Gone

CHAPTER 18

By eight fifty-three p.m., we were parked four blocks west of the PlayHouse. As we headed to the school on foot, Milo’s bulk slanted forward, as if marching into a blizzard.

Scoping out streets and driveways and alleys for Michaela Brand’s little black Honda.

The alert for the car had been expanded statewide. Milo and I had cruised these same streets just a few days ago, no reason to look now.

The ability to put logic aside sometimes makes for a great detective.

We got to the building at five after nine, found people milling.

Dim porch light allowed me to count as we neared the front steps. Eight females, five males. Each one slim, young, gorgeous.

Milo muttered, “Mutants,” as he bounded up the stairs. Thirteen pairs of eyes turned to watch. A few of the women shrank back.

The men occupied a narrow height range: six to six two. Broad, square shoulders, narrow hips, angular faces that seemed curiously static. The women varied more in stature but their body shape was uniform: long legs, flat bellies, wasp waists, high-tucked butts, high puffy bosoms.

Manicured hands gripped plastic bottles of water and cell phones. Wide hungry eyes questioned our presence. Milo stepped into the middle of the porch and the acting students cleared space. The light played up every crease, pit and pucker and pore. He looked heavier and older than ever.

“Evening, folks.”

Dubious stares, general confusion, smirks and side glances of the kind you see in middle-school cafeterias.

One of the young men said, “What’s up,” with practiced slur.

Brando in On the Waterfront? Or was that ancient history?

“Crime’s up, friend.” Milo moved the badge so that it caught light.

Someone said, “Whoa.” Snickers petered to silence.

Milo checked his Timex. “Wasn’t class supposed to start ten minutes ago?”

“Coach not here,” said another Adonis. He jiggled the front door handle.

“Waiting for Nora,” said Milo.

“Better than Godot.”

“Hopefully, unlike him, she’ll show up.” Milo’s wolf-grin caused a reflexive tooth-bare from the young man. The guy threw back his head and a sheet of dark hair billowed, then flapped back in place.

“Nora late a lot?”

Shrug.

“Sometimes,” said a young woman with curly yellow hair and lips so bulbous they resembled tiny buttocks. That and blue saucer eyes gave her a stunned mien. Inflatable doll barely come to life.

“Well,” said Milo, “this gives us time to chat.”

Swigs from water bottles. Flips of cell phone covers nursed forth a series of electronic mouse-squeaks.

Milo said, “I assume you guys heard about Michaela Brand.”

Silence. A nod, then two. Then ten.

“Anybody has something to say, it would be much appreciated.”

A car drove west. Several of the acting students followed its diminishing taillights, grateful for distraction.

“Anything, people?”

Slow head shakes.

“Nothing at all?”

“Everyone’s freaked out,” said a dark, pointy-chinned girl with coyote eyes. Deep sigh. Her breasts rose and fell as a unit.

“I saw her a couple of times but didn’t know her,” said a man with a shaved head and bone structure so pronounced he seemed carved out of ivory.

“That’s ’cause you just started, Juaquin,” said the pillowly-lipped, curly-haired girl.

“That’s what I’m saying, Brandy.”

“Briana.”

“Whatever.”

“You knew her, Briana?” said Milo.

“Just from here. We didn’t hang out.”

“Any of you know Michaela outside of here?” said Milo.

Head shakes.

“She was, like, quiet,” said a redheaded woman.

“What about Dylan Meserve?”

Silence. Notable edginess.

“None of you knew Dylan?”

“They were friends,” said the redhead. “Her and him.”

“Any of you see Dylan recently?”

The red-haired girl pulled a watch out of her purse and squinted at it.

“Nine sixteen,” said Milo. “Nora generally this late?”

“Sometimes,” said Curly Blonde.

Someone else said, “Nora’s Nora.”

Silence.

Milo said, “What’s on the agenda tonight?”

“There is no agenda,” said the hair-flipper. He wore a plaid flannel shirt tailored tight to his V-frame, faded jeans, clean, crisp hiking boots that had never encountered mud.

“Nothing’s planned?” said Milo.

“It’s free-form.”

“Improv?”

Impish smile from Plaid. “Something like that, Officer.”

“How often you guys come here?”

No answer.

“Once a week for me,” said Briana Pillowlips. “For other people it’s more.”

“Same here,” said Plaid.

“Once a week.”

“More when I have time. Like I said, it’s free form.”

And free.

I said, “No rules.”

“No constrictions.”

Milo said, “There are no constrictions helping the police, either.”

An olive-skinned guy with a face that managed to be reptilian and handsome said, “No one knows anything.”

