"She stops hating you when you're apart?"
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"Sometimes absence makes the heart grow hollow."
"Profound," he said. "All this fucking profundity so early in the day."
"You really think Stacy hates you."
"Ah knows she duz. Not that I can do anything about it. Birth order's birth order, she'll just have to deal with being number two."
"And you have to deal with being number one."
"The burdens of primacy." He peeled back a sleeve. "Oh man, left my watch back in my dorm room… Hopefully no one swiped it-I've really got to get back, take care of business. How much more time do we have?"
"Ten more minutes."
He examined the room some more, saw the play corner, the bookcase stacked with board games. "Hey, let's play Candy Land. See who gets to the top of that big rock-candy mountain first."
"Nothing wrong," I said, "with having a sweet life."
He wheeled, gaped at me. I never saw the tears in his eyes but the frantic way he swiped at them told me they were there. "Everything's a punch line with you- making your fucking point. Well, thanks for all the fucking insight, Doc."
The bell rang. Eight minutes early. Richard, overeager?
I picked up the phone, punched the intercom button for the side door.
"It's me," said Richard. "Sorry for interrupting, but we've got a bit of a problem out here."
Eric and I hurried over. Richard stood on the porch along with Stacy. Two tall men behind them.
Detectives Korn and Demetri.
Richard said, "These gentlemen want me to accompany them to the police station."
Korn said, "Hey, Doc. Nice place."
Richard said, "You know them?"
"What's going on?" I said.
Korn said, "Like Mr. Doss said, his presence is requested at the station."
"For what?"
"Questioning."
"In regard to?"
Demetri stepped forward. "That's not your business, Doctor. We allowed Mr. Doss to call you because his children are present and one of them's a minor. The boy's twenty, right? So he can drive both of them home in Mr. Doss's car."
He and Korn moved closer to Richard. Richard looked scared.
Stacy said, "Daddy?" Her eyes were wide with terror.
Richard didn't answer her. Nor did he ask what it was all about. Not wanting his children to hear the answer?
"You ride with us, sir," said Demetri.
"First I'm calling my lawyer."
"You're not being arrested, sir," said Korn. "You can call from the station."
"I'm going to call my lawyer." Richard brandished the silver phone.
Korn and Demetri looked at each other. Korn said, "Fine. Tell him to meet you at the West L.A. station, but you're coming with us."
"What the fuck," said Eric, moving toward the detectives.
Demetri said, "Stand back, son."
"I'm not your fucking son. If I was, my knuckles would be scraping the ground."
Demetri reached inside his jacket and touched his gun. Stacy gasped and Eric's eyes got wide.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, bore down. He was trembling.
Richard stabbed the keypad of the silver phone. Eric got next to Stacy, put his arm around her. She threw her arm across his chest. Her lips quivered. Eric's were still but the neck vein was racing. Both of them watched their father as he held the phone to his ear.
Richard's foot tapped impatiently. No more fear in his eyes. Calm under fire, or not totally surprised?
"Saundra? Richard Doss. Please get Max on the phone… What's that? When?… Okay, listen, it's really important that I talk to him… I'm in a bit of a jam… no, something different, I can't get into it right now. Just reach him in Aspen. ASAP. I'll be at the West LA. police station-with some detectives… What're your names?"
"Korn."
"Demetri."
Richard repeated that. "Reach him, Saundra. If he can't jet back, at the very least I need the name of someone who can help me. I'm on cellular. I'm counting on you. Bye." He clicked off the phone.
"On our way," said Demetri.
Richard said, "Demetri. Greek?"
"American," said Demetri, too quickly. Then: "Lithuanian. A long time ago. Let's get going, sir."
No one can make "sir" sound like an insult the way a cop can.
Stacy started to cry. Eric held her tight.
Richard said, "I'll be okay, kids, you just hold on-I'll see you for dinner. Promise."
"Daddy," said Stacy.
"It'll be fine."
"Sir," said Korn, taking hold of Richard's arm.
"Hold on," I said. "I'm going to call Milo."
Both detectives grinned, as if on cue. I was the perfect shill.
Demetri moved behind Richard as Korn kept his grip. The two of them shadowing the much smaller man.
"Milo," Demetri said, "knows."
CHAPTER 21
THE BIG, PALE palm of a hand hung inches from my face, a fleshy cloud.
"Don't," said Milo, barely audible. "Don't say a thing."
It was 5:23. I was in the front reception area of the West L.A. station and he'd just come down the stairs.
I wanted to knock his hand away, waited as it lowered. His jacket was off but his tie was tight-too tight, reddening his neck and face. What did he have to be angry about?
I'd been waiting in the lobby for over an hour, most of it alone with the civilian clerk behind the desk, a pasty, overly enunciative man named Dwight Moore. I knew some of the clerks. Not Moore. The first time I'd approached, he'd looked wary, as if I had something to sell. When I asked him to reach Milo upstairs, he took a long time to put the call through.
For the next sixty-three minutes I used every anger-reduction trick I knew while warming a hard plastic chair as Moore answered the phone and moved paper around. Twenty minutes into the wait, I stepped up to the desk and Moore said, "Why don't you just go home, sir? If he really does know you, he's got your number."
My hands clenched below the counter. "No, I'll wait."
"Suit yourself." Moore got up, walked into a back room, returned with a large cup of coffee and a glazed bear claw. He ate with his back to me, taking very small bites and wiping his chin several times. Minutes dripped by. A few blues came and went, some of them greeting Moore, none with enthusiasm. I thought of Stacy and Eric watching their father taken away by LAPD's finest.
At five-fifteen, an elderly couple in matching green cardigans walked into the station and asked Moore what could be done about their lost dog. Moore adopted a skeptical look and gave them the number for Animal Control. When the woman asked another question, Moore said, "I'm not Animal Control," and turned his back.
"What you are," said the old man, "is a little prick."
"Herb," said his wife, easing him toward the door.
As they left, he told her, "And they wonder why no one likes them."
Five-twenty. Eric and Stacy were nowhere in sight. If they'd made it, I assumed they'd been allowed upstairs, but Moore wouldn't confirm it.
I'd sped over in the Seville, following Richard's black BMW as Eric gunned it down from the glen and wove through Westwood traffic. Easy to follow: the car was a blade of onyx cutting through dirty air. The car that I'd wondered about as the match to the vehicle Paul Ulrich had spotted on Mulholland. Richard, Eric…
The boy drove much too fast, took foolish chances. At Sepulveda and Wilshire, he ran a red light, nearly collided with a gardener's truck, swerved into the center lane, sped away from a chorus of honks. I was two cars back, got caught at the light, lost sight of him. By the time I reached the station, I couldn't find the BMW on the street. No parking space for me in the police lot this time. I circled several times, finally grabbed a spot two blocks away. Jogging the distance, I arrived huffing.
Remembering the fear in Stacy's eyes as Korn and Demetri placed their father in the back of a dung-brown unmarked. Tears striping her face. As Korn slammed the door of the police cat, she mouthed, "Daddy." Eric dragged her to the BMW, opened her door, nearly shoved her into the passenger seat. Flashing me one furious look, he ran to the driver's side, started the car up hard, shoved the RPMs to a defiant whine. Fishtailing and burning rubber, he took off.