City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(69)

Milo led the procession to the large room he uses for meetings and situations like this. He’d prepped the space, placing two chairs on either side of a small folding table in the center of the room. Asking the patrolwoman to wait outside, he showed Montag and Bloomfield to one side of the table and we took the other.

Montag’s head stayed down.

“Evening, Lisette. Mr. Bloomfield. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Thanks but no need,” said Bloomfield. “I made sure Lissy was hydrated. Had to, she was looking pretty peaked when I got there, you people should really do better when it comes to caring for your charges.”

Milo said, “I’ll bear that in mind. So what can I do for you?”

Bloomfield smiled, as if cued by a stooge for a punch line. “At the risk of engaging in an obnoxious cliché, it’s not what you can do for us, it’s…” Instead of finishing, he raised both hands like a conductor evoking a crescendo.

“I’ll bite, Counselor. What can you do for us?”

Bloomfield sat back and crossed his legs. Close to ten p.m. but the attorney was chipper and dressed casually. Experience or just a guy going through the motions?

Montag’s demeanor remained the same. Grave, defeated, dull-eyed. Less than a day in jail but already pallid and puffy.

Milo crossed his own legs.

Bloomfield said, “Okay. Ms. Montag is ready to truth-tell. I’m aware that officially you can’t offer deals, it’s a D.A. thing. But of course we both know that a man of your rank, experience, reputation, and rapport with the D.A.’s office is in a position to exert intelligent influence.”

“Flattered,” said Milo. “Rapport? If only.”

“No false modesty, Lieutenant. And please no humble-bragging.” Bloomfield chuckled.

Bright-eyed and buoyant. Enjoying himself. Then again, he was at no risk of ending up in a cell for the rest of his life.

“What does your client have to offer?”

“Justification.”

“For murder.”

“For ridding the world of a violent, vicious murderer. We’ll be putting forward a self-defense scenario and hope you’ll allow yourself to be educated.”

Milo put his hands behind his head. “I’m listening, Mr. Bloomfield.”

Bloomfield chuckled again. “Before we begin, make sure this is being recorded.” He glanced at the one-way mirror. “If you already haven’t initiated that process.”

Milo got up, left the room, and returned. He’d already set up the equipment in the adjacent room, had just pretended to do it.

“Excellent,” said Alan Bloomfield. Shifting his weight, he produced paper from a jean pocket. Folded paper that he unfolded and handed to Montag. Two sheets filled with typing.

She took them but placed them on the table.

Bloomfield said, “Lissy?”

She bit her lip and rubbed her eyes. When she pulled her knuckles away, the irises were pink and moist.

Bloomfield patted her hand. “It’s okay, dear, just be honest. I have a good feeling about Lieutenant Sturgis and his colleague—was that Alex?”

I nodded.

Milo said, “Dr. Alex Delaware, our consulting psychologist.”

Bloomfield stiffened. “Is he here as some sort of attempted human lie detector?”

I said, “Appreciate the compliment but not that talented.”

“What then?” Directed at Milo.

“Dr. Delaware consults on cases where psychological analysis is called for. He’s been involved in the Hoffgarden case from the outset. Is there a problem with that?”

Lisette Montag didn’t react. I wasn’t sure she’d tuned in to any of the exchange.

Alan Bloomfield said, “I need to think about this.” He closed his eyes and put his palms together. Seconds later, he snapped to and said, “Sure, no problem. It will help Lisette because any decent psychologist will be able to tell she’s not a bad person.”

Shifting to me.

I smiled.

Bloomfield wasn’t sure what to make of that but said, “Go ahead, dear.”

Montag lifted the paper, opened her mouth, tried to speak, produced a hoarse grunt.

Bloomfield said, “This is your time to shine, Lisette. When you’re ready.”

Montag cleared her throat, coughed once, then again. Her hands shook, causing the papers to billow.

She inhaled and began reading in a monotone.

“I, Lisette Deandra Montag, swear that my story is true.”

Turning to Bloomfield.

He said, “It certainly is, dear. Go on.”

“…that my story is true. I formerly lived in Temple City, California, and worked at The Style-Right Hair and Beauty Salon in nearby Palm Desert. During the course of my employment at The Style-Right Hair and Beauty Salon, I met a gentleman named Forrest Slope. Mr. Slope was an attorney who’d just retired and moved to Palm Desert. He had a very good head of thick, wavy hair that required regular…attention. He’d tried other haircutters and found them lacking and for that reason came to The Style-Right Hair and Beauty Salon. We’d gone unisex a few months ago and men were coming in more and more because we knew how to treat them with sensitivity.”

She stopped, gulped. “I could use some water.”

Before Milo could respond, I was up and out of the room and filling one of the plastic cups Milo keeps in his office from a lavatory sink. When I returned, no one was talking.