Motive (33 page)

“Officer Entell,” said Gonzales. “She’s been doing a great job.”

“Thanks, sir,” said Entell, looking past us at the condo. “But nothing really to do.”

Milo said, “We call that a good situation, Officer.” He told her who I was. She said, “The subject’s a nutter?”

Gonzales said, “Nutter with a gun, like I told you. They don’t think there’s going to be any problems, this is just a social call.”

“All right,” said Sheila Entell. “Social call this late?”

Milo said, “It’ll throw him off but I’ll take the soft approach. Starting by phoning him right now to avoid too much surprise.”

He called. No answer. Rechecking the number, he tried again.

“Maybe he’s in the bathroom,” said Gonzales.

The four of us headed toward the condo. Neighboring houses were unlit in both directions. Weekenders. Up close one of Corey’s front windows was flicked with strobe-like flashes of light and color. TV on in the living room, like Gonzales had said.

Milo tried calling again. Same result.

Gonzales turned to Entell. “You’re sure he’s in there.”

“Sir, I am sure. I’ve never shifted my attention from that side of the residence. And I don’t think he jumped off that two-story deck in back.”

Milo said, “He could still be in the bathroom, Frank.”

Gonzales said, “And my mother-in-law could be my best friend—okay, try him again.”

Two more attempts; nothing.

Gonzales said, “I’m heading out to the harbor-side, see if I can spot him in there.” Glancing at Entell.

She said, “I’m sure he’s there, sir.”

“Hell,” said Gonzales. “Maybe he did jump off the deck, he’s one of those, what do you call ’em—rappellers.” He mimed a hand-overhand routine. Scowled. “Or someone helped with a ladder.”

“Williams,” said Milo.

“For all we know they’re still asshole buddies.”

Unzipping his jacket, Gonzales exposed his own service gun, keeping it holstered but touching the weapon as if for reassurance. “I’m going back there, check out the walkway. You take Lieutenant Sturgis with you and do the easy part, Sheila.”

Entell said, “What’s that, sir?”

“The front door. I’m thinking no one’s going to answer it.”

Entell led but as we neared Corey’s door, Milo insinuated himself in front of her and motioned for me to stand back. He rang the bell. Repeated. Knocked, did it harder. His third knock was enough to ease the door ajar. Vertical light slashed the darkness, clean and bright as a scalpel. Televised blather filtered through the crack.

A sultry woman’s voice bandying words like
“performance”
and
“enhancement.”

Milo stepped back and took out his Glock. Faint snap as Sheila Entell freed her weapon.

Milo said, “Just stay there, Alex.” He toed the door open another inch. “Mr. Corey? Lieutenant Sturgis.”

More light, more throaty salesmanship from the woman on TV.
“We love you guys, but we really love you bigger.”

Milo pushed the door another few inches. Waited. Got the opening wide enough for entry. Staying Entell with a palm, he went in, gun-first.

Seconds later: “Oh, damn.”

Richard Corey slumped on his sofa, facing his flat-screen TV. Bowl of popcorn to his right, five empty beer bottles arrayed neatly near his feet.

He wore a gray terry-cloth robe and nothing else.

The top of his skull was caved in, more damage to the back than the front. Diagonal wound. I pictured a full-force swing from above. Someone behind him.

Bone fragments created a jagged halo. Brain matter was a pied clot of rust and white.

His mouth gaped. Any skin free of gore resembled gray plastic.

A retractable, black polycarbonate billy club, the kind police departments call batons and order in bulk, sat on the kitchen counter, caked with dry blood. The weapon was laid precisely atop a dish towel, displayed proudly. Blood stained the sofa and the carpet, spattering and splotching the ceiling. Lots of fine-spray castoff on the ceiling. Red in some places, browning in others. Jackson Pollock gone murderous.

The woman smiling from the TV screen wore a bikini and a gold chain around her hips, and pointed at a line-drawing of a phallus the size of a small car. The organ was filled with ducts and channels (“the love canal,” “the pleasure trough”) that had eluded the anatomy texts.

She said, “Guys, make us happy. Get in touch with your hugeness.”

Patrolwoman Sheila Entell clamped a hand over her mouth and began making little gagging noises. She’d turned a bad color. Her gunhand dangled, 9mm arcing wider and wider.

Placing one hand on her wrist, Milo used the other to gently uncurl her fingers and take the weapon. Turning away from the corpse, she began breathing rapidly.

Milo said, “Got your radio with you, Officer?”

Dull nod.

“Call Sergeant Gonzales.”

Entell reached under her motorcycle jacket. Her eyes drifted back to the corpse on the sofa. “That’s him?”

“That was Mr. Corey.”

“Oh, God! I
watched
him but I’ve never actually
seen
him? How could it happen when I was right here?”

“It probably didn’t,” said Milo. “From the looks of it, he’s been here awhile.”

“But how?” she repeated.

I said, “The next-door neighbor. What did he look like?”

Sheila Entell had been concentrating on Richard Corey, hadn’t paid much attention to the visitor when he exited and drove away.

But her sketchy description was sufficient: tall and thin, probably not an old guy. And oh, yeah, wearing glasses, you could see the shine. Milo said, “When exactly did he leave?”

“Like an hour, hour and a quarter before you got here. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you an exact time, maybe it was forty-five minutes. Give or take. I don’t
know
, sir. He was the
neighbor
.”

More assumptions blown to bits
.

That was the point
.

Milo said, “Tell me about his departure, Officer.”

“He came out and got in his car and just drove away.”

“You saw him at the wheel?”

Entell bit her lip. “He went over to the driver’s side, sir—did I totally screw up by not paying more attention?”

