Moe shuffled past the shabby building. Ramone was out of sight, probably drowning his sorrow at Bob's or some similar dive.
Moe considered checking out the bar. Was he good enough to nurse a beer on a neighboring stool, get the guy talking?
What chance was there Ramone would admit to being a total pussy?
Speaking of which.
Witnessing the encounter had shaken up Moe's preconceptions. He'd been thinking of Ramone as a murderous thug but the mope had just come across scary as milk.
He walked back to his car. Encountered a few other dog-walkers, including an old, bent woman with a tiny, fluffy white mutt who snarled viciously as Moe passed.
She said, “Good boy, Champ. He's a bum.”
When he returned to his desk at West L.A., Aaron was sitting in his chair, playing a BlackBerry. At the sight of Moe, his brother sprang up. “I may have something for you.”
“May,” said Moe.
“Where can we talk?”
That assumed a lot; Moe's instinct was to say so. But something in Aaron's demeanor stopped him: no wise-ass glint in his eyes, that intense purpose on his face-the same look Aaron had worn back when he was throwing long passes or adjusting his batting stance. Completing the pass, more often than not. Great RBI.
Moe said, “Let's go.”
Once they were in a windowless room and Aaron had checked for hidden mikes, he said, “I may have found Caitlin's burial spot.”
Still totally unaware of Adella Villareal, Raymond Wohr, Alicia Eiger. Moe indulged himself in brief self-satisfaction, saying “Tell me about it” as he sat back.
Aaron described Mason Book and Ax Dement's drive to Leo Carrillo, the clearing where they'd smoked up and sniffed heroin.
“You know for sure it was heroin.” Getting picky about a probably irrelevant detail because between this and Eiger chewing Ramone a second asshole, his head was swimming with uncertainty.
“Did a presumptive test.” Now Aaron's know-it-all grin was back.
“Home chemistry set, Moses. I can't promise you the place is the tomb-the ground wasn't disturbed. But it's been a long time, stuff grows. And before you ask, sure, it's possible the two of them just love getting high at the beach. But it's a helluva ride from the Hollywood Hills just for that. Why not enjoy their dope behind gates up on Swal-lowsong? I think the spot has psychological significance and they were engaging in some sort of ritual.”
“Returning to the scene of the crime.”
Aaron crossed his legs, smoothed a lapel, stared at Moe, trying to figure out if he was being put on.
For some reason, Moe felt like a pain in the ass. “It happens with psych crimes, right? Reliving the thrill.”
Aaron relaxed. “It does… look, I know this isn't hard evidence, Moses, but it was all I could do not to go back with a shovel myself. I meant what I said about not getting in your way. A cadaver dog could answer the question pretty easily.”
“I'm not hearing enough justification to call in the K-9s. Especially in a public park-in Malibu. Coastal Commission would probably get involved.”
Listen to me: like every other regulation-spouting suit.
“Okay,” said Aaron. “I just want you to know whatever I learn.”
His brother's glum expression threw Moe. Self-doubt had never seemed part of Aaron's repertoire.
“I'm not saying it's not interesting, Aaron, it is. Especially with Malibu coming up over and over. Everything about Caitlin seems to hover around the coastline.”
Except her babysitting gig in Hollywood.
Aaron brightened. “My thought exactly. Caitlin and Rory go to school at Pepperdine, work in Santa Monica, Lem Dement's ranch is in Solar Canyon. And now I've seen Mason Book take two nighttime trips to PCH.”
“Restless sleeper,” said Moe.
“Guilt can do that to you. Though it doesn't look like Mr. Book's remorse extends to self-mutilation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just before you arrived I was clearing a text message.” Tapping the BlackBerry. “One of my sources heard a rumor there were no cut marks on Book's arms, or anywhere else on his body during his supposed suicide stay at Cedars. No sign, period, that he'd placed his life in danger.”
“Who's the source?”
“Sorry,” said Aaron. “And given all the hubbub over at the U. about patient confidentiality, you don't want to know.”
Good point. Moe said, “Reliable source?”
“Very.”
“Someone who works at Cedars?”
Aaron smiled. “Someone who's connected to someone who knows someone who works at Cedars. But before you dismiss it, I will tell you we're talking an embittered Industry person being edged out of a job on the way to career oblivion.” Quoting Merry Ginzburg word for word. “Strong motivation to help clear the case.”
“Why?”
“I promised a scoop once the dust settles.”
“Once, not if,” said Moe. “Nothing like optimism.”
“Only way to live, bro-sorry.” Aaron adjusted his jacket. Today's was smooth silk the color of dark chocolate, a hue black men pulled off better than anyone. Moe was thankful he'd stopped at his locker and changed out of his bum clothes. Tossing the green hoodie into the trash because he couldn't shake the feeling it was alive.
He said, “If Book didn't try to off himself, why was he hospitalized? And why announce he's a suicide?”
“Good questions, Moses.”
“Exhaustion,” said Moe. “Isn't that how celebs spin when they check in for detox?”
“No detox here,” said Aaron. “No drugs of any sort-that's what tipped off my source's source. It was like the guy was using the place for a hotel.”
Moe said, “Maybe no prescription drugs, but he had friends bring in recreational chemicals-maybe suicide was a cover for something worse career-wise. Like a total mental meltdown. If Book fell apart totally, his handlers wouldn't want it publicized. Better to cover with a half-truth.”
Aaron's eyes widened. “I like that. Going off the deep end, total blithering lunatic… people shy away from crazy, but depression, suicide-climbing back up from adversity-that's the cover of People. That's Oprah being your new best friend-yeah, that makes sense, Moses.”
Moe said, “And the fact Book never made it to Oprah or People could mean he's still nuts-the problem didn't go away. It also syncs with his not making a movie in three years. Hearing voices, seeing little green men, would make it hard to follow the script. But one thing bothers me. They treat psychotics with drugs, right? Is your source's source certain there were no meds at all?”
“That's what I'm told,” said Aaron, careful to avoid any hint of Merry's gender.
“Then maybe we're wrong.”
“Or maybe Book found himself a shrink who doesn't use drugs. I like the total-whack angle because it makes him capable of some real bad behavior. As in picking up a starstruck girl like Caitlin at Riptide, bringing her over to his place to party, once he gets her under control, he goes all Lecter.”
“Has his way with her in the Hollywood Hills,” said Moe, “and buries the body forty miles away to be safe.”
“With Ax Dement's help, because Ax is Book's primary walking-around guy, could very well have been part of the kill. I say that because choosing Malibu points to Ax's involvement, Moses. He's been brought up there. Hell, maybe he was the one chose the burial spot because he knows the area, nice and close to Daddy's ranch.”
Moe said, “And Book, weird as ever, returns to the scene to get high, relive the experience. Chauffeured by Ax-who could also be getting off on the whole thing.”
Aaron said, “Rory Stoltz chauffeured Book to Malibu the first time. Even though Book chickened out and they turned back at the Colony, Rory could've been in on the kill, as well. The three of them meeting up in that damned bar.”