“You don’t keep records?”
“With regard to current data we keep excellent computerized records, but there have been informational changes.”
“Meaning?”
“Updated systems. Information gets deleted.”
“No old ledgers in a storage room?” said Milo.
DeGraw’s expression said Milo had suggested he pierce his own scrotum. “Dust, mold, insects? I can’t imagine we’d want anything like that.”
Milo flipped a notepad page. “Who owns the hotel?”
“The Aventura is in transition.”
“From what to what?”
DeGraw sighed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss but a sale is currently being considered.”
“Who’s selling?”
“The parent company is Altima Hospitality.”
“Where’s corporate headquarters?”
“Dubai.”
“Who owned it before Altima?”
“Another corporation,” said DeGraw.
“Which one?”
“Franco-Swiss Château Limited.”
“And before that?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“How much did Miss Mars pay to live here?”
“She got a bargain,” said Kurt DeGraw. “Whoever agreed to it originally must’ve been—” DeGraw shook his head. “She was flat-rated with cost-of-living increases but she still got a bargain. One hundred ninety-six dollars and some change per day. With tax added, she paid a little over seven thousand dollars a month and that includes full board and maid service.”
“Eighty-four thousand a year, give or take.”
“A bargain,” said DeGraw. “Full board plus afternoon tea if she wanted it? And she always did. The current per diem on a deluxe bungalow is four hundred and eighty dollars.”
“No air-conditioning is deluxe.”
“Lieutenant. Many guests, particularly our sophisticated Continental travelers, prefer fresh air, and Miss Mars never complained.”
“You have no idea who she signed the original agreement with?”
“It was decades ago.”
“Have you tried to get her to move?”
DeGraw looked away. “There was an initial suggestion when we took over that she might be more comfortable somewhere else. With compensation for moving tossed into the package.”
“She turned you down.”
Nod.
“The deal was iron-clad,” said Milo.
DeGraw looked as if he’d swallowed a glass of warm spit. “Apparently.”
“When was the hotel built?”
“The Aventura was erected in 1934.”
“El Ori-hi-nal,” said Milo.
DeGraw blinked. “What’s left of it. We’d love to tear it down but preservationists... our priority is The Tower.”
“How many guests can you accommodate in total?”
“The Tower handles a hundred forty-five, the old wing, around forty.”
“Plus The Numbers.”
“Occupancy in The Numbers is at a far lower rate than the rest of the hotel. In fact, it’s not uncommon for it to be zero.”
“Except for Miss Mars.”
“Her situation was unique.”
“People opt for A.C.”
“People opt for everything electronic. WiFi, Bluetooth,” said DeGraw. “Today’s traveler demands instant connection.”
That sounded like an ad line. I said, “Speaking of technology, where are your surveillance cameras?”
“We have no cameras.”
Milo said, “Really.”
“You are surprised,” said DeGraw, with the glee of a magician unfurling his trick. “Franco-Swiss had begun installing a system. When we took over, an executive decision was made to de-install.”
“Why?”
“We choose not to rely on the false sense of security provided by electronic surveillance. Instead, we employ a top-notch security team.”
“Guards patrol.”
“Security personnel are aware.”
“How often do the bungalows get patrolled?”
DeGraw’s fingers fluttered. “When there’s a reason for coverage, it occurs.”
“No formal schedule.”
“Lieutenant. We pride ourselves on the human touch. Decisions based on actual need, not mechanics. We’ve never had a problem.”
Milo cocked a finger at Uno. “Time to amend that claim.”
DeGraw blew out a long gust of air. Mint fought a losing battle with garlic. “Our mission is based on discretion and privacy. An inviting home away from home where a traveler can stay without fear of being harassed.”
“Harassed by who?”
“Unwanted observers.”
“Paparazzi?”
“This is L.A., Lieutenant.”
“Cameras wouldn’t help with that?”
Theatrical sigh. DeGraw licked his lips. “If I tell you something in confidence, will it remain that way?”
“If it doesn’t relate to Miss Mars.”
“Can’t see that it does, so please be discreet.” DeGraw’s eyelids shuttered and opened repeatedly, an out-of-control camera. He leaned in closer. “One of our specialties is surgical aftercare.”
“Get a little tuck ’n’ roll then get tucked in.”
“We’ve developed a specialty, Lieutenant, have accommodated numerous highly important individuals during their time of physical need. Physicians are here frequently, nurses as well, but no one wears a uniform nor is medical equipment carried openly.”
“How’s it transported?”
“In luggage.”
“Covert clinic,” said Milo.
“You can see why cameras would be unwelcome, Lieutenant.”
I said, “You’ve got no gate or guard booth. It’s pretty easy to enter the property.”
“Superficially it is,” said DeGraw. “That’s part of the illusion.”
“Meaning?” said Milo.
“As your assistant just said, apparent ease.”
I hadn’t.
Milo said, “Explain.”
Another sigh. “The tighter you close something up superficially, the more inviting it becomes to those people.”
“Security staff peek behind the trees.”
DeGraw inched closer. “I’ll give you an example and hopefully you will understand. An obvious sentry, a guard booth, both would scream vulnerability. Instead, there’s always a triad of staffers at the front desk, one of whom is a highly trained security specialist.”
I thought back to the ponytails. No clue as to which one was the eyes-and-ears.
“Subtle,” said Milo.
“Exactly, Lieutenant. Even a room maid could be one of our security staff.”
“Is Refugia Ramos one of your security staff?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you,” said DeGraw. “But given the circumstances, no, she isn’t. What I’m trying to get across is that our guests deserve harassment-free healing and we see that they get it. For surveillance cameras to be effective they’d need to be computerized and computers can be hacked.”
“No nose jobs uploaded to Gawker.”
DeGraw let out a garlic-mint gust. “I’m glad you understand.”
“What about WiFi opening up electronic doors?”
“We set our system up so that each traveler has his or her individual link to cyberspace. Once they’re logged in, several firewalls go up. We have no way of learning our guests’ connection patterns, nor do we wish to.”
“But you do know when they order room service.”
“That’s an entirely different thing. Extremely limited.”
“How many of your guests are post-surgical?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Do they ever stay in The Numbers?”
“Never,” said DeGraw, “always in The Tower. Security covers every floor regularly. And please, Lieutenant, no implication that whatever happened to Miss Mars — if something did — can be linked to us. She was happy here, had every opportunity to leave if she changed her mind.”