Chapter 28
Chapter
The following day, my schedule was open and I kept my phone nearby.
Robin had gone to her studio but she was back minutes later.
I said, “Everything okay?”
“It’s a gorgeous day and I’m feeling the lazies. You up for playing hooky?”
“Tempt away, Jezebel. What do you want to do?”
“See some gorgeous.”
—
Fifty minutes later we were forty miles east in San Marino, strolling the grounds of Huntington Gardens.
It’s a one-of-a-kind place, the former estate of a playboy insurance heir, combining two-hundred-plus acres of world-class botanical specimens with a couple of serious art museums and a massive scholar’s library that Robin uses when she’s researching antique instruments.
We spent the day filling our senses with a crazy quilt of fragrant roses, the serenity of the Japanese Garden and the Chinese Garden, a collection of cacti that could’ve come from another planet.
After an early dinner at a seafood place on Huntington Drive, we were back home by six forty-five and tending to Blanche.
Robin said, “That was lovely, babe…I want to check a bridge repair on that Stromberg. Darn thing popped the first time.”
“Sure.”
“When I finish, we can watch something dumb.”
“You bet.”
She kissed me and left. Moments later, Milo called.
“What’s up?”
“Alicia verified that Alberts is totally out of it. I finally connected with one of the FBI guys but he said he knew nothing. Then the second turned out to be an honorable gentleman named Walter Karski. Happy to talk but couldn’t do it right then because he and his wife were babysitting grandkids.
We agreed to meet tomorrow, he lives in Ventura.
You busy making the big bucks or can you spare some time for altruism? ”
“What time tomorrow?”
“Eleven.”
“My morning appointments end at eleven thirty.”
He said, “That would get us there twelve thirtyish but beggars, choosers, and all that. I’ll ask Karski if we can push it up. If you don’t hear from me, we’re on.”
I set the timer for tomorrow’s coffee, had just finished when Robin returned. “Good news, the bridge is stable. How about a bath before we rot our brains?”
“Love it when you get sybaritic.”
“Love it when you use professor words.”
—
At eleven thirty a.m. Milo rolled up in front of the house and idled the Impala, revving a few times with an itchy foot. The moment my door closed, he U-turned, coasted back down to the Glen going north, continued into the Valley, and picked up the 101 North at the Van Nuys on-ramp.
An hour of driving stretched to eighty-five minutes due to a lane closure just past Tarzana. Two miles of orange cones shunting traffic to the right in order to protect a road crew.
No crew in sight. A sign proclaimed Your Tax Dollars At Work!
Milo said, “Salt in the wounds.”
Once free of the snarl, he compensated by pushing the car to eighty-eight. Cops aren’t immune to CHP tickets but he pretends they are.
When it became clear that we’d still be late, he phoned Walter Karski.
A cheerful voice said, “Whenever you’re here.”
The house was a white-clapboard bungalow in the hills overlooking the Beaux-Arts masterpiece that houses Ventura city hall and beyond that, Main Street, the primary artery of the city’s Old Town. This high up, the bonus was a thin blue line of ocean hovering above rooftops.
Small house, beautifully kept. A path of herringbone brick led to a door painted aqua. The siding was immaculate, the lawn pristine even where a robust crepe myrtle shaded the grass. Running along the front was a lush border of impatiens and daisies.
I said, “Cheerful.”
Milo said, “Maybe it’ll rub off.”
He lifted a door-knocker shaped like a dolphin and let it drop. Seconds later the door opened on a tall, thin, bald man with a bushy white beard, wearing a white polo shirt, baggy blue linen pants, and huarache sandals.
“Milo? Walt Karski. And you must be the doctor.”
“Alex Delaware.”
Quick, firm handshake. “My daughter’s a psychologist, works at Sloan Kettering in New York with cancer patients.”
Milo said, “He did that, too.”
“Did you?”
I said, “Pediatric oncology.”
Walt Karski flinched. “Rebecca says it’s tough work but rewarding, but I can’t imagine kids. Come on in.”
He stepped back and we entered an open-plan layout with windows on three sides. Living room, dining area, a white-on-white kitchen that looked new. A door to the left led to a hallway backed by a rear window framing an eyeful of green.
The furniture was rattan with brown hibiscus-patterned pillows and a circular glass table.
On the walls were soft-focus seascapes and photos of Karski, a plump blonde his age, a couple in their twenties with two small children, and a young woman in doctoral graduation regalia.
Dark-blue hood, same as the one I’d worn years ago.
Sometimes retired people display career mementos. No indication how Walter Karski had spent his working days.
