“Something resolves, we’ll let you know, Marcia.”
“If, not when? You have any serious leads?”
He smiled.
She said, “That’s why I never did Homicide. Too much effort getting the optimism meter up.”
“Vice can get sketchy, too.”
“That’s why I didn’t do Vice for long. Give me a nice boosted set of wheels.”
“Chrome don’t bleed,” said Milo.
“Ain’t that the truth.” She reached for the check. Milo placed his hand on it.
“Let me pay for my share.”
“On the house,” said Milo.
“You or the department?”
“The department.”
“Right.” She put down a twenty, slid out of the booth, shot us a tight smile, and hurried off.
Milo pocketed the cash and pushed crumbs around his plate. “Ol’ Brad’s been a baaad boy.”
“Young blondes,” I said. “Too bad Tori dyed her hair.”
“Amelia, the whole platinum bombshell thing. What, he’s killing Stepmommy over and over?”
“His own mother abandoned him, handed him over to someone who didn’t even pretend to care. He has lots of reasons to hate women.”
“He was in his thirties when Julie the Showgirl disappeared. Think she was his first?”
“Hard to say. The main thing was he got away with it, built up his confidence for the move back to L.A. After Amelia and the captain died, he managed to take over the family real estate empire. Cared well for Billy and Nora because happy sibs don’t complain. Maybe the PlayHouse is a tax dodge and a sop for Nora, but it was good for him, too. Start an acting school, who shows up?”
“Gorgeous mutants,” he said. “All those blonde auditions.”
“And rejects like the Gaidelases. Normally, Brad would ignore people like Cathy and Andy but they reminded him of Amelia and the captain, down to the captain’s effeminate manner. How’s this for a scenario: He ran into them leaving an audition. Or waiting for a tryout. Either way, it had to feel like destiny, he played nice guy, promised to help. Told them meanwhile enjoy your vacation. Do some hiking, I know a great spot.”
“Billy’s acreage in Latigo.” He folded and unfolded his napkin. Snatched up his phone, got Harold Fordebrand’s number from Vegas 411, called, left a message. “Guy sounds exactly like Ed.”
I said, “The Kolor Krew was a quartet.”
“Who?”
“The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market.” I described the publicity shot on the PlayHouse wall. “The Dowd kids plus one. Maybe there’s someone else who can fill us in about the good old days.”
He said, “You feel like researching the history of bubblegum music, be my guest. I need another face-to-face with the sib who really ain’t one. Starting with a drop-in at the BNB office. If Brad’s not there, it’s over to his house. Eventually, a day at the beach will be on the agenda.”
I said, “Think Billy even knows he owns the Latigo property?”
“Brad bought it and put it in Billy’s name?”
“Brad lives near the ocean, has surfed enough to grow knots on his knees. Meaning he knows Malibu. A nice, secluded oceanview lot on the land-side might appeal to him, especially if it was paid for with Billy’s money. Being in charge of family finances, Brad could get Billy to sign on the dotted line. Or just forge Billy’s name. Meanwhile, Billy pays the property tax and doesn’t have a clue.”
“The assessor says there are no structures on the lot. What would Brad use it for?”
“Meditation, planning a dream house, burying bodies.”
“Billy pays, Brad plays,” he says. “Nora’s no business type, either. Meaning Brad can basically do what he wants with all the money.” He rubbed his face. “All this time, I’ve been looking for Peaty’s stash spots, but Brad has access to dozens of buildings and garages all over the county.”
“He came right out and told us he stores his cars in some of the properties.”
“He did, indeed. What was that, playing mind games?”
“Or bragging about his collection. This is a guy who needs to feel important. I’m wondering if it could’ve been him watching Angeline Wasserman from that Range Rover.”
“Why would it be him?”
“Last time I saw him, he had on a nice linen suit. There were a bunch just like it hanging from a rack at the Barneys outlet.”
“Snappy dresser,” he said. “Maybe a regular, just like Wasserman. He observes her, knows she’s absentminded, lifts her purse.”
“The goal was to get her phone, he couldn’t’ve have cared less about the money or the credit cards,” I said. “The more I think about that, the better I like it: well-dressed middle-aged guy who shops there all the time, no reason to suspect him. Angeline might know his face but the Rover’s tinted windows would’ve prevented her from realizing it was him. It was his ride she concentrated on, anyway- ‘twinsie karma.’ ”
He retrieved Wasserman’s number from his pad and punched it. “Ms. Wasserman? Lieutenant Sturgis, again…I know you are but just one more question, okay? There’s a gentleman who shops at the outlet regularly, mid-forties, nice-looking, white hair- you do…oh…no, it’s more…maybe…okay, thanks…no, that’s it.”
He hung up. “ ‘That’s Brad, I see him all the time. Did he have something stolen, too?’ ”
“Seeing him as a victim, not a suspect,” I said, “because he’s well-off and stylish.”
“You got it. ‘Great guy, terrific taste, you should see the gorgeous cars he drives, Lieutenant, each time a different one.’ Turns out Angeline and ol’ Brad ask each other’s opinions about outfits all the time. He’s always honest but he does it with ‘sensitivity.’ ”
“Charming fellow.”
“You think his driving Nora’s wheels means Nora and Meserve are in on it with him? Or tough luck for them.”
“Don’t know, but either way Brad had something to do with the calls to Vasquez.”
“Setting up his own cousin.”
“The same cousin he put to work as a janitor and housed in a dump. Given Brad’s background, blood ties could twist all sorts of ways. If Vasquez was telling the truth about getting calls the previous week, the setup was extremely well thought out.”
“Priming a murder,” he said. “How could Brad be sure Vasquez would blow and shoot Peaty?”
“He couldn’t, but he knew both parties and Mrs. Stadlbraun, played the odds. He told me he had bad feelings about Vasquez but rented to him anyway because there was no legal out. That’s nonsense. A landlord, especially one with Brad’s experience, can always find a reason.”
“Game of chance,” he said.
“Brad lived in Vegas. One table doesn’t work out, move to the next one.”
“Okay, let’s assume he set Peaty up. Why?”
“With Peaty’s police record and pattern of creepy behavior, he’d be a perfect scapegoat for Michaela and Tori and any other missing girls who turned up. Look what happened after the shooting: You got to search Peaty’s van, discovered the rape-kit stashed conveniently in back- no real effort to conceal. And, lo and behold, there was a snow globe in the toolbox. Just like the one left on the seat of Meserve’s Toyota. Which you knew about in the first place because Brad called you in a panic after finding the car in one of his own parking spaces. If Meserve cut town with Nora, why would he leave his wheels where they were sure to be discovered? At the very least, he could’ve put the Toyota in Nora’s garage- which, by the way, is empty- and avoided ticking off Brad.”
“By the way,” he said.
“Crowbar.”
He shook his head, drank.
I said, “Maybe Nora’s not the only one with theatrical interests. Only reason we knew about the snow globe in the first place was Brad brought it up when we talked to him at his house.”
“Painting Meserve as a gold digger. What was that? Another misdirect?”