“To a T. Manny was all about ideas. Formulas, theorems. I was decent in math, he was a total whiz. Like our dad. He was uneducated, never made it past ninth grade but he could memorize columns of numbers... anyway, that’s what Manny told me. About his sexuality.”
“Any idea why he stopped dating?”
“The way he put it,” said Frank Rosales, “he didn’t want to spend energy on it. Maybe he’d been hurt by a girl, I don’t know. There’s eight years between us. When he started Cal, I was in fifth grade.”
Laura said, “Some people just aren’t interested. So what? It takes all types.”
Her husband looked at her then back at us. “Not going to lie, it was a little tough on our parents. They wanted what everyone wants for their kids. Settle down, raise a family. But they never bugged Manny, that wasn’t our family, we’re live and let live.”
“We have five kids,” said Laura. “You learn to respect their individuality.”
Frank didn’t respond. A moment later: “So no, there’d be no one who’d want to assassinate him. Unless it was one of those crazy things.”
Milo said, “What kind of crazy thing?”
“You know,” said Frank. “Some maniac on the street, you look at them the wrong way and voices tell them to get you. There’s homeless all over. Not in Manny’s neighborhood but Culver City? It’s a sty. Do you know how they’re going to deal with those people who camp out on the sidewalk? Spend taxpayer money to widen the sidewalk. You believe that? Lunatics running the asylum.”
“That makes sense,” said Laura. “A lunatic who for some lunatic reason targeted Manny.”
“I mean you just shoot and you don’t even bother to try to steal anything?” said her husband. “That’s totally irrational. But that’s the age we’re living in.”
Milo said, “Things have gotten complicated.”
“Not complicated,” said Frank Rosales. “Simple and crazy.”
Milo handed out his cards and we left them standing in their doorway, wet-eyed and clutching each other. A black Porsche Panamera sat next to the Range Rover. GUM DDS on the plates.
“American success story,” he said as he drove away. “Doesn’t insulate you — so what do you think?”
I said, “Frank was right, Manny was assassinated. Targeted just like the others. So it had to be personal and despite what they think they know, he may have had a relationship that went bad. I know there wasn’t any evidence of that in his house but that could just mean it was long over. And that can mean lingering anger. It’ll be particularly interesting to see what’s on his computer and his financials.”
“Not gay.” He smiled. “If they’re right and we don’t find any women in his life, where does that lead? He lied about it? Or he was some kind of voluntary celibate?”
I said, “Like the sister-in-law said, all types.”
“Except all types don’t get murdered just for fun. There’s got to be something in this guy’s past.”
He phoned Sean.
“Hey, Loot. Just got out of Hamilton High. Principal says Mr. Rosales was one of their best teachers, dedicated, high standards, taught the smart kids, everyone loved him.”
“That’s the picture we just got from his brother and sister-in-law. No issues at all?”
“Not that the principal would cop to. Only thing I did notice — and it might turn out to be nothing — is when we were walking out and he was assuring me of all that, his secretary gave me a look.”
“What kind of look?”
“That’s the thing, Loot, can’t really decode what it meant and it was just for a second. Basically, I’d call bothered. Almost like she was annoyed with him. But maybe I’m looking for something that isn’t there. I circled back and gave her my card. She said, ‘Why would I need this?’ so maybe she ended up tossing it in the circular file. But who knows?”
“Good thinking, kid.”
“Grasping at straws, Loot.”
“Aren’t we all,” said Milo. “Let’s get to work on Rosales’s phone and his financials.”
“The phone and the computer are both password-protected so I dropped them off with Layton — that new tech whiz D I — and told him I’d initiate the affidavits. Soon as I get back, I’ll go to work on them.”
Milo hung up. “So nice when the kids turn out right.”
Chapter 33
I heard nothing from Milo for the next two days, which worked out perfectly; I was swamped with consults and report-writing.
During spare moments, I’d found myself drifting back to Paul O’Brien’s murder. If the Boykinses had hired a killer twice, no problem. But Vicki Saucedo’s family as contractors raised a question: With no criminal case filed, how had they known O’Brien was the one who’d O.D.’d and dumped their daughter?
The only answer I could come up with was that a witness had come forward but had been ignored in favor of a financial settlement. On the face of it, that seemed mercenary, but who was I to judge the monumental grief of a family left with a grievously damaged daughter?
Either way, I had nowhere to go with it.
At ten a.m. on the third day, Milo called.
“You have time for a summary?”
“Absolutely.”
“First item: Walt Swanson. Buxby learned he had indeed been dismissed from the Boykins job due to a complaint. The company offered to put him on another gig but he told them he was packing it in to care for a sick wife. Apparently she’s got some sort of cancer. Top of that, Swanson has no Ohio connections, California born and bred. So looks like ol’ Walt’s off the radar. Next: Ballistics tech identified the probable spot in the alley where the shooter stood but nothing forensic showed up there. In fact, there was evidence of some surface dirt being swept away in order to obscure shoe prints.”
“Our boy brings a whisk broom along with his rifle.”
“Huh. Some image. No one in Rosales’s neighborhood heard any gunshots, though a couple of people thought they heard a car backfiring. The canvass pulled up one witness, a woman walking her dog, who saw a guy in a hoodie going into the alley about ninety minutes before the body was discovered. She didn’t think much of it because he was carrying what looked like a garbage bag. She assumed he was headed for the trash. Which he was, but for a whole other reason.”
I said, “Big bag’s a good way to pack gear without attracting attention. Maybe that’s why no one in Hollywood saw a rifle case. Any other details?”
“Not overly short or tall, just a guy taking out the trash. Video surveillance turned out to be a bust. Most of the homes don’t have systems, though a surprising number have dummy cameras and warning signs. The few that are operative are narrowly focused on front porches with no view of the sidewalk. Top of that, there are no overnight parking restrictions so we can’t cross-check violations with the ones Petra found. Speaking of which, she’s checked out twelve of the remaining thirty-one solid citizens and none of them are viable suspects. Now the possibly interesting stuff. Possibly with a small p.”
He paused for breath. “Mr. Rosales’s use of the internet was pretty much limited to online chess, word games, math games, and puzzles. He spent hours a day on brainy stuff. There were also some searches of local restaurant menus but no sign he followed through on actually ordering. The only other sites that came up were for porn. Hetero, conventional, and not frequently used, we found ten searches over six months.”
I said, “Life of the mind. What about his phone?”
“Also barely used,” he said. “Zero texts and there were days at a time with no calls, in or out. The few personals he did make were to his brother’s house and a number in Culver City that we traced to a woman named Hannah Gardener. I’ve left her three messages but she hasn’t responded. I looked her up and found out she’s also a teacher, but not at Hamilton, at Fairfax High. Forty-nine years old, clean record, big shock.”