Blood Test by Kellerman, Jonathan

corner. Call it in as a suspicious disappearance.”

She moved toward the door.

The Iranian lifted the hinged counter and came

around to our side.

“What do you want? Why you make trouble?”

“Listen,” I told him, “I don’t care what kind of

82 jonathan l(eIlerman

nasty little games-you’ve got going on in the other

rooms. We need to talk to the family in fifteen.”

He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, “Come,

I show you, they not here. Then you leave me

alone, okay ?”

“It’s a deal.”

His-pants were baggy .and they flapped as he

strode across the asphalt, muttering and jingling

the keys.

A quick turn of the wrist and the lock released.

The door groaned as it opened. We stepped inside.

The desk clerk blanched, Beverly whispered Ohmi-god,

and I fought down a rising feeling of dread.

The room was small and dark and it had been

savaged.

The earthly belongings of the family Swope had

been removed from three cardboard suitcases, which

.lay crushed on one of the twin beds..Clothing and

personal articles were strewn about’: lotion, shampoo,

and detergent lealed from broken bottles in

viscous trails across the threadbare carpeting. Female

undergarments hung limply over the chain of

the plastic swag lamp. Paperback books and newspapers

had been shredded and scattered like confetti.

Open cans and boxes of food were everywhere,

the contents oozing out in congealing mounds.

The room reeked of rot and dead air.

Next to the bed was a patch of carpet that was

clear of litter, but far from empty. It was filled

with a .dark brown amoebalike stain half a foot

across.

“Oh no,” said Beverly. She staggered,’ lost her

balance, and I caught her.

You don’t have to spend much time in a hospital

to know the sight of dried blood.

BLOOD TEST 8

The Iranian’s face was waxen. His jaws worked

soundlessly.

“Come on,” I took hold of his bony shoulders and

guided him out, “we have to call the police now.”

It’s nice to know someone on the force. Especially

when that someone is your best friend and

won’t assume you’re a suspect when you call in a

crime. I bypassed 911 and called Milo’s extension

directly. He was in a meeting but I pushed a bit

and they called him out.

“Detective Sturgis.”

“Milo, it’s Alex.”

“Hello, pal. You Pulled me out of a fascinating

lecture. It seems the west side has become the

latest hot spot for PCP labs–they rent glitzy houses

and park Mercedes in the driveway. Why I need to

know all about it is beyond me but tell that to the

brass. Anyway, what’s up?”

I told hiTM and he turned businesslike immediately.

“All right. Stay there. Don’t let anyone touch

anything. I’ll get everything moving. There’s gonna

be a lot of people converging so don’t let the girl get

spooked. I’ll crap out of this meeting and be there

as soon as I can but I may not be the first, so if

someone gives you a hard time, drop’ my name and

hope they don’t give you a harder time because you

did. Bye.”

I hung up and went to Beverly. She-had the

drained, lost look of a stranded traveler. I put my

arm around her and sat her down next to the clerk,

who’d progressed to muttering to himself in Farsi,

no doubt reminiscing about the good old days with

the Ayatollah.

There was a coffee machine on the other side of

84

Jonathan Kellerman

the counter and I went through and poured three

cups. The Iranian took his gratefully, held it with ·

both hands, and gulped noisily. Beverly put hers

down on the table, and I sipped as we waited.

Five minutes later we saw the first flashing lights.

THE TWO uniformed policemen were muscular giants,

one white and blond, the other coal-black, his part-her’s

photographic negative. They questioned us

briefly, spending most of their time with. the Iranian

desk clerk. They didn’t like him instinctively, and

showed it in the way L.A.P.D. cops do–by bein

overly polite.

Most of-their interrogation had to do with when

he’d last seen the Swopes, what cars had come in

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