“Anything you want from me?”
“Just keep thinking.”
We were nearly at the station when Detective Sean Binchy called.
“What’s up, kid?”
“Loot, you got a call a few minutes ago, desk sent it to me. Woman named Tori Burkholder, I told her I’d pass anything along but she only wanted to talk to you.”
“The perks of personal charm.”
Sean laughed. “Got to be, sir. She for real?”
“Friend of my new victim.”
“Who’s that?”
“Woman O.D.’d and dumped dead near a hospital. It just got complicated but no time to get into it right now, Sean. What’s your caseload?”
“Just closed a strong-arm robbery in Pico-Robertson so I’m open, so far.”
“Congrats. Any chance of drafting you?”
“Hope so,” said Sean. “I’ll try to make it happen.”
“If you pull it off, let me know and I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Moses and Alicia, too. If you don’t mind, give ’em a heads-up.”
“Will do, Loot. Here’s the number.”
We got held up under a freeway pass at Santa Monica and Sepulveda. Simmering cars and tempers, a homeless guy panhandling to no avail.
Milo used the time to punch in Tori Burkholder’s number.
One ring was followed by “This is Tori, Officer,” in a voice that broke twice.
“Thanks for calling.”
“Beth and Yoli told me and Bethany about Marissa. They work weekends, we don’t, and we were in Camarillo doing some shopping. We’re still freaked out.”
Milo said, “Terrible thing.”
“It’s horrible,” said Tori Burkholder. “I live right near Marissa and Bethany isn’t that far. Is there some serial killer looking for girls?”
“Nothing like that, Tori. Beth and Yoli didn’t tell you what happened?”
“They said some guy drugged, raped, and killed her. Which is crazy ’cause Marissa didn’t use drugs.”
“Could we talk face-to-face?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“When and where?”
“Now and wherever,” said Tori Burkholder. “We’re on the freeway and right now, I don’t even want to go home.”
“Would you mind coming to the station?”
“Sure,” she said. “Guess that’s one safe place.”
He gave her the address.
She said, “I can probably do it in half an hour because traffic’s going the other way. Beth, you okay with it? She is, hopefully half an hour.”
“I’ll be here whenever you arrive.”
“You sound nice,” she said. “This is crazy.”
Forty-eight minutes later, standing under a night sky pinholed by starlight, Milo and I were ready when a red Kia headed south on Butler and sped toward us.
I’d just finished telling Robin I’d be late. She said, “No prob, I’ll keep working.”
Milo had just finished texting Petra to work on scheduling a meeting.
The Kia pulled to the curb and stopped. The passenger window lowered on Tori Burkholder’s lovely, tense face.
Milo said, “Here’s a parking pass, ladies. Pull in right over there, we’ll wait.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few moments later, two identically sized women dressed in snug black tops, black tights, and black flats crossed the street and came toward us. Tori Burkholder’s hair was still long and blond, Bethany McGonigal’s long and black. They walked in step with each other, precise as drum majorettes.
Milo muttered, “Is there a machine somewhere that turns them out?”
He met them halfway, guided them over, said, “I’m Milo Sturgis, this is Alex Delaware.”
Nods, downcast eyes, barely audible hi’s.
“Thanks for coming, ladies.”
More nods.
Inside, he said, “Elevator or stairs?”
Bethany McGonigal, red-eyed and tear-streaked, touched her Apple Watch and studied the mini-screen. “I’ve done my steps.”
“Me, too.”
Chapter 9
The elevator ride was silent, both women pressed together in a corner, still avoiding eye contact.
Milo led the way to the medium-sized interview room he’d set up twenty minutes ago. Small table in the middle, two chairs facing two others. Bottled water and napkins on the tabletop.
Fifteen minutes ago, he’d sniffed the air, left, and returned with a can of citrus air freshener that he used liberally.
Stress-sweat had given way to orange blossoms. For the most part.
“Smell okay to you?”
I said, “Put it down to atmosphere.”
He laughed. “Any psych data on that? Which smells get people to tell the truth?”
“Forget it.”
He laughed again and looked at the water bottles. “I could get snacks from one of the machines but probably not, huh? The body-conscious generation and all that.”
Gazing up at the ceiling, he frowned. Acoustical tiles alternated with fluorescent panels. “Wish it was softer.”
“Why the special treatment?” I said.
“Because... hell, I don’t know why... been thinking of Marissa. Barely making it but trying so hard, she gets snuffed out and dumped like garbage. For all I know, these two are gonna be prone to the same mistakes... or maybe I’m just getting protective in my old age.”
I thought: You were born protective.
—
Now, settled at the table, Tori and Bethany opened their water bottles, drank, kept their heads down.
Milo said, “Again, thanks for coming. First off, I want to reassure you that there’s no serial killer lurking in your neighborhoods. I can’t give you too many details but Marissa’s death was likely an overdose.”
“Of what?” said Tori Burkholder.
“We don’t know yet.”
“That makes no sense, sir. Like I told you, she didn’t use anything.”
Generally Milo’s stingy about giving out details. This time, he said, “Someone may have overdosed her without her knowing.”
“Who?”
“Our most likely suspect is a man named Paul O’Brien.”
No response.
Milo said, “Never heard of him?”
“Never.”
“Never.”
“In any event, he’s been taken care of and is no threat to anyone else. So the name doesn’t ring a bell? Maybe someone Marissa mentioned casually?”
Tori and Bethany looked at each other. Shook their heads.
He showed them the photo of O’Brien and Marissa.
Bethany gaped and stuck out her tongue. “Why would she do that? He looks gross.”
Tori said, “Where was this taken?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out. Any ideas?”
“No, sir.”
Bethany said, “Not Marissa’s type.”
I said, “What type was that?”
“Actually,” said Tori, “Marissa didn’t have a type. She swore off.”
“Swore off guys.”
“Guys, relationships.”
“No boyfriends at all?”
“Not for years.” She studied the photo. “He’s like... hanging over her. Like he thinks he owns her.”
“Maybe he’s the producer,” said Bethany.
“You think? We told her it was probably bogus.”
“You know Marissa. When she gets an idea.”
Milo said, “Beth and Yoli told us she’d talked about meeting a producer.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tori. “Like... a few weeks ago. Said he was straight up with her, admitted it wouldn’t be big-budget or union-scale but he might be able to use her.”
Milo said, “What kind of movie?”
“She didn’t say.”
Bethany drew the photo nearer and studied it. “Maybe he slipped something into her Sea Breeze. She looks kind of out of it.”