Motive (8 page)

“Stupid bitch Laura,” said Marissa. “We’re all going to the city, House of Blues, Chainsaw Waltz is playing, Laura’s like ‘I’ll drive.’ She’s a sucky driver, we should’ve known, but she had her father’s car finally and wanted to show it off.”

I said, “Nice wheels?”

“Bentley Speed? You
think
?”

Ashley said, “She hit a pole in her Audi the week before so it was in the shop and her dad finally let her use the Bentley. She’s like, ‘C’mon, they’ll valet us in front, we’ll get vipped all night, maybe get into those hidden private rooms they have there.’ So we’re like, ‘okay.’ Then instead of getting onto the 101 she takes some side streets because she
wants to show off without highway patrol up her butt. So now she’s up to ninety and we’re like, ‘Stop, Bitch, this is stupid.’ And then a sheriff blue-lights her and we all have to do the Dewey test.”

“The Dewey test?” said Milo.

“Dewey,” said Marissa. “D-U-I? Walking like straight, touching our noses?”

Ashley said, “We passed but Laura didn’t, we didn’t know she had some beers before. So the sheriff fails her and then he says I’m gonna look inside the car and Laura’s like ‘Fine,’ doesn’t even ask for a warrant. Then he searches and finds a Baggie of weed in the glove compartment and Laura claims it’s her dad’s. Which could be possible, he’s like a music executive, got a ponytail. Then another sheriff car comes and we all get taken to the station and we call Mommy but she’s not answering her phone and Laura’s dad finally answers and he comes over and gets totally pissed when he finds out Laura tried to rat him out, tells the cops feel free to teach my daughter a lesson.”

“Cold,” said Marissa. “Usually, he’s mellow. Like friend-type dad.”

I said, “Doesn’t sound as if you guys had anything to worry about.”

“That’s what we figured,” said Ashley. “But they held us and said we’d still have to go to court. Finally we reached Mommy and she called Fellinger and he got us out of there and fixed it so we don’t have to go to court. But Laura still does, only her dad finally mellowed out and hired a lawyer who keeps postponing it. That’s what we figured you guys were here for, like to convince us to rat Laura out.”

She sucked in air. Hung her head. “Now I wish that
was
the reason.”

The girls gripped each other again, rocked and scrunched their eyes shut and went silent.

Milo got on his cell. “Mr. Corey? Lieutenant Sturgis. Your daughters need you. Good, I’ll tell them.”

Ashley opened her eyes. Marissa did the same seconds later.

“Your dad’s on his way.”

“Okay,” said Ashley. Her voice had gone flat. Her eyes were dull.

I said, “So you dorm at the U., and Marissa, you live here?”

“Um, not really,” said Marissa.

“We share an apartment,” said Ashley, blushing behind her ears.

“Are you in school?”

Hesitation. Slow head shake. “I dropped out. Could’ve studied but it was a total waste. I want to do business like my parents.”

“Import–export?”

“No, by myself, maybe in fashion.” She twisted a foot-long strand of blond hair. “I’m figuring it out.”

“Me, too,” said Marissa.

“So you guys are here today because—”

“Sydney and Jasper need us. We come like three, four times a week to groom and feed them and do a little exercise. Otherwise their muscles go flabby and they get unhealthy.”

“And the other days?”

“Mom does it … oh, God!”

Marissa said, “What’s going to happen to Sydney and Jasper?”

I walked to a cavernous kitchen, found ice water in one of two fridges, and poured glasses for the girls. They began by sipping, ended up slurping.

Milo said, “Thanks for your time, girls. Anything else you want to tell us?”

Fluttering lids. Dual drowsy head shakes.

“We’re happy to stay until your dad gets here.”

Dual “Uh-uhs.”

“You’re sure?”

Ashley said, “We really want to be by ourselves.”

Marissa nodded.

Milo said, “I understand,” and we stood. “Take care of yourselves, girls—oh, by the way, who’s Phyllis?”

Ashley said, “Phyllis Tranh. She was Mommy’s friend and then Daddy dated her.”

“He dated her after the divorce.”

