Heartbreak Hotel

Chapter 4

Guzman lifted his gear and the two of us went outside. Rob Barker and Refugia stood in the same place. Now she was talking and he was listening. Both of them looked relaxed.

Guzman shook his head. “There he goes.”

I said, “Socializing.”

“He’s got a really nice girlfriend but he’s a dog.”

“Time to tell him your suspicions?”

“Probably should, but what’s the point? All he wants to do is pick up chicks. He thinks I’m a wuss because I don’t cut corners. But he’s a good partner, real good at CPR— Doc, can I ask why you came to see the decea — Ms. Mars?”

“Sorry, I can’t say.”

“Oh. Sure. What I’m getting at, was there a serious mental problem? Not that you could explain it with that.”

“Explain what?”

“Well,” he said, “we see a whole lot more suicides than homicides but I guess that doesn’t apply here, I shouldn’t run my mouth.” A moment later: “I mean, you couldn’t clamp your own nose and mouth shut long enough, right? It would be like trying to hold your breath, you’d have to give up.”

“This wasn’t suicide, Chris.”

“No, of course not. But if she had problems, maybe she knew someone else who was willing to help her.”

“Assisted suicide.”

“It’s legal in some places, Doc. Some people don’t think it’s wrong.”

I said nothing. Guzman was one of those people with a low tolerance for silence. It didn’t take him long to say, “The thing is, the maid — the one Rob’s chatting up — told us she found the door unlocked. So she — Ms. Mars — probably let someone in that she knew. Didn’t seem to me there was any struggle and with all that jewelry in there, those antiques, it sure doesn’t look like robbery. So it makes me wonder, Doc. She was old, needed a shrink, I’m wondering if maybe some psychological thing was going on.”

I flipped back to yesterday’s session, probing my memory for allusions to suicide. Anything remotely depressive.

Just the opposite, she’d seemed ebullient.

But anyone could be fooled.

This time the silence led Guzman to move a few feet away. He looked at his watch. Barker’s and Refugia’s hips edged closer as they continued to chat.

Guzman said, “We do see some bizarre suicides. You probably have, too, working with the cops.”

“You bet.”

“What I mean, Doc, is you get a scene you’re sure is a murder then you find out it isn’t.”

“Something staged.”

“Exactly. Like this woman we had last year, must’ve really despised her husband’s guts. She ties her hands behind herself with duct tape but only after she positions the handle of his hunting knife so the blade’s sticking out between the slats of a chair. Facing out, you know? Then she gets down on her knees, right in front of the knife, and stabs herself in the head.”

He winced. “Big blade, heavy duty. Goes right through the bone into her brain, talk about pain. The impact makes her jerk back, she falls hard enough to take the knife with her, we find it like that, sticking out of her. Top of that, she made sure to direct attention to the husband by writing in her diary that he was out to kill her and leaving the diary on a table where you couldn’t miss it.”

“Too obvious,” I said.

“That’s the first thing made the cops suspicious. But there was also physical evidence. Dust on her knees, and the shape of the bloodstains didn’t fit someone chopping her from above. What clinched it was she used gloves when she touched the knife so that only his prints would be on it. But she forgot about the inside, the only DNA there was hers. Also, the husband had a total alibi. Screwing his girlfriend in a motel.”

I said, “All that trouble for nothing.”

“Exactly, Doc. Though I guess she got what she wanted, which was obviously to be dead. You see something like that, you start to doubt your own reality. But I guess that’s not what happened here, right? You’re not saying Ms. Mars was seriously depressed or disturbed.”

“I’m not saying much of anything, Chris.”

“I know, I know, sorry,” said Guzman. “But if she was depressed and afraid or too weak to take her own life, she could’ve had someone else do it for her in a painless way.”

“Forcing her mouth and nose shut?”

“Okay, yeah, maybe it’s ridiculous, why not just swallow some pills?” He shrugged. “That’s the way I am. Too curious.”

“That’s how you learn, Chris.”

“Maybe I should tell Rob, ’cause I don’t think lunch is on the schedule, anymore.” He took a couple of steps toward Barker, changed his mind, returned to my side. “Nah, he’ll just rag on me. If he gets antsy, let him come here.”

