“Kevin’s not athletic.”
Drummond smirked. “Let’s just say Kevin’s an indoor type.”
Talking about his nephew had brought out the cruelty. Petra thought: Drunk, this guy would be ugly. “Do you have kids of your own, Mr. Drummond?”
“No. I used to have a wife.” Drummond’s eyes squeezed shut. “She was next to me in the car when I hit the pole. My lawyer used my grief as a defense and got me a lighter sentence.”
His eyes opened. Moist.
Stahl watched him. Rigid. Unimpressed.
Petra said, “So when’s the last time you saw Kevin?”
“Like I said, years ago. I couldn’t hazard a precise guess. After my review of his so-called publication, he never called me. It wasn’t really a magazine, you know. Just something Kevin cranked out in his bedroom. Probably cost Frank another chunk of change.”
“Do you recall anything about the content?”
“I didn’t read it,” said Drummond. “I took one look, saw it was crap, and tossed it.”
“Crap about what?”
“Kevin’s take on the art world. People he considered geniuses. Why?”
“Did Kevin write the whole thing himself?”
“That’s what I assumed—what, you think he had a staff? This was amateur hour, Detective. And what the hell does it have to do with homicide?”
Petra smiled. “So you never see Kevin. Despite the fact that he lives close to you.”
“Does he?” Drummond seemed genuinely surprised.
“Right here in Hollywood.”
“Hooray for Hollywood,” said Drummond. “Makes sense.”
“Why’s that?”
“Kid always was a star-fucker.”
They spent a while longer in the apartment, going over the same territory, rephrasing, the way detectives do, when trolling for inconsistencies. Refusing Randolph Drummond’s offers of soft drinks but fetching a Diet Coke for the man when he began licking his lips. Petra did most of the talking. The few times Stahl spoke, Drummond grew uneasy. Not evasiveness, as far as Petra could tell. Stahl’s inflectionless tone seemed to spook the guy, and Petra found herself empathizing.
The interview produced home and business addresses and phone numbers for Franklin Drummond, Attorney at Law, both in Encino, and the fact that, two years ago, Kevin Drummond had graduated from Charter College, a small, expensive private school near Eagle Rock.
“They sent me an invitation,” said Drummond. “I didn’t attend. It was an insincere offer.”
“What do you mean?” said Petra.
“No offer to drive me there. I wasn’t going to take the damn bus.”
It was nearing 4 P.M. by the time they got back to Kevin Drummond’s building. Still, no one home.
Time for Encino. As they drove north over Laurel Canyon, Petra said, “Randolph D. bother you?”
“He can’t stand his nephew,” said Stahl.
“Angry man. Estranged from his entire family. But can’t see any link to our case. Can’t see him moving round town on those crutches and offing artistic types.”
“He killed his wife.”
“You see that as relevant?” said Petra.
Stahl’s pale fingers interlaced. A stricken look washed over his face, then it was gone so fast that Petra wondered if she’d really seen it.
“Eric?” she said.
Stahl shook his head. “No, he has nothing to do with our case.”
“Back to Kevin, then. That comment about his being a star-fucker would tie in with Delaware’s theory. So would the history of failed projects. And attraction to fads. This could be one pathetic little loser who just couldn’t take not being talented and decided to act out against those who were.”
Stahl didn’t answer.
“Eric?”
“Don’t know.”
“What’s your intuition?”
“I don’t rely on intuition.”
“Really?” said Petra. “You’ve been pretty good with GTAs.”
As if taking that as an invitation, Stahl’s head swiveled toward the passenger window, and he studied the traffic flow. He stayed that way during the entire trip to the Valley.
They tried Franklin Drummond’s Ventura Boulevard office first. The “firm” was a one-lawyer affair on the tenth floor of a bronzed-glass high-rise. The waiting room was cozy, bathed in the same type of romantic music Randolph Drummond had played. The young receptionist was friendly enough when she informed them that Mr. Drummond was in court. Her nameplate said DANITA TYLER, and she looked busy.
“What kind of law does Mr. Drummond practice?” said Petra.