THE SUNSET WAS on the right, a fiery ball spewing golden rays on a smooth slate surface. They were about ten miles from their destination, and while the traffic had been gnarly, the view had been pretty and the sushi had gone down smoothly except for the thirst factor. Oliver was on his second Diet Coke when he saw the off-ramp for La Jolla Village Drive.
“You turn right here,” Marge told him. “Melinda’s parents are Mark and Delia Defoe, correct?”
“Correct. As in Treasure Island.”
“That was Robert Louis Stevenson,” Marge said. “Defoe is Robinson Crusoe.”
“Stop showing off.”
“I’m not showing off, I’m just saying…never mind.”
“Aren’t you impressed that I even knew that Defoe wrote some South Sea shipwreck book?”
“Very impressed. Your literary Q has gone up a notch. Can we talk about the case?”
“Sure. Melinda’s parents are babysitting their great-grandson. They’re in their late seventies. Jared asked us to be gentle with them. What’s the name of the development?”
“La Jolla Pines.”
Oliver slowed the car. “What does that sign say?”
“That’s La Jolla Woods.”
He crept another mile. “How about that sign?”
“La Jolla Hills. Your directions say to go straight for three miles. It hasn’t been three miles.”
“What’s that?”
“La Jolla Shores.”
“They’re not very original over here.”
“Keep going…” They rode a minute in silence. Marge squinted in the dusk. “There’s the turnoff to La Jolla Pines.”
Oliver hung a left, which put them into a forested development of stucco and wood, two-story town houses, more or less Cape Cod in style. The homes were constructed almost identically but individualized by finishing material, plants, garden statues, fences, and gates. They drove through winding streets that gently rose and fell, the asphalt roads shadowed by mature eucalyptus and pines. Green lawns, lots of blooms, and a plethora of citrus trees. The air was wet and briny, the temperature around sixty-five degrees.
They parked in front of a white and brick house that was bedecked with multicolored impatiens. As soon as they got out of the car, the front yard lights came on and the door opened. An elderly woman stepped out onto the front porch. She was meticulously coiffed and dressed: white slacks, a white shirt, and a red blazer. Her teased salon-style hair was blond, her nails were long and painted pearlescent white, and large diamond rings adorned her knobby fingers.
Marge had her badge out as she introduced herself. “Mrs. Defoe?”
“Delia…” She walked a couple of steps and put her finger to her lips. “The old man fell asleep right on the living room couch. We can talk in the den.”
The entrance hall was dark, but the living room had the lights on. The ceiling soared upward of fourteen feet, and a picture window provided a sparkling view of the illuminated hills of La Jolla. Beyond the lights was the afterglow of sun shimmering on the surface of the sea.
“This way,” Delia whispered.
The den was dominated by a sixty-inch flat screen mounted on the wall. There were shelves of DVDs, CDs, and a few paperback books. The furniture was straight lines but comfortable and beige in color—as was the carpet. A corner chest was open and overflowed with toys.
“Sit anywhere you’d like. May I get you something to drink from the bar?”
Oliver looked around and saw a small closet with a half door. “I’d love a beer.”
“Soda water for me, if you have it,” Marge said.
“Coming right up!” She went into the closet/bar and opened a small refrigerator. She worked quickly and efficiently. The beer had frosted the glass, and the soda water bubbled in a crystal tumbler. “Here we go.”
“Thanks so much,” Marge said.
Oliver took a sip and sighed. Man, it was good. “So your grandson wore out your husband.”
“Great-grandson,” Delia corrected. “He’s such a love. Most of the time we’re here, he’s asleep. Today Nelson got the wild notion to play hide-and-seek right before bedtime. It hyped up the little one and pooped out the big one. I had to read the little guy four books. The big guy didn’t need any coaxing to sleep.”
“Babysitting is fine as long as it’s not your full-time job,” Oliver said. “That’s what I love about my grandchildren. Kiss them, spoil them, and then when they’re all hyped up, you go home and sleep.”
“How many grandchildren do you have, Detective Oliver?”
“Five…four boys and a little newborn girl. She’s an oddball. I have three sons. We’re overloaded in the Y chromosome department.”
“That’s not too bad. I think boys are much easier than girls. At least that’s been my experience. And you, Sergeant?”
“A daughter. She’s in college.”
Delia nodded and turned back to Oliver. “How old are your grandsons?”
“The oldest is going into high school. I don’t know where the time has gone.”