He cracked his knuckles. “You like working with the cops?”

“I do.”

“I’ve been thinking about applying, myself. Maybe, end up a detective one day.”

“Curiosity’s a good trait for a detective.”

“That’s what I figure. Problem is the fire department pays great and my wife doesn’t want me carrying a gun. Plus I like what I do. Sometimes I even get to do a little psychology — seeing people in all kinds of stress.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Like last week — oh, man, look at that dog.”

Barker had fished out his phone and was taking a selfie of himself and Refugia. Then another. A whole series of shots ensued, his arm snaking around her shoulder, hers circling his waist.

Guzman said, “You wouldn’t believe the stuff he’s got on his phone. One day, Tonya, that’s his girl, she’ll get suspicious and check it out. When that happens...” He ran a finger across his throat.

Same gesture Thalia had made yesterday.

Guzman rubbed his wedding band. Gold, etched with two hearts. “How long do you think it’ll take for Lieutenant Sturgis to get here?”

“He’s usually prompt.”

“I’m asking ’cause if we get another call it’ll be tricky, we’ll have to explain to the dispatcher... so you treat mostly older folk.”

“Actually, I specialize in children.”

His brow knitted. “Are you saying she was in some kind of second childhood?”

“Do you have kids of your own, Chris?”

“One. Anabella, eight months old, she’s crawling like crazy.”

“Got a picture?”

“Long as you asked.” Big grin. “My phone’s G-rated.”

He’d scrolled through the first two dozen shots of a chubby blond baby when movement up the road drew us away from the tiny screen.

Barker and Refugia had shifted closer to each other, no air between them. They moved apart as a big, wide figure in a gray suit headed their way.

The man’s stork legs appearing too flimsy for the watermelon-shaped trunk they supported. Long arms swung loosely with each rapid step.

Barker and Refugia moved to opposite edges of the stone path. The convex belly that was Milo’s opening act asserted itself as he loped toward them. His big, black-haired head was carried low and thrust forward, as if battling a headwind.

The same stance you see in rodeo bulls itching to inflict pain.

Drawing himself up to his full six-three, Milo looked at each of them, flashed his badge, and began talking. Refugia had the tissue pushed up against her mouth, again. Barker looked stunned. Milo said something that made Barker turn toward Guzman and me. He gave his partner a palms-up what’s-the-story signal.

Guzman ignored him.

Milo continued his march.

“That’s him?” said Guzman. “Is he kinda ticked off or something?”

“That’s his thing.”

“Being ticked off?”

“Making people wonder.”

Milo’s greeting was a nod-grunt combo followed by taking out his little notepad. Daylight enhanced the acne scars and lumps decorating his face. Up close, the gray suit was unpleasantly silvery. Pretending to be sharkskin but ending up closer to mullet-belly. The collar of his white wash-’n’-wear shirt rode up on one side and curled on the other. A skinny strip of olive-green polyester necktie ended well above his belt. At the bottom of the stilt legs were the ritual desert boots, this pair, tan soiled to brown, with red rubber soles.

Barker and Refugia were watching us. He cocked a head at Guzman and held his hands out, again. Guzman pretended not to notice.

Milo said, “Good morning, Firefighter Guzman. What does ‘C’ stand for?”

“Christopher.”

“So, Christopher. You’re the one who first suspected something out of the ordinary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So how come your partner over there is clueless? Downright surprised to see me.”

“Paramedic Barker and I haven’t conferred yet, sir.”

“Because...”

Guzman flushed.

Milo said, “You’re all business, he’s monkey business, huh? He seems real eager to get out of here. Any particular reason for that?”

“Sir, Paramedic Barker’s probably a little hungry because we’ve been on since five, it’s coming up on our lunch hour. If we don’t get another call.”

“Hungry? Yeah, that’s not a fun feeling. All right, let’s see if we can get you out of here in time for a burrito or something.” Out came a pen. “What exactly tipped you off this might not be a natural death, Christopher?”

“Like I told the doctor, the first thing was ocular petechial hemorrhaging, sir. That got me looking for other signs of asphyxia and I found suspicious facial bruising around the nose and under the chin. Dr. Delaware agrees it’s suspicious.”

“Clamping the airways shut.”

