The Museum of Desire

Chapter 12

Wednesday morning, news of the killings broke. The story was pushed to the rear by political viciousness, not much by way of detail, not strictly accurate. (“A multiple shooting in Beverly Hills during the early-morning hours...”)

The sketchiness meant the department had continued to suppress details but nowadays details don’t matter, it’s all about emotional contagion. I knew the internet would be ping-ponging the story, leading to freelance guesswork and tips ranging from psychotic to encouraging. Milo’s name was listed as primary investigator but his office number wasn’t. Someone calling with information would have to make an effort.

At ten to nine I arrived at the same room where Andrea Bauer’s interview had taken place. Reed, Binchy, and Bogomil walked in together four minutes later. All three in casual plainclothes, what could be taken as an internet start-up business group.

Milo had been in the room long enough to fill a whiteboard with the death shots of four victims, the forensic details available, and the time line Basia had given.

At the bottom, a snapshot of Lassie that raised the detectives’ eyebrows as they settled.

Four chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing the board. On the table, coffee pitcher, cups, and a big box of pastries from a West Hollywood French bakery. The boss picking up patisserie for the troops.

Milo snatched a cruller, demolished half, brushed crumbs from his shirt, and pointed to the board. “Nourish yourselves, scan this, then group therapy begins.”

Binchy took a chocolate croissant, Bogomil broke a bear claw in half, Reed sat down.

“Not healthy enough for you, Moses?”

“I’m watching my sugar intake.”

“I watch mine, too. As it rises.” Finishing the rest of the cruller. “Okay. Like I told you all yesterday, no info of value from the kids who threw the party. They don’t keep written records and Alex doesn’t see them as able to pull off a complex multi. I agree. I’m assuming still nothing from the canvass.”

Reed said, “We covered every house from Sunset to Mulholland. Hard to find anyone home but those that were didn’t see the limo enter or anything else out of the ordinary.”

“Coroner’s TOD estimate fits with the car being brought there in the wee hours, when it was still dark. So they could be telling the truth.”

Reed nodded. “We did get a few complaints but not just for that house, for parties in general. Parking, noise, trash.”

Bogomil said, “Like we’re supposed to drop a homicide investigation and take care of rich cranks.”

Binchy said, “It does mean lots of people knew it was a venue. Maybe also that it was left unattended after parties.”

Milo said, “Good point, Sean.” He smiled. “And depressing because it expands the suspect pool. I double-checked with Bright Dawn and they only cleaned the place one other time this year, back in January. A benefit — breast cancer, different crowd, older folk. I asked for a guest list, they said whoever throws the event keeps the records. The group’s called Daylighters, small, limited to big donors. I’ve got a call in to their office. Alicia, did you have time to look for other agencies?”

Bogomil said, “So far I’ve found four. None uses that property.”

Reed said, “What about another angle, L.T.? Nasty divorce can breed all sorts of ugly.”

I said, “I found out which judge is handling the case and left a message.”

Silence from the three of them. The kind of sludgy inertia that sets in when there’s nowhere else to go.

Milo said, “Next: phone accounts. Alvarez didn’t have one and if the woman is homeless, probably the same for her. I’ve subpoenaed Roget and Gurnsey’s cells and Roget’s landline. At the very least we’ll know who they talked to last. With the canvass over, let’s take a look at where Roget posted his ads. Now the forensics, such as they are.”

He summed up, including Basia’s asphyxiation theory for the woman and her lack of fingerprints. The latter brought frowns to three faces.

Bogomil mouthed, Wonderful.

Milo said, “Basia’s gonna try to scare up something.” He turned to me. “How about some psychological insight?”

I said, “This is more guesswork than insight. If we view the slaughter as a true multiple, it’s likely all four victims meant something to the killer. But these four are as varied as they come. So far the only commonality is the lack of local family ties but, again, why such a mixed group? Another way to look at it is one victim was the primary target and the others were added later as supporting players. To my mind, the most likely primary is Rick Gurnsey.”

I described Gurnsey’s sexual behavior.

Alicia frowned. “Bad boy who tried to sneak in the back door? Yeah, that could annoy someone.”

