“Something
about the evidence was off?” said Milo.
“No,
no, nothing like that. What I’m getting at is in my field you learn to observe.
People, their reactions. Kind of like what you do, Doctor.”
I nodded.
“I’m
a little uncomfortable getting into this,” said Daney. “It’s nothing I’d want
to sign my name to, and I really wouldn’t be comfortable going on record as the
source. But if you could confirm it independently . . .”
He
broke off. Scratched his beard. Shook his head. “Sorry for waffling, but
it’s . . .”
He
slung his jaw, shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not a good idea.”
Milo
said, “We’re in bad shape on this one, Reverend.
Anything
you can tell
us would be helpful. And if it’s something I can confirm independently, I
promise you I will.”
“Okay,”
said Daney. “First, let me say that I never brought this up because the boys
had clearly done the crime. That isn’t to say I didn’t think they deserved
compassion. But everyone had suffered enough, there was simply no point.”
He
reached for another doughnut. Chose blindly and extracted an apple turnover.
Holding the pastry in one hand, he watched as flakes of dough snowed on the
table.
“Eye
color,” he said, barely audible. “Little Kristal had brown eyes. I’d never have
noticed, but in the evidence packet were photos of that poor little girl. In
life and in death. The postmortem shots I couldn’t bring myself to look at. The
others were baby pictures, the prosecution was going to use them to build sympathy.
Emphasizing how small and cute she’d been . . . that’s neither
here nor there. The point is I saw those photos, but at that time the fact that
Kristal’s eyes were brown didn’t mean much. Until I noticed that both Lara and
Barnett had pale eyes. Hers were blue or green, I’m not sure. His are
definitely blue. I’m no geneticist, but I’ve learned enough science to know
that brown eyes are dominant and light-eyed parents usually can’t have
dark-eyed kids. I had my suspicions, but like I say, there was no reason to
open that can of worms, who would it help? But last night, after you called and
asked me to give the case some serious thought, I went on the Internet to
confirm and it’s highly unlikely— close to impossible— for two blue-eyed
parents to produce a brown-eyed child.”
His
speech had grown rapid and the last few words had tapered to whispers,
inaudible. Gulping air, he exhaled and put the turnover down. “I’m not out to
slander anyone but . . .”
“Kristal
wasn’t Malley’s kid,” said Milo. “Whoa.”
“It’s
the only logical conclusion, Lieutenant. And that could be the source of Mr.
Malley’s rage.”
“Kristal
was nearly two,” said Milo. “You’d think Malley would’ve figured it out.”
“He
struck me as an unsophisticated person. He worked rodeos or something like that.”
“Rodeos?”
“Riding,
roping, or at least that’s what I heard,” said Daney. “From the defense.”
“Sounds
like Ms. Weider did her background research.”
“You
bet. She was extremely hardworking and thorough. I was glad when she got the
case.”
“You
were involved before she got the case?” I said. “I thought she brought you on
as a support-person.”
“Just
the opposite, actually,” said Daney. “I brought
her
on. Not officially,
but I had a hand in it.”
“How
so?”
“I
knew Troy from working with him at 415 City. I also knew Ms. Weider from some
other youth work I’d done. My seminary had a program, working with inner-city
teens, trying to get them involved in summer activities. In the course of that,
I developed some contacts with the Public Defender’s Office, because that’s
where so many of our kids ended up. I knew several of the P.D.s, but thought
Ms. Weider would be perfect for the boys. Because she
was
so thorough. I
called her and asked if she could help out. She said there was a system in
place but she’d see what she could do.”
“As a
favor to you.”
“Partly,”
said Daney. “To be honest, the case attracted her because it was high-profile.
She was pretty ambitious.”
“And
then she asked you to stay on for support,” said Milo.
“Exactly.”
“You
ever tell her about the eye color thing?”
“No,
like I said, I didn’t see the point.”