“That’s what it seemed to me, sir. Want me to show you?”

“I’ll see for myself. Who’s the victim?”

“Name’s Theda Mars, sir. Hundred-year-old white female.”

Milo stared at him.

I said, “Thalia Mars.”

“Oops,” said Guzman. “Sorry, yeah, Thalia.”

Milo’s bright-green eyes shifted to me. “A hundred?”

I said, “She would’ve been, in three weeks.”

“And she was your patient?”

Guzman studied my response. Back in Mr. Curious mode.

I said, “I saw her once, yesterday. Got here for a second appointment just before ten A.M. and found Paramedic Guzman with the body.”

Guzman frowned. I hadn’t answered the question. But Milo said, “Ah,” as if that explained it. “That maid over there said she discovered the body. Either of you pick up anything iffy about her?”

I shook my head.

Guzman said, “Me neither, but I guess anything’s possible.”

“Want to make a guess as to time of death, Christopher?”

“That’s not my expertise, sir—”

“That’s why I said ‘guess.’ ”

“Well, sir, rigor’s set in and the room’s not particularly cold.”

“So probably three to eight hours,” said Milo. “Makes sense, if I was up to nasty, I’d do it in the dark. I didn’t notice any cameras on the path. You see any security in the bungalow, itself?”

“No, sir. But I wasn’t looking.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and the hotel conceals them.” The notepad tapped his thigh. “All right, Christopher, if there’s nothing else you want to tell me, I’ll take it from here, go get some nutrition.”

“Thank you, sir.” Guzman lifted the case and the defibrillator and headed toward Barker. Barker greeted his arrival with a rapidly moving mouth. Rudimentary lip reading clarified the greeting: “What the fuck?”

Guzman kept going. Barker took a final look at Refugia and followed his partner out of eyeshot.

Refugia started to leave. Milo curled a finger and she hurried over.

When she got to us, he slumped a bit. Making himself smaller, the way he does when he’s trying not to intimidate. From the look in the young maid’s eyes, not successful.

He said, “Thanks for sticking around, Ms. Ramos.” As if she had a choice.

She managed a sad-looking smile. Dark eyes had misted.

Milo said, “It had to be tough walking in and seeing that.”

“Oh, God, so terrible, sir. She was a beautiful person. Here, I mean.” Tapping her left breast.

“You knew her well.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve done her cleaning and her room service since I started working here.”

“How long is that?”

“Three years, a little more,” said Refugia.

“She’s been here that long?”

“Longer. She lives here, sir.”

Milo looked at me.

I said, “Her description was ‘forever.’ ”

Refugia Ramos said, “I got her by accident — they sent me here with her breakfast and she liked me so she asked for me the next day. They didn’t do it right away but she kept asking and the schedule worked out so they put me on permanent breakfast and high-tea delivery to The Numbers.”

“The Numbers?”

I said, “The bungalows.”

“Uno,” said Milo. “But it’s not Los Numeros?”

“No, sir, we’re instructed during orientation that it’s The Numbers. ‘Continental breakfast at Cuatro.’ ‘Cocktails at Ocho.’ ”

“So she’s been here forever.”

“Everyone says that, not just her. She used to say, ‘I’m a fixture, Refugia. Like one of the faucets.’ Then she’d laugh. She liked to laugh.”

“Happy person.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is longtime residency pretty common for the hotel?”

“No, sir, she’s the only one.”

He turned and peered up the pathway. “No other longtimers in The Numbers or anywhere else?”

“The Numbers don’t get used much,” said Refugia. “They don’t have air-conditioning and they’re far away from the parking lot. No WiFi, everybody wants WiFi.”

“Ms. Mars didn’t care.”

“She liked to read and watch regular TV.”

“The rest of the hotel has WiFi?”

“Not in all of El Ori-hi-nal — the older wing — just some. Mostly people stay in The Can.”

Milo smiled. “That sounds like an outbreak of intestinal flu.”

“Pardon — oh, no, no, sir, The Can’s the new wing. The big tower, looks like a can? The hotel doesn’t call it that but the staff does because of the shape.”

“Bungalows, Spanish, The Can. Interesting place,” said Milo.

