Survival of the Fittest

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Milo nodded. “She was arranged just like that.”

  “Well, unless the janitor's our killer I don't see any big deal about that.”

  “The janitor cut her down?” I said.

  “Uh-huh.” Hooks pulled out his pad. “School custodian, excuse me. Guillermo Montez, that older Mexican guy in the gray uniform. Showed up for work at seven this morning, mopped the main building first then came out here to pick up trash from the yard and found her. Ran back to get a knife and cut her down, but she was dead, had been for several hours. Said the rope was thick, it took work.”

  “Dr. Cohen said she'd been dead at least three or four hours by then, maybe more,” said Milo.

  “Cohen's usually pretty close,” said McLaren.

  “So she was killed sometime during the night,” I said, “but the sun's been out since six. No one driving or walking by saw her?”

  “Apparently not,” said Hooks. “Or maybe someone did.” He turned to Milo. “Tell me more about yours.”

  Milo did.

  Hooks listened with his finger to his mouth. “Apart from the retardation, I don't see any big parallels.” He looked at his partner.

  McLaren said, “No, I wouldn't call this gentle strangulation.”

  “Ours wasn't raped,” said Milo. “Cohen told me there were no obvious signs of rape with yours, either.”

  “So far,” said McLaren. “But who knows. Janitor says her pants were up but maybe the bad guy pulled them up. Coroner'll get in there and let us know for sure.”

  “The strangulation,” said Milo. “From the size of the ligature burn, the rope could have actually killed her, as opposed to his doing it some other way first and then stringing her up.”

  Hooks said, “Could be. It would be tough stringing up someone who struggled, even a small girl, but if she was flying, maybe. We know she used crack.”

  “Who was she?” I said.

  “Local girl named Latvinia Shaver,” said Hooks. “Patrol officer ID'd her before we got here, but I know her myself from working Vice a couple of years ago.”

  “A pro?” said Milo.

  “She's been busted for it, but I wouldn't call her a pro. Just a street girl, nothing cooking up here.” He tapped his bald head. “Nothing to do all day, so she gets into trouble, maybe does some guy for a vial or some spare change.”

  “Big crack habit?”

  “Patrol officer said nothing big that she was aware of but hold on, let's ask her.”

  He went over to the uniforms and pulled a short, slim woman away from the group.

  “Officer Rinaldo,” he said, “meet Detective Sturgis and Dr. Delaware, who's a psychological consultant. Officer Rinaldo knew Latvinia.”

  “Just a bit,” said Rinaldo, in a subdued voice. “From the neighborhood.” She looked to be twenty-five, with hennaed hair pulled into a ponytail and thin, pained features that seemed to be aging quickly.

  “What do you know besides her tricking for dope?” said Hooks.

  “Not a bad kid,” said Rinaldo. “Basically. But she was retarded.”

  “How retarded?” said Milo.

  “I think she was eighteen or nineteen, but she acted more like twelve. Or even younger. The family's pretty messed up. She lives with a grandmother or maybe it's an older aunt, over on Thirty-ninth, people constantly going in and out.”

  “Crack house?”

  “I don't know for sure but it wouldn't surprise me. She has a brother up in San Quentin, used to be big in the Tray-One Crips.”

  “Name?”

  “Don't know that either, sorry. I just remember that 'cause the grandmother told me about him, said she was glad he was gone so Latvinia wouldn't be influenced.”

  She frowned. “The lady seemed to be trying.”

  Hooks wrote something down.

  “Any gangster boyfriends or known acquaintances?” said McLaren.

  Rinaldo shrugged. “As far as I could see she didn't hang with anyone in particular. No gang, I mean. More like whoever was around . . . basically she was pretty promiscuous. She drank, too, 'cause I caught her woozy a few times, with bottles of malt and gin.”

  “Bust her for it?”

  Rinaldo blushed. “No, I just took it away and tossed it. You know how it is out here.”

  “Sure do,” said Hooks. “Anything else in her fun-pack?”

  “Probably, but I never saw anything worse— I mean, she didn't shoot heroin, far as I know.”

  “She have any kids?”

  “Not that I heard about. But maybe, she was pretty easygoing, you know? Easy to con. Like a kid with a grown-up body. So who knows.”

  “Be interesting if she was pregnant,” said Hooks. “Can't wait to see the autopsy on this one.” He glanced back at the body. “Not that she's showing. Small lady.”

  “Small,” McLaren agreed. “Cohen estimated five one, ninety.”

