JONATHAN KELLERMAN. A COLD HEART

“Out of Dove House?”

“Out of here. The life. The street. So maybe he did. So look what happened to her.”

We got back in the car. Milo said, “What do you think?”

“Erna Murphy liked pretty art,” I said. “That would be a point of contact with someone like Kevin, the self-assigned arbiter of art. Julie Kipper’s paintings certainly qualified as pretty. Erna would’ve been attracted to them. Maybe he directed her to the show. Used her as some sort of distraction.”

“CoCo Barnes opens the back door and maybe she forgets to lock it.” He rubbed his face. “A psychotic advance woman. Think he could’ve used Erna for more than just that? What if he had her actually do Julie? Erna was big enough to overpower someone Julie’s size, especially in the closed confines of that bathroom. A woman would also explain the lack of semen or sexual assault. And we just heard she could be lucid.”

“Relatively lucid,” I said. “Julie’s murder was too well planned and thought out for a psychotic. Not a shred of forensic evidence was left at the scene. Erna can’t have been counted on to be that meticulous. No, I can’t see that. There’s something else going on here—’E. Murphy’ wrote a review of Vassily Levitch a year ago. The prose was florid but not confused enough to be Erna’s. Her name was expropriated. It’s a kind of identify theft.”

“Smart boyfriend,” he said. “Lynnette was sure Erna was being delusional about that.”

“In terms of a romantic bond, she probably was. But there was a relationship. Erna’s aesthetic interests, the fact that she’d been educated, was periodically articulate, could’ve made her appealing to someone like Kevin Drummond. A tragic figure who’d hit rock bottom, the ultimate outsider. Even her psychosis would have appealed to him. Some fools still think being crazy is glamorous. But whatever bond they had, Kevin was careful to keep her at arm’s length. His landlady never saw her around his apartment, and no one Petra’s talked to has linked the two of them.”

“He idealizes her, then he kills her.”

“She ceased fitting into his worldview, became a threat.”

“Cold,” he said. “That’s one thing that does fit all of it. Coldhearted. Like Baby Boy’s song. I bought one of his CDs, been listening to it, trying to get some insights.”

“Any success?”

“He was one hell of a player, even a tone-deaf philistine like me can hear his soul pouring outta that guitar. But no big insights. Did you know your name’s on the album?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tiny print, on the bottom, where he thanks everyone from Jesus Christ to Robert Johnson. Big list, Robin’s in there. He calls her ‘the beautiful guitar lady,’ thanks her for keeping his instruments happy. Then he tacks you on. Something along the lines of ‘Thanks to Dr. Alex Delaware for keeping the guitar lady happy.’ “

“Been a while since that was true.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

I pulled away from the curb, drove west on Hollywood Boulevard. Construction brought us to a halt. Hard-hatted crews running amok. Graft kings rejuvenating the neighborhood. Maybe one day, the shiny, sterile, franchised Hollywood the civic fathers lusted for would emerge. Right now, glitz coexisted with sleaze in an uneasy balance.

A few miles away, north, in the hills, was the Hollywood sign, where a starlet had ended her life decades ago, and China Maranga’s body had been left to rot. I didn’t suggest driving up there, and neither did Milo. Too long ago to matter.

We crawled to Vine Street. He said, “Erna. Another soul expropriated.”

I said, “A user. That’s what this is all about.”

29

Encino. Petra digested the details of Milo’s call. The E. Murphy ID meant the redhead’s murder would end up in her basket, too.

She phoned Eric Stahl and filled him in.

“Okay,” he said, in that infuriating, flat voice. Nothing impresses me.

“You going to keep watching Kevin?” she said.

“Probably a waste of time.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t think he’ll be coming by soon,” said Stahl. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m still watching his parents’ house. No action yet, but I want to stick with it. Meantime, I think we should start delving into Erna Murphy’s history. If you really think Kevin’s crib is a zero, feel free to start on that.”

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