Dr. Death by Jonathan Kellerman

“Not yet, ma’am.”

“Not that you’d tell us, right?”

Milo smiled.

Paul Ulrich said, “Fifteen minutes of fame. Andy Warhol coined that phrase and look what happened to him.”

“What happened?” said Milo.

“Checked into a hospital for routine surgery, went out in a bag.”

Stratum’s black glasses flashed as she turned her head sharply.

“All I meant, honey, is celebrity stinks. The sooner we’re through with this the better. Look at Princess Di— look at Dr. Mate, for that matter.”

“We’re not celebrities, Paul.

And that’s good, hon.”

Milo said, “So you think Dr. Mate’s notoriety had something to do with his death, Mr. Ulrich?”

“I don’t know—I mean, I’m no expert. But wouldn’t you say so? It does seem logical, given who he was. Not that we recognized him when we saw him—not in the condition he was in.” He shook his head. “Whatever. You didn’t even tell us who he was when you were questioning us last week. We found out by watching the news—”

Tanya Stratton’s hand took hold of his biceps. He said, “That’s about it. We need to get to work.

Speaking of which, do you always hike before work?” said Milo.

“We walk four, five times a week,” said Stratton. “Keeping healthy,” said Ulrich. She dropped her hand and turned away from him. “We’re both early risers,” he said, as if pressed to explain. “We both have long workdays, so if we don’t get our exercise in the morning, forget it.” He flexed his fingers.

Milo pointed up the dirt road. “Come here often?

Not really,” said Stratton. “It’s just one of the places we go. In fact, we rarely come up here, except on Sundays. Because it’s far and we need to drive back, shower off, change. Mostly we stick closer to home.

Encino,” said Milo.

“Right over the hill,” said Ulrich. “That morning we were up early. I suggested Mulholland because it’s so pretty.” He edged closer to Stratton, put his hand back on her shoulder.

Milo said, “You were here, when—six, six-fifteen?

We usually start out by six,” said Stratton. “I’d say we were here by six-twenty, maybe later by the time we parked. The sun was up already. You could see it over that peak.” Pointing east, toward foothills beyond the gate.

Ulrich said, “We like to catch at least part of the sunrise. Once you get past there”—hooking a thumb at the gate—”it’s like being in another world. Birds, deer, chipmunks. Duchess goes crazy ’cause she gets to run around without a leash. Tanya’s had her for ten years and she still runs like a puppy. Great nose, thinks she’s a drug dog.”

“Too good,” said Stratton, grimacing.

“If Duchess hadn’t run to the van,” said Milo, “would you have approached it?”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Was there anything different about it? Was it conspicuous in any way?”

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

“Duchess must’ve sensed something off,” said Ulrich. “Her instincts are terrific.”

Stratton said, “She’s always bringing me presents. Dead squirrels, birds. Now this. Every time I think about it I get sick to my stomach. I really need to go, have a pile of work to go through.”

“What kind of work do you do?” said Milo.

“Executive secretary to a vice president at Unity Bank. Mr. Gerald Van Armstren.”

Milo checked his notes. “And you’re a financial planner, Mr. Ulrich?”

“Financial consultant. Mostly real-estate work.”

Stratton turned abruptly and walked back to the BMW.

Ulrich called out “Honey?” but he didn’t go after her. “Sorry, guys. She’s been really traumatized, says she’ll never get the image out of her head. I thought coming up here might actually help—not a good idea at all.” He shook his head, gazed at Stratton. Her back was to him. “Really bad idea.”

Milo strode over to the car. Tanya Stratton stood with her hand on the handle of the passenger door, facing west. He said something to her. She shook her head, turned away, revealing a tight white profile.

Ulrich rocked on his heels and exhaled. A strand of mustache hair that had eluded wax vibrated.

I said, “Have you two been together long?”

“A while. She’s sensitive …”

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