Before setting out for North Hollywood, Milo did a surface background check on Andrea-Leah Salton. Full-faced like her husband, sandy hair cut in a Dutch boy that ended at earlobe level. At forty, six years older than her husband. Safe driver, no criminal record. Solid citizens abounded but four people were dead.
Next step, the mandatory call to Southwest Division. D II Roger Enow was gone for the day but Milo cadged his private cell from the desk sergeant.
A low, languid voice drawled, “Ye-llow.” Music in the background. Something overwrought from the eighties.
“Hey, Rog, it’s Milo. I need to talk to you about a case.”
“Workday’s over.”
“Gimme a sec, Rog. Roderick Salton, legal assistant, found near the court—”
“That one,” said Enow. “Suicide. Why the hell would West L.A. be pawing it up?”
“It might be related to one of mine.”
“Another suicide?” Enow laughed. “There’s an epidemic, call Public Health.”
“Mine’s not a suicide, Rog.”
“Yeah, well, mine was. But, hey, you want to carry the ball in a game that’s over, be my friggin’ guest.”
“What can you tell me about Salton—”
“It was suicide, the guy was Mormon.”
“Mormons are likely to commit suicide?”
“All religious types,” said Enow. “They expect life to be good, all of a sudden it sucks and they fall apart like a sack of moist shit.”
“What sucked in Salton’s life—”
“It was suicide, Milo. I got a feeling right away and it stuck. I trust my feelings.”
Dial tone.
Milo put the phone down. “Poor woman dealing with that. She’s gonna love us.”
I thought, Poisoning the well. Something Bill Bernstein would say. Better left unsaid.
Andrea-Leah Salton lived in the best part of North Hollywood, near Toluca Lake where Bob Hope, William Holden, and other Hollywood types had homesteaded in order to avoid their colleagues on the Westside.
Her building was a three-story traditional on a block of high-rent multiple dwellings. External cameras were mounted in the right places. Warning signs made sure you knew that. The front door was double-locked, accessed courtesy occupants’ consent. Milo’s button-push was answered by an immediate buzz.
He said, “Safe and sound.”
I said, “Good reason to pick him off at work.”
We climbed plush-muted stairs to the second floor. A and B units, one door on each side. Andrea-Leah Salton was waiting on the left side, her wide-open door casting a rhombus of light onto the carpet.
Five six, buxom, softly sculpted, she wore white jeans, a black linen top, and black moccasins. A wedding band frosted with pavé diamonds circled her ring finger.
She said, “Good start. You’re not him.”
Her apartment was spacious, set up with fifties furniture that looked expensive and original, including a black leather Eames chair. A pitcher of ice water garnished with lemon sat atop a glass-and-brass table, along with matching goblets, linen napkins, and a plate of chocolate cookies that looked home-baked.
She stood in front of the Eames and waited for us to sit before settling and crossing her ankles. Directly behind her hung western art: cowboys, horses, buttes, and mesas. Off to the left were three framed photographs: a wedding picture with the happy couple gazing into each other’s eyes, two others crowded with faces, white, black, brown, Asian.
Andrea-Leah Salton said, “That’s all family, both Rod’s and mine, we could barely fit everyone in. And yes we’re LDS — Mormons — and no, that has nothing to do with Rod’s death. We are not weird people, despite what he thinks.”
Milo said, “Detective Enow—”
“A prejudiced nincompoop.”
“He suggested your religion had something to do with it?”
“He didn’t have to. Every time he said ‘Mormon,’ he rolled his eyes. Then he smiled, to let me know he was a good guy. We’re used to that. A Broadway show ridiculing us made a fortune. Try that with Muslims.” She recrossed her ankles. “Are you reopening Rod’s case?”
“It was never really closed, ma’am.”
“Cause undetermined and no serious detection? It was functionally closed. Has that changed, Lieutenant Sturgis? Has a similar murder come up to get you in gear?”
Milo sat back and studied her.
She said, “Good guess, huh? I’m used to figuring things out. Worked as a stock analyst and then in investment banking until I quit to get a Ph.D. in philosophy at the U. Next year, I defend my dissertation. Qualitative and quantitative analyses of uncertainty. So how about some details?”
“I wish I could get into details, ma’am.”
“But you did find a similar case — don’t bother to deny. Just let me know how I can help you.”
Milo looked at me.
I said, “Tell us about your husband — what kind of person he was—”
“He was an honest, dependable, devoted, hardworking person. If he had a flaw, and I don’t think he did, it was that he could be stubborn. But even that sprang from a strong moral core. He was bright, an honor student, planned to be an attorney but chose to work as an assistant for a couple of years to save up money, so he wouldn’t have to borrow.”
