I said, “There’s where it could get evil.”
“Alicia can blow the boss’s alibi to smithereens and so she got offed? With all due respect, Doctor, that’s pretty darn... imaginative.”
Milo said, “He’s got a terrific imagination. I’ve learned to pay attention.”
“Oh, man,” said Mendez. “This is getting nuts.”
I said, “I could be way off, but the facts are there. DePauw lied about Alicia and the same day Alicia told Maria she didn’t like her job she disappears.”
She shifted her bag to the other shoulder. “An old lady without a record and we’re actually considering a witness elimination homicide?”
Milo said, “Maybe a double witness elimination, Lorrie.”
“Imelda,” she said. “Oh, God, no.”
“We need to consider it, Lorrie. Imelda was a friendly person, old enough to be Alicia’s mother. What if Alicia confided in her and DePauw found out? Or just spotted them talking and got worried?”
“Maria just told us Alicia’s not talkative.”
I said, “Trauma can alter behavior. If Alicia saw Zelda die and realized Enid had acted cruelly, it could’ve troubled her enough to say something to Imelda. She went back to work but might have intended to quit — that’s why she told Maria she wasn’t happy. She didn’t give Maria the details because that was their pattern. They didn’t discuss much. Or she just wanted to protect Maria.”
“There’s another possibility,” said Milo. “She went back to work and tried to exploit the situation.”
“Blackmail?” said Lorrie Mendez.
“Rich woman, poor woman. A solid reason for DePauw to get rid of her.”
“And Imelda died because she was in the wrong place, wrong time? I hope you’re wrong. I hope I never have to tell the family that.” She exhaled. “You pick up anything bad from DePauw? Apart from her lying.”
Milo said, “She said the right things about Zelda. ‘Poor thing,’ but there wasn’t much emotion there. Just the opposite, calm, maybe even snooty. Didn’t take her long to ask how long we needed to be there.”
“Fine,” said Mendez. “But just to play devil’s advocate, that could be nothing more than having big bucks and feeling entitled. Which, granted, is the kind of attitude that fits with covering her affluent ass rather than trying to help Zelda. But morally iffy behavior’s a long way from double homicide.”
“True, but Alicia and Imelda going missing around the same time can’t be ignored, Lorrie.”
“Sure, but that could be due to your first theory — some psycho predator roaming around Bel Air — God, I’m starting to sound like my annoying sister the defense attorney, always with the what-ifs. But the truth is, this is moving too fast for me, guys. The entire scenario depends on Maria being righteous and like I said, anyone can be fooled. What if Maria is utterly unrighteous, she’s the one who killed Alicia and Imelda has nothing to do with it — she got waylaid somewhere between her two buses. If Maria’s guilty and we hassle some zillionaire based on no evidence, we could end up severely career challenged. Or at least I could, you’ve got seniority, Milo. And you’ve got a degree and a private practice. Am I totally being self-serving — God, I feel a migraine coming on. And I don’t even get them.”
Milo said, “No reason to rush into anything but we do need to educate ourselves. You have time for any follow-up on Maria? See if her story starts to crack?”
“I can ask patrol to do a loose watch on her, but sorry, no. My own El Tee’s breathing down my neck on a bunch of cold robberies.”
“Would it help if I talked to him?”
“Uh-uh, just the opposite. He doesn’t like suggestions and he’s a whole lot less benevolent than you.”
Milo hitched his trousers. “If you only knew, kid. Okay, what I do ask is that you and I continue to share info.”
“I get any, you’ll be the first to know.”
We got back into the car and headed to the park. As Milo pulled up to Lorrie Mendez’s unmarked, she switched her purse to the other shoulder and opened the passenger door.
“From a missing to all this potential weirdness,” she said. “At least your rich lady will have plenty of documentation.”
Chapter 27
By three-thirty p.m., we were back in Milo’s office, not talking much as he prepared to learn about Enid Lauretta DePauw.
“Got to tell you,” he said, logging on, “I’ve got the same bad feeling you do but I hope to hell this ends up a big-time wrong turn because Lorrie’s right. A rich, respectable suspect and no evidence ain’t a formula for joy.”
Nothing in the criminal databases contradicted “respectable.” DePauw’s first California driver’s license had been issued thirty-two years ago when she was thirty-eight. The most recent renewal was three months ago, on her seventieth birthday.
Two vehicles currently registered, a one-year-old black Porsche Panamera GTS and a brown-over-tan 1956 Silver Cloud I Rolls-Royce sedan. The older car’s registration had lapsed eleven years ago, renewed fourteen months later. No wants, warrants, moving violations, or parking tickets.
The trust deed to the house on St. Denis Lane was dated the same year Enid had been certified legal to drive. The property had been purchased from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios, Inc., and titled to the Averell D. and Enid L. DePauw Family Trust. Eleven years ago a new trust had been established in Enid’s name only. A death certificate for Averell Dunham DePauw five months earlier provided the explanation. It also clarified lapsed papers on the Rolls.
The deceased had been seventy-one, twelve years older than his widow, when he’d succumbed to “atherosclerotic coronary artery disease.”
Milo kept probing, limited to city and county data in the public domain because he lacked grounds for a peek at Social Security or income tax records.
The DePauws’ wedding license was dated thirty-seven years ago, five years prior to purchase of the estate. Their address at the time, a rental in the Malibu Colony.
No record of children born to the couple, no co-beneficiaries, charitable foundation, or obvious source of income for Enid. When Milo logged onto a directory of old business listings, he found several dating back to the sixties for Averell DePauw and Associates, Ltd., first on South Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills and later on North Canon Drive in that same city. Stockbrokers, asset managers, financial advisors.
He said, “Guy bought the house from a studio. Maybe moneyman to the stars?”
I said, “Some kind of inside track. Enid told us ‘interesting people’ had lived there, including Jean Harlow. Back then the studios kept luxury properties as crash pads for A-list actors. The kind of asset that got kicked loose when money was tight. If MGM was having cash-flow issues, they might not want it publicized. A private sale to an insider would benefit all concerned.”
“You follow that world?”
“I’ve had patients in the business.”
“Ah.” He searched for foreclosures and forfeitures, found none. “Looks like ol’ Av managed his own money well. Let’s see if he got sued for anything.”
Moments later, he was shaking his head. “Not a single day in court for Mr. D. so that didn’t turn Enid gun-shy. Next stop: Palm Springs. We get lucky and someone verifies her time line at the condo, we’ll put her fib down to being flustered and get back to conjuring up an ignoble savage slavering in the shrubbery.”
He typed, made several calls, pushed away from the desk.
No listing of any property deeded to Enid DePauw or her trust in Palm Springs. Same for the neighboring desert communities — Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, La Quinta, Indian Wells.
“Too bad. I was hoping to forget about her.”