Guilt (16 page)

He gestured obscenely. “One more question: Did you find Adriana through an agency?”

“Nope,” said Bradley, “through an ad we ran in the paper.”

“It wasn’t as risky as it sounds,” said Susan. “We ran a background check through a friend, he does security for one of the hotels. He said she came up absolutely spotless.”

“Could we have his name?”

Silence. “That’s absolutely necessary?”

“There’s a problem, ma’am?”

“Well,” said Susan, “actually, he’s not a friend, he’s my brother and I’m not sure he’s allowed to freelance with the hotel account.”

“I promise not to get him in trouble, Ms. Van Dyne, just want to find out anything I can about Adriana.”

“Okay. Michael Ramsden. Here’s his number.”

“Appreciate it and if you think of anything, here’s mine.”

“It really makes no sense,” said Bradley. “Whoever did this has to be mentally ill or something.”

“Absolutely,” said Susan. “Adriana was so stable, Lucas adored her. I am
not
going to tell him what happened.”

Michael Ramsden was caught off-guard by the call from Milo.

He said, “Who?”

“Adriana Betts.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Hmm,” said Milo. “So I guess your sister lied.”

“Hold on—let me switch to another phone.” Moments later: “Are we talking the housekeeper?”

“Susan said you backgrounded her.”

“All I did was the basics, nothing anyone couldn’t do online, so I’d appreciate your not making a big deal of it.”

“Doing it on company time.”

“Coffee-break time,” said Ramsden. “My personal laptop, my sister was satisfied. You’re saying someone killed this girl?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa,” said Ramsden. “Well, there was nothing in her record to suggest that might happen.”

“Spotless?”

“That’s what the computer said.”

A scan of the UCSD med school faculty revealed that Donald Chang, M.D., was a fellow in vascular surgery and Lilly Chang, Ph.D., worked in Oncology as a cell biologist. He was in the operating room. She answered her extension.

“Adriana? Oh, no, that’s terrible. In L.A.?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that might explain it.”

“Explain what, Dr. Chang?”

“Her flaking on us,” she said. “At least that’s what we assumed. Not at the outset, mind you. Our initial worry was something had happened to her, because she’d always been so reliable, never even went out at night. Then about three months ago she said she was meeting a
friend for dinner and never came back. We called the police, checked E.R.’s, were really worried. When she didn’t answer her phone we figured she’d bailed and got pretty irate, I have to tell you. Both of us work all day and now there was no one for May. We complained to the agency and they gave us a discount on her replacement.”

“What about her car?”

“She didn’t have one, used the bus or walked. Obviously that would restrict her but as I said, she wasn’t much for going out.”

“Until she was,” said Milo.

“Well, yes,” said Lilly Chang. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened to her. It happened in L.A.? That’s where she went?”

“Did she ever talk about L.A.?”

“Never,” said Lilly Chang.

“What agency did you get her from?”

“Happy Tots. They were highly apologetic.”

“What happened to Adriana’s personal effects?”

“The little she had we boxed and stored. It’s still there because, frankly, we forgot about it.”

“We’d like to come down and pick up the boxes.”

“Sure, they’re just sitting in our storage unit. There really wasn’t much.”

“How about we come down today?”

“This evening would be okay, I guess. After seven thirty, I’ve got meetings until six thirty, want to put May to bed myself.”

“No problem, Doctor. While we’re there, if we could chat a bit more with you and your husband that would be great.”

“There really isn’t anything to chat about.”

“I’m sure, Doctor, but this is a homicide and we need to be thorough.”

“Of course. But if you want Donald, it’ll have to be even later—no earlier than nine, probably closer to ten.”

“He keeps long hours.”

“Long would be good,” said Lilly Chang. “More like infinite.”

Milo phoned Happy Tots Child Care Specialists, spoke to a woman named Irma Rodriguez who sounded as if she was wrestling with abdominal pain.

“That one,” she said. “She sure fooled us.”

“About what, ma’am?”

“Thinking she was reliable. What trouble’s she gotten herself into?”

“Death,” said Milo.

“Pardon?”

“She was murdered.”

“Oh good Lord,” said Rodriguez. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was, ma’am. How’d Adriana come to register with you?”

“She phoned us, emailed references from her previous employers, was lucky the job with the Changs came up right then. That’s a good solid job, I was p.o.’d at Adriana for treating them so shabbily.”

“What was Adriana like?”

“Well,” said Rodriguez, “usually I meet applicants face-to-face but with the quality of her references and the perfect background check, I figured she’d be okay.”

“Who supplied the references?”

“Hold on.”

Several moments of dead air before she returned. “Only one but it was good. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyne from Portland, Oregon. Someone killed her, huh? You just never know.”

I called Robin, told her I’d either be home late or spend the night in San Diego, explained why.

She said, “A nanny. Everything seems to revolve around little ones.”

“Seems to,” I said, picturing a paper-doll chain of tiny skeletons.

“If you do come home tonight, wake me, no matter how late.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I miss your feet in the bed. The way you end up in some weird position and I’m stretching and groping to find you.”

“Love you.”

“That’s another way of saying it. Whoever drives, be careful.”

We left the station at five fifteen. Rather than brave rush-hour freeway traffic, Milo took surface streets to Playa Del Rey, where we had dinner at a dockside Italian place with C décor and A food.

He said, “Leave the driving to moi, you can have wine, Mr. Wingman.”

