effect of the benzodiazepine in her blood. Of psychosis, as well. I said so.
“I don’t get into the pharm stuff,” she said. “I contacted the outpatient clinic, might be able to get a volunteer to take her the first couple of times. After that, she’s on her own.”
I thanked her again and started up the engine.
She said, “Candy and Mommy. Guess they’re the same to a baby... that’s kind of what people like her become, no? She mentions the kid, I’ll let you know. Ovid, huh? Naming him after a love poet. That took some imagination.”
“Once upon a time,” I said, “she was able to imagine.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon calling private schools, finally lost my ability to bullshit convincingly, walked to the kitchen and poured coffee. Caffeine was the last thing I needed and I ended up jumpy and wondering how to bleed it off. Then I remembered what Lou had told me about Zelda’s name change and began a new search.
No shortage of Jane Chases but none that matched Zelda. Then I realized I had no idea if she’d altered her family name, too, and put the issue aside.
Time to resume being a useful member of society. I scrounged up the fixings for a passable one-dish dinner: lamb shoulder, vegetables, Israeli couscous, everything sprinkled liberally with cumin and cardamom and chili powder. By the time Robin and Blanche came in from the studio, the pot was sizzling and the table was set.
Robin said, “You read my mind, just like they taught you in school. I’ve got sawdust all over, let me wash up. You’re a very nice man.”
No calls that night from Sherry Andover or Milo. From anyone except sociopaths trying to sell me term insurance, home security, and lawn care. I chose to interpret that as encouraging.
By eleven the following morning I’d taken on a new custody case in Superior Court, an evaluation on hold until the two children in question returned from Hong Kong. Meanwhile, the judge would email me background info, with my billable hours commencing upon receipt.
Just as I printed the file, my service put through a call from BrightMornings.
“Dr. Delaware? This is Carlos, I volunteer for Sherry at the shelter. Have you recently seen your patient, Zelda Chase? She left and hasn’t returned.”
“When?”
“Our gate camera has her pushing the button this morning at five-eighteen. Clients are free to come and go but Sherry decided to drive around looking for her because apparently Zelda has a history of wandering and trespassing and she figured she’d know where to find her. But she didn’t locate her and then she had to leave for meetings and she doesn’t talk on the phone while driving, so she asked me to call you.”
“Could I have Sherry’s mobile number, anyway?”
“She really won’t answer, Doctor. A fender-bender and three tickets.”
“I’ll leave a message.”
“Suit yourself, Doctor.”
I instructed my service to put Andover through immediately. An hour and twenty minutes later, they did just that.
She said, “Not a rousing success. No warning signs, she was starting to look a little more alert, took the initiative to shower, changed into fresh clothes. Grooming’s always a good sign but I guess not in this case.”
“Carlos said your camera picked her up leaving. What was her emotional state?”
“Can’t say, the images we get are distant and blurry, sometimes you can’t even identify who it is. I recognized her because of the clothes, I put them in the closet myself. That’s when I went to check her room. She even made up the bed.”
“Which way did she head?”
“The lens angle doesn’t capture that, just that they’ve triggered the gate and split.”
“Thanks for taking the time to search for her.”
“I figured if she was a creature of habit, finding her would be easy. Tough luck, but who knows? She wandered out, she could wander in. Wish it would’ve turned out smoother but at least I got her a Mounds bar. Left it right on her nightstand and she took it with her.”
I phoned Milo and told him.
He said, “That didn’t last long.”
“I don’t suppose Central Division could be asked to keep an eye out for her.”
“I could get them to say they will but it won’t mean much. She have any money for bus-fare?”
“No.”
“You think she’d walk all the way from Santa Monica to downtown?”
“Psychotics can cover long distances and she was busted twice downtown.”
“Let’s say they do find her wandering around Skid Row. Then what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Love your honesty,” he said. “Okay, I’ll put in a call but maybe she’s got homing instincts and you should start somewhere else. Like the last place she invaded — that house in Bel Air? Not a hop-skip from Santa Monica but a helluva lot closer than Central.”
“Good point,” I said. “What’s the address?”
“Not kosher, amigo. Let’s keep the investigatory process procedurally appropriate.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning see you in forty, and I’ll drive. You’re rescuing me from a shit-pile of paperwork.”
Chapter 13
There’s Bel Air, then there’s Bel Air.
The verdant, gently sloping streets a couple of miles below my house contain some of the grandest estates in the world. That’s the Bel Air populated by celebrities, heirs, and amassers of fortunes. The Bel Air where open-air buses crammed with squinting tourists snail up and down leafy lanes as smooth liars clutching hand mikes ladle out a broth of vicious gossip and unhappy endings.
You may not be able to live here, folks, but you’ll love hearing about all those rich bastards humiliated.
Above all that is a Bel Air that crawls along Mulholland Drive and transitions to the San Fernando Valley, an area exploited during the seventies and eighties by developers eager to cash in on the zip code.
Upper Bel Air costs a fortune but much of it looks like a suburban tract.
No tour buses in sight as Milo hooked west of Mulholland and we were met with the choice of two ungated developments.
To the left, Bel Aurora, to the right, La Belle Aire.
He checked the address in his pad, swung right, continued for half a mile. Both of us looking for an empty-eyed woman wearing brand-new sneakers.
We’d passed similar neighborhoods along the way, stingily treed streets filled with ranch houses and white boxes set on narrow lots. The lack of shade could be painfuclass="underline" Pivot the wrong way and your eyeballs bleached instantly. Portable basketball hoops in driveways promised youthful exuberance but no kids were in sight.
No one at all; post-nuclear silence is the badge of a fine L.A. neighborhood.
The property Zelda had invaded was on Bel Azura Drive, one of the ranches, positioned on the south side of the street where the views were less dramatic. An older gray BMW sedan sat next to an oil stain. Drapes drawn.