True Detectives by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page A

definitely see her as dead.”
    “Hey,” said Moe, “maybe she’s partying in Dubai, or whatever.”
    “White slavery.” Aaron grinned. “Always loved that phrase. As opposed to normal slavery.”
    The racial allusion surprised Moe. He said, “You
don’t
see her as dead?”
    “Yeah, I probably do. Except for what I said before, she might’ve wanted to get away from Daddy. She didn’t even have her own computer, they shared. What college student doesn’t have a laptop? So Maitland could be one of those controlling types. And girls do wanna have fu-uhn.”
    “She was a virgin,” said Moe. “Supposedly.”
    Aaron’s brows arched. “Daddy told you that?”
    “Martha Stoltz did.”
    “How’d it come up?”
    “She was talking about what a perfect couple Caitlin and Rory were. All-American. Both virgins.”
    “What was her point in telling you?”
    Moe shrugged. “I’m just quoting.”
    “It wasn’t weird?” said Aaron. “Middle of an interview and she volunteers about their sex life?”
    “Lack of sex life. I figured she wanted me to see Rory as a choirboy.”
    “Because he isn’t?”
    “If he’s got a secret life, it’s stayed secret from me,” said Moe. “What’re you gonna do, high-tech-bug his bedroom?”
    Aaron smoothed his tie, tugged the big knot tighter. “They’re both virgins … like Mama’s in the backseat with them?”
    “Hey,” said Moe, “I’m open to anything. You find out Rory’s chapter president of the Ted Bundy Fan Club, I’ll get interested. But I talked to him four times and he came across exactly what he claimed to be.”
    “Which is?”
    “Clean-cut Pepperdine student.”
    “That’s a Baptist school. We talking Holy Roller?”
    “Normal, clean-cut kid,” said Moe. “Seemed genuinely torn up about Caitlin. But not over-the-top emotional, like he was trying to prove something.”
    “Virgins,” said Aaron. “Wonder if he’s still that way fifteen months later. You planning a fifth chat?”
    “The case is still open.”
    Aaron drank water.
    Moe said, “I don’t want you stepping on my toes.”
    “Last thing on my mind, bro.”
    “But if I tell you to hold off, you’re not going to listen.” Gas or acid or whatever was rising up his food tube. His belt cut like dental floss. From what, three pieces of lamb and some eggplant? What did they put in this stuff?
    “Moses, can’t we just put it aside?”
    “Put what aside?”
    “SOS. Same old shit.” Aaron laughed. “Remember when I told that idiot counselor he was just digging up SOS and he near about fell off his shrink chair?”
    Moe stayed silent.
    “You don’t remember, bro?”
    “Dr. Gibson,” said Moe. As if called upon to recite.
    “
Mr
. Gibson,” said Aaron. “Had a master’s.” He shook his head. “Working for the school system filing paper, at night he moonlights, pretends he’s an analyst.”
    “Didn’t stop Mom from liking him.”
    “Mom,” said Aaron. “She also liked that massage therapist with thebad breath and the huge mole on her chin and that Polish N.D. we all thought was an M.D.—Kussorsky, Master Naturopath. Guy’s doling out little vials of water with invisible ingredients and Mom’s telling us we have to take it for our allergies. Meanwhile, she takes in two cats.”
    He laughed again. “SOS.”
    Moe thought about fake-shrink Gibson and couldn’t muster up any glee.
    He’d been fourteen, Aaron eighteen. The two of them going at each other constantly, sometimes it got physical. Mom having no idea.
    My father was a hero
.
    So was my father. What? You’re saying he wasn’t? You’re saying that?
    All I’m saying, little bro, is—
    Fuck you
.
    Fuck
you.
    A whirlwind of scuffle, fists flying, Mom hurrying in, trying to break it up.
    The next day, she announced everyone was going to “family therapy.”
    She’d met Quentin Gibson, M.A., at yoga class.
    Guy makes house calls, wimpy, skinny, ponytailed, British