Night Moves

Chapter 42

Despite Livingston’s warning, Detective Lieutenant Alan Ahearn took the call calmly and graciously. No kids in the background, just jazz. Something syncopated, a Latin beat.

He and Milo agreed on a first-name basis. Milo’s posture loosened, someone he could communicate with. He gave Ahearn a summary, repeated Livingston’s assessment of a drug hit.

Ahearn said, “Roger said that, huh? Caretaker at the house... can you hold for a sec, see if we’ve got anything on him?”

“Sure.”

Ahearn was gone briefly. When he returned, no more music. “Brassing has a record with us but small-time and not recent, I doubt this was a big drug thing. More important, his wife filed a missing on him when he didn’t come home two days ago, which fits the initial pathology on the Rover. What’s your theory, he went over to check out the house, got unlucky and surprised someone?”

“Exactly, Al,” said Milo. “How far is the dump site from the house?”

“Not terribly close,” said Ahearn. “Three, four miles.”

“But walkable if you’re in shape.”

“Your guy Weyland a fitness type?”

“Don’t know.”

“You like him for Brassing because...”

“I’ve got zero evidence, Al, but his truck was seen driving away from the scene of my first murder, his wife could’ve been fooling with my second victim and she hasn’t been seen in a while. It’s possible she was hiding out in the A-frame when she wasn’t meeting up with Corvin in those hotels. We’re wondering if Weyland found out but waited to make his move until she shacked up with Corvin in Hollywood. Probably because a hit at a motel with direct door access to each room was a helluva lot easier than prowling the halls at some Hilton or making noise up in Arrowhead.”

Ahearn said, “He offs the competition, takes his lady back. But why would he return here and off Brassing?”

Milo said, “Good question. All I’ve got are questions.”

“Know about that, Milo.”

I held up a finger.

“Hold on for a sec, Al.” Milo listened to me and returned to Ahearn. “If sexual jealousy’s the main motive, returning to the A-frame could be symbolic, Al. He wants to have his way with her in the same place she cheated on him.”

“Symbolic... who was that?”

“Consulting psychologist.”

“You got one of those? Man, we’ve been trying to get funding for two years, all we have are counselors for when officers get PTSD. I’d ask you if it’s worth it but he’s sitting right there.”

Milo smiled. “It’s worth it.”

“Good to know,” said Ahearn. “Okay, what about the kid in the Camaro?”

“Still a total blank, Al, but he’s linked to my first victim and Brassing saw him in your neck of the woods.”

“And now Brassing’s dead. Maybe the kid’s the bad guy.”

“He’s involved somehow,” said Milo. “The plan before I heard about Brassing was to head up tomorrow to Santa Barbara, talk to the woman who last registered the car.”

“No reason to change that, we’ll take care of here,” said Ahearn. “Let me know what you learn and I’ll do the same. First thing tomorrow, one of my D’s will talk to Brassing’s wife and find out who his dentist is. If he didn’t take care of his teeth, we’ll go the DNA route but there’s about a month turnaround. I’ll also schedule drive-bys of the A-frame and have my guys looking out for both of Weyland’s cars and the Camaro. And the place will get processed.”

“Appreciate it but be careful,” said Milo. “For all we know, Weyland’s holed up there with her. The way the street’s laid out, it’s hard to conceal approach.”

“Know it well, used to patrol there,” said Ahearn. “Yeah, good advice. Okay, good talking to you and sorry for the delay.”

“No need to apologize,” said Milo. “Livingston says you’re swamped.”

“Roger,” said Ahearn. “He’s always swamped. Don’t ask.”

We got out of the unmarked and walked to the Seville.

“Poor Brassing,” he said. “First I nearly shoot him, then someone does. What’s your take on the Camaro kid, now? Aiding and abetting Weyland or a baby-faced contract killer?”

I shook my head.

He said, “That’s also my level of insight. You up for a nice coastal drive tomorrow?”

Before I could answer, his cell played Debussy. He looked at the screen, clicked on. “What’s up, Sean?”

“A whole bunch of storage places in Santa Monica and West L.A., Loot, but only one in the Palisades and it’s small. Off Sunset, north of that village shopping area. Google says it’s fifteen minutes from the Corvins in moderate traffic.”

“On a Sunday night a hop and a jump. Go over and talk to them.”

“Can’t, right now, it’s one of those DIY setups at night. Let yourself in with a card key, no staff. I can do a drive-by, see if they have cameras and let you know. Or wait until tomorrow when someone’ll be there.”

“Go home and get some rest, kid.”

“I’m not tired, Loot.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”