“Shoot.”
“Most of what’s posted is in Italian and you know internet translations. But from what I can gather, it’s a family enterprise, been around generations. You can go to Florence and they’ll make a pattern and fit you bespoke. That’s called scarpe — let me get this right — scarpe personalizzate. Regular stuff, they export but not in any great quantity. I found high-end retailers in Singapore, Dubai, Monaco, and Paris. In the U.S., only three places: a fancy-shmancy boutique in New York — Soho — similar on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and here at a place near Sunset Plaza. Veddy expensive. I was about to go over there but if you’d rather, I’ll start deep-diving on Mr. March. Alternatively, I can call one of the boys in on that.”
“The boys,” he said. “I’m hearing sexually loaded language. Maybe you do need that seminar.”
“Ha! So what’s your choice, L.T.? Oops, I almost said, ‘What’s your pleasure.’ ”
“There’s a lot to learn about March so call both of the lads in before another memo pollutes the environment and go look at shoes.”
“Will do,” she said. “Got to be the most pleasant day I’ve had in Homicide.”
When he hung up, I said, “One boutique doesn’t require a full-time rep.”
“Like we said, a make-work job?”
“Or he actually got sent here to drum up business.”
When we reached the unmarked, he said, “Who’re you betting on as the prime target, him or her?”
“No strong feeling either way so I’m staying away from the table.”
“I think it’s her and I think Dougie arranged it. If that leads to a mundane case, sorry for wasting your time.”
His cell tooted abuse of Rossini. He picked up, listened for a few moments, muttered thanks, and clicked off shaking his head.
“The lab just I.D.’d the bullet pulled out of Meagin. No big challenge because it ain’t rare ammo. MKE 9.65 Normal, full metal jacket.”
It’s not like him to fall back on jargon.
I waited.
He said, “Yeah, yeah, standard for the S and W Police and Military. Like I said, millions of ’em out there. They’ll run it against prior shootings, fingers crossed.”
He opened his driver’s door, stood there grinding his jaws. “Pray it’s not gonna be another McKinney and Lynk.”
A couple of years ago, a pair of Sheriff’s deputies fired for ethics violations had sought new careers as hit men in Compton. Taking on jobs for the town’s biggest drug gang, only to be gunned down by an opposing group of thugs.
I said, “Time to go through Meagin’s phone?”
He looked at me. “Changing the subject to relieve my anxiety? Very therapeutic.”
“Always happy to help but it was a real question. Doug claims not to know any of her friends but Verizon might.”
Back at his office, he removed the pink phone from a desk drawer, began scrolling, and stopped. “Looky here.” Showing me the screen, he resumed. Stopped several times at specific calls.
To and from “G.”
He said, “Let’s count... twice a week, every week for the time span I’ve got, which is... four weeks. I’ll subpoena her account and find out how long the affair’s been going on.”
I took the phone and reviewed the correspondence. “Sometimes he initiates, sometimes she does. The most recent pairing was him to her Saturday at five forty-two p.m. followed by her reply at six twenty-eight.”
“Setting up the date. Too bad she didn’t text. I’m hearing ‘Ready, baby?’ and ‘Jogging over, can’t wait.’ ”
I said, “She was careful enough not to text but didn’t delete the calls. Maybe she was confident Doug wouldn’t find out because they led separate lives and he’d never been interested in hers.”
He thought about that. “Then he got interested because something got him suspicious. Like paying the phone bill and noticing a pattern.”
I said, “Handling household bills sounds like below his pay grade. More likely he uses auto-pay or farms it out to an assistant.”
“Even better,” he said. “The assistant notices and tells the boss. Or maybe he was already suspicious, to hell with pay grade, and decided to check. For all I know, she had a stable of Romeos and got careless. Let’s see who else she talked to.”
Examining a month of Meagin March’s correspondence produced a slew of calls and texts ordering takeout from Grubhub and directly from restaurants throughout the Westside. Thai, Indian, vegan, health-conscious.
Nearly all her remaining contacts were also commerciaclass="underline" a nail salon in Brentwood, a day spa in Santa Monica, a dermatologist on Camden Drive in Beverly Hills, lots of shopping in all three neighborhoods with B.H. the clear favorite.
Gucci, Chanel, Armani, Vuitton, and Hermès on Rodeo Drive, lesser mono-brands and boutiques, including a bikini store, one street east on Beverly Drive.
I said, “For all that, not much in her closet.”
“Shopping as a hobby.”
“What isn’t here is Tiffany or other jewelry sources. That could mean what we saw in Gio’s bedroom were gifts from Doug.”
“All the more motive,” he said. “Guy lavishes her with bling, finds out how she repaid him, and blows.”
His thumb picked up speed. “All right, finally some personal calls.”
Three contacts, the most frequent contact “The Hub.” Calling the number pulled up Doug March advising anyone interested to leave a message. In a tone that said I don’t care.
Milo said, “Not the number I have for him.”
I said, “Could be his personal cell.”
“Doesn’t sound personal, wonder if he even knows what that means.” He counted. “Eleven calls from her to him in four weeks. A bit more than to Gio but it still doesn’t shout domestic bliss.”
“Any pattern related to her calls to Gio?”
“As in?”
“Same-day pairings.”
He scrolled, read, eyes widening. “See what you were getting at. Every contact with Gio was followed by her checking in with Doug. Keeping track of him so she could fool with Romeo. Crafty... okay, the other two contacts are ‘Toni’ and ‘Lana,’ so maybe I’ll get lucky and they’re pals she was with when she went fishing for Doug and hauled him onto the dock.”
I said, “No other recent Romeos, that could make your life easier.”
“Unless there’s an angry ex-Romeo from longer than a month ago.”
“If there isn’t, it could mean that what Meagin and Gio had was more than recreational.”
“Amore? Why not?” he said. “Guy’s got good looks, nice clothes, no responsibilities, and a condom collection. What else do you need for a meaningful relationship? Okay, let’s check out Toni and Lana and hope they’re gum-flapping gossips.”
Six outgoing calls had gone to “Toni,” five to “Lana.” As with Gio Aggiunta, sometimes Meagin had reached out, other times the women had called first.
That made me wonder about something. I said, “One second,” went back and examined the spousal correspondence.
Doug March had accepted his wife’s calls but had never once taken the initiative to phone her.
Milo said, “Inattentive.”
“Which could explain her being confident he wouldn’t snoop. And if he can be believed, he never did. He just claimed that when he asked where she was from, ‘the Midwest’ was enough detail.”
“Rich guy, so much at stake, and he doesn’t do any research. Weird.”
I said, “Maybe he just didn’t care. Or he saw himself as a shy loser when she picked him up and was awestruck. Then, as the relationship continued, she made no demands and was sexually available. He made sure to let us know she was, when he happened to be home. Given all that, why shake things up?”
“Especially when you really don’t care,” he said. “And she made no demands because she had plenty of entertainment on the side. King’s out conquering territory, Queen’s holed up in the castle and finds herself a knight.”