Devil's Waltz Part 65

Next week's story swallowed that one up: Chuck Jones and George Plumb's arrests for conspiracy to commit the murder of Laurence Ashmore.

A co-conspirator named Warren Novak-one of the gray accountants-had cut a deal and was telling all, including the fact that Plumb had instructed him to draw cash out of a hospital account to pay a hired killer. The man who'd actually cracked Ashmore's skull was described as a former bodyguard for Charles Jones named Henry Lee Kudey. A photo showed him being escorted to jail by an unnamed federal agent. Kudey was big and heavy and sloppy-looking and appeared to have just woken up. The marshal was blond and wore black-framed spectacles. His face was a nearly equilateral triangle. As a Western Peds Security guard he'd called himself A. D. Sylvester.

I wondered why a government agent would be doing the arresting on a homicide until I came to the final paragraph: Federal charges against Chuck Jones and his gang for "alleged financial wrongdoings based upon a lengthy government probe" were imminent. Anonymous "federal officials" were quoted. The names Huenengarth and Zimberg never appeared.

At four o'clock on a Tuesday, I made my fourth attempt to reach Anna Ashmore. The first three times, no one had answered at the house on Whittier Drive. This time, a man did.

"Who's calling?" he said.

"Alex Delaware. I'm on the staff at Western Pediatric Hospital. Paid a condolence call last week and just wanted to see how she's doing."

"Oh. Well, this is her attorney, Nathan Best. She's doing as well as can be expected. Left for New York last night to visit with some old friends."

"Any idea when she'll be back?"

"I'm not sure she will."

"Okay," I said. "If you speak to her, give her my best."

"All right. What did you say your name was?"

"Delaware."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Psychologist."

"You wouldn't be in the market for some bargain real estate, would you, Doctor? The estate will be divesting itself of several properties."

"No, thanks."

"Well, if you know someone who is, tell them. Bye."

At five o'clock, I stuck to a recently acquired routine and drove to a small white house on a shady dead-end street in West L.A., just east of Santa Monica.

This time Robin came along with me. I parked and got out. "Shouldn't be long."

"Take your time." She pushed the seat back, put her feet up on the dash, and began sketching pearl-inlay designs on a piece of Bristol board.

As usual, the house was curtained. I walked up the path of railroad ties that split the lawn. Vermilion-and-white petunias struggled in the borders. A Plymouth Voyager van was parked in the driveway. Behind it was a dented copper-colored Honda. The heat was really settling in and the air felt thick and greasy. I couldn't detect any breeze. But something was causing the bamboo chimes over the doorway to clank.

I knocked. The peephole slid open and a pretty blue eye filled it. The door swung back and Vicki Bottomley stood aside and let me pa.s.s. She wore a lime-green nurse's smock over white stretch pants. Her hair was sprayed tight. A pumpkin-colored mug was in her hand.

"Coffee?" she said. "There's a little left."

"No, thanks. How's it going today?"

"Seems to be better, actually."

"Both of them?"

"Mostly the little one-she's really come out of her sh.e.l.l. Running around like a real little bandit."

"Good."

"Talking to herself, too-is that okay?"

"I'm sure it is."

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

"What's she talking about, Vicki?"

"Can't make it out-mostly babbling. She looks happy enough, though."

"Tough little kid," I said, walking in.

"Most kids are. . . . She's looking forward to seeing you."

"That so?"

"Yup. I mentioned your name and she smiled. 'Bout time, huh?"

"Sure is. Must have earned my stripes."

"Got to, with the little ones."

"How's she sleeping?"

"Good. Cindy's not sleeping so good, though. I keep hearing her get up and turn on the TV a bunch of times every night. Maybe the Valium withdrawal, huh? Though I don't notice any other symptoms."

"Maybe that, or just plain anxiety."

"Yeah. Last night she fell asleep in front of the TV, and I woke her and sent her back to her room. But she'll be okay. Doesn't have much choice, does she?"

"Why's that?"

"Being a mother."

