A Cold Heart by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page B

Detective Connor.'
     
     
'Good, this is Officer Saldinger. I'm over at Western and Franklin, and we could use one of you guys.'
     
     
'What's the problem?' said Petra.
     
     
'Your line of work,' said Saldinger. 'Lots of blood.'
     
     
After Robin's drop-in, our contact was limited to polite phone calls and forwarded mail accompanied by even more polite notes. If she needed to talk about Baby Boy or anything else of substance, she'd found another audience.
     
     
I thought about visiting Spike. I'd adopted him, but he ended up disdaining me and competing for Robin's attention. No custody struggle, I knew the score. Still, from time to time I missed his little bulldog face, the comical egotism, the awe-inspiring gluttony.
     
     
Maybe soon.
     
     
I'd heard nothing about the murder since Petra's first call, and weeks later, I spotted her name in the paper.
     
     
Triple slaying in the parking lot of a dance club off Franklin Boulevard. Three A.M. ambush of a carload of Armenian gang members from Glendale, by members of a rival faction from East Hollywood. Petra and a partner I didn't know, a detective named Eric Stahl, had arrested a fifteen-year-old shooter and a sixteen-year-old driver after 'a prolonged investigation.'
     
     
Prolonged meant the case had probably opened shortly after Baby Boy's death.
     
     
Petra spending her time on something she could solve?
     
     
Maybe so, but she was driven; failure would stick in her gut.
     
     
For the next few weeks, I concentrated on spending time with Allison, helping kids, banking some income. One consultation kept me particularly busy: a two-year-old girl accidentally shot in the leg by her four-year-old brother. Lots of family complications, no easy answers, but things finally seemed to be settling down.
     
     
I convinced Allison to take off some time, and we spent a four-day weekend at the San Ysidro Ranch in Montecito, imbibing sun and great food. When we drove back to L. A. I convinced myself I was doing okay on all fronts.
     
     
The day after I got back, Milo phoned, and said, 'Don't you sound chipper.'
     
     
'Been working on chipper.'
     
     
'Don't overdo it,' he said. 'Wouldn't want you to forget the morose underpinnings of our relationship.'
     
     
'God forbid,' I said. 'What's up?'
     
     
'Something decidedly un-chipper. I've got a weird one, so naturally I thought of you.'
     
     
'Weird in what way?'
     
     
'Apparently motiveless, but we psychologically astute types know better, don't we? An artist - a painter -murdered the night of her big opening. Last Saturday. Someone strangled her. Ligature - thin, with corrugations, probably a wound metal wire.' - 'Sexual assault?'
     
     
'There was some posing but no evidence of assault. You have time?'
     
     
'For you, always.'
     
     
He asked me to meet him for lunch at Cafe Moghul, an Indian restaurant on Santa Monica, a few blocks from the West L.A. station. The place turned out to be a storefront blocked by gilt-flecked madras curtains. An unmarked Ford LTD was parked near the entrance in a Loading Only space, and cheap plastic sunglasses that I recognized as Milo's sat atop the dashboard.
     
     
The place was magenta-walled and hung with machined tapestries of huge-eyed, nutmeg-skinned people and spire-topped temples. An ultra-soprano voice sang plaintively. The air was a mix of curry and anise.
     
     
A sixtyish woman in a sari greeted me. 'He's over there.' Pointing to a table along the rear wall. No need for guidance; Milo was the only customer.
     
     
In front of him was a quart-sized glass of what looked to be iced tea and a plate of fried things in various geometric shapes. His mouth was full, and he waved and continued masticating. When I reached the table, he half rose, wiped grease from his chin, washed down the baseball-sized bolus that orangutaned his cheeks, and pumped my hand.
     
     
'The mixed appetizers combo,' he said. 'Have some. I ordered entrees for both of us - the