“Valerie
fucks! Monica fucks! Valerie fucks! Monica fucks!”
Wascomb
braced himself against the wall. His skin had turned chalky. His mouth moved,
but whatever he was saying was swallowed by the noise.
Val
lunged and nearly broke free.
Milo
came over and the two of us steered her out of the cube.
The
chanting continued, then faded. Behind us, Crandall Wascomb’s voice, thin and
tremulous, filtered out into the morning air. “. . . some
prayer. How about Psalms? Does anyone have any favorites?”
I
led Valerie to a lawn chair outside. The same chair
Cherish Daney had occupied the first time we’d been here. Solemn and weepy,
reading a book about coping with loss.
Her
grief had seemed genuine. Now I wondered what she was really crying about.
“I
want to take a shower.”
“Soon,
Valerie.”
“I
want hot
water.
” She bounced her knees together, tickled one. Looked up
at the sky. Scrunched her mouth. Glanced back at the block building, now
silent. “It’s my fuckin’ water, I want it. The bitches can’t use it up.”
“I’m
sorry they did that, Valerie.”
“Bitches.”
She lifted a twist of hair from her
shoulder, ran it across her mouth, licked.
I
said, “You know more than anyone. Do you have
any
idea where Drew and Cherish
went?”
“I
told
you.”
“You
said Drew left before and that Cherish was mad.”
“Yeah.”
“But
where’d they go, Valerie? It’s important.”
“Why?”
“Cherish
is mad at him. What if she went to yell at him?”
“He’s
okay,” she said. “He goes places.”
“Like
where?”
“Places.”
“What
kinds of places?”
“Nonprofits.”
“He
takes you to nonprofits.”
Silence.
I
said, “You help him and the other girls are jealous.”
“Bitches.”
“He
trusts you.”
“I
get
it.”
“Get
what?”
Silence.
“You
get it so you help him,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“What
do you get?”
Long
silence.
“Valerie?
What do you— ”
“Love.”
“You
understand love.”
“He
prolly went to a church,” she said. “I don’t know the names. I want to shower—
”
“A
church.”
Silence.
“Valerie,
I know these questions are a pain, but they’re important. Did Cherish get mad
at Drew a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
“About
what?”
“Not
making money.” She let go of the hair, held up a fist, and glanced at the main
house.
“She
felt he didn’t make enough money.”
“Yeah.”
“For
what?”
“She
wanted a trip to Vegas.”
“She told
you that?”
Silence.
“Drew
told you.”
Back
to hair-twisting.
“Drew
told you Cherish wanted to go to Vegas.”
Shrug.
I
said, “Sounds like he talked to you about everything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did
he want money?”
She
faced me. “No
way.
He was for the soul.”
“The
soul?”
“God’s
work,” she said, touching a breast. “He got chosen.”
“And
Cherish?”
“She
did it for the money, but tough shit, he won’t give it to her.”
“Drew
has money he won’t give her?”
A
smile spread across her lips.
I
said, “Secret money.”
She
shut her eyes.
“Valerie?”
“I
got
to take a shower.”
* * *
She
clamped her arms across her chest, kept her eyes shut, and when I spoke she
hummed. We’d been sitting in silence for several minutes when Milo came out of
the cube with Crandall Wascomb. He glanced at me while walking. Escorted the
old man out.
He
returned with uplifted eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“Valerie’s
been helpful but she and I are finished for now.”
Movement
under the girl’s eyelids.
Milo
said, “Helpful?”
“Valerie
says Drew has money Cherish doesn’t know about.”
Valerie’s
eyes opened. “It’s
his.
You can’t have it.”
“Never
heard of finders keepers?” said Milo.
She
didn’t reply. Clamped her eyes shut.
Noise
from the front of the property opened them.
A
uniformed officer came through the gate.
Milo said,
“Now it gets noisy.”
* * *
The
Van Nuys patrol officer was followed by his partner, then six members of the
newly formed downtown crimes-against-juveniles squad arrived wearing dark blue
LAPD windbreakers. Five female detectives, one man, each of them bright-eyed
and hyped, ready to arrest someone. Shortly after, a Van Nuys sex crimes
detective named Sam Crawford showed up looking put-upon. He conferred with the
head juvey cop and left.
The
head was a stocky wire-haired brunette in her forties. Milo briefed her, she
gave the word, and all but one of her squad entered the cube. A younger
detective who introduced herself as Martha Vasquez took custody of Valerie,
saying, “Sure, hon, you can do that,” when the girl asked to shower. Walking
her to the converted garage while scanning the rest of the property.
Milo
motioned me over, introduced the brunette as Judy Weisvogel and told her who I
was.
“Psychologist,”
she said. “That can come in handy.”
Milo
briefed her some more, emphasizing Drew Daney’s abuse of the girls, mentioning
suspected homicides but staying spare with the details.
Weisvogel
said, “Good morning world, it’s going to get complicated. Do we have a crime
scene, over there?” Indicating the main house.
“Haven’t
had time to look around yet,” said Milo. “At the very least it’s a fugitive
thing.”
“Missing
perv and wife. Definitely separate cars?”
“The
girls say they left separately and both cars are gone.”
“How
much time elapsed between their respective rabbits?”
“From
what the kids say a day or so.”
“Okay,
I’ll phone in for a warrant and we’ll get techies over to toss the place. I’ll
need a bunch of social workers, too, but they don’t get in the office till
nine.”
