The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,93

in with Bentleys and Mercedeses. So I just kept circling and passing. No sight of her since, sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, getting that address is a big step.”

“Hopefully it’s not her rich grandma’s crib.”

“There was no grandma at the wedding.”

“Oh, yeah. So maybe it was some kind of tryst. Though it’s hard to see her having a thing with the kind of guy who’d live there. Not only is she weird, she’s dowdy. Today she rode her bike in this ugly, flimsy gray dress, it’s billowing and blowing up like an umbrella, her legs are spread open from here to Arizona and she’s totally unaware. If she wasn’t wearing a shaper, she’d have given Westwood quite a show.”

“A shaper.”

“It’s a girl thing, Loo. Tights you put on under other clothes, they end above the knees and take care of bulges you don’t want to advertise. Not that this one has any bulges. Skinny and straight up and down as a boy. Why’d she wear a shaper? Maybe she’s got a twisted body image, maybe it’s for biking. Or like I said, she’s just weird.”

“Maybe,” said Milo. “Okay, take the rest of the day off.”

“Why?”

“Your watch on her went way past the call, even with the overtime I’m gonna write up. This is good work, I want you rested.”

“Really?” said Bogomil. Softer voice. “That’s totally nice. Maybe I found my niche.”

* * *

—

He hung up, pocketed his phone, stared out the windshield. “Don’t say it.”

I said, “Say what?” But I knew what he was getting at.

He ticked a finger. “A, unless Garrett has millions no one knows about, he doesn’t have a place in a Corridor high-rise. B, he’s in Italy so it can’t be him Amanda just went to see. Let alone wearing a body shaper for.”

My mind raced, what-ifs tumbling in. I kept silent.

He drummed the dashboard, produced a panatela that he quickly replaced with a chocolate lollipop. “Sugarless, got it at the dentist.”

I smiled.

“Hey. I didn’t mean no talk for the rest of the day. I wanted a Trappist monk for a buddy, I’d write the ad differently.”

That broke me up. When I recovered, I said, “The Corridor’s fine for luxury housing but you’d still need somewhere to shop and recreate.”

“So?”

“The nearest place for that is the Village. If The Brain spends time there, he’d have ample opportunity to come across the building on Strathmore, maybe meet a vulnerable young female. And/or a vulnerable addict like Lotz. Alternatively, he learned about the building from Susie Koster through her relationship with Peter Kramer.”

He kept working on the lollipop, jaw tightening, eyes compressing.

I said, “That doesn’t work for you?”

“It works. Go on.”

“What makes you think there’s more?”

He grinned.

“Okay,” I said, “third possibility is that The Brain is rich enough to keep two places—Wilshire for his main crib and Strathmore for finding his prey. Or sticking with the affluence angle, he’s familiar with the building because he’s got a financial interest in it.”

“A honcho at Academo.”

“Not necessarily. When outfits like Academo build, they don’t put up all of the money, they go to outside investors and syndicates. The Brain being a serious investor would explain Pena getting squirrelly.”

He held up a hand in mock self-defense. “I ask for a breeze and get a hurricane. Okay, so we could be looking for an intellectual type with big bucks, maybe with a link to Poland. How about we take a look at Wilshire, we get lucky some prancing Slavic popinjay in a monocle will just happen to strut out to his Rolls.”

CHAPTER

38

Traffic back to the city was less obliging. Fifty-three minutes after leaving Dorothy Koster’s North Hollywood hideaway, we were coasting the eastbound lanes on Wilshire just past Westwood Boulevard.

A red light at Selby gave us the chance to idle in front of the address given by Alicia. Towering above a copper-roofed porte cochere paved in gray slate was a sharp-edged obelisk clad in pink granite and trimmed with more copper. Glass doors offered a coy hint of crystal chandelier. Twenty-four stories, generous windows offering views to everywhere.

Three maroon-clad valets hustled to accommodate a queue of vehicles. As Bogomil had promised, high-end horsepower: Porsche, Mercedes, Mercedes, Bentley, Range Rover, Mercedes. Every set of wheels black or white.

Milo found a parking spot three blocks north of Wilshire and we headed back to the tower. Not much foot traffic on the Corridor and walking in L.A. can generate suspicion if you don’t look like you belong. Milo had on one of his fossilized