The two of us began walking through the living room. White walls, beige carpet, brand-new furniture barely out of the rental warehouse. The kitchen was to the left. Straight ahead were sliding gla.s.s doors that had been left wide open. The backyard was a strip of Astroturfed patio followed by real gra.s.s, pale in comparison. An orange tree heavy with ripening fruit served as a centerpiece. At the rear was a scallop-topped redwood fence backed by phone wires and the roofline of the neighboring garage.

Ca.s.sie sat on the gra.s.s, sucking her fingers while inspecting a pink plastic doll. Doll clothes were strewn on the gra.s.s. Cindy sat nearby, cross-legged.

Vicki said, "Guess so."

"What's that?"

"Guess you've earned your stripes."

"Guess we both have."

"Yeah . . . You know I wasn't too happy having to take that lie detector."

"I can imagine."

"Answering all those questions-being thought of like that." She shook her head. "That was really hurtful."

"The whole thing was hurtful," I said. "He set it up that way."

"Yeah . . . I guess he knocked us all around-using my bunnies. They should have capital punishment for people like that. I'm gonna enjoy getting up on the stand and telling the world about him. When do you think that'll happen-the trial?"

"Probably within a few months."

"Probably . . . Okay, have fun. Talk to you later."

"Any time, Vicki."

"Any time what?"

"Any time you want to talk."

"I'll bet." She grinned. "I'll just bet. You and me talky-talking-wouldn't that be a hoot?"

She slapped me lightly on the back and turned around. I stepped out onto the patio.

Ca.s.sie looked at me, then returned to the naked doll. She was barefoot and had on red shorts and a pink T-s.h.i.+rt patterned with silver hearts. Her hair was top-knotted and her face was grimy. She appeared to have gained a little weight.

Cindy uncrossed her legs and stood without effort. She wore shorts, too. The skimpy white ones I'd seen at her house, below a white T-s.h.i.+rt. Her hair was loose and brushed straight back from her forehead. She'd broken out a bit on her cheeks and chin, and tried to patch it with makeup.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." I smiled and got down on the ground with Ca.s.sie. Cindy stood there for a moment, then walked into the house. Ca.s.sie turned to watch her, lifted her chin and opened her mouth.

"Mommy'll be right back," I said, and lifted her onto my lap.

She resisted for a moment. I let go. When she made no attempt to get off, I put one hand around her soft little waist and held her. She didn't move for a while; then she said, "Ho-ee."

"Horsey ride?"

"Ho-ee."

"Big horsey or little horsey?"

"Ho-ee."

"Okay, here we go, little horsey." I bounced her gently. "Giddyap."

"Gi-ap."

She bounced harder and I moved my knee a little faster. She giggled and threw her arms up into the air. Her topknot tickled my nose on each a.s.sent.

"Giii-ahp! Giii-ahhp!"

When we stopped, she laughed, scrambled off my lap, and toddled toward the house. I followed her into the kitchen. The room was half the size of the one on Dunbar Drive and furnished with tired-looking appliances. Vicki stood by the sink, one arm elbow-deep in a chromium coffeepot.

She said, "Well, look what the wind blew in." The arm in the pot kept rotating.

Ca.s.sie ran to the refrigerator and tried to pull it open. She wasn't successful and began to fuss.

Vicki put the pot down, along with a piece of scouring cloth, and placed her hands on her hips. "And what do you want, young lady?"

Ca.s.sie looked up at her and pointed to the fridge.

"We have to talk to get things around here, Miss Jonesy."

Ca.s.sie pointed again.

"Sorry, I don't understand pointy-language."

"Eh!"

"What kind of eh? Potato or tomato?"

Ca.s.sie shook her head.

"Lamb or jam?" said Vicki. "Toast or roast, juice or moose?"

Giggle.

"Well, what is it? An ice cream or a sunbeam?"

"Eye-ee."

"What's that? Speak up."

"Eye-ee!"

"I thought so."

Vicki opened the freezer compartment and took out a quart container.

"Mint chip," she said to me, frowning. "Frozen toothpaste, if you ask me, but she loves it-all the kids do. You want some?"

"No, thanks."

Ca.s.sie danced a quick little two-step of antic.i.p.ation.

"Let's sit down at the table, young lady, and eat like a human being."