“It only gets worse the older you get. Time doesn’t march, it does a steeplechase. I look in the mirror and I hardly recognize the face staring back at me.”
It was a pleasant face, Marge thought. Kind brown eyes surrounded by skin that was a little smoother than it should have been. The plastic surgeon hadn’t overdone it. “Thanks again for talking to us,” Marge iterated. “We’re trying to jump-start your late son-in-law’s case.”
“Poor Ben…what a gem he was. There wasn’t anything that boy couldn’t do. He was just so full of energy. We were all so…” A big sigh. “I was devastated. My husband was devastated. The kids were destroyed.”
“And Melinda?” Marge asked.
The old woman’s eyes were still far away. “Melinda?” They pulled back and focused in on Marge’s face. “She fell apart, although she didn’t need much of an excuse to do that. Melinda was always a delicate child. She was a beautiful little girl and because of that, she was indulged, mostly by her father. He just adored her. We’ve been estranged for a while. It’s killing him.”
“I’m sure it’s hard on you as well,” Marge said.
“I’m tougher than my husband.” Her pained expression belied her bravado. “I understand her point of view, but she refuses to see our point of view. And no matter what we try to do or say, we’re just mud in her eyes.” The old woman was shaking her head. “But we just couldn’t continue to fund her addiction.”
“Were you aware of her gambling problem before Ben was murdered?”
“As soon as she turned twenty-one, we were both highly aware of it. So was Ben.”
Marge said, “He married her even though he knew?”
“Melinda was very persistent. She chased him. Ben was very handsome and very charismatic. Why else would she go for a teacher? Melinda always wanted to marry money.” A forced sigh. “Well, she got her wish with her second husband. I hope they’re very happy.”
“Do you like your current son-in-law?”
“I hardly know him!” Delia exclaimed. “It’s all good and well. I adore Jared and Amy. We’ve very close.”
“What about Nick?”
“I have nothing against Nick, but he’s a little different. I’ve tried to get closer, but Nick has had his own problems. I send the children gifts at Christmas, and they write thank-you cards, but he doesn’t call and I have to respect his privacy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We wouldn’t have much in common, anyway, I don’t think.”
“I understand,” Marge said, returning her whisper. “So Ben married your daughter even though she had a gambling problem.”
“Yes.”
“How’d he keep it in check?”
“With the purse strings. He watched her very carefully, and she didn’t dare defy him. And he took her to Vegas every once in a while. It blew off a little bit of her steam.”
“It didn’t feed the addiction?”
“I suppose it did, but he was trying to be as kind as he could. As long as she couldn’t touch the money, they were okay.”
“What money? His?” Oliver asked.
“No, the money we put aside for Melinda. She had a trust fund. We had put in over a half-million dollars for her. It was for big things—a house, education, savings. Money that she might need as an adult, not money for the tables in Vegas.”
“Of course,” Marge said. “When was she to get the money?”
“It was in two stages. Half when she was twenty-five and half when she was thirty. But we could see the writing on the wall. It wasn’t going to work.” She lowered her head. “The trust provided us with a onetime spendthrift clause just for these kinds of problems. The clause meant we could take back the money from the trust and put it in our account at any time.”
“I see where this is leading,” Oliver said.
“She was furious. She threatened never to talk to us and that we’d never see our future grandchildren.” Delia’s eyes welled up with tears. “It was a terrible scene! Thank God for Ben.”
“What happened?”
Delia swallowed back a sob. “He offered us an alternative. We would give Melinda the money, but Ben would have full power to manage it.”
Marge said, “And you didn’t have a problem with having your son-in-law in charge of the money?”
“Whatever he’d do, it had to be better than what Melinda would have done. He promised to spend the money on things for the family—education for their future children; the boys weren’t born yet. He said he’d use it for a life insurance policy and the occasional toy for the family like a boat or a car. He’d buy her jewelry so she felt like she would have something of her own. He promised that he’d manage her money and we could rest assured that it would be put to good use.”
“And Melinda agreed to that?”
“It was either that or no money at all.”
“So she agreed?”
“We had her put it in writing.” She looked away and sighed. “And Ben, God bless him, kept his word. He consulted us with every purchase, even though he didn’t have to. It was our idea to use it for the Mercedes. We wanted to reward him.”
She hung her head.
