Breakdown

Chapter 26

Detective Il Lorena Macias Mendez had cinnamon skin, honey-blond hair, black eyes, and a face that brought to mind Aztec carvings. We met up with her on Sixth Street, near MacArthur Park. A few grizzled men lolled hear the border of the park. Our presence cleared the area quickly.

Milo said, “Urban renewal.”

Mendez said, “New strategy for the city council. So fill me in.”

As Milo and I talked, she gazed at the lake, focusing on one spot for several seconds, then shifting suddenly and zeroing in on a new target.

Purposeful as a remote-operated camera. But she never lost the conversational thread.

Finally, Milo said, “Something in the park, Lorrie?”

“Pardon — oh, sorry, guys. Looking for junkies, used to patrol here.” She shook her head. “It could be so beautiful but it’s just a total dump.”

“Spot anything iffy?”

“Plenty of iffy, but not our problem right now.” Midthirties, five three, firm and stocky, Mendez wore a gray tweed jacket over black slacks and red flats and carried a black leather handbag. Nice tailoring on the jacket but you could still spot the gun. Maybe that was the idea.

Milo finished up and Mendez said, “Who knew a missing would turn out this way? I don’t normally do ’em but Imelda’s cousin knows a friend of a cousin of my great-aunt, et cetera. Moment I heard about it, I got a bad feeling. We’re talking a lady who rarely left home when she wasn’t working, had no vices or boyfriends. Obviously, I took a first look at the son and the daughter-in-law, interviewed them and picked up on grapevine stuff. If they’re faking grief they deserve Oscars, and no one ever saw anything but affection between them and Imelda. So I’d love to give them some sort of answer. But Mama being part of a twisted thing in Bel Air? You really think so?”

Milo said, “Too early to know, but Alicia Santos disappearing kicks it up a notch.”

“Two ladies gone from the same neighborhood,” said Mendez.

“The houses are literally minutes away from each other.”

She whistled softly and scanned the park some more. “Dope deals, right in the open, shameful... something happening to Imelda near her home I could understand. But the poor lady travels to the safest part of town and gets taken by some psycho? That’s evil. Are you seeing a link between two housekeepers and that patient of yours, Doctor?”

I said, “Haven’t come up with anything yet.”

Mendez said, “But who knows what motivates maniacs. Okay, so let’s start by trying to eliminate Santos’s roommate.”

The three of us got into Milo’s unmarked. As he started up the engine, Lorrie Mendez phoned Rampart Patrol and told them what to look for in the park.

Alicia Santos and Maria Garcia shared a one-hundred-square-foot room outfitted with an illegal kitchenette in a graffiti-abused, four-story dump on Hartford Avenue near Fourth Street.

We had no legal authority to enter anyone’s lodgings. But the building had been cited repeatedly by the health department and when Milo asked to get in, the plastic-caged clerk, a smudge-bearded kid with light-brown dreads and a name tag that read H. Galloway, shrugged and handed over a master key.

Not even pausing to lower the volume of the gangsta rap filling his compartment.

We climbed two flights of stairs and walked a quarter of the way up a linoleum-floored hallway that smelled of stale semen and chili powder. A flimsy door opened on another olfactory war: must, tobacco, and bug-killer vying with fruity cologne and talc. The winning aroma depended on where you stood.

Not much of a home but the space had been kept up nicely, scarred wooden floor swept clean, double bed made up with a pearlescent spread tucked tight and decorated with a heart-shaped crazy-quilt pillow. A pair of rickety nightstands had been polished with the Lemon Pledge that sat atop a listing dresser. Toiletries and feminine hygiene products on the same surface were divided into twin allotments. Off to the left was a quartet of photos in cheap standing frames.

Two of the shots featured a slim, plain, youngish woman standing between an older couple. The man wore a ten-gallon hat and a broad white mustache, the woman a shapeless smock. The backdrop was a tiny adobe house on flat dirt. Chickens pecked in the foreground. A swaybacked burro idled several feet back.

The third photo was that of a broadly built, heavy-jawed, crew-cut woman in her forties holding a can of Dos Equis and leaning against a peacock-blue stucco wall. The final image, larger than the others, featured both women smiling and hefting margaritas near the same wall. Taken from a greater distance, that one revealed a neon Cerveza sign above a rough plank door.

