Heartbreak Hotel

Chapter 34

As we passed through the Strip, Elie Aronson called my cell.

“No one’s talking about a big ruby, Doctor, stolen or legal. But that doesn’t mean nothing, if they took it out of the country fast. I talked to an Armenian, specializes in colored stones. He says the same thing I told you. That size, unless it’s garbage, for sure millions.”

“Thanks, Elie.”

“The Armenian,” he said. “He says he could handle something like that, you ever find it and it’s legal to sell it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Elie.”

“Just passing it along.”

Forty minutes after leaving Vicki Vasquez, we were back in Milo’s office. He tossed his jacket on the floor and speed-rolled his desk chair to his keyboard.

Several “Duchesses” in the moniker file, all young gang girls, except for a six-foot-six career burglar named Clarence Bearden inexplicably nicknamed Duchess C.

NCIC and other rosters gave up a couple dozen more pretenders to nobility but none came close to fitting Blondie.

Milo said, “What you said before, it’s a production. Maybe I’m looking for bad in all the wrong places. How about an actress?”

“No shortage of them on the Westside.”

“Especially the ones that don’t make it and get real hungry.”

No shortage of stage productions and movies with “Duchess” in the title or roles featuring noblewomen. An old English play, The Duchess of Malfi, was saturated with violence but bore no obvious link to the case.

One contemporary actress popped up, Duchess Ella, a star in the industry known as Nollywood.

Nigerian cinema. Not a blonde.

Milo said, “That’s what I love about my job, learn something new every day.”

He rechecked his notes and his messages. Sean Binchy had watched Ricki Sylvester last night, was off for the day, at his daughter’s class party.

Leaning back in the chair, Milo clasped his hands behind his head and stretched his legs. Even phony relaxation didn’t mesh with his mood; he rolled his shoulders, flipped open Thalia’s murder book, and studied the old photo of the ruby.

“A gazillion bucks of red carbon. Your jeweler pal’s right, that kind of payoff, Ken and Barbie could be sunning themselves in Abu Dhabi.” He shut the file. “Stuck on a lampshade and illegal. Good luck proving it was there in the first place.”

I said, “Maybe the ruby was part of why Thalia called me. She was ready to cash in and leave it to charity, along with everything else. I’m obligated to confidentiality and have links to Western Peds. She could’ve hoped I’d help her work out a plan to gift it without attracting too much attention.”

“That sounds like sucking you into a criminal conspiracy,” he said. “Shrink as laundry consultant. The psychopath talk really was about her?”

“Her, Hoke, the life they shared years ago. Not guilt, necessarily. She was lighthearted, manipulative. More like tiptoeing into the past in order to rationalize.”

“The wages of sin going to a good cause. If it had gotten that far, what would you have advised her about the ruby?”

“That I was out of my element.”

“So no risk to her,” he said. “Yeah, I can see that. She’s old and adorable, out to help sick kiddies, who’s gonna bust her, let alone prosecute her after all these years?”

“I’m not sure anyone could be prosecuted,” I said. “All Thalia had to say was it was a gift, she had no idea. And once the department started digging and found Demarest’s report, I’m guessing they’d err on the side of discretion.”

“How would they find it?”

“You, being a peace officer, would give it to them.”

“Would I?” He smiled. “I think she wanted more from you than help with a donation.”

“Like what?”

“What we all want. Absolution.”

He yawned, closed his eyes and opened them. Shook himself off like a wet dog and shot to his feet. “No more oxygen in here, I need to kick-start my metabolism.”

We left the station and walked west on Santa Monica Boulevard, heading for coffee brewed anywhere but in the big detective room. The first place we found was a block up, jammed with stubble-faced idlers in their twenties and a homeless guy who’d cadged enough for a latte. A couple of blocks later, we scored lukewarm something-brown at a place that specialized in high-fat ice cream. No effect on my metabolism but a coconut vanilla cone and a tall cup seemed to replace Milo’s lethargy with green-eyed fury.

As we headed back, he crushed the empty cup and kept up the pressure, as if trying to obliterate every molecule of paper by sheer dint of will.

