Victims by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page B

years ago because she hated the weather in the Midwest. But she hated L.A., too. Everyone was stupid, superficial. Anything else—oh, yes, she never had children, detested kids, called them wastes of sperm and eggs—her phrasing. So how long have you worked for the police?”
    “I’m not on payroll, more of an independent contractor.”
    “Sounds interesting,” said Shacker. “Seeing the dark side and all that. Though I’m not sure I could handle it. To tell the truth, I’m really not that curious about horrible things. All those terrible dyssynchronies.”
    “Me, neither,” I lied. “It’s the solution that’s gratifying.”
    “My impression is that profiling has turned out to be quite a dud.”
    “Cookbooking never works. Could I ask you a few more questions about Vita?”
    “Such as?”
    “Did she have friends or outside interests?”
    “My impression is she was somewhat of a homebody.”
    “Did you pick up any signs of substance abuse?”
    “No. Why?”
    “The police found a couple of bulk-sized whiskey bottles in her apartment. Hidden.”
    “Did they? Well, that’s humbling, Alex, I never caught that. Not that I could be expected to, given her resistance.” He looked at his watch. “If there’s nothing else—”
    “How many sessions did she have?”
    “A few—six, seven.”
    “Do you have her chart here?”
    “The insurance company took possession of all records.”
    His desk phone rang. He went over and picked it up. “Dr. Shacker … oh, hi … well, I could squeeze you in today if that would work … yes, of course, it’s my pleasure, we’ll go over all of that once you’re here.”
    Hanging up, he said, “There’s one more thing, Alex. I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but I will. She mentioned the name of one of the people who’d harassed her. Samantha, no last name. Might that help?”
    “It might. Thanks.”
    “No problem. Now back to doing what we were trained for, eh? Nice to meet you, Alex.”

CHAPTER
8
    W alking to the Seville, I thought about the question mark in the pizza box. An old case I’d forgotten.
    Milo had assumed a taunt but maybe a question really had been posed. I called his office. He said, “You get an appointment with that shrink?”
    “Just finished meeting with him.” I summed up.
    “Post-traumatic hoohah and a bully named Samantha? It’s a start, thank you, Doctor.”
    “Unfortunately, Shacker’s bound by a confidentiality clause, couldn’t tell me what company Vita worked for.”
    He said, “Well-Start Health Management and Assurance. ‘Your well-being is where we start.’ ”
    “Oh.”
    “Found some of her papers tucked in a kitchen cabinet, including five years of tax returns. She spent two of them at Well-Start, did temp office jobs before that, averaged around thirty G a year. Last year she deposited five hundred eighty-three G in a brokerage account, whichthrew me, but now it makes sense: a fat, onetime settlement. The money’s been sitting in preferred stock paying around six percent interest. A little over thirty-three G a year, so she was getting paid more not to work.”
    I said, “It sounds like a job she could’ve enjoyed.”
    He said, “The chance to torment people every day? Fits what we know about her. I’m gonna try and find this Samantha, work my way through everyone Vita accused of harassing her. Meanwhile Reed and Binchy are visiting every damn pizza joint in a ten-mile radius, see if they can find someone who uses those boxes. I put in a call to the manufacturer, maybe they ship to private parties as well and I’ll get lucky and they’ll find some weirdo put in an order. Any other insights?”
    “That question mark,” I said. “I’m not sure it was a taunt.”
    “What then?”
    “Maybe our bad guy was referring to himself: I’m curious .”
    “About what?”
    “The mysteries of the human body.”
    “A do-it-yourself anatomy lesson? Seemed more to me like abusing the victim.”
    “Could