Milo handed out business cards. A few of the beautiful people bothered to read them.

We left them waiting on the porch, walked halfway down the block until darkness concealed us, and watched the building.

Milo said, “It’s like they’re extruded from machines.”

We waited in silence. By nine twenty-three Nora Dowd still hadn’t showed and her students began to drift away. When the young woman named Briana headed toward us, Milo said, “Karma.”

We stepped out of the shadows well in time for her to see us.

Despite that, she jumped. Gripped her purse, held on to her balance. “You scared me!”

“Sorry. Have a minute?”

Inflated lips parted. How much collagen had it taken for them to get that way? She hadn’t reached thirty, but tuck lines around her ears said she wasn’t relying on youth. “I have nothing to say and you really scared me.” She walked past us to a battered white Nissan, headed for the driver’s door, groped for her keys.

Milo followed her. “We really are sorry, it’s just that we haven’t learned much about Michaela’s murder and you seemed to know her best.”

“All I said was I knew who she was.”

“Your fellow students didn’t know her at all.”

“That’s because they’re new.”

“Freshmen?”

Curls shook. “It’s not like college- ”

“I know, free-form,” said Milo. “What’s the problem helping us, Briana?”

“There’s no problem, I just don’t know anything.” She unlocked the driver’s door.

“Is there some reason you don’t want to help?”

She looked at him. “Like what?”

“Someone told you not to help?”

“Of course not. Who would do that?”

Milo shrugged.

“No way,” she said. “I just don’t know anything and I don’t want any hassle.”

“No hassle involved. I’m just trying to solve a murder. Pretty nasty one, at that.”

Big lips trembled. “I’m really sorry. But we weren’t tight. Like I said before, she kept to herself.”

“She and Dylan.”

“Right.”

“And now she’s dead and he’s gone. Any idea where he might be?”

“Definitely not.”

“Definitely not?”

“I definitely don’t know. He could be anywhere.”

Milo edged closer, pressed his hip against the hinges of the driver’s door. “What surprises me is the lack of curiosity. All you guys. Someone you know gets killed, you’d think there’d be some interest.” He sliced air horizontally. “Zippo, no one cares. Is it something about actors?”

She frowned. “Just the opposite. You need to be curious.”

“To act.”

“To learn about our feelings.”

“Nora tells you that.”

“Anyone who knows anything tells you that.”

“Let me get this,” said Milo. “You’re curious about playing parts, but not about real life?”

“Look,” said the girl, “sure, I’d like to know. It scares me. The whole murder thing. Just talking about it. I mean, come on.”

“Come on?”

“If it happened to Michaela, it could happen to anyone.”

I said, “You see it as a random crime?”

She turned to me. “What do you mean?”

“As opposed to something that had to do with Michaela.”

“I- she was- I don’t know, maybe.”

Milo said, “Was there something about Michaela that made her a likely victim?”

“That thing she- they did. Her and Dylan. Lying.”

“Why would that put her in danger?”

“Maybe they ticked someone off.”

“Are you aware of someone that angry?”

“Nope.” Too quickly.

“No one, Briana?”

“No one. I got to go.”

“In a sec,” said Milo. “What’s your last name?”

She looked ready to cry. “Do I have to say?”

Milo tried for a soft smile. “It’s routine, Briana. Address and phone number, too.”

“Briana Szemencic.” She spelled it. “Can this be off the record?”

“Don’t worry about that. Live around here, Briana?”

“Reseda.”

“Bit of a drive.”

“I work in Santa Monica. With the traffic it’s easier to stay in the city and go back later.”

“What kind of work do you do, Briana?”

“Shitty work.” Rueful smile. “I’m an assistant at an insurance agency. I file, I get coffee, I gofer. Beaucoup excitement.”

“Hey,” said Milo, “pays the bills.”

“Barely.” She touched her lips.

“So who was pissed off about the hoax, Briana?”

Long pause. “No one that much.”

“But…”

“Nora was a little frosted.”

“How could you tell?”

“When someone asked her about it she got this real tight look and changed the subject. Can you blame her? It sucked, using the PlayHouse like that. Nora’s a private person. When Michaela never came back, I figured Nora gave her the boot.”

“Dylan came back.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That was the funny thing. She wasn’t mad at Dylan, kept treating him nice.”

Milo said, “Even though the hoax was mostly his idea.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“Dylan blamed it on Michaela?”

“Totally, he said she really worked on him. Nora must’ve believed him because she…like you said, he came back.”

“Does Nora like Dylan more than the other guys?”

