“Out of sight, out of mind.”
“But with no family connections in L.A.,” I said, “he’d be vulnerable. And maybe unaware of his vulnerability.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s floated through life maybe without doing a lot of thinking. Severe learning disabilities sometimes come with low impulse control. Cracking up one Ferrari and expecting another says in Gio’s case it did. Toss in a lifetime of being cushioned and you may not end up with strong self-preservation instincts.”
“All his bills taken care of, nice house, nice car, no need to work,” he said. “Yeah, I can see it.”
“Twenty-nine,” I said, “but not an adult.”
We headed back to his office.
He said, “Gotta get phone records and find out who else he hooked up with. The gal at the Bel-Air had no details but maybe someone at the other hotels will so I’ll send the kids out to snoop.”
Nearly an hour remained before the four p.m. meeting. Milo used the time to check with the crime lab about the bullet recovered from Meagin March. Scowling and muttering, “Probably haven’t even looked at it,” as the phone rang.
Unwarranted pessimism but no satisfaction. The .38 slug had been analyzed but had failed to match ammunition from any other crime on record.
His next call was to the coroner, where he spoke to the day-shift crypt manager, Jorge Braunbauer. No decision yet on autopsies of either victim.
Milo said, “What’s your best guess?”
“They probably won’t get the scalpel,” said Braunbauer, “because COD is obvious and nothing weird came up on either of their X-rays.”
Milo said, “When’s serology coming back?”
“Not sure, we’re jacked and on the form it says you told our guys they were drinking booze.”
“What I said was the appearance of drinking.”
“Okay.”
“Do me a favor, Jorge, get the bloods back, then we’ll talk about the scalpels.”
“I don’t think talking’s going to help, Milo. We’ve got eight bodies from a massive pileup on the 101 including two kids plus a multiple-gang O.K. Corral thing in Willowbrook where the trajectory tapes look like spaghetti.”
“A traffic accident and a low-life shoot-out trumps a whodunit double homicide?”
Jorge said, “Death is death.”
Milo hung up and examined Meagin’s and Gio’s photos. “Coupla fit, healthy types, he’s probably right. Okay, let’s find out who both of you beauties have schmoozed with in times gone by.”
Two different phone carriers. Slow going at both when he gave them the subpoena numbers.
Rather than watch Milo fidget and tap his feet and rub his face while on hold, I stepped out into the hall and checked my messages.
One new custody eval referral, from Julie Beck, a judge I’d worked with before and liked. Her message: “All yours, Alex. If you want it.”
I reached her in chambers. “That sounds ominous.”
She said, “I like you so I’m warning you. These are two of the most unpleasant people who’ve ever crossed my threshold. Massive money on both sides, you’d think they could each just walk away and continue being rich. Instead, they keep getting stratospherically arrogant and kicking up the anger level.”
I said, “Pit-bull attorneys?”
“No, actually okay attorneys. High-powered but smart enough not to be unnecessarily stupid. Unfortunately, they seem to be withering and one’s already talking about bailing. So the dogs of war may eventually come snorting in. Now, in terms of positives, I made it clear that you’ll be paid up front and I suggest that you price yourself generously because once the process gets going, I can see the principals welshing.”
“Sounds like a whole lot of fun,” I said. “How old’s the child?”
“Fifteen-year-old boy.”
The wishes of adolescents are taken seriously in family court so I rarely work with them.
I said, “What does he have to say about custody?”
“Haven’t heard him say a thing,” she said. “If I had to guess, it would be ‘Someone take me. Please.’ ”
“Neither of them wants custody?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“God, that’s sad.”
“He’s been in boarding school since the age of nine, is currently at some preppy place in Massachusetts and scheduled to stay there during the entire summer session. From what I can gather, his parents, if you can call them that, pushed the empty-nest thing as soon as they could. Now both of them have new love interests, neither of whom has any interest in poor Derek.”
“What is it you think I can do, Julie?”
“I don’t have a clue. But someone should do something.”
“Let me think about it.”
“No problem, Alex, it’s not going to be imminent, I just wanted to get my ducks in a row. And just for the record, I didn’t ask someone else before you. When it gets complicated, I’ve found you ideal for the situation.”
I laughed.
She said, “Seriously, I appreciate your ability to contextualize and this case will require it. Anyway, sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”
“Never, Julie.”
She said, “There you go. Gallant. Another reason I warned you.”
When I returned to Milo’s office he was still on the phone. Straining at Mr. Friendly but slipping steadily.
He saw me and jabbed a middle finger up at the ceiling.
I left the building to get some air, strolled up Butler Avenue and phoned Robin and told her I’d be back by six or so.
She said, “Fits my schedule.”
“How’s the Torres?”
“Beginning to reclaim its gorgeousness. What’ve you been up to, hon?”
“Not much on the case and just heard something pathetic from my other world.”
I told her about the unwanted boy.
She said, “You are breaking my heart. What does this judge think you can do?”
“She has no idea.”
“Well,” she said, “if anyone can, it’ll be you.”
A kid easy to give up on.
That’s when I decided to take the consult.
Chapter 17
By ten to four, Milo had wrested listless agreement from the phone carriers to look out for his subpoenas.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, as we left for the meeting.
I said, “How far back do their logs go?”
“For Meagin a little under two years, before that she used another carrier, they have no idea who. Not worth chasing down, dead data gets destroyed. Gio’s American account goes back seventeen months.”
“Soon after he arrived in L.A.”
“Before that, it was probably an Italian carrier, good luck getting through that fog. And, again, not worth the effort.”
He stopped. “Unless some enraged hubby from the Old Country was still waging a vendetta.”
I said, “If Claudio knew about that, he’d have told us.”
“Good point. So forget think globally, act locally. I’ve got enough to deal with on this continent.”
Milo had scheduled the meeting in a familiar venue: a large interview room adjacent to the space where we’d just spoken to Claudio Aggiunta.
A whiteboard on wheels was equipped with a pointer and a blue marker. A pair of rectangular folding tables had been pressed together and set up with four chairs. He’d transferred the coffee urn from the smaller room but when the three young detectives arrived together they bypassed caffeine and took seats behind the tables. Eyes aimed at the board, obedient pupils.
Alicia Bogomil, hard-bodied and clean-jawed, wore a snug denim jacket, black slacks, and low-heeled Chelsea boots. This week’s hairdo was shoulder-length, softly shagged and side-parted. Brown-black on top, electric blue at the tips.