She thought about that. “Not without some kind of clear and present danger- documentation of a threat.”
“There was nothing like that in Gavin’s chart. And if she was threatened by anyone, she didn’t let on to me or Milo. We’ve got a meeting with her partners tomorrow.”
“Gull and Larsen.”
“Know them?” I said.
“I’ve said hi to both of them but nothing more.”
“Any impressions?”
“Gull comes across very smooth- very much the Beverly Hills shrink. Larsen’s more the academic type.”
“Gull was Gavin’s initial therapist,” I said. “It didn’t work out, and Gavin was transferred to Koppel. Now that Gavin’s dead, maybe he can tell us why.”
“What a troubled kid,” she said. “The stalking, putting the make on his aunt.”
“If the aunt’s to be believed, the family’s beyond dysfunctional.”
She drank more coffee, took my hand and held it. “At least you and I will never be out of work.”
“Neither will Milo.”
Spike rolled on his back and began pumping his stumpy legs.
“He looks like an upended turtle,” she said. “What are you doing, cutie? Practicing for the upside-down bike race?”
“That’s the signal to scratch his belly,” I said.
She grinned and complied. “Thanks for decoding, I’m not fluent in dog.”
She stopped scratching and made a move for her coffee mug. Spike protested, and she bent down again.
I said, “One-trial learning. Consider yourself conditioned.”
She laughed, took the mug, managed to sip and rub. Spike burped, then purred like a cat. Allison cracked up. “He’s a sound effects machine.”
“He’s got all sorts of talents.”
“How long’s he staying?”
“Couple of days.” I told her about Robin’s call.
“That was very nice of you.”
“It’s the least I could do,” I said. “It was supposed to be joint custody, but he voted against it.”
“Well, that was foolish on his part. I’m sure you were a great father.” She sat up and touched my face and ran a finger over my lips.
Spike sprang to his feet and barked.
“Here we go,” I said. To Spike: “Cool it, clown.”
“Ooh, stern,” said Allison. “You do stern pretty well, my love. I’ve never seen it before.”
“He brings it out in me.”
“I always wanted a dog,” she said. “You know my mother. Way too neat for hair on the carpet. And Dad was always away on business. I did have a salamander once. It crawled out of its tank and hid under my bed and dried up. When I found it, it looked like a piece of beef jerky.”
“Poor neglected child,” I said.
“Yes, it was a tragic childhood- though, to be honest, I wasn’t very attached to Sally. Wet and slimy discourages bonding, don’t you think? But something like this.” She rubbed Spike’s head. “This I could see.”
“It gets complicated,” I said.
“How so?”
“I’ll show you.”
I got up, stood behind her, rubbed her neck and kissed it. Waited for Spike to go bonkers.
He stared. Defiant. Did nothing.
Her top was V-necked and I slipped my hand under it. She said, “Umm. As long as I’m here…”
“So you didn’t just come to talk about Mary Lou.”
“I did, but so what?” she said. I pinched her nipple lightly, and she leaned back in her chair and sucked in her breath and let it out in a soft laugh. She reached behind and ran her hand along my flank. “You have time?”
I glanced over at Spike. Impassive.
I took Allison by the hand, walked her to the bedroom. Spike trotted ten steps behind us. I closed the door. Silence. Back when it was Robin and me, he’d complained incessantly.
I drew the drapes, undressed Allison, got out of my own clothes. We stood belly to belly, blood rushing, cool flesh warming. I cupped Allison’s rear. Her hands were all over me.
Still no complaints from the other side of the door as I carried her to the bed.
We embraced and touched and kissed and I forgot about anything but Allison.
It wasn’t till I entered her that the scratching and mewling began.
Allison heard it right away. Lying there, her hands on my arms, her legs propped high on my back, she opened her blue eyes wide.
We began moving together.
The commotion on the other side of the door got louder.
“Oh,” she said, still rocking. “See… what… you… mean.”
I didn’t stop, and neither did she.
Spike kept it up.
To no avail.
CHAPTER 22
When I awoke the next morning at 6 A.M., Allison was next to me, and Spike lay curled on the floor, at the foot of the bed. She’d let him in. For the next two days, he wouldn’t even be faking civil.
I left her sleeping and took him outside to do his business. The morning was moist and gray and oddly fragrant. Mustaches of haze coiled down from the mountains. The trees were black sentries. Too early for the birds.
I watched him waddle around the yard, sniffing and searching. He nuzzled a garden snail, decided escargot was an element of his Gallic heritage that he preferred to forget, and disappeared behind a bush. As I stood there in my bathrobe, shivering, head clearing, I wondered who’d been threatened to the point of murder by Gavin Quick and Mary Lou Koppel. Or maybe there was no threat at all, and this was all about pleasure killing.
Then I recalled Gavin’s journalistic fantasies, and my questions took off in a different direction.
At breakfast, I said nothing about the murders to Allison. By eight-thirty she’d left for her office, and I was doing some work around the house. Spike remained still in front of the cold TV. He’s always been a devotee of the blank screen; maybe he’s got something there. I headed for my office and cleared paper. Spike padded in and stared until I got up, went to the kitchen, and fetched him a scrap of turkey. That kept him happy for the rest of the morning, and by 10 A.M. he was sleeping in the kitchen.
When Milo called soon after and asked me to pick him up at noon for the meeting with Drs. Gull and Larsen, I was glad to hear his voice.
I idled the Seville in front of the station. Milo was late to come down, and I was warned twice by uniforms not to loiter. Milo’s name meant nothing to the second cop, who threatened to ticket. I drove around the block a couple of times and found Milo waiting by the curb.
“Sorry. Sean Binchy grabbed me as I was leaving.”
He closed his eyes and put his head back. His clothes were rumpled, and I wondered when he’d last slept.
I took side streets to Ohio, aimed the Seville east, fought the snarl at Sepulveda, and continued to Overland, where I could finally outpace a skateboard.
Roxbury Park was fifteen minutes away, on Olympic, less than a mile west of Mary Lou Koppel’s office. Even closer to the Quick house on Camden Drive. I considered the constricted world that had become Gavin’s after his accident. Until he’d driven a pretty blond girl up to Mulholland Drive.
Milo opened his eyes. “I like this chauffering stuff. You ever put in for mileage, the department takes a big hit.”
“Saint Alex. What did Binchy want?”
“He found a neighbor of Koppel’s, some kid living seven houses up McConnell, who spotted a van cruising the street the night of the murder. Kid was coming home late, around 2 A.M., and the van passed him, heading north, away from Koppel’s house and toward his. He locked his doors, stayed in his car, watched it turn around and return. Going really slowly, like the driver was looking for an address. The kid waited until the taillights had disappeared for a while. He can’t say if the van parked or just drove out of sight, but it didn’t make another pass.”
“Vigilant kid,” I said.
“There was a follow-home mugging over on the other side of Motor a few weeks ago, and his parents made a big deal about being observant.”