“You didn’t, Officer, I’m just trying to get some facts and I’m going
to ask you questions and if you don’t know the answers, that’s okay. How was he dressed?”

Blank stare from Entell. “I think he was wearing a jacket—I honestly can’t be sure.”

“Color of anything he had on?” said Milo. “For purposes of an APB.”

Entell shook her head.

“Anything stand out about him?”

“No, sir, that’s the thing! I mean there was no reason to consider him at all, I never even saw him go in, that was Ottmar and he didn’t report anything weird to me and while I was here nothing changed, nothing indicated trouble or struggle or anything, sir. The TV even kept going. And when he came out and got in his car he seemed normal.”

“Normal, how?”

“Not jumpy, not looking around like he’d done something wrong, sir. He just drove away.”

Her lips quivered. Milo patted her shoulder. “You did fine, don’t beat yourself up.”

Frank Gonzales entered and took in the corpse. “Our Mr. Corey.”

“None other, Frank.”

“Well, this sucks. Okay, got a call in to a righteous judge for a victim’s warrant, got all the other usual stuff in motion.”

Sheila Entell’s shoulders rose. “Sirs, I just thought of something. When he left wasn’t the only time I saw him. Shortly before, he came out and put stuff in his vehicle. But, again, normal, I really wasn’t—”

“What kind of stuff, Officer Entell?”

“Boxes, bags—” Entell’s body went rigid. “I might be able to give you details, sirs! The vehicle. First off, the make: gray Corolla, sirs, of that I’m sure. I also remember some of the tag numbers, not all, really really sorry, but some, maybe that’ll help a little?”

Milo whipped out his pad. “Go.”

“Okay,” she said, inhaling deeply. “I want to make sure I get this
right … okay … first an ‘S’ then two 7s. No, no, wrong, just the opposite, sorry, okay, this is it: two 7s first, then the ‘S.’ ”

Milo said, “So, 77S and four digits you didn’t see.”

“Yes, sir. Only reason I noticed the 7s was there’s this old TV show my grandpa used to work on.
Seventy-Seven Sunset Strip
, he was a cameraman, always talks about how his old shows were better than the crap on today. He also worked on that other one, Rockford, whatever, anyway when I saw it, I thought 77S, like 77 Sunset, you know?”

Milo said, “Good work, Sheila.”

Sheila Entell stared at him. “Really?”

“Really. Anything else you remember?”

“No, sir, like I said, he walked away normal and later he drove away normal. He
always
looked normal.” Her eyes dared a peek at the corpse. “You really think it was him?”

“We don’t know. Did he leave alone?”

“I didn’t see anyone else.”

“No woman.”

“Not on my shift, sir, just him. Brian and Ottmar never mentioned a woman, either. But maybe they wouldn’t. He was just the neighbor, they were watching Corey.”

Milo said, “Could you check on that, Frank?”

Gonzales was already on the phone.

Rookie patrolman Brian Sweeney had never seen anyone enter or exit, period, including the tall man wearing glasses.

Rookie patrolman Ottmar Buenavista’s account kept Gonzales on the phone longer. When he hung up, anger tightened his voice.

“Man and a woman, she was young, dark-haired, could be Hispanic but maybe a dark-haired Anglo.” Gonzales frowned. “A ‘killer body. Like a dancer.’ ”

He shook his head. “
That
he paid attention to.”

Milo said, “A young, attractive Hispanic female who worked with Williams has been missing for three days.”

“Oh, fantastic. We got a Bonnie-and-Clyde thing or a captive thing?”

“Either way, it doesn’t look good for the girl. Williams isn’t much for long-term relationships.”

“Damn.” Gonzales plucked his mustache. “You know him to drive a Corolla?”

“Only registered vehicle we have for him is an old Ford van.”

“So maybe the Corolla’s hers.”

“No, she drives a Lexus.”

“So maybe one of them has two cars. Or it’s stolen or the plates are, let’s see what we can dig up.”

Cross-referencing partials with makes and models would take time and have to wait until morning when DMV offices were open for improvisation. But Meredith Santos’s registration info was available now and Milo ran her through DMV again.

Only the Lexus.

Gonzales said, “We got a serious GTA situation in Oxnard, let me check the hot-sheets.”

Milo said, “Meanwhile, can I talk to the rookie who saw her?”

“Be my guest.” Gonzales redialed Buenavista, handed his phone to Milo in exchange for Milo’s, and reached a colleague at Oxnard auto theft.

Milo said, “Officer, this is Lieutenant Sturgis, I’m working with your sergeant and need to ask you a few things. Anything else you can say about the female living next door to your subject?… Sergeant Gonzales has related that. Anything else?… all right, now describe the relationship between the male and the female … what I’m getting at is how they acted in each other’s company … did she at any time look tense or frightened of him?… okay … any physical contact between them … just a hug … all right, good, call me immediately if you think of anything else.”

He clicked off. “The additional wisdom is boobs that big are probably fakes, we should try topless clubs.” He smiled. “Lad has a bright future as a Sherlock.”

I said, “Silicon. There’s something you can put on the APB.”

“Chesty girl. That sound like Santos? I can’t say I was studying her that closely the time we saw her but nothing stood out. Pardon the expression.”

“I didn’t notice it, either. But she was dressed for office work.”

“Suit and pearls,” he said. “Women can do that.”

“Do what?”

“Camouflage themselves.”

I eyed the condo. “So can men.”

Gonzales returned. “No stolen Corollas that match but it takes time for victims to report, so it may show up yet. Buenavista have anything more to say?”