“Right.”
“Not that I’m saying we’d never do it,” he went on. “Maybe one day, for inheritance purposes. But hell, I’ll be the first to go anyway, you know how long they live in his family, and it’s not like he needs my goddamn pension. Which he can probably get hold of anyway, the department being so progressive and all that. According to the memos. Which I don’t read.”
Slamming his hand down on the bar. “Fuck that noise.”
I said, “Amen.”
He patted my shoulder. “I like that we’re religious tonight.”
Drinks finished, Robin said, “Okay, I’m sufficiently brandied to be civil. How was your day?”
“Not much to tell.”
“Indulge me, baby. I like the sound of your voice.”
I filled her in.
She said, “Anything’s possible? Yeah, I can see that as terrifying for a detective. But your point about a student does make sense.”
“Big Guy thought it was a cliché.”
She laughed. “Fresh-faced Cindy working her way to summa cum laude by taking off her clothes? Yeah, I’ve seen that movie. It does happen, though. Remember those girls up at Berkeley — the little escort service they had going?”
“Sensual Seminar.”
She elbowed my arm. “You remember at that level of detail, huh?”
“Vaguely.”
“Ha. Now tell me the names of every seminarian.”
“Fifi, Gigi, Mimi—”
She laughed and stood. “Want another drink?”
“Why not.”
She paused to study the sky. Mauve and gray and wispy pink where daylight had resisted expulsion. “Me, too, we’ve both earned our leisure. Not that we have to self-justify. But we always do, don’t we? That’s the way you and I are constructed.”
“Want me to mix?”
“No, my turn.” She stood and smiled down at Blanche, lying tummy-down, eyes shut, breathing slowly, chunky bod so flaccid she might as well be an invertebrate.
“You, on the other hand, little missy, are blessedly entitled.”
Chapter 10
Milo phoned at ten a.m. Tuesday.
“Dug a little more on the families, dull shovel, hard clay. No hint of bad behavior for any of them. The only surprise is Amanda. Her age you’d expect some sort of social network presence. Zilch. Same for a driver’s license, state I.D., or local address. She lives in L.A. but doesn’t drive?”
I said, “It’s happening more often. Driving used to be a symbol of freedom. Some kids today see it as a hassle.”
“Ooh, traffic,” he said. “Scawy-wawy invasion of safe space.”
I laughed. “She goes to the U., probably lives in or near Westwood, maybe close enough to walk to campus. Longer journeys, she can bike or Uber.”
“Jesus,” he said. “A generation of fetuses.”
“Hey,” I said, “if they sit at home sucking their thumbs the crime rate could eventually drop.”
“There goes my career. But not yours — don’t gloat.”
“In terms of her address, she could live in a dorm.”
“Good luck prying that out of the U. I googled, looking for anything. Her name came up once: Two years ago she won an essay contest in high school sponsored by the Calabasas Chamber of Commerce. Patriotism and capitalism as bosom buddies. Different narrative, back then.”
“Straight-arrow goes to college and turns all relativistic and postmodern.”
“Oh, those big words, Doctor. Anyway, what I’m left with is a mouthy kid who reworked herself. Can’t see how it relates to Kimby Red Dress.”
“Unless Kimby was a student, like I suggested, and they knew each other.”
“Backpack and books, yeah, I thought of that. That’s another reason I checked Amanda’s web presence. Best of all worlds, there’d be Instagram shots of both of them. Unfortunately.”
Long breathy exhalation. “It is weird, though, Amanda being so covert. Who feeds the online beast? Egomaniacs, bigots, and millennials. Or is there another trend I missed?”
I said, “A few kids are withdrawing but not many. From what we saw, Amanda might have a stake in being different. Or relationships are problematic for her so she’s withdrawn.”
“Relationships with other women?”
“Her family’s straitlaced. If her sexuality wouldn’t fit in, she’d definitely want to keep it from them. That could be another reason she was so hostile.”
“Amanda and Red Dress,” he said. “Red Dress shows up to the wedding peeved because her girlfriend didn’t invite her. Amanda needs to get her out of view, takes her upstairs to talk — she was a bridesmaid, she’d know about the bathroom. There’s a confrontation and Red Dress gets the worst of it. Yeah, it’s a great screenplay. Unfortunately logic doesn’t touch it. If Amanda was caught off-guard, why would she be equipped with a syringe full of dope and a guitar string? Plus, she’s small, hard to see her overpowering anyone. And she didn’t have any scratches on her, any indication she’d been in a struggle.”
I said, “Want me to play Devil’s advocate?”
“What, you need permission? No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Go.”
“There was no struggle because the shot in the back of Red Dress’s neck shocked her to the ground. Amanda had dope because she uses. Not necessarily a full-fledged junkie. She flirts with opioids — a little squirt here and there, lots of kids try it. That could explain her affect.”
No answer.
I said, “You don’t like it.”
“I’m not feeling it, Alex. Yeah, she could be involved on some level. But managing to get away from the wedding party long enough to do all that, come back looking none the worse, and go back to her book? Now onward to the bride’s family. Lots of litigation, there. The Rapfogels rent space in an office building, are tussling with their landlord — unpaid rent versus code violations. Even more interesting, five former employees are suing separately for back wages and ‘workplace violations.’ ”
“Sexual harassment.”
“Bingo. All five claimants are female, I managed to contact two. Neither was thrilled to talk to me and both said Red Dress’s description didn’t ring a bell. But one woman made it clear Denny Rapfogel was a pig. Took a while to pry it out of her, finally she said, ‘You know. What’s going around?’ I say, ‘Sounds like a disease.’ She says, ‘Exactly. The scrotal flu.’ Then she hung up. Plenty of hostility potential, no? As in pissed-off husband or boyfriend. If Denny was the target, there’d be irony potential, too. You abused your wedding vows, asshole, now your little Baby won’t enjoy hers.”
I said, “That would fit getting rid of Denny. Killing an innocent woman doesn’t. Red Dress wasn’t an accidental victim. But now you’ve got me thinking. What if Amanda wasn’t her lover, Denny was. Married guy dangles a woman on the side, promises to leave his wife but never does. Her frustration boils over, she shows up looking sexy and ready to humiliate him. Same scenario, different cast.”
“He’s big enough to pull it off but we’ve still got the problem of preparation. Who brings a syringe and guitar string to his daughter’s wedding?”
“Someone who suspected what might happen,” I said.
More silence.
Finally, he said, “No, I don’t don’t like it. Maybe, let’s see what happens when I get more face-time with Denny... okay, last item: talked to Tomashev, the photographer. Still working on the images.”
“Speaking of which, how come there was no videographer?”
“There was supposed to be. A studio gofer Tomashev works with. It fell through because she insisted on a deposit but never got one.”
“Tight budget,” I said. “That and the Rapfogels’ unpaid rent says tough times. Another source of stress if Red Dress was tightening screws.”