Private Eyes

15

He walked me to the door, talking about science. As I made my way across the lawn I noticed the Saab had been moved forward into the driveway. Behind it was a gray Range Rover. The windshield was dusty, except for wiper arcs.

I visualized Gabney behind the wheel, forging through the mesquite, and drove away thinking what an odd couple the two of them were. At first glance she was an ice queen. Combative, accustomed to fighting for her rights- I could see why she and Melissa had raised each other’s hackles. But the frost was so thin it melted on scrutiny. Underneath, vulnerability. Like Gina’s. Had that formed the basis for an exceptional empathy?

Who’d introduced whom to small gray rooms and the art of Mary Cassatt?

Whatever the reason, she seemed to care. Gina’s disappearance had shaken her up.

In contrast, her husband seemed intent upon distancing himself from the whole affair. Shrugging off Gina’s pathology as routine, reducing pain to jargon. Yet, despite his nonchalance, he’d zipped down to L.A. all the way from Santa Ynez- a two-hour drive. So perhaps he was as worried as his wife and simply better at concealing it.

The old male-female split.

Men posture.

Women bleed.

I thought of what he’d told me about losing his son. How he’d told me. The ease with which he’d spun his tale suggested he’d mouthed it a thousand times before.

Working it through? Desensitization?

Or maybe he really had mastered the art of putting the past behind him.

Maybe one day I’d call him up and ask for lessons.

It was nine-fifty by the time I got back to Sussex Knoll. A single police cruiser was still patrolling the streets. I must have passed inspection because no one stopped me from pulling up to the gates.

Over the talk box Don Ramp’s voice was dry and tired.

“No, nothing,” he said. “Come on up.”

The gates yawned. I sped through. More outdoor bulbs had been switched on, creating a false daylight, bright and cold.

No other cars in front of the house. The Chaucer doors were open. Ramp stood between them in his shirtsleeves.

“Not a damned thing,” he said, after I’d climbed the steps. “What’d the doctors say?”

“Nothing significant.” I told him about Ursula’s call regarding Melvin Findlay.

His face fell.

I said, “Have you heard anything more from Chickering?”

“He called about half an hour ago. Nothing to report, she’s probably fine, not to worry- it’s not his wife out there. I asked him about contacting the FBI. He claims they won’t get involved unless there’s evidence of abduction, preferably something involving interstate transport of the victim.”

He threw up his hands, let them fall limply. “The victim. I don’t even want to think of her as that, but…”

He closed the doors. The entry hall was lit, but beyond it the house was in darkness.

He headed for a light switch on the other side of the entry, making scuffing sounds as he crossed the marble.

I said, “Did your wife ever say why McCloskey did it?”

He stopped, half-turned. “Why do you ask?”

“In terms of understanding her- how she dealt with the assault.”

“Dealt with it in what way?”

“Victims of crime often go on fact-finding missions- wanting to know about the criminal, his motives. What turned them into victims. In order to try to make some sense out of it and protect themselves from future victimizations. Did your wife ever do that? Because no one seems to know what McCloskey’s motive was.”

“No, she didn’t.” He resumed walking. “At least not as far as I know. And she had no idea why he did it. Frankly, we don’t talk much about it- I’m part of her present, not her past. But she did tell me that the bastard refused to say- the police couldn’t get it out of him. He was a drinker and a drug-fiend, but that doesn’t explain it, does it?”

“What kind of drugs did he use?”

He reached the switch, flicked, illuminated the huge front room in which Gina Ramp and I had waited yesterday. Yesterday seemed like ancient history. A swan-necked decanter filled with something amber and very clear sat alongside several old-fashioned glasses on a portable rosewood bar. He held out a glass to me. I shook my head. He poured a finger for himself, hesitated, doubled it, then stoppered the decanter and sipped.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Drugs were never my thing. This”- raising the glass-“and beer is about as daring as I get. I never knew him very well- just a bit from the studios. He was a hanger-on. Hung around Gina like a little leech. A nothing. Hollywood’s full of them. No talent of his own, so he got girls to pose for pictures.”

He walked farther into the room, stepped on carpeting that dampened his footsteps and restored the house to silence.

I followed him. “Is Melissa back yet?”

He nodded. “Up in her room. She went straight up, looked pretty beat.”

“Noel still with her?”

“No, Noel’s back at the Tankard- my restaurant. He works for me, parking cars, busing, some waiting. Good kid, real up-from-the-bootstraps story- he’s got a good future. Melissa’s too much for him, but I guess he’ll have to learn that for himself.”

