The Museum of Desire

Chapter 21

A call to an Inglewood detective named Marcus Coolidge gave him the details: Two bodies had been found in that city the Monday after the Benedict bloodbath.

Male victim in his thirties sitting in the front passenger seat of a blue Camaro, female vic in the trunk of the car. As with the limo, the paucity of blood said the killings had taken place elsewhere. Best guess of TOD based on decomposition was Sunday. Same day the limo had been found.

The Camaro’s registration plus the age and physical stats of the male victim suggested he was Stephen W. Vollmann but no formal verification.

Coolidge said, “I’m sure it’s him but like I said there was decomp and we’re talking a shotgun, 12-gauge, not much face or teeth left. Vollmann’s got no prints on file so until the DNA comes in, I’m not allowed to make it official.”

Milo said, “He’s a vet, the army may have prints.”

“Ah. Good. I’ll get on that, thanks.”

“Vollmann had a girlfriend—”

“Marcella McGann,” said Coolidge. “Found her on his Facebook, the photos I saw of her match my female in general terms. But she got hit even closer-range than Vollmann and no prints from her, her hands were obliterated, probably from holding them up defensively.”

“Nasty.”

“Worst scene I’ve had in a while. One weird thing: The pathologist also found a knife wound in Vollmann, nonfatal, between the ribs, missed organs but damaged muscle. Would’ve caused big-time pain and made Vollmann easier to control and shoot. Vollmann’s pretty good-sized so maybe cutting him first was insurance. But I’ve never seen that before and a shotgun’s more than enough to get the job done.”

“Where was the car found?”

“Hindry Avenue, industrial area. Behind a painting supply warehouse.”

“Tough area?”

“This is Inglewood, man. Tough’s our thing. Including citizens making wrong turns on their way to the airport, you’d be amazed at some of the directions the stupid computer kicks out. Which is what I’ve been thinking for these two.”

“They were planning a trip to Mexico.”

“There you go. We’ve got four major gangs operating in and around and with no wallets, I.D., or jewelry, I’ve been figuring it for a robbery gone really bad. Which is a sensitive topic, you know?”

“Bad for tourism.”

“Bad for tourism,” said Coolidge, “plus the racial thing. White people get killed, there’s two rules from the bosses: Keep your mouth shut and be right about everything.”

Milo said, “If it was a robbery, why bother shooting them elsewhere and transporting them in the car? Why not rip off the car, for that matter?”

“Interesting questions. I catch the offender, I might get answers. So far nothing from my informants and every gangster I’ve talked to denies having anything to do with it and I have to say they’re coming across righteous. Why’re you interested?”

Milo told him.

Coolidge said, “Oh, boy. So it could be totally different from what I figured.”

“If it’s connected to mine, it’s big-time different.”

“Amazing. My situation, you don’t get too many surprises. We should meet, no?”

“Definitely.”

“Your shop or mine?”

“Anything to learn from your crime scene?”

“Nah, it’s long cleaned up and there was nothing important in the first place, just the car between a couple of dumpsters, low branches from a tree hanging over it.”

Milo said, “Not hidden but not look-at-me, either.”

“My thinking exactly,” said Coolidge. “Weekend’s coming up, I’m off shift in an hour. How about we meet today, your shop. I live in Playa, getting home after rush hour won’t be as bad.”

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“How about a deli?”

“Never met a deli I didn’t like.”

“Place called Maury’s.” Milo gave the address. “When can you be there?”

“Traffic, detours?” said Coolidge. “Give me forty. I’m late, order me a pastrami on rye. Don’t trim the fat.”

Milo said, “More bodies in a car,” stood and stretched and rubbed chin stubble. “Gonna be a long weekend, time to change my shirt and shave. You have something to keep you occupied while I’m nice to myself?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, yeah, active mind.”

When he was gone, I dialed Robin’s cell.

She said, “Hi, darling.”

“Hi. Still working?”

“Just stopped and ran a bath. About to step in.”

“The image will sustain me.”

“Will it? Okay, I’m loosening my hair and bending and...”

I said, “Now you’re endangering my health.”

She laughed. “Would a discussion about nutrition be apropos?”

“If you’re up for a late dinner, I am, too.”

“How much later?”

“Hard to say.”

“Something came up with the Big Guy.”

I said, “Two more bodies. He’s meeting with another detective.”

“Over food.”

“What else?”

“What kind of food?”

“Deli. I’m not hungry, can last till I get home. But if you are, don’t wait.”

“Two more bodies,” she said. “Similar to the other one?”

“Inglewood, a smaller car. The female victim took care of Benny Alvarez.”

“Oh. I can see why he’d want you there. Deli, huh? Haven’t had that for a while. Bring me home a pastrami on rye and get something for yourself, we’re running low on leftovers.”

“With or without the fat?”

“However it comes off the slicer,” she said. “Too much I can trim, not enough’s a drag. Besides, I like mapping my own destiny.”

As we walked to Maury’s, Milo smoked a cigar and blew perfect rings up at the darkening sky. Not a word uttered.

We passed a grizzled, legless man holding a hand-lettered cardboard Help Me sign. Amputation mid-thigh.

Milo stopped, fished a ten out of his wallet. “Here you go, amigo.”

“God bless you, sir. There’s a mansion awaiting you in heaven.”

“Great, I’m ready for an upgrade.”

“A big mansion with a swimming pool.”

“How about a pool table?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Let me ask you a question, compadre. Ever hear of someone named Mary Jane Huralnik?”

The man’s face screwed up. “Mary? Is she a saint?”

“Who knows?” As Milo turned to leave, I added my own ten.

The man said, “Bless everyone! We’ll start a celestial suburb.”

Three steps later, I said, “Good karma.”

“Don’t know your motivation but mine’s not cosmic, it’s simple gratitude.”

“For what?”

He tapped both his knees. “For these.”