Mendez photographed each picture with her phone, checked the final products, and looked at the dresser, then at Milo.

He nodded. “Might as well, we’ll be gentle.”

I stood back as the two of them searched through drawers. Nothing but clothing and not much of that. Same for the two-foot-wide closet crowding the left side of the bed.

“The simple life,” said Lorrie Mendez. “Rich folk claim they want it. Boy, are they full of doo-doo.”

Downstairs, the clerk looked at the photos on Mendez’s phone while playing with his locks. The plain woman was Alicia Santos, “the fat one,” Maria Garcia.

Mendez said, “Where does Ms. Garcia hang out?”

“I dunno.”

Milo said, “What does ‘H.’ stand for?”

“Hartley.”

“What do you think, Hartley? That her real name?”

“Far as I know.”

“You have her Social Security on file.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You don’t?”

Hartley Galloway said, “If someone has it, it ain’t me. But no one does. We don’t got to.”

“Where are tenant records kept?”

“The main office.”

“Where’s that?”

“Huntington Park.”

Milo took out his pad. “Name of the company.”

“Progress Properties and Development,” said Galloway. “Inc.”

“Relatives of yours?”

“They was, I wouldn’t be working here.”

“Where would you be?”

“Vegas.”

“So no idea where Maria Garcia hangs out?”

“Nope. She’s a dyke. They both are.”

Lorrie Mendez said, “Maria Garcia and Alicia Santos are lovers.”

“Prolly,” said Galloway.

“Probably or definitely?”

“They’re all the time holding hands.”

“They get along pretty well.”

“Never complained to me.”

I said, “And no one complained about them?”

“Everyone here is minding their own business.”

As if punctuating that claim, a man entered the building, eyed us, and hurried up the stairs. Lorrie Mendez’s jaw got tight as she watched him.

Milo studied her before turning back to Galloway. “Maria say anything to you about Alicia being gone?”

“Nah.”

“Not a word?”

“When I dint see the skinny one, I assed the fat one and she said the skinny one was gone, she didn’t know where. I assed because they both pay the rent and when I dint see the skinny one I need to know who’s gonna take care of it. You get two or three in a apartment and one bails, they think they just gotta take care of their part not the whole thing. So I assed the fat one and she gets like... you know.”

“We don’t know,” said Mendez.

“You know,” Hartley Galloway insisted. “The eyes. Like... weak? Like she was crying before? Even her.”

“Even?”

“You know. Trying to be like a dude.”

I said, “Tough chick but she’d been crying.”

“Yeah. I still assed her about the rent.”

“What’d she say?”

“She’d take care of it.”

“Has she taken care of it?”

“So far.”

Milo said, “Any idea where she works?”

“The taqueria.”

“Which taqueria?”

“Alvarado and Fourth.” Pointing languidly at nothing in particular.

Mendez said, “Armando’s?”

“I buy food sometimes there. She don’t gimme no discount.”

Mendez stepped closer to the plastic. “You told us you didn’t know where she hangs out.”

“She doesn’t hang out there, she works.”

“Anything else you’re not telling us, Hartley?”

“Like what?”

“How about something that would help us locate Alicia Santos?”

“She done something I should know about?”

“Nothing other than disappearing.”

“Happens,” said Galloway.

Milo said, “People disappear a lot around here?”

“This ain’t the Wilshire Corridor, they go in and come out, pay by the week.”

“A hub of activity.”

Galloway blinked. “Right.”

Lorrie Mendez said, “You do rooms by the day?”

“No way, this ain’t no ho-house. By the week.”

“So Alicia and Maria rent by the week.”

“No,” said Galloway. “You can do monthly also, they did monthly.”

“Maria has paid one month by herself.”

“It was due a coupla days ago, so far she done it. She misses, she’s out.”

“Cash,” said Milo.

“Is king,” said Hartley Galloway.

“How long have Maria and Alicia been living here?”

“Long as I been here.”

“Which is...”

“Year and a half. About. Basically.”

“No problems in all that time?”

“Why?” said Galloway. “The skinny one did something bad? No troublemakers here. Whatever they did before, they can’t do it here.”

I said, “You run a tight ship.”

Galloway’s brow furrowed. “This ain’t no ship. You see water?”

A thick-armed, white-haired man with a too-black mustache worked the counter at Armando’s. Off-hour, only one customer, an orange-vested city worker toting a hard hat and texting as he waited for a take-out order.