“Too much in what way?”

“Too smart, too good-looking, too feisty. He’s madly in love with her and she walks all over him- not out of cruelty or snobbery. It’s just her style. She just forges straight ahead, not thinking.”

As if trying to compensate for the criticism, he said, “That’s one thing she isn’t- a snob. Despite all this.” Waving his free hand around the room. “Christ, can you imagine growing up here? I grew up in Lynwood when it was still mostly white. My dad was an independent truck driver with a bad temper. Meaning there were plenty of times nobody hired him. We always had enough to eat, but that was about it. I didn’t like having to scrounge, but I know now that it made me into a better person- not that Melissa’s not a good person. Basically she’s a real good kid. Only she’s used to having her way, just plows ahead when she wants something, regardless of what anyone else wants. Gina’s… situation made her grow up fast. Actually it’s kind of amazing she developed as well as she did.”

He sat down heavily on an overstuffed couch. “Guess I don’t need to tell you about kids- I’m just going on because frankly I’m pretty rattled by all this. Where the hell could she be? What about this detective- you reach him yet?”

“Not yet. Let me try again.”

He sprang up and brought back a cellular phone.

I dialed Milo’s home, got the recorded message, then heard it break.

“Hello?”

“Rick? This is Alex. Is Milo there?”

“Hi, Alex. Sure. We just got in- saw a bad movie. Hold on.”

Two seconds, then: “Yeah?”

“Ready to start early?”

“On what?”

“Private-eyeing?”

“It can’t wait till morning?”

“Something’s come up.” I looked over at Ramp. Staring at me, haggard. Choosing my words carefully, I recounted what had happened, including McCloskey’s questioning and release, and the news of Melvin Findlay’s death in prison. Expecting Milo to comment on either or both. Instead, he said, “She take any clothes with her?”

“Melissa says no.”

“How can Melissa be sure?”

“She says she knows the contents of her mother’s closet, could tell if anything was missing.”

Ramp looked at me sharply.

Milo said, “Even a skimpy little negligee?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that, Milo.”

“Why not?”

I shot a glance over at Ramp. Still staring, his drink untouched. “It doesn’t fit.”

“Ah. Hubby at close proximity?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, let’s switch to another lane. What have the local cops done, other than drive around?”

“That’s it as far as I know. No one’s too impressed with their level of competence.”

“They’re not known as stone geniuses out there, but what else should they be doing? Going door to door and antagonizing the trillionaires? Lady staying out late isn’t Judge Crater. It’s only been a few hours. And with the kind of car she’s driving, someone might actually see it. They put out bulletins- for what they’re worth?”

“The police chief said they did.”

“You hobnobbing with police chiefs now?”

“He was here.”

“The personal touch,” he said. “Ah, the rich.”

“What about the FBI?”

“Nah, those guys won’t touch it unless there’s definite evidence of a crime, preferably one that will make the headlines. Unless your affluent friends have heavy-duty political connections.”

“How heavy-duty?”

“Someone in a position to call Washington and lean on the director. Even then, she’s gonna have to be missing for a couple of days for the Feds- for anyone- to take it seriously. Without some kind of evidence of a bona fide crime, what they’ll do is eventually send over a couple of agents who look like actors, to take a report, march around the house in their junior G-man shades, French-kissing their walkie-talkies. What’s it been, six hours?”

I looked at my watch. “Closer to seven.”

“It doesn’t scream major felony, Alex. What else have you got to tell me?”

“Nothing much. I just got back from talking to her therapists. They had no major insights.”

“Well,” he said, “you know those types. Better at asking questions than answering them.”

“You have any you want to ask?”

“I could go through some motions.”

Ramp was sipping and eyeing me over the rim of his glass. I said, “That might be useful.”

“I guess I could make it over there in a half-hour or so, but basically it’s going to be a placebo routine. Because the kind of stuff you want to do in a real missing-persons case- financial searches, credit-card checks- have to take place during working hours. Anybody think of checking hospitals?”

“I assume the police have. If you’d like to-”

“No big sweat making a few calls. In fact, I can do plenty from right here rather than spend thirty minutes getting over there.”

“I think it would be a good idea to do it face-to-face.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Lots of shaky knees? Power of placebo?”

“Yup.”

“Hold on.” Hand over receiver. “Yeah, okay, Dr. Silverman’s not happy but he’s being saintly about it. Maybe I can even get him to pick out my tie.”