“Of course, after,” said Marissa. “Daddy’s not a cheater.”

“But not for long,” said Ashley. “Maybe it got awkward.”

“Phyllis Tranh,” said Milo. “That’s a Vietnamese name.”

“Yeah, she is. Mommy knows her from business, Phyllis retails.”

Marissa said, “Her and Mommy used to get their nails done together. When Mommy went to Beverly Hills.”

“All the nail places in Beverly Hills are Vietnamese,” said Ashley.

“Everywhere,” said Marissa.

“Phyllis like goes in and talks to them in their language and she and Mommy get vipped.”

Milo said, “Did that change after Phyllis started dating your dad?”

“I don’t know,” said Ashley. “No one ever said.”

“I don’t know either,” said Marissa. “What people do is their own business, anyway.”

As we exited the house, one of the horses neighed and the other stared.

Milo said, “My kingdom for a talking steed—no Mr. Ed comments, please. He was a dilettante.”

He began working his phone as we returned to the Seville.

Phyllis Tranh was chief financial officer of Diamond Products and Sundries. The CEO was Albert L. Tranh. Headquartered on Santee Street, east of downtown, the company sold goods on the web as well as in retail stores and served as a jobber for importers and wholesalers. The website could be accessed in English, Spanish, Chinese, Thai, and Vietnamese.

Milo whistled. “They’re into everything from aquarium supplies to yeast. Including religious supplies for Catholics, Protestants, and Buddhists. Like you said, a woman with that background might serve as a nifty replacement for Ursula.” He loosened his tie. “Fooling with your friend’s spouse, same old story. Okay, let’s see where this entrepreneurial lady lives. Meanwhile, my head’s killing me, try to find a place for coffee before we get back on the freeway.”

I drove out of Rancho Lobos Estates the way I’d come in. The guardhouse was unoccupied but the gate’s exit function was activated by pressure.

As I hooked back onto Lobo Canyon, Milo kept searching for data on Phyllis Tranh.

“Here we go, North Maple Drive in Beverly Hills. Lives with Albert Tranh.” He turned to me. “She’s married, it opens up a whole new chapter … looks like neither of them has committed a criminal violation. Pity. Onward to DMV—shit, never looked up Richard’s wheels.”

That info egested quickly: Corey drove a two-year-old black Range Rover, Phyllis Tranh a three-year-old gray Maserati, Albert Tranh a seven-year-old Lincoln Town Car.

Milo reached Moe Reed and asked him to be out on the lookout for all three vehicles on the security tape.

Reed said, “Nice to have diversity, L.T. Been looking at a bunch of German engineering for the last hour. You’d think the whole world’s BMW and Mercedes and Audi.”

“Nothing iffy, so far?”

“Not yet. A couple of commercial delivery drivers who arrived early on did come up with records. But nothing close to homicide.”

“How far from homicide?”

“One guy did a short stint for forgery six years ago, the other had a narcotics conviction.”

“Look into both of them, Moses. Unless something really juicy pops up.”

“Ms. Maserati or Mr. Range Rover,” said Reed.

“A boy can dream,” said Milo.

In a strip mall on Kanan Road just south of the 101 I spotted promising signage over a storefront:
Tyrolean Gourmet: Baked Delicacies and Gourmet Coffee
. Inside were sweet aromas and immaculate floors, a long take-out counter filled with temptation.

Only two ice cream tables for eating in. But for a woman in her sixties behind the counter, the place was empty.

Instant smile. “Vut ken I do for you, Surzz?”

Milo studied the glass case, selected a headache remedy in the form of a raspberry torte the size of a minor Alp as well as a similarly scaled slab of carrot cake.

The woman said, “Und you, Surr?”

The cake looked good so I ordered my own. We sat down with coffee and calories. He looked at my plate and chuckled.

“What?”

“Adonis actually ingests? Finally, I’m a bad influence?”

“You’re always a bad influence. I just happen to be hungry.”

He finished both of his pastries, returned to the counter, said something that made the woman giggle, and returned with a cream-filled something. A single bite obliterated a third of it. He wiped his mouth. “Real cream, not that aerosol crap. Try some?”

