Moses Reed, blond, crew-cut, pink-complexioned and baby-faced, had shifted gears clothing-wise. As long as I’d known Moe, he’d contended with conventional garments that fought his power lifter’s body, the result suggesting imminent explosion. Today he wore a pale-blue polo shirt and athletic-cut, black stretch chinos.
Sean Binchy — tall, rangy, and freckled, ginger hair spiked and neatly trimmed — was the sole holdout for Old School Investigator. Black suit, gray shirt, gray-and-black tie. Mirror-polished Doc Martens the sole memento from his time as a ska-punk bassist.
He ended up next to me, said, “Hey, Doc,” and smiled. A few years ago, I’d saved his life. We’d finally gotten past that.
Milo strode to the board and said, “In answer to your next question, everything’s gonna be on the final.”
Small smiles but tense posture. The routine anxiety of detectives new to a case.
Bright eyes remained fixed on Milo, eager for enlightenment.
Nowhere else to look because this was a sad board: empty white space broken only by enlarged photos of two victims and a few crime scene photos that conveyed little.
He pointed to Meagin March, then Gio Aggiunta, and summed up what he’d learned over the past two days. No one took notes. Likely because Alicia knew everything and had passed it along.
Milo said, “Questions.”
Reed said, “Any hunch about which one was the primary?”
“Wish there was. I was set on her because she was married and her husband’s an odd one. But what I learned about Gio back in Italy makes me wonder.”
“If not her husband, maybe someone else’s.”
“Exactly. Alex has confirmed that he took other women to the Bel-Air and the calls I have had a chance to look at say other Five-Stars were also his hunting grounds.”
Sean said, “Any I.D. on the women at the Bel-Air, Doc?”
I shook my head. “The hostess was hazy on details.”
Moe said, “You made a special trip or just happened to be there?”
“The latter.”
Milo suppressed a smile. “In any event, maybe someone at the Waldorf or the Peninsula or wherever will remember more.”
Sean said, “Maybe we should also check hotels that don’t show up in his call history. Places he could’ve dropped in on without planning.”
Alicia said, “Happy hunting grounds. He does sound like a guy who did nothing but party.”
“Good point,” said Milo. “Along those lines, he also called restaurants so let’s start with everyplace in the call history and if nothing shows up there, we can branch out.”
Moe said, “Five-Stars, we’re talking rich folk. You think some waiter’s going to give up a name?”
“Let’s hope,” said Milo. “Yeah, it’s thin soup but until the total call history comes in, I don’t see any other way to go.”
He waited. Silence.
“Anything else?”
Alicia said, “A hotel might give up his older women but what about her younger men?”
Milo said, “Good point. We’re also looking for any other guys she dated, especially older ones.”
“Problematic coots,” said Alicia.
Sean said, “Do we know if she was married before?”
Milo said, “Not in California, as far as I can tell. Gio arrived here seventeen months ago, not sure about Meagin but she’s only been married a year and a half.”
Alicia sat up straighter. “This may be out of left field, Loo, if she did arrive around the same time as Gio, could they have known each other before?”
“Not unless she lived in Italy.”
“Which I’ll check. Any chance of a personal look-see in Florence?”
Everyone laughed. Milo’s lips twisted. He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll take on the paperwork aspect, you guys handle the hotels and the eateries. Hell, have a snack on me.”
“Just a snack?” said Alicia.
“Now you’re pushing it. Fine, bring me serious info and have a T-bone on me. Or whatever your pleasure is.”
Chapter 18
The following day, a courier from L.A. County Superior Court, Family Division, delivered a legal-sized envelope to my door.
Inside was a handwritten note on Julie Beck’s from-the-desk-of stationery: Here it is, Alex. Thanks. J.
“It” was a two-page summary of Ruffalo vs. Ruffalo, current addresses in Brentwood, Cancún, New York City, Aspen, Vermont. He, a financier specializing in “entertainment start-ups and artistic development,” she an “activist and advocate.” A few years back Milo and I had met a guy named Ruffalo... Charles. Naive money guy living with a hooker who’d been raped. This guy was Brian Ruffalo. Anything but naive. Maybe the tough older brother? Or just coincidence.
I googled, found no link, read on.
The primary conflict was supposedly money, specifically the division of “substantial” assets claimed to have been “primarily generated” by each litigant. He, due to being an “active venture capitalist,” she, from a “prominent family” and asserted to have “seeded” every one of his endeavors.
Nothing about Derek Ruffalo until a two-line paragraph at the end containing the boy’s name, sex, and age and the fact that his custody status “remains undetermined.”
A boy about whom I knew nothing, but I’d found myself thinking about him and that led to wondering what I could do for him. I put the documents back in the envelope, left it on my desk, and moved on to a stack of reports in progress. Cases where I’d been useful.
Wondering about the boy reentered my head when I woke at three a.m. I tried to convince myself that with more information I’d figure something out. It took me a while to slide back into sleep.
Four hours later, as if the thought stream had nagged at me while my brain cycled, I woke up with a sense of futility.
Time to put it aside until he showed up. Just as I filed the envelope, Robin came in with Blanche.
“You around for breakfast, handsome?”
“You bet.” We kissed. “Omelets?”
“Sounds good. Our girl here will enjoy a few eggy bits.”
We ate and drank coffee in the kitchen.
Robin said, “So what’s up?”
“About what?”
She placed her hand on mine and smiled. “You’ve been a bit thoughtful.”
That’s tactful for spacy. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for, I didn’t say neglectful, just... contemplative.”
I said, “When did you buy the Dictionary of Euphemisms?”
She laughed. “There’s my guy.” A couple of sips. “Am I reading it wrong?”
“You never do. Been thinking about that poor kid no one wants. Can’t figure out any solution.”
“Maybe there is none.”
“Exactly.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. Then Robin said, “You had a shitty childhood and mine wasn’t award-winning. We turned out okay.”
“So hope for the best.”
“Don’t you always tell me not to take on problems I didn’t cause?”
I nodded. Poured a second cup for her, a third for me.
She said, “No obvious solution is what Milo’s faced with when he calls you in. And those seem to work out.”
All those years with my best friend and I’d never thought about that.
“You’re right.”
“Think of all the times you’ve helped him. If anyone can help this kid, it’s you.”
Same vote of confidence I’d gotten from Julie Beck. Coming from the woman I loved, it had more currency but I still saw no obvious solution.
Let it go, wait and see.
I kissed her again, longer, deeper.
She said, “Looks like euphemisms pay off.”