Ramp and I waited without talking much. He, drinking and sinking progressively lower into one of the overstuffed chairs. Me, thinking about how Melissa would be affected if her mother didn’t return soon.

I considered going up to her room to see how she was doing, remembered what Ramp had said about her being beat, and decided to let her rest. Depending on how things turned out, she might not be sleeping well for a while.

Half an hour passed, then another twenty minutes. When the chimes sounded I got to the door ahead of Ramp and opened it. Milo padded in, dressed as well as I’d ever seen him. Navy hopsack blazer, gray slacks, white shirt, maroon tie, brown loafers. Clean-shaven and he’d gotten a haircut- the usual lousy one, cropped too close at the back and sides, the sideburns trimmed to mid-ear. Three months off duty and he still looked like the arm of somebody’s law.

I did the introductions. Watched Ramp’s face change as he got a good look at Milo. Eyes narrowing, mustache twitching as if plagued by fleas.

Flinty suspicion. Marlboro Man staring down rustler varmints. Gabney’s cowboy suit would have looked better on him.

Milo must have seen it, too, but he didn’t react.

Ramp stared a while longer, then said, “I hope you can help.”

More suspicion. It had been a while since Milo’s picture had been on TV but maybe Ramp had a good memory. Actors- even stupid ones- often did. Or perhaps his memory had been prompted by good old-fashioned homophobia.

I said, “Detective Sturgis is on leave from the Los Angeles Police.” Pretty sure I’d mentioned that before.

Ramp stared.

Milo finally began to return the favor.

The two of them remained locked in a stare-fest. I thought of rodeo bulls in adjacent pens, snorting and pawing and butting the boards.

Milo broke first. “This is what I’ve been given so far.” He repeated, almost word for word, what I’d told him. “Accurate?”

“Yes,” said Ramp.

Milo grunted. Pulling a note pad and pen out of a jacket pocket, he turned pages, stopped, pointed with a thick finger. “I’ve confirmed that the San Labrador police put out countywide bulletins on her. Which is usually a waste of time, but with this car, maybe not. They’ve got the car listed as a 1954 Rolls-Royce sedan, license plate AD RR SD, Vehicle Identification Number SOG Twenty-two. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Color?”

“Black over shell-gray.”

“Better than a Toyota,” said Milo, “in terms of conspicuousness. Before I came out I called a few of the local emergency rooms. No one fitting her description’s been brought in.”

“Thank God,” said Ramp. Sweating.

Milo looked up at the ceiling, lowered his eyes and took in the front rooms with one sweeping glance. “Nice house. How many rooms?”

The question caught Ramp off guard. “I’m not really sure- never counted. About thirty, thirty-five, I guess.”

“How many does your wife actually use?”

“Use? Basically, she just uses her suite. It’s three rooms- four including the bathroom. Sitting area, bedroom, plus a side room with bookshelves, a desk, some exercise equipment, a refrigerator.”

“Sounds like a home within a home,” said Milo. “Do you have one, too?”

“Just one room,” said Ramp, coloring. “Right next to hers.”

Milo wrote something down. “Any reason you can think of why she decided to drive to the doctor alone?”

“I don’t know- that wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to go with her. We were going to leave at three. She called me at two-fifteen- I was at my restaurant- and told me not to bother coming home, she’d be driving herself. I questioned it, but she said she’d be fine. I didn’t want to weaken her confidence, so I didn’t press the matter.”

“Thirty-five rooms,” said Milo, writing again. “Besides her suite, did she frequent any of the others? Keep stuff around?”

“Not to my knowledge. Why?”

“How large is the property?”

“Just under seven acres.”

“She walk around it much?”

“She’s comfortable walking around it, if that’s what you mean. She used to stroll quite a bit. I strolled with her, back when it was the only place she went. Lately- the last few months- she’s been leaving the property, taking short walks with Dr. Cunningham-Gabney.”

“Besides the front gate, is there another way to get in or out?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“No rear alleys?”

“No. The property abuts another estate- Dr. and Mrs. Elridge’s. There are high hedges in between. Ten feet or higher.”

“How many outbuildings?”

Ramp thought. “Let’s see, if you count the garages-”

“Garages? How many?”

“Ten. One long building with ten stalls, actually. It was built for her first husband’s antique car collection. Some of the vehicles are priceless. The doors are kept bolted at all times. Only the Dawn’s stall was left open.”