I was halfway through my cake. Denser than it looked. “I’m okay.”

“Bah humbug.” He drank, ate, exhaled in contentment, repeated the sequence a few times.

Finally, he paused for a longer breath. “Richard made Ursula out to be Lana Libido but the girls don’t know of anyone she’s dating. There was also no sign they suspected anything about her and Fellinger. So who knows if that ever happened.”

I said, “The girls didn’t live with Ursula and most parents don’t discuss their sex lives with their kids.”

“They also don’t discuss it with spouses, current or ex. So I’m wondering if Richard
is
a paranoid whack-job or just a devious liar trying to distract us away from himself. Either way, he remains at the top of the chart. And now he’s got a co-tenant. Phyllis Tranh’s got to be the girlfriend he told us about.”

“I’d take that bet. What I found interesting was Ashley’s comment about it not being Daddy.”

“The daughter doth protest too much?”

“She blurted it right after finding out. Sometimes those are the truest statements. Then there was Marissa’s reaction when you asked about business disputes. ‘Not even Phyllis, right?’ ”

“Richard and New Love Interest. Down deep the girls are bothered by the relationship but they can’t deal with it so they say the opposite. You guys have a name for that, right?”

“Reaction formation.”

“Guess it’s kind of like political correctness,” he said. “You know how it is, some simp talking-head goes on too long about racism, sexism, homophobia, I start to look for KKK robes under the bed. Anyway, Ms. Tranh bears looking into and B.H. isn’t too far out of the way. You have time for a spontaneous drop-in on Maple Drive?”

“Sure.”

He fetched himself a refill of coffee, removed his jacket, and fanned himself with one hand. “What about the daughters?”

“What about them?”

“They give off any iffy vibe?”

I said, “Not to me. What, shades of the Menendez brothers?”

“At this point I need to consider everything. Lyle and Erik were spoiled slackers looking to cash in, why not a couple of spoiled rich girls in line for big bucks? They did know exactly where their mother would be this morning.”

“The Menendez brothers shotgunned their parents themselves and left tons of evidence. I don’t see these girls being smart enough to find a reliable contract killer.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” A beat. “Remember Katherine Hennepin? All my assumptions coming to squat? It does wonders for a boy’s self-esteem.”

“Why don’t you call Fellinger, see if you can learn where Ursula’s money is going to.”

He punched the preset he’d loaded for the lawyer’s office, caught the woman behind the counter edging closer, and took his phone outside
the bakery. When he finished talking he motioned for me to join him. I paid for the food and we returned to the car.

“How much?” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“On me.”

“No way.”

“Fellinger give up anything about Ursula’s will?”

“Off the record, the estate’s divided four ways: Thirty-five percent goes to Richard because that was the amount Fellinger and Cohen finally negotiated after three years of bickering. Another twenty-five percent goes to a list of charities Ursula stipulated and the remaining forty is divided equally between Ashley and Marissa. But it’s in trust, they don’t get their hands on it for years.”

“Who’s the trustee?”

“Not Richard, a lawyer in Fellinger’s firm.”

“Fellinger recused himself from that function?”

“The other guy’s a trust and inheritance specialist, Fellinger said he wanted it done right.”

I said, “How much delay of gratification are we talking about?”

“The girls will have their basic needs taken care of from the get-go but no access to big bucks until they turn thirty. When they’re thirty-five, the trust terminates and they get everything.”

“Do the girls know the details?”

“As far as Fellinger knows, they don’t. They were described to him by both Richard and Ursula as not interested in the world of finance.”

“So Richard gets the single biggest chunk.”

“Nice for him,” said Milo. “Let’s see what his ex-girlfriend has to say about it. Maybe her husband, too.”

Long day since I’d seen Ursula Corey’s corpse in the parking garage. Darkness had settled by the time I drove into Beverly Hills.

The Tranh residence on the 600 block of North Maple Drive was an ungated, two-story, salmon stucco Mediterranean with a clipped
lawn and a modest bed of palms and begonias. The neighborhood was mansions of varying vintage. Compared with its neighbors, this house was understated.