Fragile shoulders rose and fell. Briana Szemencic gazed up the block. “I don’t think I should go there.”

“Touchy business?”

“Not my business,” said Briana. “Anyway, Nora would never hurt anyone. If you’re thinking that, you’re totally wrong.”

“Why would we be thinking that?”

“You’re asking was she mad. She was but not that type of mad.”

“Not the jealous type of mad?”

Briana didn’t answer.

Milo said, “Nora and Dylan, Dylan and Michaela. But no jealousy.”

“Nora had the hots for Dylan, okay? It’s no crime, she’s a woman.”

“Had or has?”

“I don’t know.”

“Same question, Briana.”

“Has. Okay?”

“How’d Nora feel about Dylan and Michaela hanging out?”

Briana shook her head. “She never said anything. It’s not like we were tight. Can I go now? Please?”

“Nora didn’t like Dylan and Michaela hanging but she wasn’t really pissed off about it.”

“She’d never hurt Michaela. Never, ever. You need to understand Nora, she’s…she’s kind of, really, like, she’s not, you know…she’s here.” Tapping her pretty forehead.

“Intellectual?”

Tush lips struggled to form words. Finally, she said, “That’s not what I mean, I’m talking more, like, you know, she’s intensely right brain. Intuitionalistic. That’s the point of the workshops, she shows us how to tap into ourselves, free the inner…” Pillow lips wriggled as she struggled for vocabulary. “Nora’s all about scenes, she’s always telling us to break everything into scenes, that way it’s not so huge, you can deal with it until you get the whole gestalt- that means the big picture. I think she kind of lives that way herself.”

“Scene by scene,” said Milo.

“She’s not paying attention to down here.” Pointing to the asphalt.

“Reality.”

The word seemed to bother Briana Szemencic. “All the crap below the right brain, whatever you want to call it. Nora would never hurt anyone.”

“You like her.”

“She’s helped me. A lot.”

“As an actor.”

“As a person.” Sharp little lower teeth got hold of gluteal lip and held on.

I said, “Nora’s supportive.”

“Not- it’s not that. I was real shy, okay? She helped me step out of myself. Sometimes it wasn’t fun. But it helped- can I go now?”

Milo nodded. “Reseda, huh? Valley girl?”

“Nebraska.”

“Flatlands,” said Milo.

“You know Nebraska?”

“Been to Omaha.”

“I’m from Lincoln but same difference,” said Briana Szemencic. “You stare at forever and there’s nothing at the end. Can I go now? I’m really tired.”

Milo stepped back. “Thanks for stepping out of that silent thing your friends were into.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“No?”

“No one’s anyone’s friend over there.” She glanced back at the PlayHouse. The empty porch looked gloomy. Staged for gloomy, like a movie set.

“Not a friendly atmosphere?” said Milo.

“We’re supposed to concentrate on the work.”

“So when Dylan and Michaela started hanging out they broke a rule.”

“There are no rules. Michaela was being stupid.”

“How so?”

“Hooking up with Dylan.”

“Because Nora liked him?”

“Because he’s totally shallow.”

“You don’t share Nora’s enthusiasm.”

A beat. “Not really.”

“How come?”

“He’s hanging with Michaela but he’s also been getting into Nora? Gimme a break.”

“But no jealousy on Nora’s part.”

Yellow curls shook violently. She reached for the Nissan’s door handle. Milo said, “What about Reynold Peaty?”

“Who?”

“The janitor.”

“The fat guy?” Her arm dropped. “What about him?”

“He ever bother you?”

“Like perve-bother? No. But he stares, it’s creepy. He’s sweeping, mopping, whatever, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him staring. If you look at him, he turns away fast, like he knows he shouldn’t be doing it.” She shuddered. “Is he, like, serious-creepy? Like America’s Most Wanted creepy?”

“I couldn’t say that.”

Briana Szemencic’s slender frame stiffened. “But you couldn’t say no?”

“I have no evidence he’s ever done something violent, Briana.”

“If he’s not a perve, how come you asked about him?”

“My job is asking questions, Briana. Most of them turn out to be useless but I can’t take chances. Guess it’s kinda like acting.”

“What do you mean?”

“A little improv, a lot of hard work. Does Peaty hang out at the PlayHouse a lot?”

“When he’s cleaning.”

“Days as well as nights?”

“I’m only there nights.”

“Anyone else drop by?”

“Just people applying for workshops. Mostly Nora turns them away but there can still be crowds.”

“No talent.”

Another lip bite. “Yeah.”

“Any other reason she turns them away?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

Milo said, “Well, thanks again- it’s a cool thing, Nora giving away her skills for free.”

