Dr. Death by Jonathan Kellerman

“A dumb psychopath like Goad actually held on to loose cash?”

“He says it was Greyhound money. Something to tide him over until he pulled off the hamburger heist. What’s the alternative explanation, Alex? Everyone in the bar’s lying? Some grand conspiracy to frame poor Richard because maybe one time he played golf with O.J.? Come on, this is crime as I know it: tawdry, predictable, stupid. Doss may be a hotshot businessman but he was out of his element and he screwed up. He’s been on my list, along with Haiselden and Donny. Now he’s moved up to number one man.”

“Does Goad claim Richard gave him a reason to kill Mate?”

“Goad says Richard told him Mate had murdered his wife. That she wasn’t really sick, that as a doctor Mate should have known that, should have tried to talk her out of it. He told Goad he’d be doing a public service by getting rid of the guy. As if Goad cared about doing good—your boy thinks he’s street-smart but that shows how out of his element he was. Mr. Brentwood slumming with the lowlife … It sounds damn real to me, Alex.”

“Even if you do find Richard’s prints on the money, what would that prove?” I said. “Goad worked for Richard and you just said he paid his workers under the table.”

He looked up at me wearily. “All of a sudden you’re a defense attorney? In my humble opinion, your time would be better spent dealing with those two kids than constructing excuses for their daddy. I’m sorry for you that it worked out this way, but as the guy who’s been slogging this case, I’m happy as hell to have a real lead.”

He didn’t look happy.

I said, “Once more with feeling: where are the kids now?”

He hooked a thumb at the door. “I put them in a victim’s family room. Assigned them a nice, sensitive female D to keep them company.”

“How’re they doing?”

“Don’t know. Frankly, I’ve been spending my time on the phone with my alleged superiors and trying to talk to Daddy—who’s clammed till his attorney gets here. I can’t promise you the kids won’t be interviewed eventually, but right now they’re just waiting. Want to see them?”

“If they’ll see me,” I said. “Having the gruesome twosome show up at my door didn’t do much for my credibility.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. Goad’s PD called Parker Center direct, ready to deal, and a big brass hard-on developed. Try to forget the kids for a second and see this for what it is: major unsolved homicide going nowhere and along comes credible evidence of a prior threat against the victim from someone with means and motive. At the very least, we’ve got Doss on conspiracy to solicit murder, which might be enough to hold him while we go looking for goodies.”

“How’d Korn and Demetri figure out where he was?”

“Dropped in on his secretary.” He chewed his cheek. “Saw your name in the appointment book.”

“Great.”

“You of all people should know it’s not a pretty job, Alex.”

“When’s Richard’s lawyer due?”

“Soon. Big-time mouthpiece named Safer, specializes in getting the upper crust out of scrapes. He’ll advise Doss to stay clammed, we’ll try to hold your boy on conspiracy. Either way, it’ll take a long time clearing the paperwork, so figure on his being here overnight, at least.”

He stood, stretched his arms, said, “I’m stiff, too much sitting around.”

“Poor baby.”

“You want me to apologize again? Fine, mea culpa, culpamea.”

I said, “What about Fusco’s file? What about the painting? What does Doss have to do with that?”

“Who’s to say the painting has anything to do with the murder? And no, nothing’s forgotten, just deferred. If you can still bring yourself to do it, read the damn file. If not, I understand.”

He shoved at the door and walked out into the hall.

The victim’s family room was a few doors up. A

young, honey-haired woman in a powder-blue pantsuit stood a few feet away.

“Detective Marchesi, Dr. Delaware,” said Milo.

“Hi,” she said. “I offered them Cokes but they refused, Milo.”

“How’re they doing?”