The Museum of Desire

Chapter 19

We returned to Milo’s office and set to work tracing Mary Jane Huralnik using separate pathways.

Beyond her minor arrests nothing further on any law enforcement database. A Social Security number issued fifty years ago yielded nothing, including disability payments. No claims on money she could’ve gotten. Someone low on self-care.

She didn’t show in my Google search but the uncommon surname provided an edge.

Four Huralniks in the U.S. John in Omaha, Louise in Columbus, Ohio, Hampton in Dover, New Hampshire, a Honda dealer named Randall Huralnik in Stockton, California.

Milo said, “Like the trendoids say, keep it local,” and started with Randall. Forty-two years old, no criminal record. An internet photo showed him corpulent and ruddy with a mop of brown hair and a pendulous nose.

Milo said, “Forty-two. I luck out and he’s Mary’s kid, she was a kid when she had him.”

He phoned the dealership, asked the woman who answered to put him through to Randall Huralnik.

She said, “Randy? Hold on.”

We endured several minutes of Beatles music bowdlerized to easy listening before a hearty voice boomed, “This is Randy! How can I help you today?”

“Lieutenant Sturgis, L.A. Police Department.”

“L.A.?” said Huralnik. “What’s going on down there?”

“Sir, are you by any chance related to Mary Jane Huralnik?”

“Aunt Mary? She finally got herself in some serious trouble?”

“The worst type of trouble, sir. I’m afraid she’s deceased.”

“Oh. That’s real sad news, Lieutenant.” Randy Huralnik’s sigh sounded like a gust of static. “I guess I’m not surprised. Alcohol poisoning?”

“She was murdered, Mr. Huralnik.”

“Oh. Huh. Well, that’s terrible news. Who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. What can you tell us about your aunt?”

“Tell,” said Huralnik, as if practicing a foreign word. “Not much to tell. She’s my mom’s younger sister, left when she was young and only came back once in a while. To get money from my parents. Which was crazy, there were all kinds of benefits she could’ve gotten but she claimed the government would hunt her down and put her in a cage.”

“Mental issues.”

“To say the least.”

“Did she have kids of her own?”

“Nope, never married, no kids.” A beat. “There was a thought that she was, you know, gay. My dad used to say that but my mom disagreed. I couldn’t tell you who was right.”

“Any family connections beyond your parents?”

“Nope, that’s it,” said Randy Huralnik. “I guess you’d call her a loner.”

Milo said, “How often would she visit to get money?”

“Not often. Maybe... two times a year, three? And not every year.”

“Any idea how she supported herself?”

“Dad said she was probably prostituting, Mom said no way. Again, can’t tell you. She hasn’t been back in a real long time, sir. Since before my dad died, which was twelve years ago, so, say... fourteen? Couple years later, Mom passed. I would’ve invited Mary to the funeral, but I had no idea how to reach her.”

“What’s your last memory of her?”

“Last one... okay, I was at the house helping my dad, he was sick with the Alzheimer’s. Suddenly Mary’s there, didn’t even hear her. Dad was on a walker but she didn’t ask how he was, just went in to see Mom. She looked terrible. She had problems.”

“Alcohol?”

“Sure, that,” said Randy Huralnik, “but I always thought she was off even without the drink. She was just... you know, different. Never looking at you, walking around with her lips moving.”

“Talking to herself.”

“That’s what it seemed to me. My dad called her the wolf the pack would’ve left behind. I know that sounds mean but I respect his opinion.”

I mouthed, Mom.

Milo said, “Your mother didn’t agree with him?”

“It was an issue between them, yeah,” said Huralnik. “But not a big one, she wasn’t around much.”

“Did Mary ever talk about friends, acquaintances, people she hung out with?”

“Not that I heard, sir. She and Mom would have conversations but I stayed away from them. Life’s hard enough without bringing extra problems on yourself.”

“That’s for sure,” said Milo. “So she never asked you for money?”

“Never,” said Huralnik. “She had, I’da said no. Maybe she knew that. Maybe she wasn’t that crazy.”

