“How often did Rosales contact her?”
“Last time was two months ago, the previous four months he reached her eleven times and she initiated six times. Relatively long calls — five, ten minutes.”
“Despite what Laura and Frank said, maybe a relationship.”
“I just phoned Fairfax and found out she called in sick. Figured I’d drop by her place, maybe get lucky. You up for it?”
“A teacher?” I said. “Always happy to be educated.”
I drove to the station and we continued in his Impala to Hannah Gardener’s address. Four-unit mocha-colored box west of Overland and south of Washington. Twenty-minute ride from Butler. Less from Manny Rosales’s house.
Entry was blocked by a glass security door. Four buttons, Gardener in Apartment 2.
Milo said, “Here goes nothing.”
We got something.
A woman said, “Yes?”
Milo identified himself.
She said, “About Manny.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Buzz.
Unit 2 was on the right side of a minimal lobby. By the time we got to the door it was open.
The woman who watched us, nodding, was short, plump, with a pretty, round face under henna-red curls. She wore a pink Scripps College sweatshirt over brown leggings and bare feet. Red toenail polish, pearlescent white for her fingers. Hoop earrings the size of drink coasters dangled from her ears. Dusting of freckles on a pixie nose.
Like Laura Rosales, her eyes were weary and raw, pink sclera rimming bright-blue irises.
She said, “Please come in,” in a barely audible voice. As we followed her inside, the nods turned to head shakes.
Hannah Gardener’s apartment was compact, made cozier by oversized, overstuffed seating. A coffee table with barely enough room to avoid feet was topped by glass that shielded a dense array of seashells. Copies of antique maps took up most of the wall space. Images conjured centuries ago from fancy, not fact.
That and a carved floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed with hardcovers, some of them leather-bound, and lilac fragrance in the air, evoked a library in an esoteric club.
“Something to drink?” she said, without enthusiasm.
“No, thanks, Ms. Gardener.”
“Hannah’s fine. I just found out about Manny and I’m having trouble processing it.” She bit her lip, kept gnawing it, worried one hand with the other. “Please. Sit.”
We faced her across the seashells. Scores of them, jumbled, as if deposited by a giant wave.
Milo said, “How’d you find out?”
“They called me from Hammie. I used to work there before I transferred to Fairfax in order to teach AP history and geography.”
She touched her breast. “I threw up then I called in sick.”
I said, “You worked with Mr. Rosales at the Hamilton magnet.”
Hannah Gardener grimaced. “I wish. No, I worked at the regular school, which was not very stimulating and sometimes downright unpleasant. Magnet jobs are impossible to get, once people score, they stick around. I’d given up and was just about to go private at Buckley, despite having to drive into the Valley plus losing some of my pension. Then the position at Fairfax came up. Did you find me on Manny’s phone?”
Milo said, “Good guess.”
“Well, there’d be no other way, Lieutenant — this must be an important case for a lieutenant to be involved. That’s good, Manny deserves it. Manny and I didn’t talk often but we did chat so I figured I’d be on his call log and it was just a matter of time. Not that I have anything to offer.”
Milo said, “Anything you can tell us about Manny will be helpful. Starting with your relationship.”
Hannah Gardener’s chest heaved. She crossed her legs, then thought better of it and placed her feet on the floor.
“Relationship.” Her mouth twisted. As if trying out a new word in a foreign language. “Primarily, we were friends. I was widowed three years ago, shortly before Manny transferred to Hammie. We met in the teachers’ lounge and ended up talking. He saw how low I was and was extremely supportive. I really needed that. David had been ill for years but still, when it happened.”
I said, “Primarily but not exclusively friends.”
She shot me a sharp look. “My, you’re a precise one, linguistically. If you’re asking did it ever extend to something beyond friendship, I’m not sure I want to get into that level of detail about my personal life. It certainly can’t be relevant.”
I said, “No offense.”
“None taken.” Spots of color on her cheeks said otherwise. “Look, guys, I understand, you’ve got to delve. But nothing that transpired between Manny and myself will help you solve this.”
We remained silent.
Hannah Gardener fooled with her hair. “Let’s just say that there was a brief time — months ago — that we did attempt to... stretch the friendship. But we ended up mutually deciding pure friendship would be preferable. Then I began dating and though I assured Manny that it wouldn’t affect our friendship, he apparently thought differently and reduced our contacts. I tried calling him but he never responded. That would have to be a couple of months ago.”
She gulped. “I didn’t want to hurt him but he... it just wasn’t in the cards, Manny was all about ideas, not the physical world.”
The blush had spread down to her neck. “This is so embarrassing.”
I said, “Sorry, but thanks for the information. What was it like when you were friends?”
“Like? I don’t get the question.”
“Did you socialize in person—”
“Of course we did,” she said. “We’re not automatons or online freaks. We’d go out to dinner or brunch on Saturday. He’d come here and we’d do Saturday crosswords together in ink, they’re the hardest. Manny was great company. Which, from a woman’s perspective, means he knew how to listen.”
She crossed her legs again, this time maintaining the position. “Now may I ask some questions? What exactly happened? All Jeanine — the secretary at Hammie — told me was a cop showed up and said he’d been murdered. Was it a home invasion? A burglar who went nuts?”
Milo said, “Neither, ma’am.”
“Then what?”
He gave her the bare minimum.
She grimaced. “Someone shooting him and running off and not taking anything? That’s nuts. That sounds like what I guess you people would call a hit.”
The flush had spread to her entire face. Her hands clasped and her eyes rounded, widening the pink halo.
Milo said, “Can you think of anyone who’d target him?”
“Of course not — oh, crap. No, couldn’t be.”
She sprang up, ran to the kitchen, uncapped a pale-green glass bottle and brought it back.
Topo Chico mineral water from Mexico.
“Manny introduced me to it. Great bubbles. You sure you don’t want some?”
Milo said, “No, thanks. What couldn’t be, Ms. Gardener?”
“That there was someone actually out to get Manny.”
“If something has come to mind, please tell us.”
“Oh my,” she said. “Here I was thinking I had nothing to offer and I still probably don’t. But I suppose there could be one thing. Not that it’s factual, it’s not even close to factual, just — and I can’t even give you details.”
She gulped water. Put the bottle down, picked it up and drank some more.
Breathing hard, looking away.
We waited.
Hannah Gardener said, “You won’t quote me on this, okay? I don’t want to get myself into something.”