The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(35)
Another glance at Blanche.
I said, “She’s smart but no need for code.”
He bent for another head rub. Sighed. “Two donors for all the blood, pit bull mixes, one male, one female. The vet Basia spoke to said the poor things were probably totally drained.”
I said, “Lots of pit mixes in shelters.”
“That’s what I figured. Evil assholes—that coffee I smell? Let’s use the kitchen so I can spread out.”
* * *
—
He placed the case on the floor next to the kitchen table, began scrounging in the fridge.
I said, “Anything I can fix you?”
“No, I’ll self-serve…just a snack—this turkey?”
“Left over from last night and all yours.”
“Music to my ears.” He cut the meat thick, added tomatoes and lettuce, and made himself a deli-sized sandwich on dark rye.
I brought two mugs of coffee to the table. He said, “Mind reader,” took a swallow, then three bites, unlatched the case, and placed two sheets of yellow legal paper next to his plate.
His forward-slanting cursive. Names and details, numbered 1 to 10.
“The first three are the women from Gurnsey’s work. They all claimed to be just friends and that matches their sosh pages—they have boyfriends and don’t seem to have actually dated Gurnsey. They describe Gurnsey almost identically: easygoing, fun company, never hit on them though he could get ‘flirty.’ Their contact with him was lunch at work, sometimes dinner afterward in a group. All three were either star actresses or genuinely horrified to hear what had happened. No problem with a face-to-face but they doubted they had anything to offer and I’m inclined to agree.”
He took another bite of sandwich. “Now the non-work crowd. Three met Gurnsey on dating sites but Gurnsey hasn’t been on for three months, seems to have reverted to old-school, as in cocktail lounge pickups. Mostly places not far from his apartment: Shutters, Loew’s, an upscale bar in the hip part of Venice. I’ve got Moses and Alicia checking out the locales, see if anyone remembers Gurnsey. One woman—the doctor—met him at a fundraiser. Young Professionals Saving the Bay, back to her later. One of the nurses came right out and said she and Gurnsey dated but not for long and that matches her only exchanging three calls with him months ago. She also sounded genuinely shocked about his death but not in a personal way, more like hearing about anyone getting killed. I asked her to describe him and at first she went quiet.”
He opened the case again, produced pages of notes. “I say, ‘Something the matter, Leslie?’ She says, ‘Look, I don’t want to dis the dead but frankly, Ricky was a total horndog. Nice guy but out for one thing only.’ I probed about Gurnsey getting overly aggressive, she insisted no, he never forced anything, just got verbally persistent and that got boring.”
“No anger on her part.”
“Not that I picked up, she really did sound bored, Alex. I got similar descriptions from Five and Six—one of the lawyers and the accountant. The accountant used the same phrase—total horndog—and the lawyer called Gurnsey a ‘low-rent lothario.’ Both of them put up with him for a few dates because he was ‘basically nice,’ ‘cheerful,’ ‘well-groomed,’ and ‘generous, always picked up the tab.’ The accountant also acknowledged he was good looking and knew how to behave in public. The lawyer said he enjoyed good food and wine, even though…hold on…‘Ricky wasn’t really sophisticated or knowledgeable about culture. He was a nice guy but I was looking for more.’?”
I said, “His public persona was fine, private not so much.”
“Exactly. Get alone with him, sooner or later he’s making a move and being pushy about it. Maybe a pain in the ass. Literally, based on what Briggs and Candace Kierstead told us, but so far no one’s complained. Onward…Number Seven, another nurse, said it wasn’t that Gurnsey dispensed with the niceties like a lot of guys, on the contrary he could be a total gentleman. But eventually he’d show his entitlement by…‘Ricky could be holding the door open for you and kissing your fingertips one minute, then he’d want to put you up against a wall and jam it in and assume you wanted it as much as he did. But he did take no for an answer.’ Again, no animosity. More like a game she didn’t want to play. She’s the oldest, forty-four, told me she’d been married twice, didn’t want to have to ‘deal with another guy’s issues.’?”
He turned to the second page. “Nurse Number Three. The least recent, four dates with Gurnsey five months ago. Gurnsey was ‘cute and okay but a little pushy when it came to sex. We didn’t mesh.’ She works at Cedars so I asked Rick and he knows her. Straight shooter, lovely, no way she could be involved in anything like this.”
He tapped the list. “Now the two I want to meet soon. Nine is the other lawyer, a woman named Joan Blunt. Works at a B.H. firm. Haven’t been able to talk to her yet, got blocked by her secretary, no call-back after three tries and that twangs the antenna. She’s the second oldest, forty-one, and if her Instagram page is accurate, she looks like a movie star. She’s also ahem married to another legal eagle, one kid, nice house in Encino. Which gives me a motive. Like you said, a jealous hubby. But also like you said, why kill three other people? She and Gurnsey exchanged a dozen calls, always at night, with some of the conversations lasting ten, fifteen minutes. Combine it with the stonewall—you’d think people, especially a lawyer, would figure out that’s gonna backfire—and I definitely want to talk to her.”