Milo jotted quickly, looked up. “Go on.”

Ramp looked puzzled.

Milo said, “Other buildings on the property.”

“Buildings,” said Ramp. “A potting shed, pool cabanas, a changing room off the tennis court. That’s it, unless you count the gazebo.”

“What about servants’ quarters?”

“The staff lives here in the house. One of the corridors upstairs leads to their quarters.”

“How many on the staff?”

“There’s Madeleine, of course. Two maids and the gardener. The gardener doesn’t live on the premises. He’s got five sons, none of whom work for us full time but all of whom are here from time to time, helping out.”

“Any of the staff actually see your wife leave?”

Ramp said, “One of the maids was polishing the entry, saw her walk out the door. I’m not sure if anyone actually saw her drive off. If you want to question them I can go get them right now.”

“Where are they?”

“Up in their rooms.”

“When do they go off shift?”

“At nine. They don’t always retire right away. Sometimes they stay in the kitchen- talking, having coffee. I sent them up early tonight. Didn’t want any hysteria.”

“They pretty upset?”

Ramp nodded. “They’ve known her a long time, tend to be protective.”

“What about other homes?”

“Only one. At the beach. Broad Beach. Malibu. She’s never gone there, to my knowledge. Doesn’t like the water- she doesn’t even swim in the pool here. But I called over there anyway. Twice. Nothing.”

“Did she say anything recently- over the past few days or even weeks- about taking off? Going away by herself?”

“Absolutely not, and I-”

“No hints dropped? Remarks that didn’t seem to mean anything then but do now?”

“I said no!” Ramp’s color deepened. He squinted so hard, my head began to ache.

Milo tapped his pen and waited.

Ramp said, “That wouldn’t make sense. She wanted more involvement with other people, not less. That was the whole point of her treatment- getting back into the social whirl. And frankly, I don’t see the point of this line of questioning- who the hell cares what she talked about? She didn’t go on vacation, for Christ’s sake! Something happened to her out there. Why don’t you drive downtown and shake up that psychopath McCloskey! Teach the idiots who let him go something about police work!”

Breathing hard. Temple veins swollen.

Milo said, “Before I came here, I spoke to the detective at Central Division who interviewed McCloskey. Fellow named Bradley Lewis- not the best cop, but not the worst, either. McCloskey’s alibi is ironclad- he was feeding the homeless at the mission where he lives. Peeling potatoes and washing dishes and ladling out soup all afternoon. Dozens of people saw him, including the priest who runs the place. He never left from noon till eight. So there’s no way the police could have kept him in custody.”

“What about as a material witness?”

“No crime, no witness, Mr. Ramp. As far as they’re concerned it’s just a situation of some lady who stayed out late.”

“But look who we’re talking about- what he did!”

“True. But he served his time; his parole’s over. Far as the law’s concerned, he’s Joe Citizen. The police have zero hold over him.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

“My hold’s less than zero.”

“I wasn’t referring to legal niceties, Mr. Sturgis.”

Milo smiled, took a deep breath. “Sorry. Donated my rubber hose to Goodwill.”

“I’m serious, Mr. Sturgis.”

The smile died. “So am I, Mr. Ramp. If that’s the kind of help you’re after, you’ve dialed a very wrong number.”

He put his pen away.

Ramp said, “Look, I didn’t mean to-”

Milo held out a hand. “I know this is hell. I know the system stinks. But rousting McCloskey right now is not in your wife’s best interest. Central Division said after they let him go, they drove him home- guy doesn’t have a car- and he went to bed. Let’s say I go over there, wake him up. He refuses to let me in. So I force my way in, play Dirty Harry. In the movies that works great- the power of intimidation. He confesses all, and the good guys win. In the real world, he hires a lawyer. Sues my ass, and yours, and the media find out. Meanwhile your wife comes waltzing in- she had car trouble, couldn’t get to a phone. A real happy ending except now she’s back on page one. The main feature on A Current Affair. Not to mention having to watch you cough up some dough to McCloskey or play defendant for a couple of years. What’s that gonna do for her psychological progress?”

Ramp said, “Christ, this is insanity,” and shook his head.

“I asked Central Division to keep a watch on him. They said they’d try, but to be truthful that’s not worth a lot. If she’s not back by morning, I’ll pay him a visit. If you can’t handle waiting, I’ll drive down there right now. When he doesn’t let me in, I’ll sit out there all night watching his door, write you a detailed surveillance report that sounds pretty impressive. I’m charging you seventy dollars an hour plus expenses. A bullshit hour gets billed the same as a productive one. But I just figured for that kind of money, you’re entitled to some independent judgment on my part.”

