Jonathan Kellerman – Monster

Sagging front porch, no shrubbery other than the hedge.

Milo came back, gun still out, breathing hard. “Looks empty. The back door’s Mickey

Mouse, I’m going in. Stay there till I tell you.”

Another five minutes, ten, twelve, as I watched his pen-light bounce around behind shaded windows. A single firefly. Finally, the front door opened and he waved me inside.

He’d gloved up. I followed as he turned a few lights on, exposing a poverty of space. First we.did an overall check of the house. Five small, shabby rooms, including a dingy lavatory. Grimy yellow walls; the window shades crazed, gray

oilcloth patched in spots by duct tape.

Colorless rental furniture.

Where the space allowed. The bungalow was filled with crisp-looking cardboard boxes, most of them sealed. Printed labels on the outside. THIS SIDE UP. FRAGILE. Scores of cartons of TV’s, stereos, video gear, cameras, PC’s. Cassettes, compact discs, computer discs. Glassware, silverware, small appliances. Stacks of video cartridges and Fuji film. Enough film to shoot a thousand birthday parties.

In a corner of the larger bedroom, squeezed next to an unmade queen-size mattress, stood a pile of smaller boxes. The labels claimed Sony minirecorders. Just like the one Heidi had used to tape Peake.

“The movie stuff’s out in the garage,” said Milo. “Dollies, booms, spotlights, crap

I couldn’t identify. Tons of it, piled almost to the ceiling. Didn’t see any saws, but they could be buried under all the gear. It’ll take a crew to go through it.”

“She was in on it,” I said.

He’d moved into the bathroom, didn’t answer. I heard drawers opening, went over to see him remove something from the cabinet beneath the sink.

Glossy white shoe box. Several more just like it stacked next to the pipes.

He lifted the lid. Rows of white plastic bottles nesting in Styrofoam beds. He extracted one. “Phenobarbital.”

All the other bottles in that box were labeled identically. The next box yielded an assortment, and so did all the others.

Chlorpromazine, thioridazine, haloperidol, clozapine, di-azepam, alprazolam, lithium carbonate.

“Candy sampler for a junkie,” said Milo. “Uppers, downers, all-arounders.”

He inspected the bottom of the box. “Starkweather stamp’s still on here.”

“Uncut pharmaceuticals,” I said. “It ups the price.” Then I thought of something.

Milo was looking the other way, but I must have made a sound, because he said,

“What?”

“I should’ve figured it out a long time ago. The missing dog, Buddy. He was sticking in my head because I’ve seen him before. That day in the park, a tall man in black came by walking a Rottweiler mix. Passed right by where we were sitting with Heidi.

Heidi was aware of him. She watched him.

He was her roommate. The one she’d claimed was sleeping. Their little joke. They were playing with us right from the beginning. So much for powers of observation.

Lot of good it does us now.”

“Hey,” he said, recording the drug inventory in his notepad. “I’m the so-called detective, and I never noticed the dog.”

“Crimmins stole him from Mrs. Leiber. Taking what he wanted. Because he could. For him, it’s all about power.”

He stopped writing. “No sign of any dog here,” he said. “No food or bowl anywhere in the house.” “Exactly.”

“Heidi,” he said, suddenly sounding tired. “It casts a whole new light on her story,” I said. “Peake’s prophecy. Peake’s supposed prophecy.”

His hand tightened around his pen. He stared at me. “Another scam.”

“Has to be. The only evidence we ever had was Heidi’s account.”

” ‘Bad eyes in a box.’ ‘Choo choo bang bang.’ ” “The tape, too,” I said. I led him back to the larger bedroom. Pointed at the stack of Sonys. “The tape was nothing but mumbles. Unrecognizable mumbles, could’ve been anyone. But we know who it was.”

“Crimmins.”

“Dubbing the soundtrack,” I said. “George Welles Orson. Like I said, he’s an auteur: produces, directs, acts.” He cursed violently.

“He murdered Claire,” I went on, “then set Peake up as a phony oracle to spice up his story line-who knows, maybe he thought he’d be able to use it one day. Write a screenplay, sell it to Hollywood. We took it seriously-great fun, once again he’s screwed the Law. Just like he did back in Florida. And Nevada. And Treadway. So when he eliminated the Beatty brothers, he did it again. Used Heidi, again. Once again, no risk; nothing he does with Peake bears any risk. No one’s heard Peake talk in almost two decades-who’s to say it’s not his voice on the tape? The first time we met Heidi, she let us know she was going to quit the hospital. That allowed her to do you a favor by sticking around. Gave her instant credibility-personally invited by the police. From that point, no one was going to suspect anything she did with

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *