We left the lighting store and stepped out into a mild evening.
Milo said, “Place is Dante’s Inferno. Charming fellow, huh?”
“Not that he wants to bad-mouth Tony.”
We got back in the unmarked and he began driving. “Close-knit clan except when they’re not. Any ideas from what he said?”
“His description of the Mancusis is interesting. Asocial father with a bad temper, isolated family. Abusers are great at corralling the herd, so Tony may have had a rough childhood.”
“You see that as grounds for Junior hating Mom bad enough to have her carved?”
“Abused kids can resent the parent who didn’t save them. Moskow said when Tony did visit, Ella never walked him out, so there were issues.”
“He wasn’t worth getting off her chair for but the morning paper was.”
“And that’s when she got it,” I said. “Interesting.”
“Bit of a reach?”
“Maybe not. Getting symbolic can lead to all sorts of dark places.”
“Ol’ Tony’s sitting on a whole lot of primal anger and chronic pain doesn’t improve his disposition?”
I said, “As long as Ella helped him financially, he was able to keep his feelings under control. She turns off the tap, he views it as yet another abandonment. Comes to see her, pleads his case, she says no. He argues. She gets mad. If she really lost her cool and threatened to change the will, leave it all to the Salvation Army, that could’ve done it.”
“She told Barone she didn’t want a copy of the will at home. Maybe to shield it from Tony.”
“A million three for that house,” I said. “More than tempting. If he does have a gambling problem, he could know bad guys who’d take on the job.”
He drove for a while. “It’s as logical as any scenario, but Hochswelder labeled Tony a compulsive gambler based on a secondhand account of a single episode. And he doesn’t like Tony, so anything he says is suspect.”
A block later: “A slovenly fat guy who’s not a decorator or a florist or a choreographer being gay? Impossible.”
I laughed. “You see his sexuality as relevant?”
“You don’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something else for Mama to disapprove of,” he said. “Parents can get picky that way.”
Back at the station, he checked in with the plainclothes officer surveilling Tony Mancusi. The subject had left his apartment once to get a burrito and a soda at a stand on Sunset near Hillhurst. Walking distance but Mancusi had taken his car, which he’d used as his dining room, munching in the parking lot.
“Officer Ruiz also observed that subject tossed his junk out the car window onto the ground, rather than use a trash basket ten feet away. Officer Ruiz began a violation roster on the subject. When I pointed out to Officer Ruiz that littering private property was bad behavior but nothing citable, he was conspicuously disappointed.”
“Eager,” I said.
“Twenty-one years old, six months out of the academy. The other two are just as green. I feel like I’m running a day care center, but at least they’re motivated.”
“Mancusi go anywhere after lunch?”
“Right back home and he’s still there. I’d love to have grounds for his phone records.”
Shuffling through the message slips on his desk, he tossed the first four, read the fifth, and said, “Wonders never cease. Sean got creative.”
Binchy, though still on Auto Theft, had continued combing the crime reports for incidents coinciding with the time period the Bentley had been missing. Coming up empty on homicides, rapes, and assaults just as Milo had. But the young detective had gone further and a missing person had surfaced.
Milo phoned him, grunted approval, got the details.
“Katrina Shonsky, twenty-eight-year-old female Caucasian, blond and brown, five four, one hundred ten. Out partying that night with friends, drove home alone, hasn’t been heard from since. Mother reported it three days later. Took this long to make it into the computer.”
“Go Sean,” I said. “You run a good day care, Papa Sturgis.”
Mr. and Mrs. Royal Hedges lived in a vast, loft-like condo on the fourteenth floor of a luxury building on the Wilshire Corridor. Walls of glass opened to a southward view that avoided the ocean and stared down at Inglewood, Baldwin Hills, LAX flight paths. Altitude and a starless night transformed miles of tract housing into a light show.
Royal and Monica Hedges sat on a low, black Roche-Bobois sofa, smoking in unison. The condo’s floors were black granite, the walls white diamond plaster that threw off its own glints, the artwork big and blotchy with an emphasis on gray.
Monica Hedges was somewhere between fifty and sixty. Tiny and blond and skinny to the point of desiccation, she had heavily lined brown eyes, a face stretched past the point of reason, and great legs displayed by a little black dress.
Royal Hedges looked to be seventy, minimum, sported a red-brown toupee nearly good enough to pull off the illusion, and a Vandyke dyed to match. He wore a red silk shirt, white slacks, pink suede loafers without socks. Hid his fourth yawn behind liver-spotted hands and flicked ashes into a chrome tray.
Monica said, “Katrina’s my only child. From my second marriage. Her father’s long gone.”
“Disappeared?” said Milo.
“Dead.” Her tone said no loss.
Her third husband’s body language said this was her ordeal.
She said, “I’m not panicking, Lieutenant, but I am getting a little nervous. Katrina’s done stupid things before, but not like this, a week and counting. I can’t help worrying because that’s what a mother does. Though I fully expect her to walk right in with one of her stupid excuses.”
Royal said, “I’ll be back,” patted her knee, left the room.
“Men and their plumbing,” said Monica Hedges. “He’ll be up and down the whole time. We’ve been married two years, he doesn’t really know Katrina.”
Milo said, “Is there any friend or relative Katrina might’ve gone to visit?”
“You mean her father’s family? Never. Norm Shonsky wasn’t in her life and neither is his clan.”
Airy wave. Showing no curiosity about why someone of Milo’s rank would be doing a house call on a missing person.
At her income level, probably used to service.
“Besides,” she said, “Katrina doesn’t visit. She picks up impulsively and leaves.”
“Where does she go, ma’am?”
Another wave. “Wherever. Mexico, Europe. Once she even made it to Tahiti. That’s what I meant by stupid. She’ll find a cheap flight on the Internet, do no planning whatsoever, and just fly off in gay abandon.”
“By herself.”
Silence.
“Mrs. Hedges?”
“There are men, I suppose,” she said. “If she doesn’t travel with them, she’s certainly capable of finding them along the way. She makes a point of telling me when she comes back.”
“Telling you what?”
“That she behaved in a way I wouldn’t approve. She does it purely to rile me. The exceptions are those times when she neglects to take enough money for expenses and calls me in desperation. When that happens, she’s like someone from the Travel Channel. Going on about the sights, museums, quaint old churches.”
She smoked greedily. “I love my daughter, Lieutenant, but she can be trying.”
“How long has it been since you last saw her?”
Hesitation. “A month give or take. We weren’t fighting, nothing like that. But Katrina had convinced herself she needed to be independent. In other words, no contact with Mother until finances deem otherwise. I’d never have known she was gone if her friend hadn’t called to ask if Katrina was with me.”
“Which friend?”
“A girl named Beth Holloway. Never met her. She was out with Katrina at that club, they split up, she hasn’t heard from Katrina since.”
He read off the Van Nuys address on Katrina Shonsky’s driver’s license. “Is that current, ma’am?”
“It is.”
“Does Katrina live alone?”
“Yes. In a dump.”
“Any current men in her life?”
“Not that I know,” said Monica Hedges. Losing volume by the end of the sentence, as if she doubted her own veracity. “Katrina tends to guard her privacy.”
“How long has she been at this address?”
“Fifteen months.” She stubbed out her cigarette, watched the diminishing trail of smoke.
“In terms of guarding-”
“She kept me out of her private life.”
“Don’t be offended, ma’am, but do you think she was hiding something?”
“Could be, Lieutenant. If she was dating someone high-caliber I have no doubt she’d be showing him off just to show me I’m wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“She’s a gorgeous girl, I keep telling her she needs to elevate herself, run in a different circle. Royal and I are members of the Riviera Country Club. There are socials all the time. When I call Katrina to inform her of an event, she laughs and then her mood turns ugly.”
“She prefers doing things her own way.”
Her eyes shifted toward the front door. “I just know she’s going to run out of cash and come waltzing in any minute.”
“Do you have a recent photo we could keep?”
Reaching for a new cigarette, she marched across the living room, turned a corner. Muffled voices filtered back. Inflections that suggested tension.
She returned alone, carrying the cold cigarette in one hand, a three-by-five glossy in the other.
“This is about four years old, but Katrina hasn’t aged appreciatively.” Touching her own cheek. “Good genes. It was taken at a cousin’s wedding. Katrina served as a bridesmaid. After much complaining about the dress.”
Pretty girl with a heart-shaped face wearing a big-shouldered sateen gown the color of mortified flesh. Ill-fitting cap sleeves rode too high on smooth arms. A high, square bodice kept its promise to flatter no one. Katrina Shonsky’s fair hair was upswept and tasseled by curls that resembled brass sausages. Her lips were shaped into something resembling a smile but the rest of her face radiated disdain.
“So,” said Milo, “you’re pretty confident she’s off on one of her trips but you reported her missing just to be safe.”
“I know she didn’t travel far, because she didn’t take her passport.”
“You’ve been to her apartment?”
“Talked my way past the landlord and went through the entire place. Straightened up, while I was there, Lord knows the dump needed it. Her passport was right in a dresser drawer. If she took clothes, she didn’t take many, Lieutenant. But Katrina’s capable of hopping off with nothing but her purse and a credit card.”
“Do you co-sign for her card?”
“I do not. No more of that, Katrina abused my credit limit. She now has a Visa with a one-thousand-dollar-a-month maximum and is expected to pay her own bills. And I have to say for the most part, she’s done so.” Crossing her fingers.
“No passport, no clothes,” said Milo. “Doesn’t sound like much of a vacation.”
“Some of those places she goes to,” said Monica Hedges, “all you need is a bikini and a wineglass. It’s also possible she used her employee discount for a wardrobe.”
“She works in fashion?”
“She sells clothing at La Femme Boutique in Brentwood. Overpriced tacky, if you ask me. I told her I could probably get her a position at Harari or one of the places on Rodeo through Royal. He was in garment manufacturing. Owned a huge company that did contract work for some pretty big couture names.”
She played with her unlit cigarette, reached for a white onyx lighter. Milo got there first.
“Katrina’s job,” she said, between puffs, “is a dead-end position. Like every other job she’s held. If you ask me, down deep she thinks she deserves no better because she lacks formal education. She dropped out of high school, finally got her GED, did a semester at Santa Monica Community. The plan was to finish two years and transfer to a UC. Instead she dropped out and worked selling shoes at Fred Segal. They fired her for poor work habits. I told her to make lemonade out of lemons and return to SMC, all she needed was one and a half more years. No go.”
I said, “Sounds like Katrina’s a bit of a rebel.”
“A bit?” Raspy laughter. “Gentlemen, I love my daughter dearly but I do believe that she thinks bucking me is the key to her identity. She was always a difficult child. Colicky baby – face cute as a button but screaming twenty-four hours a day. When that finally ended, she began walking early, was into everything. She always hated school. Even though she’s smart. She can sing, but wouldn’t go out for chorus. Has a lovely figure, could’ve gone out for cheerleading.” She sighed. “Maybe eventually she’ll mature.”
Milo said, “Let’s go back to that night. Katrina went out clubbing with two friends. Beth Holloway and…”
“Rianna something foreign.”
“Which club did they go to?”
“Some dive in West L.A., more like a barn than a bona fide nightclub.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I went over yesterday and talked to some monstrous men – bouncers. Ugly industrial area off Pico – one of those side streets. I also talked to the manager. No one was helpful. They said the place was packed, they have no memory of Katrina or any other specific individual, and there are no security cameras on the premises. Isn’t that stupid, Lieutenant?”
“Not the way I’d run things,” said Milo. “What’s the name of the club?”
“The Light My Fire.”
“As in the song.”
“Pardon?”
“Do you have phone numbers for Beth and Rianna?”
“No, but I can tell you where to find them both. Beth said she sells jewelry at a place near La Femme and Rianna works the cosmetics counter at Barneys.”
“Do you have the name of the jewelry store?”
“Somewhere near Katrina’s work – San Vicente near Barrington. I’d be concerned if this was anyone but Katrina. Even with it being Katrina, I’m getting a bit nervous. What will you do for me, Lieutenant?”
Milo said, “What’s the longest she’s ever been gone?”
“Ten days. Hawaii – she visited all the islands, never called once, came back with the deepest tan I’ve ever seen, you’d think she was a Mexican or something. Another time she spent nine days in Cozumel, some sort of discount special.”
“So this is within her usual pattern.”
“Does that mean you won’t do anything?”
“No, I’ll look into it, ma’am. Did Beth Holloway say how Katrina happened to be separated from her friends?”
