“Lots of hot dates show up here, huh?”
He frowned. “I mean, people... you know... I mean Waris doesn’t rent by the hour like some other places but his rates are cheap.” He shrugged.
I said, “A lot of customers choose not to spend the night.”
Keith Singh’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “My parents thought it was a real bad idea. Waris convinced them but not really, you know?”
“They gave in.”
Another ride of the gullet elevator.
“My dad owes Waris money. Waris kind of pressured him.” A flap of black hair fell forward. He tucked it behind his ear. “I probably would’ve quit anyway.”
“Not happy with the job.”
“It’s gross, you know?”
Milo said, “No-tell motel.”
The boy blinked. He’d never heard the phrase. “All I want to do is study, it’s hard enough. My parents wanted me to stay in Tucson, go to Arizona, live at home. I thought I’d have to but last minute I got into the U. from the waiting list and it’s way higher-rated so I wanted to. I have a cousin, a CPA in Boston, he told them where you go makes a difference so they finally allowed me.”
I said, “Good luck with your studies. Is there anything else you can tell us about Mr. Corvin?”
“Just what I said to you.” Looking at Milo. “He used a platinum — not like some people, they’re, you know... looking all over the place, embarrassed, using cash. He was just the opposite. Kind of full of himself, you know? Like he wasn’t expecting anything bad to happen.”
I said, “People usually don’t.”
“Oh, man,” said Keith Singh. “I’m probably going to quit tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have to go back to Tucson.”
— Milo and I continued to the Seville.
I said, “Chet bringing the wine in, still bagged, could mean he’d just bought it.”
“I’ll tell Petra and Raul to check out nearby liquor stores, maybe someone’s memory will be jogged.”
He loosened his tie. “I’m figuring to catch Felice and the kids before they leave for school, say seven a.m. You up for rise and shine? You’re not, I understand.”
I said, “I’ll be there. If you want, I can tell the kids. To make sure it’s done right and you’ll have more time to gauge Felice’s reaction.”
“That would be great.”
At the Seville, he said, “All these years I still hate death knocks. And kids? Thanks. See you bright and early. In my case, just early.”
I parked in front of the Corvin Colonial at six fifty-six a.m. Milo’s unmarked sat in front of Trevor Bitt’s Tudor. The black Ram was there.
A bit of activity on the street: a couple of gardener’s trucks pulling up but waiting before unleashing mowers and air guns, neighbors leaving for work or taking in newspapers, a few of them looking at us, most pretending not to.
Felice Corvin came to the door dressed in a hip-length tweed jacket, a black blouse, and gray slacks. Hair combed, makeup impeccable, mug of coffee in her hand. No sign of the kids. She said, “This is a surprise.”
Milo said, “Can we come in?”
No Good morning, ma’am, no friendly-cop smile.
“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”
“Inside would be better.”
She looked down the street. “I’ve got to get going soon.”
Milo said, “Please,” making it sound like a command.
She stepped back and we entered. Footsteps from upstairs pinpointed the kids’ location. Breakfast smells — eggs, toast, coffee — drifted from the kitchen.
Milo said, “I’m sorry to tell you, Ms. Corvin. Your husband’s body was found last night.”
Long stare. Three blinks. “Body?”
“He’s been murdered, Ms. Corvin.”
“Body,” she repeated. She stood there, not moving a muscle. Then she teetered and when Milo caught her elbow, she didn’t resist.
Her hand pressed against her mouth and her breathing raced as he steered her into the living room. The kids’ footsteps stopped and Felice Corvin looked at the staircase with panic. Then the noise resumed and she allowed Milo to sit her down on a sofa. He and I took facing chairs. He edged his closer to her.
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. Dry eyes, rigid posture. Every hair remained in place. “Body?”
Flat voice. Her complexion had lost color; makeup could only go so far.
“Last night, Mr. Corvin was found in a hotel shot to death.”
“He’s always in hotels.”
“This one was in Hollywood.”
“The Roosevelt?” she said. “That’s the only hotel I know in Hollywood. It’s supposed to be haunted. I went to a concert there a few years ago. The Da Camera Society. Baroque music. I loved it, Chet slept through the whole thing. Why would he go to the Roosevelt?”
Milo exhaled. “This was more like a motel.”
Felice Corvin’s face whipped toward him. “Why didn’t you say that at the beginning? Why can’t you be precise?”
We sat there.
She said, “You really need to be precise. Precision matters. If the educational system was more precise...” She shook her head. “Who killed him in a motel?”
“We don’t know.”
“A motel.” Lips curling around the word. “Are you trying to tell me something icky about Chet?”
“We don’t know much, yet, ma’am.”
“That seems to be your pattern,” she said. “Not knowing much.”
“It’s a tough job.”
“So is mine. So is everyone’s. Life’s frigging tough. I wish my kids could learn that, they’re growing up expecting everything to come their way. At least Brett is. He’s spoiled, Chelsea... for her, everything’s a challenge. I’m not sure she really understands what she’s up against... a motel? What are you really telling me, Lieutenant?”
“Just that, ma’am.”
“I know about motels. What they connote. Are you denying that?”
Milo said nothing.
Felice Corvin hugged herself and glanced at the stairs, again.
“Ma’am, would you like us to tell the children?”
“Us?” she said. “The two of you are a team? Or does that just mean you want Dr. Delaware to tell them? Psychological sensitivity and all that.” To me: “You want to make them psychiatric patients? No, thanks, they’re mine and I’ll handle it.”
A thump from above.
Felice Corvin said, “When I’m ready.”
We sat there.
Her grip on her own shoulders tightened. “I am so angry. One friggin’ damn thing after another — it just keeps — okay, let’s stop beating around the bush. Was he with a whore?”
Milo said, “Did Chet make a habit of—”
“I have no idea about Chet’s habits. Other than the ones he displayed here.” She huffed. “He was gone all the time. Business. I’m not stupid. I know what men are like. I know what Chet was like. He didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.”
“Is there a specific woman he was—”
She laughed, clawed air, yanked on her hair. “Why don’t you just log onto whores.com or something and run your finger down the list.”
“So you were aware—”
“I was aware that Chet had the sexual scruples of a wolverine in heat. And that when he returned from his ‘business’ ” — she shaped quotation marks — “he paid even less attention to me than usual, which was pretty minimal to begin with. Are you understanding? His needs were being tended to. A while back I decided to confront him. So he wouldn’t give me a disease. Of course he denied it but I told him if you ever infect me with something, I’ll kil—”