“And what is your independent judgment, Mr. Sturgis?”

“At this point, there are better ways of spending my time.”

“Such as?”

“Such as making more hospital calls. Phoning all-night service stations. The auto club- if you’re members.”

“We are. Those sound like things I can do.”

“You can. Feel free. The more people working on it, the faster we’ll get it done. If you want to do it yourself, I’ll write you up a list of the other things you can do and be on my way.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Hooking up with the paramedics and the independent ambulance companies, keeping in touch with the traffic divisions of the various police departments in order to make sure information doesn’t get lost in the shuffle- it happens a lot, believe me. If you want to go further, check out airlines, air charter services, car rental agencies. Run credit-card traces- find out what cards she carries, have the companies flag the numbers, so when they’re used to make a purchase, we know where and when and get the information as soon as possible. If she’s not back by morning, I’d also get to work on her bank records, see if she made any major withdrawals recently. Do you cosign on her accounts?”

“No, our finances are independent.”

“No shared accounts?”

“No, Mr. Sturgis.” Ramp had folded his arms across his chest. Each word seemed to crank him tighter. “Withdrawals, airlines- what are you saying? That she deliberately ran away?”

“I’m sure she didn’t, but-”

“She definitely didn’t.”

Milo ran his hand over his face. “Mr. Ramp, let’s hope she walks in any minute. If she doesn’t, it’s got to be approached as a missing-persons case, and missing-persons cases aren’t great for the ego- the egos of those left waiting. Because to do the job properly, you’ve got to assume anything’s possible. It’s like a doctor biopsying a lump- chances are it’s benign. The doctor quotes you statistics, smiles, and tells you he’s almost positive it’s nothing to worry about. But he cuts it open anyway and sends it to the lab.”

He unbuttoned his jacket, jammed both hands in his trouser pockets, put the weight of one leg on its heel and arced it back and forth, like a runner doing an ankle stretch.

Ramp looked down at the foot, then up at Milo’s green eyes.

“So,” he said, “I’m going to get cut.”

“It’s your choice,” said Milo. “The alternative is just to sit tight and wait.”

“No, no- go ahead, do all those things. You can do them faster. I suppose you’ll want a check before you begin.”

Milo said, “I’ll want one before I leave- seven hundred dollars, which is a ten-hour advance. But first round up the servants, call the gardener, and get him back here, along with any sons who were working today and might have seen her. Meantime, I’d like to check out her suite, go through her stuff.”

Ramp started to question that, didn’t like the answers he created for himself, and swallowed them.

Milo said, “I’ll be as tidy as possible. You want to watch, that’s okay.”

Ramp said, “No, that’s fine. Go ahead. This way.” Pointing to the staircase.

The two of them began climbing, side by side, sharing the same wide marble step but keeping maximum distance.

I followed two steps behind, feeling like the guy who introduced Ali to Foreman.

When we got to the top, I heard a door open, saw a sliver of light slant across the floor of one of the corridor spokes, two doors down from Gina Ramp’s room. It widened to a triangle, then was darkened by shadow as Melissa walked out into the hall, still in shirt and jeans, socks on her feet. Walking groggily, rubbing her eyes.

I called her name softly.

She started, turned. Ran toward us. “Is she-”

Ramp shook his head. “Nothing yet. This is Detective Sturgis. Dr. Delaware’s… friend. Detective, Ms. Melissa Dickinson, Mrs. Ramp’s daughter.”

Milo held out a hand. She barely grazed it, withdrew, looked up at him. There were crease marks on her face- the false scars of slumber. Her lips were dry and her eyelids were swollen. “What are you going to do to find her? What can I do?”

“Were you here at home when your mother left?” said Milo.

“Yes.”

“What kind of mood was she in?”

“Okay. Excited about going out by herself- actually, nervous, and she was covering it by trying to look excited. I was worried she’d have an attack. I tried to talk her out of it, told her I’d go with her. But she refused- she even raised her voice to me. She’d never raised her voice to me…”

Biting back tears.

“I should have insisted.”

Milo said, “Did she say why she wanted to go by herself?”

“No. I kept asking her that, but she refused. It wasn’t like her at all- I should have known something was wrong.”

“Did you actually see her drive away?”

