Her voice had risen to a near scream. She plopped back heavily, massaged her left temple. “Damn cluster headache… the last thing I’d want to do is blame my daughter, but objectively… maybe that’s why Lara felt guilty enough to do what she- oh, spit it out, Nina! Maybe that’s why she killed herself!”
Both her hands began shaking violently. She sat on them, shut her eyes. A high-pitched keen made its way from behind closed lips.
Milo said, “We know this is hard, ma’am. We appreciate your being so frank.”
Nina Balquin opened her eyes. Her expression was vacant.
“Insight,” she said, “can be a bitch.”
As Milo thanked her, I walked to the back of the room and looked at the photos. A couple in their thirties with two kids under ten- the accountant son and his family. A woman who resembled Lara Malley, wearing a cap and gown. Heavier face than Lara’s, red hair curling from under the mortarboard. Sister Sandy.
No image of Lara, but below her sibs hung a cheaply framed, three-by-five snapshot of Kristal. Infant photo- less than a year old from the way she needed support to sit up. Wearing a pink cowgirl dress and matching hat. Bucking broncos and cacti in the background, a tiny moon above the plains, airbrushed slick. Probably one of those kiddie-photo outlets. The kind you find in every mall.
Smiling baby girl, chubby, rosy-cheeked. Big brown eyes engaged the camera. Moisture on her chin- teething drool.
Nina Balquin said, “I got that when I dropped in on them and brought Kristal a Christmas present. They had a stack. I had to ask for that one.”
We left her standing in her doorway, new drink in her hand.
Milo drove away, muttering, “Sometimes my crazy family doesn’t seem so bad.”
I said, “Mom hates Barnett’s guts but she never considered that he might’ve murdered Lara.”
He said, “That woman’s so fragile I kept waiting to pick up shards. Wonder how she’ll cope if we find out Barnett’s a much badder guy than she imagined.”
He chose surface streets over the freeway, took Van Nuys Boulevard north and connected to Beverly Glen. As we curved through the canyon, he said, “Just like Malley’s neighborhood, huh? Except for gazillion-dollar houses, tennis courts, foreign cars, a lot more greenery, and no trailer parks.”
“Perfect match,” I said.
“Anything Balquin say illuminate Malley psychologically?”
“If she’s credible, he isolated Lara from her family, was closemouthed about his origins, used dope. We know the part about gun-hoarding is true. Toss in the way he reacted to us and there’s potential for ugly.”
“Don’t guys who isolate their wives also abuse them?”
“It’s a risk factor,” I said. “If Malley’s basic approach to life was us against the world, Kristal’s murder would’ve buttressed that.”
“The world’s a rotten, dangerous place so stay armed and vigilant.”
“And strike back. What interests me is Nina’s suspicion that Lara was negligent due to drugs. That’s a tough place to get to when it’s your own kid. No matter how much therapy you have.”
“There’s Barnett’s reason for blaming Lara. Even though he’s also a doper.”
“Lara was the mom,” I said. “Mothers always get blamed. After Troy and Rand were sent away, Lara and Barnett started examining their own lives. Here’s a couple who had trouble conceiving. Finally, they produce a child only to have her ripped away in the worst manner possible. Talk about stress on a relationship. Maybe tension escalated to unbearable, the wrong things got said. A history of isolation and drugs and abuse would’ve added more heat. Maybe Lara stopped putting up with the abuse.”
“Got too assertive with the cowboy.” He aimed a finger gun at the windshield. “Kapow.”
“Kapow, indeed.”
CHAPTER 19
For most of the ride back to the city, Milo waded through LAPD bureaucracy in order to get hold of the complete file on Lara Malley’s suicide.
I let my mind run, ended up in some interesting places.
He pulled up in front of my house. “Thanks. Onward. Somewhere.”
“Are you in the mood for more speculation?”
“What?”
“Nina Balquist suspects Malley was involved in the dope trade. If that’s true, he’d be likely to know unpleasant people. The kind who’d be able to get something done behind bars.”
He twisted and faced me. “The hit on Troy Turner? Where’d that come from?”
“Free association.”
“Turner was written up as a gang thing. He assaulted a Vato Loco.”
“And maybe it even happened that way,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t it be righteous, Alex?”
“Why would a thirteen-year-old kid hang in a supply closet for an hour bleeding before anyone noticed?”
“Because C.Y.A.’s a mess.”
“Okay,” I said.
He shoved the seat back violently and stretched his legs. “Malley puts a hit on Turner a month into Turner’s sentence but waits eight years to take care of Rand?”
“That is problematic,” I said.
“Sure is.”
“I can offer an explanation but it would be broad conjecture.”
“As opposed to wild speculation?”
“Malley craved immediate vengeance for his daughter’s death. He saw Troy Turner as the primary killer so Troy paid quickly. After that satisfaction, Malley’s rage subsided. It’s possible he hadn’t even decided that Rand deserved the ultimate penalty. But the two of them got together and something went wrong.”
“Malley does own wife quickly but cuts Rand eight years of slack?”
“If he blamed Lara for Kristal’s death, that was a whole different level of rage.”
“You only kill the one you love? I don’t know, Alex. It’s a big jump.”
“Lara’s own mother’s still angry at her. There was a picture of Kristal in her house but none of Lara. Put yourself in Barnett’s place. All those years of infertility and she blows it big time.”
“I guess,” he said.
“There’d also be a practical reason not to hit Rand immediately after Troy. Both boys dying so close together would set off suspicions about revenge. Lara was different, there was no reason to assume her death was anything other than suicide.”
“Sue didn’t suspect. And she was a smart cop. Maybe…”
“If Malley did kill Lara and managed to fool the coroner and the cops, that implies cunning and planning. Which is consistent with an ability to delay gratification. So is Malley’s lifestyle- ascetic. Perhaps he mulled Rand’s fate for years, decided to check out the quality of Rand’s atonement.”
“You flunk you die,” he said. “Thirty-eight revolver. Cowboy gun… still, eight years is a helluva long time to wait.”
“Maybe the eight years were broken up by periodic contact- an extended testing period for Rand.”
“Malley visited Rand in prison? Spent face time with the punk who killed his kid?”
“Face time or letters or phone calls,” I said. “You’ve seen it, victims and offenders making contact after the disposition. The initiative could’ve come from Rand. He wanted to unload his guilt and made the first move.”
“You see Malley responding to that? We’re not talking Mr. Touchy-Feely.”
“Eight years changes people. And just because he hoards guns doesn’t mean he’s not hurting.”
“That sounds like a defense brief.” The police band burped. His hand shot out and switched it off. “Guess I’d be a putz not to check out Rand’s visitors’ list. Which, given the fact that C.Y.A.’s a big mess, isn’t gonna be simple. As long as I’m churning paper, I’ll also try to learn what I can about Turner’s death. And let’s not forget the joy of excavating Barnett Malley’s personal history.”