“Shull’s been a bad boy?” said Petra.
“For a professor,” said Small, “being a bad boy could mean giving the wrong kid a bad grade. What do we really have on this guy except he likes art and had a nutty cousin?”
“A cousin who got strangled,” said Petra. “And was spotted at the scene of one of our 187s.”
Small tickled his own mustache. “So, what, we’re thinking two bad guys, now? Teacher and student? Like Buono and Bianchi, Bittaker and Norris, pair of lowlife scumbag psychopaths pulling a duo?”
“We’ve got a literal teacher and student,” said Petra. “Maybe they branched out of academia.” To Stahl: “You said Shull’s mommy has dough. That could explain Kevin’s financing.”
I said, “Shull’s influence could also explain the shift in Kevin’s writing style. Kevin started off simple, but Shull guided him toward greater complexity. I told Shull Kevin’s style had gotten pretentious. He laughed, and said, ‘Ouch.’ But maybe he wasn’t amused.”
Milo said, “He show any signs of weirdness, Alex?”
“Not really. Very self-possessed. But right from the beginning I’ve thought our guy wouldn’t come across strange. Someone who can move in and out of artistic venues without being conspicuous. Someone smart enough to plan.”
“Someone older than Kevin,” he said. “His age bugged you from the beginning.”
“Shull’s how old?” said Petra.
“Midthirties to forty.”
“Right in the zone.”
Schlesinger said, “Where’s the family money from?”
Stahl said, “The second husband.”
I said, “Some of it may have found its way to her sole living child. Any idea how Shull’s father and brother died?”
Stahl shook his head.
Petra said, “Good work, Eric.”
The merest flicker of emotion livened Stahl’s eyes. Then they went flat, again.
“Life’s like that,” said Marvin Small. “All of a sudden things change.”
“A philosopher,” said Schlesinger, with the good humor of a long-suffering spouse. “I wouldn’t mind some good change. For a change. You guys gonna learn more about this professor?”
Petra said, “Minute we’re out of here, I’ll run him through the data banks.”
Stahl said, “I don’t recommend interviewing his mommy.”
“Not a nice lady?” said Milo.
“Not someone I’d like to have a beer with.”
The first bit of humor I’d ever heard from him. But no comic inflection. Mechanical voice. The deadened tone of someone beaten down. Or maybe he just had a weird personality.
He placed the chart back in the white envelope and studied his empty plate.
Milo turned to me. “What’s the name of that department head?”
41
Alvard Gordon Shull had been run through the law enforcement files. No criminal record, but Guadalupe Santos, Kevin Drummond’s landlady, thought she recognized Shull from the DMV photo Petra showed her.
“Hmm . . . maybe.”
“Maybe what, ma’am?”
“Once I saw Yuri on the street talking to a guy. Could’ve been him.”
“Where on the street, Mrs. Santos?”
“Not far from here, like up on Melrose, couple of blocks that way.” Pointing east. “I figured Yuri had gone shopping or something.”
Petra shook her head as she recounted it to Milo and me. She never thought to mention this? “Ma’am, was he carrying a bag that indicated he’d been shopping?”
Santos thought. “It was a while ago—maybe.”
“But you think this was the man he was with?”
“I’m not sure . . . like I said, it was a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“I’d have to say . . . months. Only reason I noticed was I never saw Yuri with anyone. But it’s not like they were hanging out or anything.”
“What were they doing?”
“Just talking. Like maybe the guy asked Yuri directions or something. Then Yuri walked home alone.”
“The man left on foot?”
“Um, I think so. But there’s no way I could testify or anything. I couldn’t honestly say I remember details, it’s more like maybe. Who is he?”
“Maybe no one. Thank you, ma’am.”
Santos closed her door, looking worried.
Shull lived in a house on Aspen Way, in the Hollywood Hills, and Stahl had been stationed down the block all night, with nothing to report.
“How far is Aspen,” I asked Milo, “from the Hollywood sign?”
“Right down the hill and east. Not far from Kevin, either.” He’d dropped by soon after the meeting, kept busy on the phone, finally sat down at my kitchen table to toss things around.