“If he got aggressive, he was more than an annoyance,” I said. “At the very least his behavior was high-risk. The murderer had a firearm but chose to stab him, and the lack of defense wounds says Gurnsey was caught off guard.”

“Up close and personal,” said Reed. “Cut during an intimate situation.”

“That’s how it feels to me, Moe.”

“An angry woman?” said Bogomil. “Then why the others?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “We could also be talking about an angry husband slash boyfriend. Or most likely, two people working in concert because this slaughter involved a lot of subduing and transferring.”

“Vengeful couple,” said Reed.

“Supporting players,” said Binchy. “Like casting a movie.”

I said, “Right from the beginning the crime scene’s felt theatrical to me. Given Gurnsey’s behavior, the way he was posed, his having a wider social net than the others, I’d concentrate on him. Past relationships, people he worked with.”

Bogomil said, “The woman was just as posed as Gurnsey. And choking her out was pretty up close and personal.”

I said, “It’s possible both of them were primary targets. On the other hand, her age, her looks, her possible homelessness, could be thought of as factors chosen to humiliate Gurnsey.”

“You jumped me with your alleged manhood so I’m showing it to the world, soft and small? I guess that makes sense.” She smiled. “As the girl in the room, I can say that.”

Milo said, “Hopefully we can I.D. her. We find out she’s an heiress with a big life insurance policy, we’ll shift our perspective.”

Alicia played with the pale ends of her hair. “The men were wearing normal clothes but to my eye, she was in what looked like vintage. Like someone went into the costume room and played dress-up. So yeah, there is that production feel to it.”

Binchy said, “A chauffeur’s uniform could also be seen as a costume. Choosing a chauffeur — and a car like that — is also pretty theatrical.”

Milo said, “This is good. Keep thinking and don’t be afraid to guess. Anything else?”

Silence.

“Okay, good point about the clothes, Alicia. I’ll have the lab check for labels. Onward.”

He tapped the photo of Lassie, told them about the dog blood.

They sat there.

Finally, Bogomil said, “Bastard.”

Meeting over, the young D’s dispersed, everyone begging off Milo’s offer to take the pastries with them.

He said, “Maybe it was the dog, ruined their appetites.” He brought the box back to his office, placed it in the scant space to the left of his computer, and shot it a longing glance. Phoning the crime lab at Cal State L.A., he spoke to the director, Noreen Sharp, about the clothing.

She said, “We talking fiber analysis?”

“A list of the labels will do just fine, Noreen.”

“Easy enough. This is some complication you got yourself, Milo. We had to use the truck bay for the limo, pulled up a fair amount of prints. The crypt hasn’t sent over your victims’ bio-data yet so I can’t tell you if they mean anything.”

“I’ll get that done for you. What do you think about the dog blood?”

“I think,” said Sharp, “that it’s bizarre and monstrous and totally over-the-top. We’ve dealt with canine transfers over the years, mostly hairs we could trace to bad guys. Dumping blood? Who’d do that? We’re still scraping away the carpet gook, it’s like cleaning grease from a barbecue. There’s a lot of surface area so we used a new computer program from Israel to tell us how many samples we need to cover enough ground. Multiple drench-spots makes it tough, the program’s not set up for that, so it probably overestimated when it came up with a hundred seventy-eight and mapped where they should come from. We’ll go with that so obviously it’s going to take time.”

“Appreciate it, Noreen.”

“It’s what we do. Does Dr. Delaware have anything to say about this? I mean, let’s face it, it smells psycho.”

“He thinks it smells theatrical.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe they’re not that different. Okay, let me get you those labels.”

Milo’s next call was to Basia’s office at the crypt. He got her assistant, requested the bio-data be sent to Sharp. Was putting his phone down when a text pinged. He read and shook his head.

“Labels on all the clothing were removed — tech could see the stitch-marks.”

I said, “Her clothing could’ve been altered or she got it from a donation bin with the labels removed.”

His computer dinged a text. “Gurnsey’s phone records. Here we go.”

Six months of calls. “This is gonna take time.”

His arm dipped into the pastry box. Random selection produced a chocolate cinnamon roll.

He said, “Go home, enjoy the benefits of hearth and home. I’ll content myself with calories.”