Milo
exhaled. “Wow . . . that’s a bombshell, all right. Thank you,
Rev.”
“I
don’t like telling tales, but . . .”
“So
you’re figuring Rand knew Kristal wasn’t Malley’s kid and mentioned it to Malley.”
“No,
no,” said Daney. “I hadn’t taken it that far.”
“But
it coulda happened that way.”
“No,
I honestly don’t think so, Lieutenant. How would Rand know?”
“Same
way you did. He noticed.”
Daney
shook his head. “Rand just wasn’t that observant. But even if he did know,
there’d be no reason to throw it in Malley’s face.”
“What,
then?”
“What
I’m getting at— and this is
really
out there— is maybe Barnett Malley
wasn’t a total victim.”
Daney
flinched, pushed the turnover away. “I feel like I’m . . .
wading into something and I’m really not comfortable. Sorry.” Pushing up a
corduroy sleeve, he peered at a black-faced sports watch. Milo placed a hand on
his arm. Flashed that lupine smile. Daney stiffened for a second. Dropped his
shoulders, shot us a look of misery.
“I’ve
got that sinking feeling, guys, like when you’ve gone too far, you know?”
I
said, “You’re saying Malley found out Lara had cheated on him, built up a whole
lot of rage, and decided to act out against Kristal.”
“I
don’t want to say more,” said Daney. “Because I’m scared and not ashamed to
admit it.”
“Scared
of Malley?” said Milo.
“A
lot of people depend on me, Detective. That’s why I don’t skydive or ride a
motorcycle or go mountain climbing.”
“Miss
all that?”
“Not
anymore,” said Daney. “Now, I really need to get going— ”
I
said, “It’s a whole new way of looking at it, Milo.” To Daney: “Did Malley know
Troy and Rand before the murder?”
“I
wouldn’t know,” said Daney.
“Lara
went to the mall frequently and so did the boys. So there’d be opportunity for
Barnett to see them, as well.” I turned back to Milo: “They hung out at that
arcade. Maybe Malley was into video games, too. Being an unsophisticated guy.”
Both
of us stared at Daney.
He
said, “It’s possible.”
Milo
said, “Troy and Rand
never
mentioned knowing Malley? After they got
arrested?”
“Troy
definitely didn’t,” said Daney. “I wasn’t talking much to Rand, he was pretty
nonverbal back then. Right, Doctor?”
“You
bet,” I said. “But I always got the feeling he was holding back.”
“Defensive,”
he said. “Yes, I sensed the same thing.”
“Frustrating.”
“I
tried to open him up,” said Daney, “but not being a psychologist, I didn’t want
to step into uncharted territory. In the end, it didn’t matter because the case
got settled optimally. Or so I thought.”
“What
do you mean?” said Milo.
“Look
what happened to Troy. And to Rand.”
“I
hear what you’re saying, Rev. About Rand not being perceptive. But if he really
knew Malley had some culpability, would he hold on to it for eight years?”
“Maybe,”
said Daney, “he was confused.” He stood quickly. “I’m sorry, this is getting
way too complicated and there’s nothing more I can tell you. If it ends up
helping you, great. But please keep my name out of it.”
He
ran his hands over his shirt, as if brushing off dirt.
Milo
got up and faced him, used his height to advantage. “Absolutely, sir. I
wouldn’t lose too much sleep because, to be honest, I don’t see any way of
pursuing any of this.”
Daney
stared up at him.
Milo
said, “Like you said, too speculative.”
Daney
nodded. “Good luck.” He pivoted and began to walk away.
“I
mean the only time it would ever be relevant,” said Milo, “is if we got solid,
physical evidence on Malley and put him behind bars. Then we’d ask you to give
a deposition.”
Daney
stopped. Weak smile. “If that happened, Detective, I’d be happy to do my part.”
M
ilo watched as the white Jeep drove away. “Wish there
was a shower nearby.”
