Blood Test by Kellerman, Jonathan

long time before turning it down.

“No way, Milo. You would have been miserablel

Think back to what you told me.”

“What’s that?”

“l didn’t give up Walt Whitman to push paper.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s right,”

Prior to his hitch in Vietnam, Milo had been

enrolled in the graduate program in American Lit

at Indiana U., contemplating life as a teacher, hoping

the academic world would be a setting where

his sexual preferences would be tolerated. He’d

gotten as far as an M.A. and then the war had

turned him into a policeman.

“Just imagine,” I reminded him, “endless meetings

with desk jockeys, considering the political

implications of taking a leak, no contact with the

streets.”

He held up a hand and feigned suffering.

“Enough, I’m gonna puke.”

“Just a little aversive therapy.”

He pulled the Matador into the motel lot. The

sky had darkened in anticipation of twilight and

the Sea Breeze benefited from it aesthetically. Take

away the sunlight and the place looked almost

habitable.

The office was brightly lit and the Iranian clerk

was visible behind the counter, reading. M y Seville

BLOOD TEST 113

was the lone occupant of the lot. The half-empty

pool looked like a crater.

Milo stopped the car and let the engine idle.

“You understand about my stepping out of this ?”

“Of course. No homicide, no homicide detective.”

“They’ll probably be back for the car. I had it

impounded so they’ll have to check in to get it

back. They do, I’ll call you and give you a chance to

talk to them. Even if theydon’t show, we’ll proba-

bly find out’ they’re back home, no harm done.”

He realized what he’d said and grimaced.

“Shit. Where’s my head? The kid.”

“He could be all right. Maybe they’ve taken him

to another hospital.” ! wanted to sound hopeful but

memories–the pain on Woody’s face, the bloodstain

on the motel carpet–eroded my faith in a

happy ending.

“If they don’t treat him that’s it, right”

I nodded. ‘

He stared out the windshield. “That’s one kind

of murder I’ve never dealt with.”

Raoul had said the same thing in different words.

I told him so.

“And this Melendez-Lynch doesn’t want to go

the legal route ?’

“He was trying to avoid it. It may end up in court

yet.”

He gave his big head a shake and placed a hand

on my shoulder. “I’ll keep my ears open. Anything

comes up I’ll let you know.”

“I’d appreciate it. And thanks for everything,

Milo.”

“It was nothing. Literally.” We shook hands “Sa

·

.

y

hello to the entrepreneur when she gets. back.’

“Will do. The best to Rick.”

114

Jonathan Kellerman

I got out of the car. The Matador’s headlights

striped the gravel as Milo swung out of the lot. The

truncated patter of the radio dispatcher created a

punk rock concerto that hung in the air after he

was gone.

I drove north to Sunset, planning to turn off at

Beverly Glen and head home. Then I remembered

that the house would be empty. Talking to Milo

about Robin had opened a few wounds and I didn’t

want to be alone with my thoughts. I realized that

Raoul knew nothing about what we’d found at the

Sea Breeze, and decided now was as good a time as

any to tell him.

He was huhched over his desk scrawling notations

on the draft of a research paper. I knocked lightly

on the open door.

“Alex!” He rose to greet me. “How did it go? Did

you convince them ?”

I/ecounted what we’d found.

“Oh my God!” He slumped in his chair. “This is

unbelievable. Unbelievable.’! He exhaled, compressed

his jowls with his ha.ds, picked up a pencil and

rolled it up and down the surface of the desk.

“Was there much blood?”

“One stain about six inches wide.”

“Not enough for a bleed-out,” he muttered to

himself. “No other fluids? No bile, no vomitus?”

“I didn’t see any. It was hard to tell.. The place

was a shambles.”

“A barbaric rite, no doubt. I told you, Alex, they

are madmen, those damned Touchers! To steal a

child and then to run amok like that! Holism is