“El Ori-hi-nal’s what’s left of the old hotel, most of it fell down in an earthquake a long time ago. I guess they kept it because...” She frowned. “I don’t know why.”

Milo said, “With The Numbers not being popular, Ms. Mars would have had plenty of privacy. Was she happy being by herself back here?”

“Very happy, sir. It’s her home.”

“How much did that cost her?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Who’s the hotel manager?”

“Mr. DeGraw,” she said. “Should I get him?”

“In a minute. What time do you come on shift?”

“Seven A.M.”

“And you go off...?”

“If I’m working a single, at three. If it’s a double, I stay till eleven.”

“You do a lot of doubles?”

“Maybe five, six a month.”

“Pretty full schedule.”

“I like to work. I came to America to work.”

“From?”

“Manila.”

“Any family here in L.A.?”

“Oh, yes, my sister and her husband. They’re registered nurses. I live with them.”

“Where, Ms. Ramos?”

“North Hollywood.” As Milo took down the address, Refugia’s mouth screwed up. “Where I live is important, sir?”

“Probably not, but just a few more questions. How long have you been in the U.S.?”

Refugia blinked. “Four years. First I worked as a health aide at a retirement home, then I got this. I like this better.”

“More enjoyable.”

“Working with healthy people is better, sir. That’s why when I got assigned to Miss Thalia, her being so old, I wasn’t so... but she was great. Not like the people in the home.”

“In good shape.”

“She had a little trouble moving around but her brain was young, she was smart and funny.”

“Almost a hundred,” said Milo. “Pretty impressive.”

Refugia sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“Sure.”

“Are you here because you think someone did something to her?”

“Don’t know, yet.”

“Rob — Mr. Barker told me his partner’s got a crazy imagination, sees bad stuff everywhere.”

“Could be,” said Milo. “So all the other Numbers are currently unoccupied?”

“No, there’s a couple staying in Cinco, from Europe somewhere — the Birken-somethings — Birkenherr, Birkenharr, something like that. This morning I brought them coffee then they called for a paper but they must’ve gone back to sleep because they didn’t answer. So I rang the bell and left it in front of the door.”

“Cinco,” said Milo. “No one else.”

“There was a family in Dos. Tourists from Korea, but they moved out two days ago. Seven people. They used the couches for sleeping and they put sleeping bags on the floor. They complained about the A.C. not working and I told them there wasn’t any and they started talking in Korean. Next day I had to clean the whole place.”

“They left instead of transferring to The Can?”

“I don’t know, sir, I only work the ground floor of The Can, if they were on a higher floor, I’d have no idea.” Tears formed in her eyes. “She looked so peaceful but then I couldn’t wake her.”

Milo said, “Sorry you had to go through that. Did Miss Mars leave her front door unlocked?”

“Just the porch door.”

“But not the main door.”

“No, sir.”

“Did you find it locked?”

Wide eyes. “No, sir, it was open.”

“That didn’t bother you?”

“I figured she opened it, like she usually did.”

“Okay,” said Milo. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

“No, sir.” Tight voice.

“Then now would be a good time to get Mr. DeGraw.”

“His extension is—”

“Would you mind going over and telling him in person?”

“Okay. Sure.” She took a few steps, stopped and pivoted. “If someone did hurt her, it’s not fair.”

She hurried out of view.

I said, “Those background questions. You’re wondering about her?”

“She found the body and she’s been on duty for four hours, which could be within the time frame. Sometimes the ones who get emotionally involved get involved, right? She bother you?”

“Not at all. When I got here she was pretty broken up.”

“She didn’t seem broken up when she was flirting with Barker.”

“Good point.”

“Am I saying she’s a sociopath with shallow emotions, Alex? Like you always tell me, insufficient data. But yeah, I’ll check her out for a criminal history.”

He scanned the surrounding greenery, then the high wall behind the bungalow. “The Numbers. Sounds like a racket — so what were you doing treating a hundred-year-old?”

I told him.

He said, “Impressed by the stuff we do? Not just a bored shut-in wanting to make small talk with a suave shrink?”

“That might’ve been a reasonable assumption, yesterday,” I said. “Can we go inside?”

He laughed. “This is a switch.”

“What is?”

“You getting to a scene first.”