Killer by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

nearest chair and plopping down heavily.
    Detective Millie Rivera settled in an adjoining seat.
    I said, “West L.A. and North Hollywood. Sounds complicated.”
    Milo said, “It’s simple, Alex.” He motioned to the facing couch.
    I sat.
    Milo said, “The bad news is someone wants to kill you. The good news is it hasn’t happened, yet.”
    I said, “Constance Sykes.”
    The two of them looked at each other.
    Millie Rivera said, “You’re aware of the plot?”
    “I’m aware of her anger but never figured she’d go that far.” I recounted Connie’s non-threat.
    Rivera said, “That didn’t alarm you, Doctor?”
    “I’ve been looking over my shoulder.”
    “The gate,” said Milo. “In your world that’s security?”
    Rivera said, “So on some level you figured she was serious. Well, good guess, Doctor. She tried to hire a hit man.”
    “You got him?”
    “No, Doctor. He got us.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You’re unbelievably lucky, Dr. Delaware. The only reason the plan wasn’t put into action was the person Dr. Sykes hired to kill you only wanted to be a broker and the person
he
turned to just happened to know you.” She smiled. “Apparently, there are bad guys who think you’re a good guy.”
    Milo muttered, “The friends we keep.”
    Rivera looked at him. He motioned her to go on.
    “Here are the basics, Doctor. Sykes went to a not-so-solid citizennamed Ramon Guzman who works for a company that cleans her offices at night. Guzman has a steady gig, now, but he’s gangbanger up the wazoo, spent time in Lompoc for agg assault. At this point we don’t know if Sykes actually knew about Guzman’s prison record, but since he’s covered with tats and looks like a badass, her assuming wouldn’t be a stretch. And turns out, she was right because Guzman had no problem getting involved in murder for hire, he just didn’t want to do the shooting because—get this—his eyes are bad, he didn’t want to mess up. So he took a thousand-dollar down payment from Sykes and turned to one of his senior homeboys, a
gangster prince
. And wonder of wonders,
that
guy called me. I know this joker’s entire family, they go way back criminal-wise. But Doctor, this is the first time I’ve ever been contacted directly by an upper-level bad actor. This one goes by the moniker Effo but his given name’s Efren Casagrande.”
    My eyes widened.
    Rivera said, “Obviously he was telling the truth about knowing you.”
    I kept silent.
    “Doctor?”
    Milo said, “He thinks he can’t say anything, Millie. The old shrink-confidentiality thing.” To me: “Guess what, Alex, you’re free to express yourself because Mr. Casagrande let us know he was your patient. Though he was clear that it wasn’t for a ‘head problem.’ ”
    They waited. I said nothing.
    Rivera said, “Effo granted you permission to talk to us.”
    Milo said, “So how ’bout you educate us so I don’t find myself writing a eulogy.”
    I said, “He give you written authorization?”
    He cursed. Pulled out his phone, punched numbers. “It’s me, Lieutenant Sturgis. Ready for a reunion, amigo? Hold on.”
    Handing the phone to me.
    I said, “Dr. Delaware.”
    A familiar voice, older, deeper, ripe with amusement, said, “Yo, Doc. Long time. So how’s the lifestyle? Looks like you still got one.”
    “Looks like it. Thanks.”
    “Hey, you don’t think I’d let your ass—let you get with
no
lifestyle? Fuck that, Doc.
Fuck
that.”
    “Appreciate it, Efren.”
    “No prob—anyone else listening to this?”
    “No.”
    “Then let me tell you: I’m so fucking pissed some bitch would try to do that, I’m ready to
kill
her ass. You with that?”
    I said, “Nope.”
    Laughter. “Just kidding. Maybe. Yeah, okay, let’s both of us hang on to our lifestyles. Let’s both of us
represent
.”
    “Good idea. How’re things going?”
    “Mostly up, few downs, haven’t been in the E.R. since last Christmas.” Laughter. “Too much