Milo said, “Life’s better in the land of herring and darkness?”
“Ha. You’re making me want to go out and buy a Volvo. Anyway the idiot got the STD lecture and Piggy got the speech we give the girls. Which is basically, next time you go to jail, which everyone knows is not true. Anyway, she was nowhere near the Sahara when Corvin got shot. The fourth set has yet to be identified, no match in AFIS. From the size, probably female. So either a rookie who hasn’t earned an arrest record or a civilian girlfriend.”
Milo said, “Fast turnaround. Thanks.”
Petra said, “Thank yourself. I used your name on the request, rank has its privileges.”
He said, “Speaking of girlfriends,” and gave her the bait/hook theory.
She said, “I’ve been thinking about her — dead or taken alive. Didn’t think of that. If the fourth print is hers, we’re talking a female executioner with no criminal past.”
“Maybe she’s kept her nose clean because she’s really good at what she does.”
“Just what we need, a mastermind. That’s a dismal thought, Milo. I guess anything’s possible but the personal angle’s sticking in my head: jealous spouse or boyfriend. The other thing is my captain wants Corvin to be an extension of Braun.”
“Punting,” said Milo. “No prob.”
“I promise we’ll work it like it’s ours. Which, yes, it should be. But we’ve got a situation here. Computer conversion of our records, it’s a total nightmare. Constant freezes, glitches, data loss, nerds skulking around the station wreaking havoc.”
“Like I said with the phone-company calls, happy to do the paperwork.”
“Appreciate it, Milo. One more thing: I found the person who took the 415 call. New civilian hire, pretty clueless. She thinks the caller was a female but she’s not sure, it could’ve been a male with a high voice. I’m not sure she actually remembers anything, just eager to please. Anything else turns up, I’ll let you know.”
“What do you think about Raul’s theory?”
“What theory?” she said. “Haven’t talked to him all day, he’s out in the field.”
“He found the store where the wine was sold and time of purchase leaves a couple of hours to account for. Showing admirable initiative, your partner suggested the Hustler store as a possible stopover for the late Mr. Corvin.”
“Inspired. Raul’s over there, now?”
“Should be.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s not answering his phone.”
“Concentrating on one thing at a time, kid.”
“I’ll bet,” said Petra. “Can’t wait to see how you write it up.”
Chapter 23
Nothing more that day until Milo phoned me at home, just after nine p.m.
“Raul’s hypothesis confirmed, the crafty devil. Corvin purchased a pair of crotchless leopard panties at Hustler just after seven. That gives him an hour and some minutes for a low-stress rush-hour Sunset cruise. He used the company credit card for the panties, too, talk about chutzpah.”
I said, “With all the receipts he submitted, easy to bury a few items. And I’ll bet the store didn’t get specific on the invoice.”
“Bingo on that, they use number codes, Raul had to bug ’em to get the specifics. But still, it’s nervy, no? I’ve got Sean back on Evada tonight, doing four hours of surveillance. Miss Chelsea takes one of her nocturnal strolls and actually goes into Bitt’s house, I will be able to enter to do a welfare check, per the usually obliging Judge Edgar McCarrey and John Nguyen’s backup opinion. But if she just knocks on Bitt’s door, stands outside, and has a conversation, it’s a no-go. Got two more weeks, hopefully we’ll close this mess before that.”
I said, “What happens then?”
“Chelsea turns eighteen, she’s a consenting adult, harder to make a case for anything. Meanwhile, I’m trying Bitt again. If his truck’s there, I’m pounding his damn door until he gets a migraine.”
I sat in my office and thought about Chet Corvin’s final hours.
Dominant, narcissistic. Breezily confident, until he’d found himself kneeling on the floor of a cheap motel.
The perils of too much self-esteem.
The following day, just after noon, Milo dropped by looking sour but purposeful. He marched to the kitchen, flung the fridge open, took out eggs and whatever else he could find, and set about constructing a terrifying omelet.
I said, “No luck with Bitt.”
“Truck wasn’t there. I knocked anyway, got the expected silence.” He waved a wooden spoon, used it to push a yellow mountain around the pan. A few flecks of egg landed on the floor. Blanche bounced over and gobbled them up.
He said, “There you go, symbiosis.”
“More like exploitation,” I said.
“Huh?”
“What does she give you in return?”
“Oh, pooch, you’ve got a mean dad.” Blanche smiled up at him. “What does she give me? The restorative joys of visual beauty.” He turned off the gas, petted her, plated the mountain, brought it to the table, and began consuming.
Blanche trotted to his feet.
“Can I give her some more?”
“Please don’t. Eggs make her gassy.”
“Daddy’s mean and ecologically insensitive to the virtues of wind power.” Bending low. “He wasn’t such a fuddy-duddy, we could get a government subsidy.”
Straightening, he shoveled food. Blanche settled, closed her eyes, began snoring lightly.
Milo said, “In terms of Bitt’s movements, Sean logged him coming out once, around midnight, followed him to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy over in Pali village. He came out with a small paper bag. Sean said his nose appeared swollen and he didn’t look happy. I’d like to think he’s got a raging coke habit, but probably a cold and NyQuil. That coffee still hot?”
I poured him a mugful.
He said, “Gracias. Sean left at four a.m. Sometime between then and nine when I showed up, Bitt left again and stayed away. He seems to be moving around more but for all I know he went to the doctor to get his sinuses reamed. Moe’ll try tonight, again. I have energy, I’ll come by when he leaves. Meanwhile, no night moves from Ms. Chelsea.”
His phone kicked in. New ringtone: a few bars of Puccini’s “Babbino Caro.” Gorgeous piece of music. Shame to abuse it that way.
He said, “Hey, Sean. When’d you get in... good for you... it did? One’s better than nothing, I’m at Dr. D’s place, email it to him, we’ll print it from his computer.”
Forkful of omelet. “I told him to check my computer every hour. The rest of Corvin’s corporate credit card records just came through.”
“You can’t get downloads to your phone?”
“I can technically but it’s iffy, regulation-wise,” he said. “Department’s still working out specifics on interfacing with personal devices.”
“My computer’s okay?”
He grinned. “Your screen’s larger.”
As he washed the fry pan, I printed. Five pages of fine print covering three billing periods that I brought to the kitchen.
Chet Corvin had traveled extensively up and down the coast, charging business and first-class airline tickets, rental cars, meals, and hotels from San Diego to Seattle. No stops at or near Oxnard, Ventura, or Santa Barbara, which caused Milo to curse under his breath.
At the bottom of the fifth sheet: the Sahara Motor Inn, the wine, “merchandise” at Hustler, and something Raul had missed: a “delux.assort” purchased at “Haute Eu. Choco.” Ninety-three dollars and some change.