Night Moves

Chapter 45

We parted ways with Braxton, cruised Cabrillo south, and parked illegally on the beach side as Milo ran searches on Paul Mearsheim.

“Clean. Big deal, he stinks of con man, who knows what his real identity is.”

I said, “He’s used ‘Paul,’ maybe because that’s his actual given name. ‘Mearsheim’ morphing to ‘Weyland’ could be identity theft of some random dead person. Or he assumed Donna’s name.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Playing the Beta to the hilt, letting her think she was in charge. The cars were in her name because he pled poverty, meanwhile he’s got Jackie’s money hidden from her.”

“Another wife disappeared.”

“Maybe this one can be found,” I said. “Brassing’s murder could’ve resulted from his discovering something buried in that forest behind the A-frame.”

“I told him to stay away.” He thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his fist. “The place has to be processed — let’s see if Ahearn’s a man of his word.”

We got onto the freeway where he immediately ignored speed limits. Just before Carpenteria, with the road sun-brightened and nearly empty, he pulled out his cell then lowered it as something to the right caught his eye.

A CHP Dodge Challenger was parked just beyond a road curve on the western shoulder, blue ocean gleaming through the passenger windows, tan-uniform at the wheel, aiming a radar gun.

Geography providing a nifty little speed trap. Maybe Milo could’ve skated, maybe not. Professional courtesy between the highway patrol and city cops is unpredictable.

He slowed precipitously. The Challenger’s beefy tires rotating toward the highway said it was ready to pounce. Milo altered that plan by turning off onto the right shoulder and coming to a stop three car lengths ahead of the cruiser. By the time he rolled down his window, the trooper was out of his car, one hand on his holster.

A quick flash of Milo’s I.D. and a few pacifying words about heading to a new crime scene and not wanting to drive distracted turned the trooper contemplative.

Milo consulted his phone. “Oh, man, this is serious. Multiple victims.”

The Chippie, young, beefy, sunburn-ruddy, said, “Good thinking your getting off the highway, Lieutenant, the law’s for everyone.” Looking crushed, he swaggered back to his black-and-white and sat there as Milo punched in Ahearn’s numbers.

Ahearn didn’t answer his cell or his desk phone. A desk officer said the lieutenant was out but wouldn’t give details.

Milo said, “Any word on a forensic analysis at—?”

“No idea. I’ll give him the message.”

As we got back on the highway, Ruddy pretended to ignore us.

At Oxnard, Milo looked around and speed-dialed. Nothing to report from Binchy, Petra, or Biro.

He handed me the phone. “Look up the school district I called before, punch it, and hand it over. Please.”

He weathered bureaucracy through Camarillo and well into Thousand Oaks. Hopping like a frog in a lily pond, transferred from one bureaucrat to another. Near Lindero Canyon, I spotted another CHP stalk and said so.

He passed me the phone and I pretended to be him with three L.A. Unified functionaries.

Finally, a woman named Estrelle said, “Neither person is currently employed by the district.”

“Did they quit or were they terminated?”

“I can’t give out that information.”

“Could you make a theoretical guess?”

“I’m not sure I know what you—”

“It’s important to find them. They could be homicide victims.”

Estrelle said, “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well... is this being taped?”

“No.”

“All right,” said Estrelle. “All I can tell you is voluntary leaves of absence have been known to take place.”

“How long ago? Theoretically.”

“Well... could be a month. Around.”

“Thank you.”

“Victims,” said Estrelle. “That’s bad.”

I handed the phone back to Milo.

He said, “You should be me more often, amigo. Though you would need to up your caloric intake. A month. So they both left around the same time.”

I said, “Maybe Donna gave notice first because she was hiding from Mearsheim and prepping to run away with Corvin. Mearsheim found out and quit to go looking for her, finally nabbed her at the Sahara. Then he took her back to Arrowhead to finish her off. Returning to the scene of her crime to mete out justice, but maybe not swift justice. Brassing’s death says Mearsheim was up there recently. One good reason would be to have his way with Donna.”

“You think he tortured her?”

“Someone who could blow a man’s face off, sever his hands, and take the time to stage the body in a neighbor’s house is capable of anything.”

He had me speed-dial Ahearn, still no luck.

“Just like TV,” he said. “Solved by the fourth commercial.”

I said, “By adorable things using whiz-bang DNA.”

He was quiet for the next few exits. Then: “That goddamn place has to be processed.”