I said, “Avoiding student loans.”
Andrea-Leah Salton looked to the side, then back to me. “You’ll note, I said ‘he wouldn’t have to borrow’ not ‘we wouldn’t.’ ” My family has money, his doesn’t. Some men would’ve jumped at the opportunity to take advantage. To Rod, my family’s affluence was an obstacle to overcome. I respected that, though I wasn’t going to live like a pauper. That’s why we got this place and not some student dive. That’s why I got a new BMW even though he insisted on buying a junky used Dodge Neon rather than have my brother give him his BMW when he bought a new Jaguar. Speaking of which, what do you think of the way the Neon was found? To me it makes no sense.”
Milo said, “Actually, Andrea...”
“You don’t know about that.” Her smile was sour. “Okay, I’ll assume nothing. Regarding the car, I didn’t hear about it from Enow, I got a call from some auto-theft detective instructing me to pick it up at the tow yard. He, of course, had no idea about Rod. I told him to call Enow. Just in case there was no follow-through, I called Enow myself a few days later and wouldn’t you know, they still hadn’t talked. I’m not sure they ever did. Enow said the car didn’t matter. I doubt anything matters to him.”
“Where was the car found?”
“Three blocks from where Rod was found. And not until three weeks later. Someone had left it in a huge industrial parking lot behind a warehouse, it took a while to realize it didn’t belong there. Enow said the time lapse made it meaningless as evidence and even if it had been put there shortly after, all it proved was that Rod had driven there, then taken a walk and...” A tear fell from one eye. She wiped it quickly.
“I don’t care what he says — what anyone says. The notion of suicide is absurd and hideous. Rod swallowing poison? That completely abases Rod spiritually and flies in the face of who he was. Which is what you were asking... okay... no more ranting. Rod was happy, well balanced, optimistic, there’s no possible way he’d ever destroy himself. Enow asked me if we’d dabbled in herbal medicines, worshiped crystals, got involved in ‘counterculture.’ I said of course not and he said okay, he had to ask. I could tell he was patronizing me. He’s got that manner — starts off casual and friendly but turns snide. Like everyone’s got a nasty secret and it’s his job to pass judgment. I know you guys encounter the worst side of humanity all the time but that wasn’t Rod. It wasn’t. If anything, he could be naive.”
I said, “How so?”
“Overly trusting, idealistic.”
“You called the coroner—”
“I was desperate, Enow had stopped answering my calls. I wanted to talk to an expert because the poison thing made no sense, there’s no way Rod would know anything about that, let alone use it on himself. The person I spoke to wasn’t a doctor, just a lab person. Nice enough but he couldn’t tell me much. I left a message for the coroner, passing along the same thing I told Enow, maybe they should look at Rod’s work. I requested a call-back, never received one.”
Milo said, “Let’s talk about the work situation.”
“Let’s,” she said. “First of all, Rod was hired under false pretenses. He was promised at least some training in trusts and estates. His interest was in estate work, he felt it was less confrontational than most other aspects of law. Also, I encouraged it. Thought it would be helpful to have someone in the family with those skills.”
She sighed. “Rod always called me the heiress. Kidded me about his being a hired hand.”
She got to her feet, ran out of the living room and up a short hallway. A door closed sharply, just short of a slam. She remained away long enough for Milo to eat three cookies, before returning with straighter posture and her hair released, a mop of blond cascading over her shoulders. I noticed her eyes for the first time. Gray, sharp, active.
“Sorry,” she said. “It hasn’t gotten easier. What makes it worse is I feel I’ll never know.”
After she’d settled and drunk some water, I said, “Hired under false pretenses.”
“Oh, yes, that. It was supposed to be a standard legal assistant’s job — doing scut in return for being able to shadow a senior attorney. And at first, Loach made Rod feel welcome. Took Rod out to lunch at the Water Garden, couldn’t have been nicer. But the next day, he was out of the office. Same for the following three days. When he finally showed up on Friday, he stayed an hour and gave Rod nothing to do. Rod was going out of his mind with boredom but Loach didn’t seem to be aware. Or care. He’d just walk by Rod’s desk, clap Rod’s back and leave. Another person might’ve loved getting paid to sit around. For Rod it was torture. He was like one of those dog breeds that needs to work. The second week, he tried to talk to Loach and Loach said there’d been a temporary lull, things would pick up. But it didn’t, Loach continued to be absent with no explanation. After a month of that, Rod tried to raise the issue with another lawyer in the firm and was informed since he was Loach’s assistant, all decisions were made by Loach.”
“Did Loach see any clients at all?”
“Only one,” said Andrea Salton.
“Who’s that?”
“All Rod told me was one, he wouldn’t give me details because of confidentiality.”
