Night Moves

Chapter 22

Bert’s Deli, a few blocks from the station, was the obvious destination. Aromas streaming from a new Italian place thirty feet closer snagged him first.

The interior was hard black leather and perforated metal. Milo ordered without looking at the menu. The waiter said, “Sure, Lieutenant Sturgis. You, sir?”

When he left, I said, “You two play boccie together?”

“Better game,” he said. “I tip big, he pays his rent.”

Mushroom and sausage pizza, salad, baked ziti, iced tea, all for two. When I’m with him, I usually don’t eat much. This time I was hungry.

As I picked up my second slice of pizza, he said, “Look at you. Gastric juices stimulated by anything in particular?”

“No breakfast.”

“Huh... let me ask you something: Chelsea being numb about Chet is one thing but the way she made fun of her brother was pretty damn cruel. Is she more than just a dull kid? Actively hated Daddy for a reason?”

I said, “Chet abused her? There’s no evidence of it but I guess anything’s possible.”

“It’s not fun to think about, Alex, but it could explain Braun. What if Mr. Do-Gooder was covering up nasty tendencies. What if he and Chet bonded over them.”

“Chet pimped his own daughter out to Braun?” I pushed my food away.

He said, “Yeah, it’s gross, sorry, but I have to think of everything. Maybe it wasn’t that overt. Just photographs, covert videos. Those assholes love to share, right? What if Felice found out, went nuclear, and decided to take care of business. Phase One was luring hubby’s sicko buddy somewhere with promises of more nasty. Instead of that, Braun got a hired pro who de-faced and de-handed him and dumped what was left in hubby’s personal space. A message to Chet, just like you’ve been saying all along.”

I said, “If so, it didn’t get through to Chet. He didn’t seem the least bit scared.”

“That’s because he was a narcissist, shallow, a psychopath, whatever, couldn’t imagine anyone aggressing against him. Maybe he didn’t even realize it was Braun. Now, if that’s the case and I’m Felice, that would piss me off even more. So I set up Phase Two and take care of the problem once and for all. She’s got the money for a coupla serious contracts. Just told us so.”

“It’s a theory,” I said.

“But not much of one.”

“If you find evidence—”

“Talk about role reversal — lost your appetite?”

“Full.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Here’s a diet idea: the paleo-stress method. Make a hell of an infomercial.”

By five p.m., we were back in his office, checking our messages. Thin gruel for both of us.

He read and cursed and clicked off.

I said, “Waiting for something?”

“I asked Reed to check for life insurance. Nothing for Chet or Felice, though Chet’s company took out a policy on him that pays them if he attempts to ‘sever relations’ prematurely. Wonder if they’ll try to claim. That would be some court battle, huh? Casualty insurance company up against a life insurance company.”

I said, “Godzilla versus Rodan.”

“More like Hitler versus Stalin.”

At four fifty-five, Raul Biro called to say no video of the Rover had shown up anywhere but he had located the liquor store that had sold Corvin the wine.

“Fancy place, Sunset and La Cienega, transaction was at six thirteen p.m. Owner’s daughter was working the register, she didn’t have to find the receipt to remember him. He asked for something romantic. Same wink-wink deal he gave the motel clerk. She thought he was quote unquote ‘a little slimy.’ He also bought a sandwich, roast beef on rye, they get ’em from a deli on the Strip. Coroner bothers to open him up, they can confirm.”

Milo said, “Six thirteen is a couple of hours before he checks into the motel. How did he spend the time?”

“Good point,” said Biro. “The liquor store’s location says he was heading west from West Hollywood to real Hollywood. I’ll check along Sunset — pharmacies for condoms, whatever else looks interesting, see if I can fill in some blanks.”

“Thanks, Raul.”

“Hey, I just thought of something. The Hustler store’s not far from the liquor store. Guy’s all hyped up and ready to party with a chick, maybe he did a stop-and-shop for a toy or something. Not that I’d know about stuff like that.”

“Heaven forfend, Raul. You driving there or taking a jet?”

“Ha. Speaking of sex, none of the girls working the area around the motel know Corvin, so far. So it doesn’t look like he picked the place ’cause he was a regular. I know they lie but it fits with what the motel owner told me yesterday. Dr. Waris call-me-Wally Singh runs a discount dental practice in Koreatown along with a whole lot of other businesses, keeps all his paperwork on the dental computer. Corvin’s name doesn’t show up prior to last night.”

“Alex suggested a party with his honey, bit of naughty to spice it up. Notice the menu on the TV?”

“Cock Hungry Housewives as choice number three?” said Biro. “Nope, never saw it. Okay, I’m off. No luck at Hustler, there’s always Naughty Lingerie and Frederick’s. Speaking of Corvin’s honey, I’ve got no feeling on whether she’s taken alive or dead. Do you?”

