Bones by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page A

one gave him the answers to that goddamn algebra test, so I’d take anything she says with a pillar of salt.”
    Chance growled.
    His father said,
“Ooh.
I’m
shaking.”
     
CHAPTER 6
     
    Steve Brandt walked us out to a faux-cobblestone motor court, used a clicker to hold his front gate open.
    “So he’s clear?”
    “So far, sir.”
    “Trust me, Officers, he’s too dumb to kill anyone.”
    Smiling with sour satisfaction, he walked back to the heat and light of his home.
     
     
    Moe Reed’s call to Tom L. Rumley, headmaster of the Windward Academy, achieved a promise to “ascertain all the relevant information” about the call to Chance Brandt at an “expedited rate.” The trade-off: no police visit to the school at the present time, because “it’s hiatus time and we’re entertaining visitors from Dubai.”
    Reed put Rumley on hold. “Lieutenant?”
    Milo said, “Most likely it will boil down to a blab chain, so give him a chance to make good. Either of you hungry?”
    We returned to the marsh and picked up the Seville. As Reed followed us to West L.A., Milo said, “What do you think?”
    “About the case or Reed?”
    “Both.”
    “He seems thoughtful, eager to learn. Plenty to learn about this case.”
    “Four bodies.”
    “That kind of appetite,” I said, “no reason to stop at four.”
    “I can always count on you for good cheer.”
     
     
    Café Moghul, on Santa Monica Boulevard, blocks from the station, serves as Milo’s second office.
    The bespectacled, saried woman who runs the place beamed, the way she always does when Milo steps through her door. Besides the gargantuan tips, she regards him as a human rottweiler. Reed’s obvious cop presence following close behind brought her to the verge of ecstasy.
    “Lobster,” she announced, seating us at Milo’s rear table, humming and smiling and filling glasses with cloved iced tea. “I’ll bring fresh platters. Everything.”
    Milo said, “Everything’s a good concept,” as he removed his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Reed took off his blazer, draped it neatly. His white shirt was short-sleeved. His biceps filled most of the sleeves.
    The food parade began.
    Reed said, “You must tip great.”
    Milo said, “Boy. Why does everything in this world have to be about money?”
     
     
    Sometimes Milo talks shop over food. Other times, he views eating as a sacrament, not to be disrupted by worldly matters.
    This afternoon was a Holy Day. Moe Reed watched him bolt and chew and swallow and wipe his face. Caught on quickly and bent over his own plate like a convict.
    Heaps of lobster, rice, lentils, spiced eggplant, spinach with
paneer
cheese vanished quickly as the young detective out-ate Milo. His frame was thick but hard as teak.
    Just as the bespectacled woman brought rice pudding, his cell beeped.
    “Reed…” Eyebrows so pale they fought for recognition arched steeply. “Yes, sir… hold on while I get something to write on.” Reaching behind, he retrieved his pad, printed neatly. “Thank you, sir. No, not at this time, sir.”
    Click. “Headmaster Rumley says he traced the gossip stream completely. The Brandt kid told Sarabeth Oster, who also thought it was hilarious. She told a girl named Ali Light and Ali told
her
boyfriend, Justin Coopersmith, and
he
thought it was so darn funny, he passed it along to his older brother, a Duke sophomore named Lance, home for the summer. Lance Coopersmith seems to be more moral than the others, he’s the one who called us. Said he felt it was his duty.”
    “Should be easy enough to verify.”
    Reed nodded. “I asked for a trace this morning. Came in on the non-emergency, so it takes longer than a 911 and there’s no audio. Want me to check now?”
    “Go for it.”
    Moments later: “Verizon cell phone registered to Lance Allan Coopersmith, address in Pacific Palisades. Any sense following up?”
    “Not for the time being,” said Milo. “Gonna be a long day, have some