The place wasn’t much more than a kiosk, maybe a former pushcart deprived of wheels. Scant free space was filled with hand-lettered signage — breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus on wooden plaques hanging from chains. All that added up to iterations of the same basic food groups: meat, tortillas, beans, cheese — plus an impressive list of soft drinks from Mexico, Central America, a few from the U.S.

Terrific aroma wafting from the rear. One person working the grill and the oven.

When the hard hat left with a sack of massive burritos, Lorrie Mendez stepped up and took his place and spoke in Spanish to the front-man. He waved the cook over.

Maria Garcia stepped outside, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair had grown out from the photo on the dresser, capping her full face with tight gray curls. She looked older than the photo had suggested, eyes and mouth struggling with gravity, meaty face weathered.

Under the apron, she wore a red-and-blue-plaid shirt and baggy jeans rolled into broad cuffs at the bottom. On her feet were wide, red-soled chukka boots.

Mendez said, “Hi, Maria. We’re the police about Alicia. What can you tell us?”

Maria Garcia’s narrow mouth quivered. She said, “Solamente Español?” in a high, plaintive voice.

Mendez stepped closer to her, forcing eye contact as she spoke.

Maria Garcia seemed to sink lower with each sentence. “Imelda Soriano” evoked a blank look but each mention of “Alicia” elicited a low moan. By the end of the detective’s delivery, she was sniffling and crying silently.

Mendez began asking questions. Garcia dabbed her eyes with her apron and answered without apparent guile. Haltingly at first, then picking up speed and passion and volume. But the tears never stopped trickling and when I retrieved paper napkins from the taqueria and handed them to her, she said, “Tenkyou.”

Milo and I know enough Spanish to get the gist but it’s often the nuances that matter and when Lorrie Mendez finally gave her card to Garcia and the woman trudged back to her station, we were ready to listen.

We walked back to the car but remained on the sidewalk.

Mendez took out her phone. “Sorry, can I do one thing, guys? That loser who came into the building was one of the s-bags I saw dealing in the park, might as well tell someone where he bunks out.”

Milo said, “Go for it.”

She made the call, hung up, said, “To me she seems totally torn up, what do you guys think?”

Milo said, “No tells that I spotted. Alex?”

“Same here.”

Mendez said, “We can all be fooled but for the time being I’m going to believe her. Her story is she loves Alicia and Alicia loves her, she’s never met anyone like Alicia, never will, they’re inseparable. She’s staying in the room and taking on all the rent by herself even though she can barely get by, because she’s hoping Alicia will show up. Said she even started praying again.”

Milo said, “As you were talking, she didn’t seem too optimistic.”

“She went up and down emotionally,” said Mendez. “One minute she’s in despair, the next Alicia’s bound to be on her way back from some unexplained ‘absence’ though Maria has no clue where or why. She says they’ve never been away from each other. I asked if Alicia could’ve visited her parents. Maria says no way, they’re intolerant rustic types — tenant farmers somewhere in central Mexico, Alicia never said exactly where.”

“They’re lovers and Alicia doesn’t tell her that? Why so secretive?” said Milo.

“According to Maria, Alicia’s estranged from her entire family because she moved away, supposedly to take a job, and also because they wanted her married off at sixteen. The real reason she left was she knew she was gay. So no way she’d go back there, let alone on the spur of the moment. No reason to, she was happy.”

I said, “Estranged from her family but she still keeps a picture of them. Maybe that’s denial on Maria’s part. Alicia going home could mean she was ending their relationship.”

“Good point, Doctor. Problem is, I’ve got no way to find them.”

Milo said, “Is Maria also a country girl?”

“She’s from a town south of Tecate. The two of them met in Tecate, cleaning rooms at a fancy spa. They fell in love and decided to take off together because they were hoping for more tolerance in the States. With all the machismo in Mexico, they were always getting hassled by local men.”

Milo said, “Both of them are illegal.”

“Yup. But I do believe Maria’s using her real name. Frankly, she doesn’t seem smart enough to weave a big-time web. She’s probably also righteous about phoning the station the day after Alicia didn’t come home. She admits that she spoke only in Spanish, got spooked and hung up without waiting for an answer. Happens all the time, no matter how often we tell them we don’t report to La Migra, they get nervous. But she spoke freely to me, so at this point, Alicia’s disappearance is overriding everything else.”

