“I’m around. I don’t go anywhere.”
Chapter 30
Before setting out for North Hollywood, Milo did a surface background check on Andrea-Leah Salton. Full-faced like her husband, sandy hair cut in a Dutch boy that ended at earlobe level. At forty, six years older than her husband. Safe driver, no criminal record. Solid citizens abounded but four people were dead.
Next step, the mandatory call to Southwest Division. D II Roger Enow was gone for the day but Milo cadged his private cell from the desk sergeant.
A low, languid voice drawled, “Ye-llow.” Music in the background. Something overwrought from the eighties.
“Hey, Rog, it’s Milo. I need to talk to you about a case.”
“Workday’s over.”
“Gimme a sec, Rog. Roderick Salton, legal assistant, found near the court—”
“That one,” said Enow. “Suicide. Why the hell would West L.A. be pawing it up?”
“It might be related to one of mine.”
“Another suicide?” Enow laughed. “There’s an epidemic, call Public Health.”
“Mine’s not a suicide, Rog.”
“Yeah, well, mine was. But, hey, you want to carry the ball in a game that’s over, be my friggin’ guest.”
“What can you tell me about Salton—”
“It was suicide, the guy was Mormon.”
“Mormons are likely to commit suicide?”
“All religious types,” said Enow. “They expect life to be good, all of a sudden it sucks and they fall apart like a sack of moist shit.”
“What sucked in Salton’s life—”
“It was suicide, Milo. I got a feeling right away and it stuck. I trust my feelings.”
Dial tone.
Milo put the phone down. “Poor woman dealing with that. She’s gonna love us.”
I thought, Poisoning the well. Something Bill Bernstein would say. Better left unsaid.
Andrea-Leah Salton lived in the best part of North Hollywood, near Toluca Lake where Bob Hope, William Holden, and other Hollywood types had homesteaded in order to avoid their colleagues on the Westside.
Her building was a three-story traditional on a block of high-rent multiple dwellings. External cameras were mounted in the right places. Warning signs made sure you knew that. The front door was double-locked, accessed courtesy occupants’ consent. Milo’s button-push was answered by an immediate buzz.
He said, “Safe and sound.”
I said, “Good reason to pick him off at work.”
We climbed plush-muted stairs to the second floor. A and B units, one door on each side. Andrea-Leah Salton was waiting on the left side, her wide-open door casting a rhombus of light onto the carpet.
Five six, buxom, softly sculpted, she wore white jeans, a black linen top, and black moccasins. A wedding band frosted with pavé diamonds circled her ring finger.
She said, “Good start. You’re not him.”
Her apartment was spacious, set up with fifties furniture that looked expensive and original, including a black leather Eames chair. A pitcher of ice water garnished with lemon sat atop a glass-and-brass table, along with matching goblets, linen napkins, and a plate of chocolate cookies that looked home-baked.
She stood in front of the Eames and waited for us to sit before settling and crossing her ankles. Directly behind her hung western art: cowboys, horses, buttes, and mesas. Off to the left were three framed photographs: a wedding picture with the happy couple gazing into each other’s eyes, two others crowded with faces, white, black, brown, Asian.
Andrea-Leah Salton said, “That’s all family, both Rod’s and mine, we could barely fit everyone in. And yes we’re LDS — Mormons — and no, that has nothing to do with Rod’s death. We are not weird people, despite what he thinks.”
Milo said, “Detective Enow—”
“A prejudiced nincompoop.”
“He suggested your religion had something to do with it?”
“He didn’t have to. Every time he said ‘Mormon,’ he rolled his eyes. Then he smiled, to let me know he was a good guy. We’re used to that. A Broadway show ridiculing us made a fortune. Try that with Muslims.” She recrossed her ankles. “Are you reopening Rod’s case?”
“It was never really closed, ma’am.”
“Cause undetermined and no serious detection? It was functionally closed. Has that changed, Lieutenant Sturgis? Has a similar murder come up to get you in gear?”
Milo sat back and studied her.
She said, “Good guess, huh? I’m used to figuring things out. Worked as a stock analyst and then in investment banking until I quit to get a Ph.D. in philosophy at the U. Next year, I defend my dissertation. Qualitative and quantitative analyses of uncertainty. So how about some details?”
“I wish I could get into details, ma’am.”
“But you did find a similar case — don’t bother to deny. Just let me know how I can help you.”
Milo looked at me.
I said, “Tell us about your husband — what kind of person he was—”
“He was an honest, dependable, devoted, hardworking person. If he had a flaw, and I don’t think he did, it was that he could be stubborn. But even that sprang from a strong moral core. He was bright, an honor student, planned to be an attorney but chose to work as an assistant for a couple of years to save up money, so he wouldn’t have to borrow.”
I said, “Avoiding student loans.”
Andrea-Leah Salton looked to the side, then back to me. “You’ll note, I said ‘he wouldn’t have to borrow’ not ‘we wouldn’t.’ ” My family has money, his doesn’t. Some men would’ve jumped at the opportunity to take advantage. To Rod, my family’s affluence was an obstacle to overcome. I respected that, though I wasn’t going to live like a pauper. That’s why we got this place and not some student dive. That’s why I got a new BMW even though he insisted on buying a junky used Dodge Neon rather than have my brother give him his BMW when he bought a new Jaguar. Speaking of which, what do you think of the way the Neon was found? To me it makes no sense.”
Milo said, “Actually, Andrea...”
“You don’t know about that.” Her smile was sour. “Okay, I’ll assume nothing. Regarding the car, I didn’t hear about it from Enow, I got a call from some auto-theft detective instructing me to pick it up at the tow yard. He, of course, had no idea about Rod. I told him to call Enow. Just in case there was no follow-through, I called Enow myself a few days later and wouldn’t you know, they still hadn’t talked. I’m not sure they ever did. Enow said the car didn’t matter. I doubt anything matters to him.”
“Where was the car found?”
“Three blocks from where Rod was found. And not until three weeks later. Someone had left it in a huge industrial parking lot behind a warehouse, it took a while to realize it didn’t belong there. Enow said the time lapse made it meaningless as evidence and even if it had been put there shortly after, all it proved was that Rod had driven there, then taken a walk and...” A tear fell from one eye. She wiped it quickly.
“I don’t care what he says — what anyone says. The notion of suicide is absurd and hideous. Rod swallowing poison? That completely abases Rod spiritually and flies in the face of who he was. Which is what you were asking... okay... no more ranting. Rod was happy, well balanced, optimistic, there’s no possible way he’d ever destroy himself. Enow asked me if we’d dabbled in herbal medicines, worshiped crystals, got involved in ‘counterculture.’ I said of course not and he said okay, he had to ask. I could tell he was patronizing me. He’s got that manner — starts off casual and friendly but turns snide. Like everyone’s got a nasty secret and it’s his job to pass judgment. I know you guys encounter the worst side of humanity all the time but that wasn’t Rod. It wasn’t. If anything, he could be naive.”