Out in the hallway, Garrett stopped and bit his lip. “I really am worried about Amanda. The way she’s cutting herself off. And if this Polish guy is...”
Milo said, “Is what?”
“A bad influence. Trying to dominate her. I mean that could get bad. Right? Could you talk to her?”
Milo said, “We’ll find her and have a chat.”
“Thanks so much, sir. Thanks a million.”
“Thanks even a google,” said Brearely. “That’s like a gazillion. I thought it was just a search engine.” Nudging her new husband. “He taught me that.”
Chapter 41
Back in Milo’s office, he said, “Who’d you call in there?”
“I texted Maxine. No answer, yet.”
“About what?”
“Amanda met The Brain at the U. Maybe so did Cassy Booker. The mentors of the DIY program weren’t regular faculty. That could fit if we’re talking about a psychopath.”
“Why?”
“They’re pretentious.”
“He’s claiming to be a prof but isn’t?”
“Unlikely, that would be too easy to disprove. I’m thinking he’s an also-ran who took a temp job and puffed up his credentials with impressionable students, maybe snowed them with verbiage — the world of ideas et cetera.”
“Amanda and Cassy and Susie.”
“She’d be especially vulnerable.”
“But maybe not a total fake-out?” he said. “The endowed fellowship in Poland.”
“Maybe it happened or maybe he was just a tourist in Warsaw who happened to come across Skiwski.”
“Total bullshit artist.”
“I’m not saying high-level psychopaths can’t rise to the top. Look at politics. But this guy aims lower, picking off easy prey. Susie’s learning problems made her feel stupid for most of her life. She found common ground with Peter Kramer and probably others like him. Then along comes The Brain. Maybe he watched her on stage and decided to snag her. However it happened, he made her feel bright and soon it’s bye-bye Peter and she’s bringing textbooks to clubs. In Amanda’s case, the vulnerability came from being socially awkward and confronted with a new environment. Don’t know enough about Cassy but that newspaper photo made her look timid and unsure.”
“So not a professor,” he said. “But if you call him one, he neither confirms nor denies.”
“I could be wrong and he went all the way and got his Ph.D. More likely, if he began graduate studies, he didn’t finish. He lacks the grit and thinks he knows everything anyway. Most important, if he lives in that tower, he’s got money and can play armchair intellectual.”
“Living on the Corridor,” he said. “Psychopaths can also go far in business.”
“That they can,” I said. “But if he has time to take a gig at the U., he’s not working full-time.”
“Trust-fund baby.”
“Some sort of passive wealth.”
My phone pinged.
Maxine texting back: In San Francisco for a conference. Believe it or not, that may work to your benefit.
I typed: Now I’m intrigued. A hint?
The beauty of serendipity — oops — have to give a boring speech. Get back to you asap.
I showed Milo the texts.
He said, “Serendipity. Something came up by accident?” His fingers drummed his desktop. “Okay, now that we know Amanda’s involved, I’m going looking for her. Starting with my own vulnerable prey. Pena, he’s a total beta, right?”
We drove to Strathmore, parked near the cemetery, hurried to the complex. Milo stormed up to Building B, kept his finger on the bell.
A male voice said, “Stop pranking or I’ll call the cops.”
“This is the cops. It’s Lieutenant Sturgis, Bob. Open up.”
“Bob?”
Now it was obvious: deeper voice.
Milo said, “Open the door now. Please.”
“This isn’t a prank?”
“Come out and see for yourself.”
Moments later a tall, athletically built black man wearing a brown polo shirt and khakis strode across the lobby. Younger than Pena — thirty-five or so.
Peering at Milo’s badge through the glass, he opened the door.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was told to expect pranks.”
“By who?” said Milo.
“The management company.”
“Academo.”
“That’s the owner. Management’s through a subsidiary, High-Level Incorporated.” A hand shot out. “Darius Cutter. How can I help you?”
“You’re the new manager?”
“Since yesterday,” said Cutter. “Still getting oriented.”
“What happened to Bob Pena?”
“If he’s the guy before me, what I was told was he quit. Today’s my first full shift, haven’t gone through any paperwork.”
I said, “Mr. Pena made a sudden decision.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Darius Cutter. “Three days ago I was working at the facility in Sacramento. Human resources emails me to call, they incentivize me to come down here A-sap. So here I am.”
Milo said, “When you say ‘the facility,’ we’re talking another Academo setup?”
Cutter nodded. “I went to Sacramento State, got a degree in engineering, got hired by the physical plant on campus — alternative emergency hookups during brownouts, coordinating power feeds. Couple of years ago, Academo built a place up there — bigger than this one — and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
I said, “Good employer.”
“Competitive salary, good benefits. But I grew up here, my mom lives in Mid-Wilshire, so moving back was fine.”
“Good job, good benefits,” said Milo. “Wonder why Pena would give that up.”
“You’d have to ask him,” said Darius Cutter. “Who knows why people do the things they do? Is there something I need to know about?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? That sounds kind of worrisome.”
“Let’s leave it at Mr. Pena being a person of interest to us.”
“The company never mentioned anything sketchy, just that he quit. Should I be worried about him?”
“Nah,” said Milo. “He’s a pussycat. Can we get his contact information?”
“If I can find it,” said Cutter. “Come on in.”
Chapter 42
We followed Cutter to the office Pena had occupied. No change to the furniture but the desk was barer. An Adidas athletic bag sat in a corner. Cutter said, “If I have time, I’m going to the Equinox in the Village. That’s one thing Sacramento had that this place doesn’t, a gym.”
He opened a file drawer, rummaged awhile. “Nope... nope... nope... nope nothing.” Same results with the next two drawers but the fourth produced a file tabbed Management Personnel.
Cutter shuffled, scanned, pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here you go.”
Robert Edward Pena’s vital stats included his Social Security number, driver’s license, a home address in Culver City, a landline, and the cell he hadn’t responded to.
Milo copied the info. “Thanks, Mr. Cutter. As long as you’ve got that folder, is there anything on Peter Kramer?”
Cutter began shuffling. “Nope... nope... actually there’s nothing in here but Pena. Who’s Kramer?”
“Mr. Pena’s former assistant.”
Cutter frowned. “He had an assistant? They didn’t give me one.”
Cutter walked us back through the lobby. At the door, I said, “Your tenants are mostly students but you do have some faculty living here.”