Killer

CHAPTER 18

Milo flung open his office door hard enough to propel the knob into the wall. Easy fit into the hole he’d established years ago. He yanked the knob out. Plaster snowed on linoleum.

Flicking a black lick of hair off his mottled forehead, he said, “What a fun job, that mouthy little lawyer …”

Dropping onto his chair, he set off a chorus of squeaks.

I said, “She’s Efren’s attorney of record but I doubt he’s her primary client.”

“Who, then?”

“The greater organization.”

“Barbie the Mob Mouthpiece?” He rolled his neck, loosened his tie. “What makes you say that?”

“Efren looked as surprised as you by her sandbag. And after you left, he sat there until she told him she had mail waiting for him from out of town. Sounded like code to me.”

Shuffling papers, he shoved them aside. “Probably … a total waste of time — at least you’re happy.”

“You’re not?”

“What do I have to be happy about?”

I smiled. “My continuing existence.”

He stretched his arms wide, crooked the right limb to avoid slamming a wall. Wriggling out of his jacket, he scrolled through email that made him glower.

His office is a cramped, stuffy, windowless closet far from the big detective room. Part of a deal he and a former police chief hammered out after Milo unearthed enough dirt to demolish the boss’s personal and professional lives. An urbane, enthusiastically corrupt man, the chief probably figured the room would serve as punishment. I believe Milo regards it as a perk. When it comes to LAPD, he’s always been a man apart.

In the old days, that resulted from being a gay detective when the department supposedly had none. It’s been years since his locker was stuffed with nasty porn and carved with swastikas. Nowadays the department has regulations that bar discrimination of anyone by anyone based on anything, anytime. What that does to internal attitude is anyone’s guess.

What distances Milo these days from his colleagues are an affection for solitude and an allergy to authority. The new chief keeps him on because he’s a statistics fan and Milo’s close rate is always at the top. But my friend will never rise above lieutenant.

To someone else that might be career stalemate. Milo likes it just fine because most lieutenants work the desk (“Just what the world needs, another pencil-pushing zombie”) while he’s got the title, the pay, and the promised pension, and can still detect.

Still, on days like this, the room felt like a cell.

He said, “Must be interesting. Having Casagrande be responsible for your continued existence but knowing if it was someone else they’d be dead.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t want to heap on the cognitive dissonance, Alex, but what’s your take on Ramon Guzman’s life expectancy?”

“You figure Efren will tie up a loose end.”

“Guzman embarrassed him by improvising. You figure otherwise?”

“Well,” I said, “seeing as Guzman was happy to take the contract on my life and Efren stopped it, I’m not going to contemplate too deeply.”

“So just let it rest?” he said. “Including Ol’ Connie’s murder? Seeing as you’re not mourning her in any big way.”

“Not mourning but I am curious.”

“An intellectual thing.”

“You feel any personal attachment to her, big guy?”

He didn’t answer.

I said, “Yet you’re working the case. So we’re in the same place. What next?”

“What next is I need to learn more about Mr. Casagrande because he remains my prime. Normally, I might be asking you for your insights. Since this is an abnormal situation, I guess we go our separate ways.”

“Connie was an abrasive woman. There could be lots of suspects.”

“You’ve convinced yourself Casagrande didn’t do it.”

“I don’t know one way or the other but it might not hurt to be open-minded.”

“Okay, then the sister.”

I didn’t reply.

He said, “What, some patient didn’t like her bedside manner so they sliced her diaphragm and choked her out?”

I said, “Bedside manner doesn’t apply. She ran a pathology lab, had little or no contact with patients. But she could’ve ticked off any number of people.”

“No forced entry, it was someone she’d open the door for.”

“I don’t see Efren or gangbanger hit man fitting that description. Her social skills, she couldn’t have been a terrific boss.”

“The classic disgruntled-worker scenario? Hell, with a net that wide, it could be gardeners, delivery boys.”

“I’d still start with those she could’ve irritated chronically. Any plans to visit her lab?”

“It’s on my list.”

“I’m free for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, sure, tag along, great idea.”

“You’re on it, no reason I shouldn’t be.”

“She didn’t try to off me, Alex.”

“Granted,” I said. “But her plan failed and my head is clear.”

“And now you’re directing me away from the two most obvious suspects: Casagrande and the sister.”

“Can’t speak for Efren but I don’t see Cherie as violent. Just the opposite, she’s passive, easygoing.”

“Not so passive she didn’t fight Connie in court.”

“She didn’t fight, she defended herself. And she won, there’d be no reason for her to kill Connie.”

“What if she worried Connie would keep yanking her back to court? Connie someone who’d give up that easy?”

“I just don’t see Cherie committing murder,” I said.

“Because you know her.”

“Because I just don’t see it.”

He rolled his neck. “Maybe you’re right, maybe not. Either way, there’s no sense in you getting involved because I’ve got to consider them as suspects and you’re not free to talk about either of them.”

“I can talk to you about Ree. She’s not a patient.”

“What is she?”

“The subject of a report. Guardianship cases are public record.”

“If you had something on her, you’d tell me.”

“You bet.”

“She convinced you she was righteous.”

“I went in without preconceptions but it wasn’t a custody dispute where both parties are presumed to have rights. The child is legally Ree’s and Connie tried to use the system to take her away.”

“Sounds like legalized theft.”

“If she’d succeeded it would’ve been.”

“Which leads me straight back to Cherie. What if Connie did tell her she was in for a long war? That’s a dandy motive.”

“Fine, check her out,” I said. “But we could also have a look at Connie’s staff.”

“Again with the we.”

“I’ll buy lunch.”

“Not hungry.”

I laughed.

He said, “I can’t stand when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Assume I’m ruled by my digestive system.”

“God forbid,” I said. “Want me to drive? Think T-bone.”