“Very cool.”

“Guess she can do that because her brothers fund the PlayHouse.”

“Her brothers and her,” said Briana Szemencic. “It’s like a whole family thing. They’re filthy rich but they’re artistic and generous.”

“The brothers ever drop by to see how it’s spent?”

“I’ve seen them a few times.”

“Sitting in?”

“More like walking around. Dropping by to visit Nora.” She gripped her purse with both hands. “Tell me the truth about that fat guy.”

“I already have, Briana.”

“He’s not a perve? You can guarantee me that?”

“He really scares you.”

“Like I said, he’s staring all the time.”

“I told you the truth, Briana.”

“But you were punking me about the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“What you said about cop stuff being like acting. That was b.s., right?”

“You know a girl named Tori Giacomo?” said Milo.

“Who’s that?”

“Maybe a student here once.”

“I’ve only been here a year. You didn’t answer my question. That was total bullshit, right?”

“Nope, I meant it,” said Milo. “There are all kinds of similarities between cop work and acting. Like frustration. It’s a big part of my job just like it is for you.”

Big blue eyes filmed with confusion.

“I start off with a new case, Briana, all I can do is ask my questions, see if something takes shape. It’s just like reading a brand-new script.”

“Whatever.” She opened her car door.

“We both know one thing, Briana. It’s all about the work. You do your best, try to make it to the bottom of the funnel, but no guarantees.”

“I guess.”

Milo smiled. “Thanks for talking to us. Drive safely.”

As we began to walk away a high, tight voice from the Nissan said, “What’s the funnel?”

“A kitchen implement.”

She drove away. He pulled out his pad and jotted.

I said, “Off the record, huh?”

“She must’ve confused me for a reporter…guess Nora didn’t share the funnel analogy with her flock.”

I said, “Too anxiety-provoking. One thing Nora didn’t keep to herself was her attraction to Meserve. Past and present. Looks like Brad overestimated his control. Nora and Dylan still being together means when Dylan blamed the hoax on Michaela, Nora would’ve believed it. The question is, does that have anything to do with Michaela ending up in a pile of weeds.”

“No matter what that little genius just said, I think the jealousy thing’s worth looking into.”

“It does, but other scenarios come to mind. If Nora resented Michaela, Dylan might have taken it upon himself to keep Nora happy. Or Michaela became a threat to Dylan by threatening to go to Brad and telling him bad stuff about Dylan. Or to Nora herself- spinning some erotic details of her nights up in Latigo with Dylan.”

“Spin? The two of them were naked up there for two nights.”

“Michaela told me they never had intercourse.”

“You’re a trusting soul. Either way, why would Michaela threaten Dylan like that?”

“Maybe more trial strategy,” I said. “Pressuring him to shoulder all the blame for the hoax. In the end, the case settled. But if he stayed angry, he might’ve acted out.”

“And the motive for doing Tori is his just being a nasty guy?”

“That or he and Tori also had something going and it went bad.”

“He does her, finds it easier the second time around…he is gone as hell. And Nora knows where- or she’s hiding him. That would explain her getting squirrely when we brought him up. Okay, enough theory for one night.”

We walked to the car.

He said, “There’s still Peaty.”

“Stare at the girls and make them cry.”

“Got him in trouble before. Let’s see if Sean’s surveillance pulled up anything.”

He drove with one hand, phoned Binchy with the other. The young detective was still parked a few feet up from Reynold Peaty’s apartment. The janitor had come home at seven and had stayed inside.

“Three hours watching a building,” said Milo, hanging up. “I’d be out of my mind. Sean’s as happy as if he’s playing his bass.”

Sean Binchy was a former ska punk who’d embraced religion and law enforcement simultaneously.

“How is he at working his own cases?” I said.

“He’s great at the routine but it’s hard to get him to think independently.”

“Send him to Nora. Get him to open up his right side.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, my brain hurts. Gonna check for messages and call it a night.”

Two messages, no respite.

The expected call from Lou Giacomo and a request to phone Mister Albert Beamish.

“Maybe he wants compensation for his persimmons.” He punched the number, waited, clicked off. “No answer.” He sighed. “Okay, now for the fun.”

Lou Giacomo was staying at the Holiday Inn Milo had suggested. Milo was hoping for a brief condolence chat but Giacomo wanted to meet and Milo lacked the will to refuse him.

Giacomo was standing outside the hotel wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. When we pulled up, he said, “Can we go somewhere, maybe get a drink? This place is driving me up the wall.”

“The hotel?” said Milo.

“Your frickin’ city.”