City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(21)

“That takes me back to Hoffgarden,” he said. “Hadn’t thought of him as vulnerable but did you pick that up?”

“Not in the least,” I said. “The overall feel I got from him was detachment. But his arrest record’s all anger-related so there’s a whole bunch of sensitivity buried somewhere in his head.”

“Potential for a serious backfire.”

“Definitely.”

“Interesting,” he said. “And as of six months ago, he no longer lives in the desert. Guess where he moved?”

“L.A.”

“West L.A., near Culver City. We’re talking a twenty-minute drive to Cordi’s place during rush hour, a lot less in the wee hours. Haven’t found out why he closed down his gym but I’m guessing it wasn’t a gold mine. And if he opened a place here, I haven’t found it yet.”

“Down on his luck?” I said. “That could kick up the sensitivity.”

“Prodding the bear when he’s hungry ain’t a smart strategy,” he said. “I definitely want to talk to him, already phoned him twice and got voicemail. Maybe I’ll have Moe drive by his apartment. If Hoffgarden’s gone and stays gone, he definitely gets pushed up the person-of-interest pole. You know what we detecting types think about rabbiting.”

“Like those old movies. Don’t leave town.”

“The old movies,” he said, “people listened.”



* * *



—

Back in my office, I scrolled the message from the unfamiliar lawyer. Lewis Porer, a Mid-Wilshire number. I called and his receptionist put me on hold for too long. Porer’s luck, I was fiddling with the computer and put up with it.

“Dr. Delaware? Lewis Evan Porer. Apparently, you’ve been assigned to evaluate one of my client’s children. I’m here to fill you in.”

I said, “What’s the case?”

“The case in question is Deeb versus McManus. I’m representing—”

“Haven’t received anything from the court on that one.”

“You will,” said Porer. “These are the essential—”

“Sorry,” I said. “I deal directly with the court and hold off attorney contact until later in the evaluation.” If ever.

Silence. “That’s rather…different.”

“It’s the way I operate.”

“Be that as it may, the way I operate is—”

“Don’t want to cut you off, Mr. Porer, but this isn’t the time for discussion. Once I hear from the court, I’ll begin my evaluation. Thanks for calling.”

“You are cutting me off?”

“As I said—”

“I heard what you said. What if I don’t approve of your methodology and register a complaint with the judge?”

“Your prerogative.”

“Family court is a porous institution. Things get around.”

You’ll nevah work in this town again, kid.

I said, “Be that as it may.”

“Your attitude,” said Lewis Evan Porer, “is inapt. Family law is all about communication and here I am attempting to communicate and getting rebuffed.”

What you’re attempting is an early jump on the opposition in order to bias my perception.

I said, “I’m sure your intentions are good but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“Is it?” he said. “We’ll see.”

Click.



* * *



—

The computer fiddling I’d begun while waiting for Porer was an attempt to learn about Zak the drummer, a former love interest of Cordi Gannett.

Zak Z. Mountain, born Zachary Lee Mitchell.

Born forty-eight years ago in Lansing, Michigan, death two years ago from liver disease. No Wikipedia bio, just an obit on a site called Metal Memories. Mountain’s five marriages had produced two children. The fickle nature of the music business plus drug and alcohol issues had led to retirement and a return to Lansing, where Mountain, now Mitchell, found a job painting cars in a body shop.

No mention of Gannett. Another transitory relationship. Had she ever experienced any other kind?

Wondering about that, I went for a brief run, came back, showered, put on a T-shirt and sweatpants, and checked in with my service.

Louise, one of the operators who’s been around for a long time, said, “Hi, Dr. Delaware, I was just about to call you. Some lawyer insisted on leaving a long message, said it was urgent that you get it ‘posthaste.’ Shall I read it to you, posthaste?”

“Proceed at your own pace,” I said.

She laughed.

“Let me guess, Louise. A guy named Porer.”

“That’s the one, Doctor. Puffed-up voice, like he’s got a mouthful of whatever. He dictated to me like he was performing onstage, then had me read it back to him.”

“Sorry for the hassle.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Dr. Delaware. Any bit of entertainment is welcome. Ready?”

“Shoot.”

“?‘Doctor, this is Lewis Evan Porer. I wanted to circle back to make sure we didn’t get off on the wrong foot. Obviously, there were crossed wires. Obviously, you’re the master of your own professional destiny and I’m more than pleased to accede to your wishes.’?”