He and I turned toward the car.
Corinne Rapfogel said, “Hold on, guys.” Her eyes flicked back to the office building. She walked several feet ahead of us and stopped.
“Look, I’m not saying this is anything relevant, but one of the reasons I’m leaving him is he can’t keep it in his pants. That’s why our business is sliding into the crapper. We’ve had a bunch of Me Too lawsuits and now we’ve got a poisonous reputation. He ruined the business, okay? He habitually pisses people off.”
She paused, flipped her hair. “If there’s anyone someone would want to mess up, it’s him.”
I said, “Is there a type of woman he goes after?”
“The type with a vagina.” She looked ready to spit. Then she slumped.
“When I met him, he was good looking, believe it or not. Surfed, seemed nice, played tennis, kept in shape, I really thought he was the guy. The being buff lasted longer than the nice. By the time Baby was a toddler, he was cheating on me. Probably before, but that’s when I found out about it. I threatened to leave him and he did the atonement bit and claimed it wouldn’t happen again.”
She middle-fingered the sky. “We’ve been to couples counseling with three different therapists, lot of good they do. He even spent some time in a ridiculous rehab place for sexual addiction. Like it’s a disease, huh? Total bullshit, it’s bad behavior. I asked my therapist and she agrees.”
I said, “So he’s pretty indiscriminate.”
“The ones I know about were all too young for him.” A beat. “Some were halfway cute. Like your victim, I guess. At least from that picture, she looked cute. Considering.”
“But you don’t recognize her.”
“Nah,” she said. “Except for the ones who worked for us, I never met any of them, he’s a sneak, not a flaunter. Only reason I found out he was hitting on the staff is one quit and a year later she sued us and then came the others. Four others, can you believe that?”
Her turn to flush. “Bastard. Then I told a couple of my friends and boy did that open the valves. They started telling me about seeing him with bimbos, offering their husbands threesomes, all kinds of sleazy shit. You’d think they might’ve considered letting me know, right? They’re ex-friends now, but that’s okay, I don’t need anyone.”
The hip retracted. Her spine bowed. “I’m ready to strike out on my own, use the grit and initiative I learned from my daddy. He was poor, put himself through school — I might even go back to school, become a hygienist. I was in Daddy’s office enough to know more about teeth than most dentists.”
Milo and I both nodded.
I said, “Good luck, Corinne.”
“Hopefully I won’t need luck, just talent,” she said. Another glance at the building. “If there’s anyone who could inspire hate it’s him.”
Movement from the building. Denny Rapfogel lumbering toward us. He held out his hands, palms-up, in a what-the-hell gesture.
Corinne said, “Just saying goodbye.”
“Can we get back to business? That rental agent just called back. There’s a place on Olympic might work.”
“Sure, Den,” said Corinne. Under her breath, her lips out of view: “Motherfucker.”
I drove west on Wilshire, turned south at the next light, and headed back toward the station.
“That was something,” said Milo.
I said, “The ties that un-bind.”
“Denny the dog, younger women. Looks alone, Red Dress would seem out of his class. But she took off her clothes for money. Maybe she thought he had enough so she could retire. But given Corinne’s plans, you’d think she’d be watching him, might notice a hottie in Fendi. Even if she didn’t, him slipping away long enough to strangle someone, tidy himself up, and return to the festivities woulda caught her attention.”
“Maybe she’s past the point of caring.”
“Good point. There’s also his role. My brother Patrick married off four daughters, told me father of the bride ranks right below janitor.”
I said, “Any way to get Denny’s phone records, maybe establish a link between him and Red Dress?”
“If it’s a joint account and Corinne volunteers access... maybe. Lemme ask John.”
He speed-dialed Deputy D.A. John Nguyen.
In place of Nguyen’s usual wise-guy, baseball-reference-laced voicemail was a terse message. I’m not in, leave a message.
“Hmm.” He phoned the main office, was informed D.A. Nguyen was out, no idea when he’d be back.
I said, “John sounds grumpy.”
“That’s because John’s a rational human being — hold on.” His cell chirped an excerpt from Handel’s Water Music. “It’s Reed.” Click. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Struck out everywhere else but a bartender at The Booty Shop on Sunset says she used to dance there a couple of years ago. Not as Kim or Kimberly. He knew her as Sooze.”
“Short for Susie?”
“When I suggested that to him, he got all puzzled, like I was talking in Afghani or something.”
“Einstein.”
“Old guy, probably been pickling himself for decades with well booze.”
Milo said, “I’m not gonna ask your definition of old. Geezer was sure it’s her.”
“Says he is. And he described her the same way the bouncer did: lazy dancer, kept to herself. The backpack, too. She’s the only one he’s ever seen who did that, apparently dancers really do go for big designer purses. I asked him why he thought she acted different. He said she probably wanted to be different. I said maybe she’s shy. He said, ‘Shy people don’t flash their pussies at perverts.’ I kept that out of my notes.”
“Does the place keep better employment records than The Aura?”
“Don’t know, L.T., still trying to find out who owns it. Geezer gave me the name of what turned out to be a shell corporation, address near the docks in Wilmington that’s now a parking lot. The manager’s due in soon. I can wait around for her unless you need me somewhere else.”
“Wait, kid. Have a Shirley Temple on me.”
Reed chuckled. “You know me and sugar.”
“Your loss,” said Milo. “Female manager, huh?”
“How’s that for cracking the glass ceiling?”
Just as Milo pocketed the phone, it chirped again. Radical shift to something atonal — Schoenberg or the like.
John Nguyen said, “Finally, you ask me a no-brainer. With a joint account, you get permission from either account holder, it’s legally obtained evidence.”
“Even if the two of them end up in a nasty divorce.”
“Do it before the divorce.”
“Even with—”
“You want to debate? That’s the law.”
“Great. You okay, John?”
“I’m fantastic.” Sounding anything but.
“What happened to the old voicemail?”
“New boss,” said Nguyen. “Don’t ask ’cause I won’t tell, telling’s what got me in the shit in the first place. Did you know baseball represents white male privilege and is an inappropriate intrusion on work-related communication? Bet you didn’t. Bet you do whatever the hell you want over in Blue Land.”
“You’re white?” said Milo.
“When they want me to be I am.”
Click.
Milo’s lips fluttered, emitting a raspberry.
I said, “Good news on the phone.”
“If it’s in Corinne’s name and she agrees. But probably a waste of time. What’s the chance Denny would be stupid enough to phone his girlfriend when his wife has access to his call record?”
“Doesn’t sound as if he’s ever been discreet. Maybe part of the thrill is throwing it in her face.”
“Okay, I’ll try to get her permission. Maybe I’ll stalk the office later this afternoon, get lucky and catch her by herself. Meanwhile, we’ve got another sighting of Red Dress but with a different name.”