We both drank coffee and by seven thirty I was feeling keyed up but no clearer on who’d want to kill a near-saintly woman. Once we got on the 405 South, Milo turned quiet and I picked up my messages.

Holly Ruche had phoned at six, apologizing for canceling and wanting another appointment. I left her a message saying okay. A hundred and ten minutes later, we rolled into La Jolla.

D
onald and Lilly Chang lived a brief stroll from the UCSD campus in a massive, gated complex called Regal Life La Jolla. Four-story brown-and-beige apartment blocks were surrounded by Torrey Pines. So was most of the beach town, where land didn’t nudge blue Pacific.

Gorgeous place, warm night. A lot more temperate than Portland though I doubted Adriana Betts had weather on her mind when she’d moved.

Searching for the right kind of job: caring for other people’s little treasures.

I knew all about that.

Milo rolled up to the Regal Life guardhouse. No need to flash the badge, Lilly Chang had left his name. We parked in a visitors’ area, walked past fountains, flagstone roundabouts, perfect palms and pines and coral trees, precise sections of velvet lawn.

It took a while to locate the building but we got buzzed through the security door immediately.

A redheaded, exuberantly freckled woman wearing enormous
blue-framed eyeglasses, a black T-shirt, and baggy green linen pants responded to Milo’s knock. Her feet were bare. The shirt read
I May Look Lazy but on a Cellular Level, I’m Quite Busy
.

“Hi, I’m Lilly, c’mon in. Donald’s showering, he’ll be right with you.”

Dr. Lilly Chang was five six and lanky with a loose walk that caused her ginger mop of hair to shudder as she led us into her living room.

Despite the exterior luxe, the apartment was small, white, generically bland, a status unrelieved by the obligatory granite kitchen outfitted with the requisite brushed-steel appliances. What passed for a Juliet balcony offered an oblique view of a brown wall. The furniture looked as if it had been rescued from a dorm. The sole artwork was a poster featuring a cartoon human brain. The legend beneath the drawing read
Software: Sometimes You Don’t Have to Buy It
.

No need for paintings or prints; the walls were pretty much taken up by photos of a beautiful almond-eyed baby with blue-black hair. In some of the shots, May Chang had been propped up for a solo pose. Her reaction to stardom ranged from stunned disbelief to glee. In other pictures, she sat on Lilly Chang’s lap or that of a balding Asian man who looked close to forty.

A white plastic baby monitor breathed static from atop a black plastic end table. Above the table hung the largest portrait of May, gilt-framed.

Lilly Chang said, “I know, we’re a bit too in love.”

I said, “She’s adorable. How old is she?”

“Twenty-two months. She’s our joy.”

She fingered the hem of the T-shirt. One of those smooth-faced women whose age was hard to determine. My guess was early thirties.

“Please, sit,” she said. “How was your drive?”

Milo said, “Piece of cake.”

“My parents live in L.A., I try to see them every five, six weeks. Sometimes it can get pretty hairy.” She smiled. “Though I guess you guys could use your siren to speed through.”

Milo said, “That would be nice but unfortunately it’s a big no-no.”

“Figures,” she said. “Can I get you some coffee or juice?”

“No, thanks, Dr. Chang.”

“Lilly’s fine.”

I said, “Where do your parents live?”

“Sherman Oaks. I was the original Valley Girl.” Showing teeth. “Gag me with a spoon. Fer sure.” She turned grave. “So we’re here to talk about poor Adriana. I’m still integrating the news, it’s so dreadful.”

“It is,” said Milo.

“May I ask where it happened?”

Milo said, “Cheviot Park.”

“Wow,” she said. “My family used to go there for Fourth of July fireworks. It always seemed like a safe place.”

“It generally is.”

“Wow,” she repeated. “After we spoke I tried to think if there was anything I could remember that might help you. The only thing I came up with, and it’s probably nothing, is four, five months ago, Adriana came with us on a trip to see my parents. We offered her the day off but she said she didn’t need it, just in case Donald and I wanted to go out to dinner she’d be available to babysit.”

I said, “Your parents couldn’t babysit?”

“Of course they could. I sensed that Adriana wanted to come along so I said sure. My mother had cooked dinner so we stayed in. When Adriana heard that, she asked if we minded if
she
went out. To meet a friend for dinner. I know I told you over the phone that she didn’t have friends but I was thinking of down here and the L.A. thing slipped my mind. Anyway, we said sure, go have fun. She made a call and soon after someone picked her up and she was gone for a couple of hours. Now I’m wondering if her real reason for tagging along was she’d planned on a date.”

Milo said, “A man picked her up?”

“No idea, all I can tell you is it was a red car and the only reason I remember that was the color shined through the lace curtains over the picture window. I do remember thinking,
Pretty flashy for Adriana
,
maybe she’s got a secret boyfriend
. But then she never went out again. And I mean never.”

I said, “What was her mood when she returned?”

“Normal,” she said. “Not upset, not ecstatic. She was always kind of quiet. To tell the truth, I wasn’t paying attention because I was exhausted and dreading two more hours on the freeway. Donald had been on call and he was just zonked out and Adriana didn’t have a license. So I was stuck with the driving.”

“You did a great job,” said a voice from the doorway.

Since being photographed with his daughter, Donald Chang had shaved his head and grown a drooping mustache. Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, he had taut skin and bright black eyes. I revised my age estimate a few years downward.