I said, “Sticking around and hoping for the best.”

“More like clinging to hope, Doctor. Down deep she’s got to know it’s not good. That’s certainly how I feel. Because like Imelda, Alicia was a homebody. Once she was in her room, she rarely went out, Maria even did all the shopping.”

Milo said, “So no reason for her to rabbit without explanation. Unless she and Maria had a big fight.”

“Maria denies it, just the opposite, claims they were getting along great. So now we’ve got two ladies working near each other who’ve slipped off the face of the earth around the same time.”

Milo said, “Right after Zelda Chase was found dead at one of their workplaces.”

“And the morning before Alicia disappeared, she told Maria she didn’t like her job anymore but wouldn’t say why. Maria didn’t push it, that was typical for Alicia. She didn’t like to talk. When Alicia was late coming home, Maria didn’t connect it to a job issue. Still doesn’t, she keeps talking about bad men all over the city.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“No, just a general feeling,” said Mendez. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s a rape survivor.”

I said, “When did she start worrying about Alicia not coming home?”

“Not right away because Alicia typically arrived late. Nine, even ten p.m., the commute could stretch out due to traffic, buses breaking down. Around eleven, Maria started to get concerned and tried to phone Alicia. Even then, when she couldn’t get through to Alicia’s phone, she figured Alicia was still on the bus, that’s why reception was bad. But by midnight, Maria’s freaking out because Alicia’s phone is turned off and that hadn’t happened before. Unfortunately, it’s one of those prepaids. Both women use them because they don’t have paperwork for normal accounts and that fleabag has no landlines. Around twelve-thirty, Maria went looking for Alicia on the street, starting with the area around the bus stop. She describes that night as ‘hell.’ The following morning she called the cops. She still walks around asking people if they’ve seen Alicia. I think if she admitted the truth to herself, she’d have a breakdown.”

I said, “Did she search in Bel Air?”

“Nope,” said Mendez. “She wanted to, but she has no idea where Alicia worked other than it’s near Beverly Hills. Her take on the city is pretty poor, I’m not sure she’s ever been west of Vermont. So what now?”

Milo said, “Good question.”

I said, “Something just hit me. Maria says she and Alicia never spent a night away from each other. She describes Alicia’s position as a day job. But Mrs. DePauw told us Alicia was with her in Palm Springs, had earned time off — as she usually did — because of the time it took to drive back to L.A. That sounds like a live-in position.”

Milo frowned. “So it does.”

Mendez said, “Hold on.” Jogging back to the taco stand and heading for the back, she returned a few moments later. “Maria says definitely not, never happened. She and Alicia made a pact when they crossed the border. No more live-in work like they’d done at the spa. And she’s adamant about never sleeping apart. If she’s righteous, and I think she is, your rich lady lied.”

Milo’s jaw tightened. “Ol’ Enid playing fast and loose. Why?”

I said, “I can think of two reasons. It places her out of town when Zelda likely died. And it gets Alicia out of the picture so she can’t contradict her.”

Lorrie Mendez said, “She saw something that contradicted the boss’s story? You’re saying this dowager had something to do with Zelda’s death?”

“Not necessarily homicide,” I said. “Suppose Zelda found the colchicine in DePauw’s garden, ate it, and grew incapacitated. Bernstein told us dying could’ve taken a while. DePauw arrived earlier than she said and discovered Zelda still alive, in agony. She shunted Alicia away, while she figured out what to do.”

“What’s to figure, Doctor? You call 911.”

“In an ideal world,” I said. “But DePauw’s a woman of considerable assets, could’ve been worried about liability. She panicked, waited too long, and Zelda died. The fact that she’s left home and put her lawyer in charge suggests she’s still trying to dissociate herself.”

“She got antsy about being sued so she let someone die? Still, what would be her liability? Zelda didn’t belong there.”

“Having a toxic plant on her premises might’ve seemed problematic. People can sue for anything and deep pockets are a huge incentive. For all we know, DePauw’s been in lawsuits before and got burned.”

Milo said, “DePauw’s landscaper said there was no colchicine on the property and I had Moe and Sean go back with a photo and they didn’t find any matches.”