Milo said, “Assistants are bound by confidentiality?”
“That’s what I said to Rod. He said it wasn’t a matter of the law, it was the law’s intent, as far as he was concerned anything conducted under the ‘rubric’ of the firm was bound. I must admit I got a little contentious and challenged him. Did that include parking lot attendants? A plumber who came in to fix a toilet? He laughed it off and told me to put it in my dissertation.”
“He did communicate that Loach had only one client.”
“He blurted it out once when he was totally frustrated. ‘Can you believe it, Andrea? He gets a huge corner office, a massive salary and bonus, all for one client.’ Then he made me promise I’d never repeat it. He could be a little overly... I know this is going to sound bad to you guys but I used to tell him he was overly law-abiding. We’re talking about someone who if he came out to his parking meter and saw that he’d overextended his stay and gotten away with it, would reimburse the machine.”
Milo said, “Too many like him, I’d be collecting unemployment.”
Andrea Salton laughed. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s the first time I’ve come close to levity in a long, long time.”
I said, “Rules meant a lot to Rod. The worst person to put into such an unstructured situation.”
“Perfectly put.”
“Why didn’t he quit?”
“He felt if he left too soon, it would look bad on his résumé. He and I discussed the minimum time he could stay without appearing flaky. I felt three, four months was enough, he felt it needed to be longer. We agreed on six months, worked out a way to cope. He’d use the time to study his first-year law books in advance, get a head start, maybe be able to free himself up to do research with a professor.”
She smoothed her hair and shook her head. “Six measly months. He never made it.”
I said, “You told the coroner’s assistant you thought his death was work related.”
“I didn’t say that, I was trying to tell him suicide was out of the question, our home life was ideal, the only stress in Rod’s life was work. He was getting lots of studying done but he didn’t feel right about it. I told him Loach had to be a rainmaker. Someone with connections who brings business in and doesn’t have to do much else. My dad plays golf with a guy like that.”
“Anything else we should know?”
“I wish there was. If my remark about work was taken out of context, I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Milo. “I can’t promise you we’ll solve it but we’ll treat you differently than Enow.”
“I know you will — have some cookies. If you don’t take them, I’ll eat them and that’s the last thing I need.”
She filled a bag and gave it to us. We thanked her and headed for the door.
“You think of anything that might’ve bothered your husband,” said Milo, “you call. Anything at all, for that matter.”
Andrea Salton stood there.
“Ma’am?”
“There is one thing that happened but I can’t see any possible way it’s related.”
“Try us, anyway,” said Milo.
“A few days before he... before it happened, he came home looking even grimmer than usual and I asked him why, expecting him to tell me everything was okay, as he usually did. But instead he said it had been an interesting day but not in a good way. A homeless woman had wandered into the outer office where Rod sat and demanded to see Loach. When Rod told her Loach wasn’t in, she started screaming, making a scene. Rod had to call security and they escorted her out. At the end of the day, when he was leaving the building and walking to his car, the same woman appeared out of nowhere and began haranguing him, right there on the street. As if she’d been waiting for Rod. He tried to calm her down but she got aggressive, grabbed his arm and insisted he needed to bring her to Loach, her mother was a movie star and Loach had killed her, she demanded justice, if Rod didn’t give it to her, he was just as guilty. The area’s full of mentally disturbed people, Rod had been panhandled aggressively several times, but never anything like that.”
She smiled. “Of course, he gave money to anyone who asked. Sometimes he’d take the time to talk to them. Which is what he tried to do with this one. He asked her if she wanted to sit down and tell him her story. She said he was wasting her time, she’d told him everything he needed to know. Then she turned her back on him and left. It bothered him. How deteriorated she was. His inability to help her. Rod cared when other people didn’t and that night I found him on the computer reading up on mental illness. I tried to get him to come to bed and he said he needed to understand what led people to be like that. That’s the way he was. Engaged. And God-fearing and principled.”
She trembled. Hugged herself. “Like I said, it’s not relevant. I guess I’m just telling you to show you what Rod was like. When that nincompoop suggested he’d ended his own life, it was beyond ridiculous. He even had the gall to ask if it was a sin in our religion. Implying I was in denial because I didn’t want to see Rod as a sinner. Yes, LDS believe suicide falls under ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ But it’s also something to be treated with sensitivity. We don’t judge the person who self-destructs nor do we assume intention and rationality on their part. That said, Rod was rational and God-fearing and most important, he believed in the sanctity of life. We were talking about starting a family. We got a late start because I did the career thing rather than settle down. Maybe we wouldn’t produce a huge clan but we’d do our best to make up for lost time. Does that sound depressed to you? No way would he destroy himself.”