Petra said, “Raul will love that. You know how he is, makes compulsive look sloppy. If there’s something there, he’ll find it. If we do get Bitt in proximity to the scene, I can’t see you not getting your warrant.”
“Fingers crossed.”
Knock on the open door. A pair of crypt deliverymen with a collapsible gurney and a body bag stood outside.
One of them said, “We ready?”
We left as the clacking and sacking commenced. Cool night, thin traffic on Franklin. Some of the surrounding buildings were prewar and pretty, conceived when Hollywood was Hollywood. The Sahara motel and others looked like scars on an actress.
A dark-haired man in a cream-colored suit approached. Detective Raul Biro, compact, prone to striding confidently, had one of those faces that didn’t age in real time. His hair was black with blue overtones, thick and glossed with something that subdued every loose strand, his skin as smooth as that of a toddler.
I’d seen him at the most brutal of murder scenes. He never looked anything but put-together and tonight was no exception: in addition to the impeccably tailored suit, a baby-blue shirt woven by agreeable silkworms and navy-blue suede loafers with gold buckles.
Something new, tonight: instead of the usual silk cravat, a braided leather string tie fastened by a polished oval of black onyx.
He saw me looking at it. “From Sedona, I think it’s over the top but the wife’s one-twelfth Navajo and she likes it. Usually, I take it off when I get to the office and put on a normal one. Tonight I forgot.”
I said, “It’s a good look, Raul.”
“You think?”
“You bet. Texas Ranger comes to L.A.”
He laughed. “There’s a TV show for you. How’s it going, Doc?”
“Great. You?”
“Better than great, new baby,” he said. “Gregory Edwin. Blond, like the wife, can you imagine?”
“Congrats.”
His smile was wide and bright. “First-class baby, meaning he sleeps, we finally got it right.” He looked at unit fourteen. “This is a bizarre one, no?” To Petra: “I got us six uniforms for the canvass. What parameters do you think?”
She said, “Let’s start with Franklin, go a mile east and west. Nothing shows up there, we can either expand it north — south, or just south and concentrate on the boulevard.”
“Boulevard’s going to have tons of cameras,” said Biro. “We could be going through it until who knows when. And unlikely Corvin’s going to be walking, at best we’ll see his car passing, at super-best, leaving here.”
“There’s another target vehicle, Raul.”
She told him about Trevor Bitt’s black Ram pickup. Described Bitt and the fact that he’d stonewalled for over two weeks.
He said, “Guy sounds nuts.” To me: “You’ve probably got a better word for it.”
I said, “Not tonight.”
He laughed again.
Petra said, “You want this to be our case, Milo? Or are we assisting on yours? I want to know in terms of organizing my own mind. As in who notifies the wife and kids.”
Milo said, “I’ll do it. Tomorrow morning, family’s been through enough, no sense waking them up in the middle of the night.”
Biro said, “You viewing the wife as a potential suspect? Seeing as he was messing with another woman?”
“Nothing points to that, Raul, but nothing says no.”
“We get lucky, another domestic murder for hire. Not that it would account for your body in the den.”
Milo said, “Alex has always said that pointed to Chet as the likely target.”
Petra said, “Obviously, Alex was right. And if Braun was connected to Chet in some way that made her beaucoup mad, she could’ve hired a professional to do both of them.”
Biro said, “Dump a corpse in hub’s private space, there’s a big middle finger for you.”
Milo said, “You see that, Alex?”
I said, “I can’t see Felice traumatizing the kids.”
“Fair enough,” said Petra. “But if she’s got money separate from his, let’s try to find out if she’s spending it unusually, as in unspecified cash payments going out.”
Milo said, “There is a decent chance of separate accounts. These people have been separate for a long time.”
Chapter 19
As we walked away from the motel, I noticed a young man standing near the office door picking a cuticle at warp speed. A boy, really, eighteen, nineteen. When our eyes met, he looked away.
“The clerk?” I said.
“That’s him. Keith Singh.”
“You mind?”
“Go for it.”
As we approached Singh, he startled and turned to go back inside.
I said, “A second, Keith?”
He stopped, rotated. Kicked one ankle with the other. “Yes, sir.” Lanky, Indian, with shoulder-length black hair, wearing a yellow Lion King T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. If he was able to grow a beard it didn’t show. But his eyes looked old, bottomed by dark crescents, managing to be weary and wary at the same time.
I said, “Tough night.”
“Total disaster, sir. My parents didn’t want me working here, now they’ll insist. One of my dad’s friends owns the place, but Dad says Waris — Dr. Waris Singh, he’s a dentist but he’s mostly into real estate — isn’t careful.”
“About security?”
“In general,” he said. “My parents are more religious than him. They think he could be a bad influence.” His eyes dropped. “I’ll have to quit. Which is crap, I still have tuition.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“The U. I’m out of state so the tuition’s crazy.”
“Sure is.”
“I was a late admission, all the work-study jobs were taken. I have to find another one but the only other sure thing is a restaurant Waris owns. But that place is all the way in Pasadena and it’s crazy busy. Here I can get a lot of studying done.”
The gurney was wheeled out of the motel. Keith Singh’s eyes saucered.
I said, “What’s your major?”
“Econ.” His eyes drifted to the yellow tape, moving in the night breeze like a harp string lightly plucked. “It’s crazy, sir, I didn’t hear anything.”
I said, “You probably wouldn’t, too far away.”
“Exactly.”
“Have you remembered anything else about Mr. Corvin?”
“The guy?” he said. “Like what?”
“Did he say anything when he checked in?”
“He said a lot,” said Keith Singh, clapping his index finger and his thumb together. “Talking talking talking.”
“About what?”
“Random crap. How’s it going, young man, nice night. I kind of blocked it out. He saw my econ book, told me he took micro and macro in college. Told me it was too theoretical, he majored in accounting and business management, not econ, I should do the same thing if I wanted to make serious money.”
“He’s there ten seconds and is giving you advice.”
“I’m used to it,” he said. “Dad.”
“What else did Corvin have to say?”
“Nothing, sir — oh, yeah, he showed me the wine.”
“He brought the wine into the office.”
“Yeah,” said Keith Singh. “In a bag, said he just got it, it was expensive. Said it was worth it.” Keith Singh licked parched lips. “He winked when he said that. That it was worth it.”
“What do you think he was telling you, Keith?”
The kid colored, chestnut skin turning to mahogany. “What do you mean?”
“Sounds like he was trying to impress you.”
“Why would he do that, sir? More like bragging. Like he was used to that.”
“Did you see the woman he was with?”
“I didn’t see anyone, sir. I was here in the office, like I’m supposed to be, he gave his card and drove over. I didn’t look at him much. Waris told me that at the beginning. Don’t look at the customers, they want privacy.”