I said, “It’s an ornamental. DePauw could’ve been growing it in a pot on the patio. Or it sprouted in some obscure corner of the estate and she got rid of it before finally making the call.”

Lorrie Mendez said, “She stands by and watches another human being die. That’s cold.”

Milo said, “Not a pretty death, Lorrie. Ice cold.” He turned to me. “Any panic DePauw might’ve felt was long gone when we spoke to her, Alex. Just the opposite, she was damn composed.”

“Maybe she gave herself time to gain composure.”

“Lying to cover up shameful behavior?” said Mendez. “But then what’s happened to Alicia?”

I said, “There’s where it could get evil.”

“Alicia can blow the boss’s alibi to smithereens and so she got offed? With all due respect, Doctor, that’s pretty darn... imaginative.”

Milo said, “He’s got a terrific imagination. I’ve learned to pay attention.”

“Oh, man,” said Mendez. “This is getting nuts.”

I said, “I could be way off, but the facts are there. DePauw lied about Alicia and the same day Alicia told Maria she didn’t like her job she disappears.”

She shifted her bag to the other shoulder. “An old lady without a record and we’re actually considering a witness elimination homicide?”

Milo said, “Maybe a double witness elimination, Lorrie.”

“Imelda,” she said. “Oh, God, no.”

“We need to consider it, Lorrie. Imelda was a friendly person, old enough to be Alicia’s mother. What if Alicia confided in her and DePauw found out? Or just spotted them talking and got worried?”

“Maria just told us Alicia’s not talkative.”

I said, “Trauma can alter behavior. If Alicia saw Zelda die and realized Enid had acted cruelly, it could’ve troubled her enough to say something to Imelda. She went back to work but might have intended to quit — that’s why she told Maria she wasn’t happy. She didn’t give Maria the details because that was their pattern. They didn’t discuss much. Or she just wanted to protect Maria.”

“There’s another possibility,” said Milo. “She went back to work and tried to exploit the situation.”

“Blackmail?” said Lorrie Mendez.

“Rich woman, poor woman. A solid reason for DePauw to get rid of her.”

“And Imelda died because she was in the wrong place, wrong time? I hope you’re wrong. I hope I never have to tell the family that.” She exhaled. “You pick up anything bad from DePauw? Apart from her lying.”

Milo said, “She said the right things about Zelda. ‘Poor thing,’ but there wasn’t much emotion there. Just the opposite, calm, maybe even snooty. Didn’t take her long to ask how long we needed to be there.”

“Fine,” said Mendez. “But just to play devil’s advocate, that could be nothing more than having big bucks and feeling entitled. Which, granted, is the kind of attitude that fits with covering her affluent ass rather than trying to help Zelda. But morally iffy behavior’s a long way from double homicide.”

“True, but Alicia and Imelda going missing around the same time can’t be ignored, Lorrie.”

“Sure, but that could be due to your first theory — some psycho predator roaming around Bel Air — God, I’m starting to sound like my annoying sister the defense attorney, always with the what-ifs. But the truth is, this is moving too fast for me, guys. The entire scenario depends on Maria being righteous and like I said, anyone can be fooled. What if Maria is utterly unrighteous, she’s the one who killed Alicia and Imelda has nothing to do with it — she got waylaid somewhere between her two buses. If Maria’s guilty and we hassle some zillionaire based on no evidence, we could end up severely career challenged. Or at least I could, you’ve got seniority, Milo. And you’ve got a degree and a private practice. Am I totally being self-serving — God, I feel a migraine coming on. And I don’t even get them.”

Milo said, “No reason to rush into anything but we do need to educate ourselves. You have time for any follow-up on Maria? See if her story starts to crack?”

“I can ask patrol to do a loose watch on her, but sorry, no. My own El Tee’s breathing down my neck on a bunch of cold robberies.”

“Would it help if I talked to him?”

“Uh-uh, just the opposite. He doesn’t like suggestions and he’s a whole lot less benevolent than you.”

Milo hitched his trousers. “If you only knew, kid. Okay, what I do ask is that you and I continue to share info.”

“I get any, you’ll be the first to know.”

We got back into the car and headed to the park. As Milo pulled up to Lorrie Mendez’s unmarked, she switched her purse to the other shoulder and opened the passenger door.

“From a missing to all this potential weirdness,” she said. “At least your rich lady will have plenty of documentation.”