Devil's Waltz by Jonathan Kellerman

confession on tape, and figured we’d picked up a dream solve. Then we proceeded to round up verifying details and found nothing. No crime, no physical evidence of any murder at that particular date and place; no hooker had ever lived at that address or anywhere nearby. No hooker fitting the name and description he’d given us had ever existed
anywhere
in L.A. So we checked unidentified victims, but none of the Jane Does in the morgue fit, and no moniker in Vice’s files matched the one he said his girl used. We even ran checks in other cities, contacted the FBI, figuring maybe he got disoriented — some kind of psycho thing — and mixed up his locale.
He
kept insisting it had happened exactly the way he was telling it. Kept saying he wanted to be punished.
    “After three straight days of this:
nada
. Guy’s got a court-appointed attorney against his will, and the lawyer’s screaming at us to make a case or let his client go. Our lieutenant is putting the pressure on — put up or shut up. So we keep digging. Zilch.
    “At this point we begin to suspect we’ve been had, and confront the guy. He denies it. Really convincing — De Niro could have taken lessons. So we go over it
again
. Backtracking, double-checking, driving ourselves crazy. And still come up empty. Finally, we’re convinced it’s a scam, get overtly pissed off at the guy — major league bad-cop/bad-cop.
He
reacts by getting pissed off, too. But it’s an embarrassed kind of anger. Slimy. Like he knows he’s been found out and is being extra-indignant in order to put us on the defensive.”
    He shook his head and hummed the
Twilight Zone
theme.
    “What happened?” I said.
    “What could happen? We let him walk out and never heard from the asshole again. We could have busted him for filing a false report, but that would have bought us lots of paperwork and court time, and for what? Lecture and a fine on a first offense knocked down to a misdemeanor? No, thank you. We were really steamed, Alex. I’ve never
seen
Del so mad. It had been a heavy week, plenty of real crimes, very few solutions. And
this
bastard yanks our chains with total
bullshit
.”
    Remembered anger colored his face.
    “Confessors,” he said. “Attention-seeking, jerking everyone around. Doesn’t that sound like your Munchausen losers?”
    “Sounds a lot like them,” I said. “Never thought of it that way.”
    “See? I’m a regular font of insight. Go on with your case.”
    I told him the rest of it.
    He said, “Okay, so what do you want? Background checks on the mother? Both parents? The nurse?”
    “I hadn’t thought in those terms.”
    “No? What, then?”
    “I really don’t know, Milo. I guess I just wanted some counsel.”
    He placed his hands atop his belly, bowed his head, and raised it. “Honorable Buddha on duty. Honorable Buddha counsels as following: Shoot all bad guys. Let some other deity sort them out.”
    “Be good to know who the bad guys are.”
    “Exactly. That’s why I suggested background checks. At least on your prime suspect.”
    “That would have to be the mother.”
    “Then she gets checked first. But as long as I’m punching buttons, I can throw in any others as a bonus. More fun than the payroll shit they’re punishing me with.”
    “What would you check for?”
    “Criminal history. It’s a police data bank. Will your lady doctor friend be in on the fact that I’m checking?”
    “Why?”
    “I like to know my parameters when I snoop. What we’re doing is technically a no-no.”
    “No. Let’s keep her out of it — why put her in jeopardy?”
    “Fine.”
    “In terms of a criminal history,” I said, “Munchausens generally present as model citizens — just like your carpet cleaner. And we already know about the first child’s death. It’s been written off as SIDS.”
    He thought. “There’d be a coroner’s report on that, but if no one had any suspicions of foul play, that’s about it. I’ll see what I can do about