“No. She told me not to follow her- ordered it.” Biting her lip. “So I went to my room. Lay down and listened to music and fell asleep- just like I did now. I can’t believe it- why am I sleeping so much?”

Ramp said, “Stress, Meliss.”

She said to Milo: “What do you think happened to her?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out. Your stepdad will be calling the staff together, see if anyone knows anything. In the meantime, I’ll be checking out her room and making phone calls- you can help with some of those, if you want.”

“Calls to where?”

“Routine stuff,” said Milo. “Gas stations, the auto club. The Highway Patrol. Some of the local hospitals- just to be careful.”

“Hospitals,” she said, putting a hand on her chest. “Oh, God!”

“Just to be careful,” Milo repeated. “The San Labrador cops have already called a few. So have I, and she hasn’t been reported injured. But it pays to be careful.”

She said “Hospitals” again and began crying. Milo put a hand on her shoulder.

Ramp pulled out a handkerchief, said, “Here.” She glanced at it, shook her head, used her hand to wipe her eyes.

Ramp looked at the cloth, put it back in his pocket, and took a couple of steps back.

Melissa said to Milo, “Why do you want to see her room?”

“To get a feel for the type of person she was. See if anything’s out of order. Maybe she left some clue. You can help me with that, too.” “Shouldn’t we be doing something- be out there looking for her?”

Ramp said, “Waste of time.”

She turned on him. “That’s your opinion.”

“No, it’s Mr. Sturgis’s opinion.”

“Then let him tell me himself.”

Ramp squinted, motionless except for tiny flexes along the jawline. “I’ll go get the staff,” he said, and walked away quickly down the left-hand corridor.

When he was out of earshot, Melissa said, “You should be keeping an eye on him.”

Milo said, “Why’s that?”

“She’s got a lot more money than he does.”

Milo looked at her. Ran a hand over his face. “You think he might have done something to her?”

“If he thought it might get him something, who knows? He sure likes the things money can buy- tennis, living here, the beach house. But everything belongs to Mother. I don’t know why they got married- they don’t sleep together or do anything together. It’s like he’s just visiting- some damned houseguest who refuses to leave. I don’t see why she married him.”

“They fight much?”

“Never,” she said. “But big deal. They’re not together enough to fight. What could she see in him?”

“Ever ask her?” I said.

“In a roundabout way- I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I asked her what to look for in a man. She said kindness and tolerance were the most important things.”

“That describe him?” said Milo.

“I think he’s just smooth. Out for luxury.”

“Does he get her money if something happens to her?”

It was more than she was willing to confront. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I… I don’t know.”

“Easy enough to find out,” he said. “If she doesn’t show up tomorrow morning, I’ll start looking into her finances. Maybe I’ll find something up in her room right now.”

“Okay,” she said. “You don’t really think something happened to her, do you?”

“No reason to. And in terms of what you mentioned before- going out there looking for her- your local cops are already patrolling extensively. I saw them on the way over and it’s what they do best. There are also countywide bulletins out for her- I checked myself, didn’t take that on faith. Dr. Delaware will tell you I’m the original skeptic. That doesn’t mean all those police departments are gonna go out of their way to look for your mother. But a Rolls-Royce may just catch their eye. If she’s not back soon, we can have the bulletins expanded, can even tell the papers she’s missing- but once those guys sink their teeth in, they never let go, so we’ve gotta be careful.”

“What about McCloskey!” she said. “Do you know about him?”

Milo nodded.

“Then why don’t you go out there and… pressure him? Noel and I would have done it if we knew where he lived- maybe I’ll find out and do it.”

“That’s not a very good idea,” said Milo and repeated the speech he’d given Ramp.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but she’s my mother and I’ve got to do what I think is right.”

“How do you think your mother would like seeing you in a drawer in the morgue?”

Her mouth dropped open. She closed it. Drew herself up. Next to Milo she looked tiny, almost comically so. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“You’re right.”

“Well, it won’t work.”

“Damn shame.” He looked at his Timex. “Been here a quarter hour and I’ve done diddly. Wanna stand around talking or work?”

“Work,” she said. “Of course-”

“Her room,” said Milo.

“Over here. C’mon.” She ran down the hall, all traces of sleepiness gone.

Milo watched her and muttered something I couldn’t make out.

We followed her.

She’d reached the door, was holding it open. “Here,” she said. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

Milo walked into the sitting room. I went in after him.

She slid past me and faced Milo, blocking the door to the bedroom. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“I’m paying you. Not Don. So treat me like an adult.”