“Civilian
life,” said Milo.
Weisvogel
said, “Ain’t it a party? No idea where Mr. and Mrs. Perv are off to?”
“Nope.
She may not be a perv.”
“Whatever.”
Weisvogel took out her pad. “Give me their names for a BOLO.”
Milo
recited. “Drew Daney. He could also be traveling as Moore Daney Andruson.”
“Anderson
e-n or o-n?”
He
spelled it. “His wheels are a white Jeep. She drives a Toyota. C-H-E-R-I-S-H.”
“Some
name. You don’t think they met up somewhere and split?”
“One
of the kids said she was mad at him,” said Milo.
“
’Cause she figured out what he was about?”
“Don’t
know. The kids are aware of what’s been going on. They taunted two girls who
were sexually active with him.”
“If
missus did figure it out she sure took her sweet time about it, didn’t she?”
said Weisvogel. “What do you think, Doctor, one of those see-no-evil
pathological denial head cases?”
I
said, “Could be.”
“I
walked into that room, saw those girls, first thing came to mind was ‘harem.’
God only knows what we’re going to find when they get examined.”
“It
sounds as if he was selective. Chose one or two girls who got special privileges.
The girl I spoke to thinks she loves him.”
Weisvogel
slapped her hands on her hips. Her wrists were as thick as a man’s. “So how
long have you been looking at this fine citizen, Milo?”
“Been
looking at him for murder for a week or so. The other stuff just came up.”
“The
other
stuff,
” said Weisvogel. “Well, it’s obviously gonna take a long
time to unravel. Speaking of which, Doctor, any chance you could be available,
therapy-wise? I don’t care how many girls he actually fooled with, they’re all
going to be affected, right? The department psychologists are pretty much tied
up doing personnel evaluations and we could use some help.”
“Sure,”
I said.
She
seemed surprised by my easy assent. “Okay, good, thanks. I’ll be in touch.
Meanwhile, let’s keep each other posted, Milo.”
“Will
do, Judy. Speaking of which, there’s a safe-deposit box on a desk in the
bedroom. Cherish left it out in the open next to her instructions. Those
instructions were set out on a piece of blotter paper— like a presentation. To me
that says looky here, clear invitation to scrutinize.”
“Those
instructions,” said Weisvogel, “reminded me of some stupid memo you’d get in
the service. She abandons these kids and writes out a manual. Hubby rapes the
kids but they need their medicine and their nutritious breakfasts. What a whack
job.”
“Be
interesting to see what’s in the box, Judy.”
She
shook her head. “Before the warrant and the techies get here? Tsk tsk.”
“Daney’s
a suspect in six murders, maybe seven. I can make a case for exigent circumstances.”
Weisvogel
looked doubtful.
Milo
said, “Judy, he took the girls off the property to molest them, so the house
won’t be your primary crime scene, his Jeep will. We need to find him asap and
there could be something in the box that gets us closer.”
“What,
you think the whack job left a map?”
“There
are all kinds of maps, Judy.”
“That’s
pretty darn enigmatic, Milo. I’m not comfortable messing with the goodies
prematurely. All I need is some defense attorney squawking about chain of
evidence.”
“It’s
in plain view, despite obvious opportunities to conceal,” said Milo. “Ain’t
that an invitation to search?”
Weisvogel
smiled. “You should’ve gone to law school. Beats honest labor.”
“I
could’ve opened the box before you got here, Judy.”
“You
certainly could’ve.” Weisvogel stared up at him. Her eyes were green, lighter
than Milo’s, almost khaki, with specks of blue scattered near the rims.
Unwavering. “What if the box is locked?”
“I’ve
got tools.”
“That
wasn’t my question.”
Milo
smiled.
Weisvogel
said, “Hell, what if it’s ticking— I know, you’ll bring in a robot. Seriously,
it could cause evidentiary problems, Milo.”
“Problems
can be solved. Let’s find the bastard before he does more damage, then sort out
the details.”
Weisvogel
looked over at the house. Clicked her teeth together. Ran her hand through her
terrier hair. “So you’re ordering me, as my superior, to open this alleged
box.”
“I’m
asking you to be a little flexible— ”
“What
I’m
hearing
is you pulling rank on me. Seeing as I’m merely a D-two and you’re
brass.”
Weisvogel’s
turn to smile. Tobacco teeth.
“I’m
brass?” said Milo, as if he’d been diagnosed with a noxious disease.
“Sorry
to drop it on you so suddenly,” said Weisvogel. “So am I getting this whole
chain-of-command thing right?”
Still
smiling.
Milo
said, “Yeah, yeah. Someone bitches, it was all my idea.”
“Then
I suppose I have no choice,” said Weisvogel, “Lieu
ten
ant.”
She
joined her detectives in the cube and Milo told me, “Out to the car.”
“For
what?”
“Tools.”
“Don’t
have any.”
“You’ve
got a crowbar. And I’ve got this.” Reaching into a jacket pocket, he brought
out a small penlight and a ring of stainless-steel burglar picks.
“You
carry those all the time?”
“Some
of the time,” he said. “When I think important objects are gonna be left in plain
sight.”
* * *
The
house was tidy, just as it had been the first time, kitchen scrubbed, hallways
vacuumed.
As we
entered the master bedroom, I sighted down the hall at the windowless,
converted laundry room where Rand had slept.