Milo said, “They stand to inherit Ursula’s half of the business.”
“He’s big-rich already, he would murder his only children for more?”
I said, “In this case, more means huge money but it’s beyond that. The girls represent his old life and he craves a new one. In a single day he had their childhood home stripped bare and shipped their horses off to slaughter. Luckily for the girls, he lacks subtlety and acted strangely enough to scare them clear up to Canada.”
“Taking a girl’s horse,” she said. “That’s sure letting her know her fantasy is over.”
“At this point, his fantasy is all that counts.”
“What a bastard. Two bastards. You think they just happened to get together?”
I said, “More like puzzle pieces fitting together. Williams is attuned to weakness, Corey is emotionally unstable. During the divorce negotiations, Williams sniffed out Corey’s mounting rage when no one else did. When the time was right, he made himself available. Unlike Corey, he does know how to be subtle, probably raised the subject in a way that wouldn’t incriminate him if Corey balked. That’s why I think his acting out at work is significant. He’s stopped pretending to be normal.”
Milo said, “Maybe because Corey paid him big-time for the hit and he no longer needed the job.”
Robin said, “But the big picture is hatred of women.”
I nodded.
“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” She touched my face. “Talking to wood doesn’t seem half bad.”
We set out for Oxnard just before eight. Smooth sailing all the way to the 101 and we were well into the West Valley when Milo’s phone burped a few digitalized notes from Brandenburg 6, Movement 1. Shame to do that to a masterpiece.
“Sturgis … who? Don’t know anyone—oh, yeah, I do, put her through … this is Lieutenant Sturgis, what’s up … really? From where did they … all right, I’m listening.”
He’d neglected the hands-off and all I could hear was a female voice chirping nonstop.
When that ended, he said, “Anything else you want to … yeah, sure … tell them I’m available if they want to speak directly … I understand that … pardon? Oh, sure.” He laughed. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that … yes if it does happen, I’ll vouch for you, promise.”
He stared at the silent phone. “You won’t believe who that was. Sassy little Laura Smith, Ashley and Marissa just phoned her, she wouldn’t say from where, but we already know. The main thing is they wanted her to pass along a message to me, even though they don’t generally trust the police. They’re scared for their lives, want their father ‘busted.’ Sooner rather than later.”
“Putting in their order.”
“Poor spoiled kids, reality is not going to be kind to them. Their story is they learned he was the one who’d stolen their horses so they drove to his condo and confronted him. Really unloaded on him, like they were used to. This time instead of sitting there and taking it, he grabbed both their wrists and squeezed hard enough to hurt them. With a ‘maniac look’ in his eyes. When the girls tried to break free, he shoved them hard enough for Ashley to fall down. Marissa tried to help her up and all of a sudden Daddy’s in their face again, blocking the door, and now he’s got a gun in his hand. They both started crying, Marissa admitted wetting herself. They started begging but Corey just stood there with a crazy smile on his face, like he was a stranger. They really thought they were finished. Fortunately, someone knocked on the door and that seemed to snap him out of it and while he was distracted, they pushed past him and got the hell out of there.”
“They didn’t think to call the cops.”
“Like I said, they don’t trust the cops. Also, they were probably too freaked out to think about anything but escape. They’re not geniuses to begin with, Alex. Look how they’ve continued to use their credit cards, thank God I got the accounts blocked.”
“Daddy with a gun,” I said. “He’s dissociating in order to accomplish things he wouldn’t ordinarily dream of.”
“Like killing his kids. And paying to have his ex murdered.”
“Ursula cheated on him, the girls gave him attitude, finally he reached his limit.”
“Lunatic with a gun,” he said. “That changes things. Let me inform Gonzales.”
He made the call to Gonzales’s home. Gonzales said, “Thanks, we’ll be ready for anything. You almost here?”
“Ten minutes.”
“My wife claims she’d still love me if she could remember my face so it’ll take me twenty, maybe twenty-five, to remind her. But my rookie will greet you, name’s Sheila Entell. The gun change your plans?”
“Hell, yeah,” said Milo. “I figured to drop in on Corey, play nice, see what I could pry out of him about Williams.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m not sure, Frank. Okay if I call Entell directly?”
“Guess so,” said Gonzales. “No, scratch that, I’ll get there sooner, have to make it up to the wife but so be it.”
“Don’t want to sow discord, Frank.”
“One sec.” Silence on the line; Gonzales came back on, speaking softer. “Moved to another room. Yeah, my princess will be discording plenty, she cooked homemade tamales, all steamed and ready to go. Beef, chicken, these sweet ones she does with dried fruit. But she also invited her mother, catch my drift?”
Milo laughed. “Happy to oblige.”
“One thing,” said Gonzales. “Dropping in this late won’t ring any of Corey’s bells?”
“I was figuring to pour on the charm but let’s talk when I get there.”
“Hmm,” said Gonzales. “Charm, I’m trying to imagine that.”
Milo hung up. I said, “What quid pro quo did Laura Smith ask for?”
“If she gets busted again, I get her out of it. Totally.”
“Such faith. Touching.”
“No sense disillusioning her,” he said. “Being young’s hard enough.”
CHAPTER
35
Gonzales’s extended-cab GMC pickup truck was parked half a block from Richard Corey’s condo, taking up a whole bunch of red-zone. Gonzales wore sweats and a zip-up jacket, held out a sheet of aluminum foil.
“Tamales, she let me bring some of the sweet ones, here.”
We ate. I said, “Delicious.”
Milo said, “You’re married to the perfect woman, Frank.”
“So she tells me. Nice old Caddy. Impound?”
Milo said, “His.”
“Really. Original engine, Doc?”
I said, “Third rebuild.”
“Nothing like loyalty—okay, Sheila’s waiting up there.” Pointing to a side street running perpendicular to the harbor. “Corey hasn’t left, his lights are still on, you can see the TV blinking behind those drapes. We got a lucky break, the next-door neighbor left a couple hours ago, so if it does get weird, less risk of innocent bystanders.”
Milo said, “No reason for it to go weird, Frank.”
“I know,” said Gonzales, “but you know.”
The building slipped into view under a nearly starless sky, dark bulk checked by amber rectangles of curtained windows. Gonzales whistled softly and a woman in her early twenties stepped out of the shadows. A blond ponytail poked from the back of her baseball cap. Her face was finely boned. She wore a leather motorcycle jacket, jeans, and running shoes. The jacket looked too large for her; ample room for a shoulder-holstered 9mm.
“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?”
CHAPTER
36
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.”
Motive Page 26