He
took an evidence bag out of his attaché case, gloved up, sealed Daney’s coffee
cup, and slipped it in. Into a second bag went the half-eaten pink doughnut.
I
said, “He snarfed that right before he graced us with his reluctant insights on
eye color. His appetite peaked because he was aroused by the game.”
“Letting
us know the cowboy wasn’t Kristal’s daddy. Thinking he’s being subtle.”
“It
was a dual thrill: He gets to be the hero of the story, granting you vital
information. And he heightens the focus on Malley.”
“All
that frighty-dighty about mean old Barnett, but right off he’s telling us
Malley’s antisocial, covered his tracks.”
“That
could’ve been more than a diversion strategy,” I said. “Attributing his own
behavior to Malley, consciously or otherwise.”
“He’s
covered some tracks of his own.”
“The
lies didn’t start with his seminary application. The image he pushes is Fun Guy
with a Sensitive, Spiritual Side. While you were ordering he told me he was a
well-behaved kid, brought up in the church. Be interesting to know what his
childhood was really like.”
He
stashed the bags in the case. “Time for some serious digging. Be nice if it’s
more productive than my research on Malley. Can’t find any insurance policies
on Lara or Kristal, the cowboy seems to be using his real name and social
security number, has no arrest record, no military record, no real estate
ownership. I was able to trace his birth records to Alamogordo, New Mexico, but
the local law doesn’t remember him and there are no Malleys living there now.
Maybe I’m missing something, there are all these new computer tricks the
department doesn’t have . . .”
He
snatched his phone from the table, punched in a number, and asked for Sue
Kramer.
Two
seconds later: “Nancy Drew? It’s Joe Hardy. Listen, I don’t know what your
schedule’s like but . . . did it? Excellent . . .
listen, Sue, all those things you private hotshots can do that I
can’t . . . the high-tech stuff . . . yeah,
exactly, I need a couple guys looked into . . . him and also the
spiritual adviser— Daney . . . let’s just say he’s become
interesting . . . the usual and anything else you can think
of . . . sooner’s better than later, I’ll pay you
personally . . . no, no, send me a full
bill . . . I mean it, Sue . . . okay, fine, but
send something . . . thanks, have a nice day, hope the winds are
good.”
Clicking
off, he said, “Her B.H. surveillance just ended. She spotted the Korean widow
going into the apartment, found the lady praying at some kind of shrine, crying
how much she loved hubby, why’d he have to go kill himself. So the suicide
stands and Sue’ll start digging tomorrow when she gets back from a little R and
R.”
“The
winds,” I said. “Sailing?” Thinking about his brief fling as a P.I., during a
suspension from LAPD. The rise in income. The plague of tedium. When the
department took him back, he had raced home like a trained pigeon.
“Sailing
on her new boat,” he said. “Over the bounding main.”
“Ever
miss private enterprise?”
“The
lack of red tape and paramilitary rigidity? The chance to make serious money?
Why the hell would I miss that?” He stared at his phone, clicked it shut. “That
comment Daney made about my sounding pretty confident. What was that, a taunt?”
“Or
fishing for information. Or both,” I said. “He was clearly fishing when he
steered the conversation to the topic of pay booths. Your line about being able
to trace pay calls made his eyes jump.”
“Yeah,
I noticed that.”
“Rand
called me from a pay booth but Daney would have no way of knowing that unless
he was there.”
His
eyes compressed to surgical incisions. “Daney was with Rand the day he died.”
“Or
nearby, watching Rand make the call,” I said. “Which got me thinking: What if
he made up the story about the black truck to divert attention from the fact
that it was
him,
not Barnett who followed Rand? Cherish told us he
wasn’t home that afternoon.”
“Off
at one of his nonprofit gigs.” He passed his phone from hand to hand. Tapped
the table. Rubbed his face.
Finally,
he said, “Daney did Rand, not Malley.”
“The
only reason we focused on Malley is because Daney pointed us in that
direction.”