He settled facing us, crossed long, tan legs, and placed his hands on his knees. “So here we are. I always wondered if someone would get curious.”
Milo said, “About the Alberts case.”
“About tons of money spent to boost a rich kid’s career. You know about Van Osler’s connections?”
“Governor’s cousin.”
“Plus his parents are big-money Northern Cal types, the guy grew up in Atherton,” said Karski.
“He gave speeches to us about justice but you could tell he didn’t mean it.
That politician look, you know? We all figured the plan was to confiscate a whole bunch of money in order for him to look heroic so he could run for something.
But wouldn’t you know it, Alberts was broke. ”
I said, “Cancel the whiz-bang press conference.”
Karski smiled. “Exactly, whimper, no bang. Van Osler moved to New York and went white-shoe corporate and the rest of us civil servants got reassigned. Haven’t heard from him since.”
Milo said, “He dropped dead at a country-club dance.”
Karski blinked. “Did he. Yeah, he always had that flushed look. And now here I am talking about him and the good old days. Never figured it would be due to a homicide, let alone Martha’s. Fill me in however much you feel you can.”
Milo gave him the basics. When he got to Lynne Gutierrez, Karski’s eyes widened.
“The daughter, too?”
“Afraid so. A few days later.”
“Wow.”
Milo continued. When he got to Martha’s dismemberment, Karski’s face compressed.
“My God, that sounds psychopathic weird—am I wrong, Doctor? Can’t see how any of it would relate to a ten-year-old fraud investigation.”
Milo said, “Not on the surface but there was another murder shortly before Martha and both have connections to Alberts.”
“Another. Good Lord.” Karski slumped. Reacting like a civilian. Aka a normal person. Retirement can be like that. I never hardened when I worked the cancer ward but I was able to focus and keep my feelings secondary. Years later I visited and found myself fighting tears.
When Milo finished filling Karski in on Sophie Barlow, he uncrossed his legs and stroked his beard.
“So the connection is this gal once had a thing with Heck but she wasn’t at all involved with Alberts.”
“Not that we’ve found, so far.”
Karski said, “Crazy…listen, I’m not going to tell you how to do your job but on the surface it sounds kind of tenuous.”
“It does, Walt, but you follow the breadcrumbs you get tossed. And what are the odds of two strangulation homicides popping up within weeks of each other?”
“Never worked any homicides directly, just some organized-crime money stuff related to hits,” said Karski. “You’re going to give me a number, huh?”
Milo cited the statistics.
Karski whistled. “See what you mean. What about the blunt force to the daughter?”
“More common but still less frequent than guns or blades.”
“Three atypicals. So what’s your working hypothesis on all this?”
“Wish we had one. That’s why we’re here.”
“Don’t know how I can help but I’ll try. Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“We’re fine.”
“I’m thirsty from gardening, hold on.”
Karski strode to the kitchen, took a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge, and brought it over with three glasses festooned with Disney characters.
“Sure I can’t pour you? Freshly squeezed from my Valencia out back.”
“In that case, sure.”
“Here you go…I grew up back east and I know I’m sounding like a total rube, but the ability to go out and pick fresh fruit still awes me.”
We drank.
I said, “Delicious.”
Karski beamed and sat back. “So how can I help you?”
Milo said, “Let’s start with what you remember about Martha.”
“What I remember…okay, didn’t hang out with her but she impressed me as a really hard worker.
Little busy bee. When she wasn’t interviewing POIs, she was at her desk, writing, filing, never looking up.
Then she’d straighten the desk. Take her time doing it before leaving without a word. Neat as a pin.”
I said, “Not very social.”
“Not in the least,” said Karski. “But to be fair there wasn’t much socializing going on, period. We weren’t exactly a team.”
I said, “People working in the same room but not together.”
“Precisely, Doctor. We were on one side of the room, you guys on the other. And not by accident, Van Osler set out to divide us from the get-go. Wanting control, you know?”
I said, “Where was the workspace?”
“Rented warehouse east of downtown. Van Osler brought in a construction crew to build a corner suite for himself. With windows. Besides that, there was one interview room and the rest was a big open space with no view of anything but walls. Our guys called it The Wasteland.”
“Control. The politician thing.”
“Exactly, Doctor. What else motivates those losers but control?” said Karski. “Do I sound bitter? Maybe I do but that’s after working in D.C. for years.” He shook his head. “If only we could elect people who don’t want the job.”
Milo said, “Martha was all about work.”
“That’s what I observed. Petite little thing, she gave off this hummingbird energy.”