“Who the hell knows, Raul.”

“That’s my daily affirmation, Milo.”

Click.

I said, “There’s a third possibility. She was allowed to leave because she was part of it. As in bait.”

His phone rang. He pointed to the screen. Dr. W. Macy, at the county coroner.

The conversation was brief. No need to open Corvin up beyond cracking his skull and pulling out two severely deformed 9mm slugs. That happens a lot with nines because they bounce around, which is why the lab likes casings. With none, a match to any prior was unlikely.

What the pathologist did find interesting was an angle of entry suggesting the shooter was well above the victim.

“Tall victim,” said Macy. “Carpet fiber on his knees, splatter four feet up the wall. I’m guessing kneeling and shot from behind.”

Milo thanked him, asked him to email the prelim, hung up.

I said, “Kneeling, shot from behind. Toss in no forced entry and it’s Execution 101, maybe carried out by someone he knew and trusted.”

He said, “Ms. Armani, herself?”

“Bait and hook.”

“Get down, snookums, I’ve got a surprise for you? That’s cold.”

“Someone with Corvin’s self-esteem, it would’ve made things easy.”

His phone again. Petra.

She said, “No roots on the hairs from the bathroom because they’re synthetic.”

“A wig.”

“Afraid so. DNA’s possible if they got handled enough but the lab says don’t count on it. They did pull up prints. Four sets plus Chet Corvin’s, all in the bathroom, we’re talking a serious wipe-down in the bedroom. Locations were a glass shelf, the mirror, the rear of the sink near the wall, and the top of the toilet tank, guess they don’t clean that thoroughly, ugh. Three belong to veteran Hollywood prostitutes. One died a few months ago of an overdose, one’s in jail in Vegas, the third is a charmer named Ms. Piggy with an alibi.”

“Ironclad?”

“Titanium-clad, I’m afraid. During the time of the shooting, one of our plainclothes guys on the boulevard spotted her escorting a john toward a dive that makes the Sahara look like the Beverly Wilshire. Officer Jefferson was there because we’ve got a new prevention thing going per the city council. Nip it in the bud rather than waste time with arrests. The customer was one of those hapless Scandinavian tourists, gave Jeff attitude — offended by American prudishness, an African American should know better than to oppress.”

Milo said, “Life’s better in the land of herring and darkness?”

“Ha. You’re making me want to go out and buy a Volvo. Anyway the idiot got the STD lecture and Piggy got the speech we give the girls. Which is basically, next time you go to jail, which everyone knows is not true. Anyway, she was nowhere near the Sahara when Corvin got shot. The fourth set has yet to be identified, no match in AFIS. From the size, probably female. So either a rookie who hasn’t earned an arrest record or a civilian girlfriend.”

Milo said, “Fast turnaround. Thanks.”

Petra said, “Thank yourself. I used your name on the request, rank has its privileges.”

He said, “Speaking of girlfriends,” and gave her the bait/hook theory.

She said, “I’ve been thinking about her — dead or taken alive. Didn’t think of that. If the fourth print is hers, we’re talking a female executioner with no criminal past.”

“Maybe she’s kept her nose clean because she’s really good at what she does.”

“Just what we need, a mastermind. That’s a dismal thought, Milo. I guess anything’s possible but the personal angle’s sticking in my head: jealous spouse or boyfriend. The other thing is my captain wants Corvin to be an extension of Braun.”

“Punting,” said Milo. “No prob.”

“I promise we’ll work it like it’s ours. Which, yes, it should be. But we’ve got a situation here. Computer conversion of our records, it’s a total nightmare. Constant freezes, glitches, data loss, nerds skulking around the station wreaking havoc.”

“Like I said with the phone-company calls, happy to do the paperwork.”

“Appreciate it, Milo. One more thing: I found the person who took the 415 call. New civilian hire, pretty clueless. She thinks the caller was a female but she’s not sure, it could’ve been a male with a high voice. I’m not sure she actually remembers anything, just eager to please. Anything else turns up, I’ll let you know.”

“What do you think about Raul’s theory?”

“What theory?” she said. “Haven’t talked to him all day, he’s out in the field.”

“He found the store where the wine was sold and time of purchase leaves a couple of hours to account for. Showing admirable initiative, your partner suggested the Hustler store as a possible stopover for the late Mr. Corvin.”

“Inspired. Raul’s over there, now?”

“Should be.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s not answering his phone.”

“Concentrating on one thing at a time, kid.”

“I’ll bet,” said Petra. “Can’t wait to see how you write it up.”