“She did after I asked twice. The plan was for Rianna to be the designated driver but they went in Katrina’s car because this Rianna girl’s car was broken. Rianna and Beth got picked up by two men and asked Katrina if it was okay for them to go their separate ways. They claim Katrina was fine with that. That’s the last time they saw her.”
“You have doubts that Katrina was fine with the change?”
“My daughter does not take well to disappointment, Lieutenant. Low frustration tolerance her teachers called it. What concerns me is that she decided to do them one better by meeting a man herself. Then ran off to God-knows-where.”
“Without her passport.”
“If you’re out for fun, you can find it anywhere,” said Monica Hedges. Relaxing her posture for a second, as if reminiscing.
Milo said, “Rianna being the designated driver meant Katrina was drinking that night.”
“And Katrina loves her Long Island Iced Teas. Which is a hodgepodge cocktail, just a kitchen-sink mess that does God-knows-what to your brain. I always tell her stick with the classics, they won’t pollute your mind. Martini or Manhattan, never on the rocks. That way you know how much you’re getting. But try telling Katrina that. To her, anything with fruit liquor and a kick is a Martini.”
“Has she been known to overindulge?”
Monica Hedges shifted her weight. “That has happened from time to time.”
“You’re concerned she might have driven home intoxicated.”
“What if God forbid she had an accident? But I called the highway patrol and they reported nothing on the freeway that night.”
“Is the 405 her customary route home?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Easiest way to get to the Valley, isn’t it?” Frowning. “She used to have a place near the U. that she shared with another girl – some Indian student who hit the books all the time. Which isn’t Katrina’s style, it didn’t last long. Katrina complained that everyone in the building was a student and it made her feel old. I suspect her own lack of education embarrassed her. I was hoping that might motivate her but it didn’t. She wanted her own place, said the rent this side of the hill was too steep. I told her I’d help. She never took me up on my offer, just picked up and moved to Van Nuys. Though she keeps insisting it’s Sherman Oaks. Is that logical, Lieutenant? Turning down a sincere offer?”
“Kids,” said Milo.
Monica Hedges puffed manically. “You didn’t answer my question. What exactly are you going to do for me?”
“What would you like us to do, Mrs. Hedges?”
That startled her. Ashes dropped to the granite floor. “I’d like you to detect where my daughter is. Use that computer you’ve got – tracking airline tickets, credit card receipts, phone usage. Put out one of those APBs.”
“Ma’am, without evidence of a crime, that would be an invasion of Katrina’s privacy.”
“Oh, puleeze,” said Monica Hedges.
“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s the way it is. If she were a minor, it would be different.”
“Psychologically, she’s about fourteen.”
Milo smiled.
“You’re telling me there’s nothing you can do?”
“We’ll do everything we can, legally. That means talking to her friends, stopping by the club-”
“I already did all that.”
“Sometimes repetition helps, ma’am. We’ll also look for her car. Is she still driving the yellow Mustang that’s currently registered to her?”
“Yes, but not for long. I just got a notice that she’s missed the last two payments. That loan I did co-sign for. The agreement was I made the down payment and the payments were to be her responsibility.”
“Give me the finance-company data and I’ll see if it’s been picked up.”
“I did that myself, and no, it hasn’t.”
“Sounds like you’ve accomplished a lot.”
“Want something done well, do it yourself. So that’s all you’re going to do? It doesn’t sound very promising.”
“Let’s start and see where it leads, Mrs. Hedges. Call me anytime if you think of something.”
“Oh, I will, you’d better believe I will.”
She got to her feet, hurried to the door, held it open.
Milo said, “I’m going to ask you one more question that might alarm you, but it’s only routine, in case we do come across accident reports.”
Monica Hedges straightened and sucked on her cigarette. “What?”
“Do you know Katrina’s blood type?”
“That is… eerie.”
“Just routine, ma’am.”
“Some routine you people have,” said Monica Hedges. “I certainly wouldn’t want your job.”
Milo smiled. “Most people don’t.”
“And I’m one of them… her type is the same as mine. O-positive. It’s the most popular.”
She smoked and watched us walk to the elevator. As we stepped into the lift, I heard her say, “There you are, darling. Is everything working?”
The door slammed.