As we passed the first café, the homeless guy was sitting on the sidewalk, grinning toothlessly and holding out a grimy hand. “Panini for a gourmet? I like truffles.”

Milo’s glare shut him up. The five Milo handed him nearly crossed his eyes.

We picked up our pace.

He said, “What bothers me the most is Sylvester, if she was involved. No matter how cagey you are, you have to trust someone. Your own lawyer sells you out... maybe ol’ Ricki didn’t freak out because of law school. Raking up memories of the past scares the hell out of her because she knows what she really is.”

“All those house calls,” I said. “Lots of opportunity to spot the ruby. But something she said when you informed her Thalia was dead makes me wonder if she knew the extent of the plan. Along the lines of ‘never believed something like this could happen.’ Maybe I’m overparsing but ‘I never believed’ is different from ‘I can’t believe.’ ”

“She knew something would happen.”

“A burglary, not a murder. Easier to rationalize, with Thalia being rich and obviously not needing the ruby.”

He tossed the now unrecognizable cup into a trash bin. “Maybe, but still. All that righteous talk of not charging for executor services? More like execution services. For all I know, she has money issues of her own and got the ball rolling.”

We turned the corner on Butler. As the station came into view, he said, “Let’s have another go at Ricki. Wait here, I’ll get my stuff. Your turn to drive, I wanna think.”

Jared the bearded receptionist wore a turquoise polo shirt and a leather bolo tie and sat busying himself with his phone, his teapot and cup resting on a madras-print towel.

Ignoring us as we walked up to the plastic desk. Pretending to be surprised when we arrived. “Oh, hi.”

Milo said, “Tell the boss we’re here, please.”

“Love to do that, but she’s not in.”

“When’s she due back?”

“Wish I knew, sorry.”

Milo took the phone from his hand. Jared looked as if he’d had a limb ripped off. “Why would you do that—”

“Same question, friend.”

“And same answer, sir. I’m not hiding anything, she wasn’t here when I arrived and she’s still not here. I’ve called her several times and she’s not answering.”

“Is that typical?”

“No.”

“Does it concern you?”

“No. She’s an adult.”

“So she does take time off.”

“I’ve only worked here a few months. She’s always here but people change, right?”

“Has she seemed different, recently?”

“No. Why are you asking—”

“When did you show up this morning? Jared, right?”

Nod. “Around ten.”

“When does the boss typically get here?”

“Before me, like nine thirty. She likes to have quiet time for herself.”

“Meditation?”

“I don’t know what she does in there. Can I have my phone back? Don’t you need a warrant?”

“Only if I read your messages and they go viral.”

Jared flushed. Milo said, “Just kidding,” and put the phone on the desk. Jared snatched it up and held it to his chest. Nestling a tiny, electronic infant.

“Jared, tell her to call when she does arrive.”

“Sure.”

Outside, Milo said, “We didn’t even get offered tea.”

As I drove away, he put his speaker on conference and called Binchy.

“Sorry to interrupt the party, Sean.”

“It’s over, Loot. What’s up?”

“What time did Sylvester enter her parking lot?”

“Around ten, but I didn’t exactly see her enter, Loot. You said loose surveillance, don’t get mad. I followed her until she was right at the lot and kept going.”

“Okay.”

“Did I screw up, Loot?”

“Not at all, Sean. Have a nice day, go kiss the kid.”

“Really, Loot. Did I mess up? If you want I can go up there, pretend to be a delivery guy or something and ask if she’s in.”

“She’s not, I was just there.”

“Oh,” said Binchy. “I did screw up.”

“You didn’t, Sean. Her parking lot has cameras, if I need to, I’ll look at the footage.”

“Darn,” said Binchy. “I should’ve looked back. I just—”

“It’s okay, Sean. Give me her home address.”

“All right... looking for it... darn, Loot.”

Binchy read it off. Milo copied. “You want to really upset me, Sean?”

“God forbid, Loot.”

“Then no more apologies and keep your self-esteem up. Kiss the wife, too.”

He hung up.

I said, “Impressive therapeutic skills.”

“I must be slipping.” He examined what he’d written. “Not far from here. But I’ll put in a fuel voucher for you, anyway. Drive, Jeeves.”