Milo scrawled a few notes and sat back. “Schizophrenic?”

“Probably.”

“Completes the picture: victims with no connections.” His cell rang. A number he didn’t recognize. “Sturgis. Oh, hi, Dr. Bauer.”

He switched to speaker.

Andrea Bauer said, “This is probably nothing but the employee you spoke to — Justine — just called in a panic because another employee, Marcella McGann, is two days overdue and still hasn’t shown up. I’d already brought someone from another facility to sub and Justine’s done a few doubles, she’s exhausted. So I’m bringing an additional worker and sending Justine home for an extended weekend.”

Lots about her situation, very little about McGann.

Milo heard it, too, and rolled his eyes. “Marcella was due back Wednesday.”

“That’s right.”

“She was the one on shift when Benny Alvarez didn’t come home.”

“She was,” said Bauer. “I supposed this could be just a vacation overstay but Marcella has always been dependable. In any event, I thought you should know.”

“Thanks. Why’s Justine panicking?”

“Obviously because of what happened to Benny,” said Bauer. “Not that I can see any connection to Marcella being late. But Justine’s young and I suppose working alone could be tough. This is going to sound terribly sexist but the sub’s a man and the second person will be, as well.”

“You feel you need extra security?” said Milo.

“I don’t, it’s more a matter of reassuring Justine.” A beat. “And I suppose reassuring myself. I don’t feel any sense of personal responsibility for Benny but it is horrible. Any progress?”

“We’re working our way.”

“I see. One more thing, Lieutenant. According to Marcella’s Facebook page she’d be at a Cabo hotel called Hacienda Del Sol. Obviously, I wanted to talk to her about scheduling so I called but they told me she’s not there. I asked if she actually had a reservation, thinking maybe she’d just changed her mind. They refused to tell me, even though I speak decent Spanish. I must admit, that bothers me a bit. Mexico, you know how it is, nowadays. My husband and I used to vacation in Acapulco. Now you’re taking your life in your hands.”

“We’ll check it out,” said Milo. “As long as I have you, let me shoot a name your way: Mary Jane Huralnik.”

“Who’s that?”

“A street person Benny might’ve encountered.”

“A dangerous street person?”

“Another victim.”

“Oh,” said Bauer. “Well I’m sorry for that and it’s certainly a disgrace the way we let people live wretchedly. But I don’t see Benny developing a relationship with any of those people.”

“Why’s that?”

“Benny was trained in proper behavior. As are all our Level Ones. I’ve reviewed our procedures and they’re totally appropriate. The residents wouldn’t want me to tighten up. They wish to be treated like functional adults. Hope your luck improves, Lieutenant. And thanks for keeping things quiet.”

Milo said, “Every time I talk to her I start off thinking maybe there’s a heart of gold buried somewhere beneath the cashmere. Then she throws in an ulterior motive.”

I said, “Can’t think of one that would cause her to call about McGann.”

“Hmph.”

He found Marcella McGann’s social network page, learned the surname of chubby boyfriend Steve: Vollmann.

At the Hacienda Del Sol Resort and Spa in Cabo San Lucas he was met with the same stonewall Andrea Bauer had described. Unlike Bauer he had police credentials and the persistence of a retrovirus.

Three transfers later, a manager named Umberto Iglesias confirmed, in unaccented English, that the reservation had been made in Stephen W. Vollmann’s name and had not been “honored by the customer.”

“Meaning?” said Milo.

“By no-showing, they canceled a package deal,” said Iglesias. “Nonrefundable, nontransferable. We gave the room to someone else.”

“Did you try to contact Mr. Vollmann?”

“We call him?” said Iglesias. As if Milo had suggested he amputate his own nose. “Package deals are the customer’s responsibility.”

“What was the package?”

“Discounted room rate, full breakfast, tour of a tequila factory, ride on a dolphin.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“People enjoy it,” said Iglesias. “The police calling from L.A.? Is this guy a criminal?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“So why didn’t he show up?”

Milo said, “Why, indeed,” and hung up.