“No one counted on him dying. Once he was gone, she ripped through all of it: their savings, her jewelry, the boat, the motor home, the cars, and his life insurance. It was just damn lucky that she couldn’t touch the boys’ educational funds. She gave me this cock-and-bull story about hiring a private detective and that’s where all the money went. For what she went through, she could have hired all of Pinkerton. It was so obvious, it was pathetic.”
Marge said, “Maybe she was trying to save face.”
“Or trying to get us to give her more money. We didn’t fall for it. All of our financial support went for the care of the boys. We bought them clothing, we bought them computers, we paid for their health care, and we paid for their tuition to private schools. Each Christmas they got a box filled with the latest toys. Melinda got a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Saks.”
“That’s not too shabby,” Marge said.
“Oh, but to her…she was seething, but what could she do? She couldn’t support them on her own. She needed us.”
“And after she remarried?”
“She dropped us like a hot potato.” More tears. “After all we did for her, she just cut us off. And she wasn’t much better to the boys. Lucky for us that they remained close…Jared did, anyway.”
“And Nick?”
“As I said before, I’d be happy to welcome Nick into the fold. Nick and Jared talk a lot. Jared always makes sure to tell me that Nick says hi.” She inhaled deeply and let it out. “You win some, you lose some. I’m closer to Jared than Melinda is…not that she cares much. Her true love is gambling. Mike is the best husband she’ll ever find because he funds her. What does he care? He has millions. You think he’d give anything to his stepsons?”
Oliver said, “He doesn’t share the wealth?”
Delia paused. “Actually, that’s not fair. It could be that he has offered and they’ve refused.” She wiped her eyes. “It’s still such a shame. She’s my only child. Of course, I love her. We love her. We’d love to have a relationship with her, but not if we have to be abused by her tantrums. I will no longer allow her to scream at us. I don’t want to hear a litany of everything we’ve done wrong.” She clasped her hands tightly. “God, I miss Ben. Please find out who did this.”
“We’re working hard on it,” Oliver said.
Marge asked, “When the murder happened, what were some of the theories?”
“What do you mean? The police said it was a carjacking.”
“I know that. But Ben was going home from a civic meeting. There were other people in the parking lot. How does a guy like that get carjacked?”
“I don’t know, Sergeant,” Delia said. “But a brand-new Mercedes might have attracted attention.”
Oliver said, “Don’t you think he would have noticed someone rushing up to the car. All he had to do was put his foot on the gas pedal and take off.”
“Detective, sometimes you’re just too close to notice things. I should have been suspicious when Melinda wanted to learn poker from her father, but I just thought it was cute. I should have been suspicious when Mark taught her craps, but I just thought it was father-daughter bonding. I should have been suspicious the first time we took her to Vegas when she was twelve and she begged us to let her put a quarter in one of the slots. And we capitulated even though we could have gotten kicked out of the casino. I just thought she was enthusiastic. By the time I actually got a healthy dose of suspicion, it was too late. Maybe that’s what happened to Bennett. By the time he actually noticed the monster, there was already a gun to his head.”
ANOTHER LATE NIGHT. Decker pulled the car over a half block from home and made the call from there. He didn’t want Rina to overhear because he knew what she’d say. He was prepared to leave a message and was surprised when Donatti answered. It was almost one in the morning back east.
“You’re in bed.”
“I wish. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.”
“Cut down on the uppers, Chris. They’re bad for your liver, plus they’ll turn your baby blues a nasty shade of red.”
“What do you want now?”
“Rudy Banks is missing.”
“And?”
“I thought you might be able to help out.”
“Jesus, Decker, I barely know what’s going on in my territory, let alone three thousand miles away. What do you expect me to do?”
“Just ask around, all right? We found blood in his apartment.”
“Don’t you have techs for that kind of thing?”
“Yes, we do. I think it’s a crime scene, but I don’t think it’s Rudy’s blood.”
“If it’s not Rudy, what do you care?”
“See, that’s the problem. I do care. All you have to do is call up your ill-tempered producer friend Sal and have him ask around. At the very least, it would be handy to know if Banks is alive or dead.”
“What am I getting out of it?”
“You get me as your father figure. Better than that demon seed who spawned you or the monster who raised you.”
“It’s true I haven’t had luck with fathers. So why the fuck would I want you?”
“Because deep down, Chris, there’s a little boy inside crying for help. Oh, wait. I forgot. Deep down inside, you’re a stone-cold psychopath.”
Donatti’s comeback was to cut the line. Decker folded back his cell and stowed it in his pocket. He had a smile on his face.