  “Yeah, she was small,” said Rinaldo. “Anyone could have hurt her.”

  “Any ideas about who did?”

  “Not a one.”

  “So no known enemies?”

  “Not that I heard. Overall, she was a pretty nice kid, but anyone could have conned her. Like I said, she was retarded.”

  “I'm still trying to get a feel for how retarded,” said Hooks.

  “I don't know exactly, sir. I mean, she could talk and make sense and at first glance she didn't look weird, but once you talked to her you realized she was immature.”

  “Like a twelve-year-old.”

  “Maybe even younger. Ten, eleven. Despite all her fooling around she was kinda . . . innocent.” Another blush. “Not a hard kid, you know?”

  “Was she in any program?” said McLaren. “Special school, that kind of thing?”

  “I don't think she was in school, period. I just used to see her on the streets, walking around, hanging. Sometimes I had to tell her to get moving, go home.”

  She winced. “The thing is, sometimes she didn't put on enough clothes. No underwear or bra and sometimes she'd wear real filmy see-through clothes. Or leave her shirt unbuttoned. When I'd say what on earth are you doing, girl, she'd giggle and button up.”

  “Advertising for business?” said McLaren.

  “I always thought she was just acting stupid,” said Rinaldo.

  “Whether or not she was advertising,” said Hooks, “going around like that, she probably got business.”

  “I'm sure,” said Rinaldo.

  “No boyfriend,” said McLaren.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “No gangsters in her social life at all?”

  “The brother's all I know. You'd have to ask her grandmother.”

  “We'll do that,” said Hooks. “What's the home address?”

  “Don't know the exact number but it's on Thirty-ninth a couple of blocks east of here. Green house, old, one of those big wooden ones converted to rooms, chain-link fence in front and cement instead of grass. I know because I took her home one time when she had a short dress and no panties. The wind was blowing the dress up and I just wanted to get her inside.” She blinked. “Grandmother's on the second floor.”

  “When Latvinia was busted,” said Hooks, “were you the arresting officer?”

  “Me and my partner, Kretzer. We pulled her twice for soliciting. Both times she was out late, over on Hoover near the freeway on-ramp, getting in the way of traffic.”

  “East ramp or west?”

  “West.”

  “Trying to snag a Beverly Hills guy, maybe,” said McLaren.

  Rinaldo shrugged.

  “When was this?” said Hooks.

  “Last year. December, I think. It was cold and she had on a quilted jacket but no top underneath.”

  Hooks wrote. “So I can get her personal info from the files.”

  “Probably not, it was a juvey bust, sealed. She was just short of eighteen and I told her she was a lucky girl. If it's just the home address you need, I can take you there.”

  “The address is a goo
d place to start,” said Hooks. He looked at McLaren. “You want?”

  The younger man said, “Sure.”

  He and Rinaldo walked away, got into a black-and-white, and drove toward the south gate.

  “See any dramatic parallels, yet?” Hooks asked Milo.

  “Not really.”

  “Yours was a diplomat's kid?”

  “Israeli diplomat.”

  “Nothing in the news on anything like that?”

  “They hushed it up.” Milo told him Carmeli's rationale.

  “Well,” said Hooks, “he could be right, but I don't know. Sounds like a fun one.”

  “Yeah. Where you going with this, Willis?”

  “The usual. If we get lucky it'll be some dirt lives next door. If not, who knows? She didn't exactly lead a sheltered life.”

  Milo glanced across the yard. “Those kids are looking at the body.”

  “Would have been worse if the janitor didn't get here and they saw it swinging.”

  “Interesting reaction, his cutting her down.”

  Four parallel lines in Hooks's forehead deepened. “Civic volunteerism. Maybe he listens to the mayor's speeches. Hold on.” He made his way halfway to the crowd in a quick, rolling gait, caught the eye of the man in the gray uniform, and motioned him over.

  The janitor came over licking his lips.

  “If you got a minute again, sir,” said Hooks. “This here is Mr. Montez.”

  The custodian nodded. Up close, I saw he was closer to sixty with a prizefighter's battered face and a coarse gray beard. Five seven and broad-shouldered, with thick, stubby hands and oversized feet.

  “Detective Sturgis,” said Milo, holding out his hand. Montez shook it. His eyes were bloodshot.

  “I know you told your story, sir,” said Milo, “but if you don't mind, I'd like to hear it, again.”

  Montez looked up at him and put his hands in his pockets. “I come to work at seven o'clock,” he said, in clear but accented English. “I clean the main building and bungalow B, like always, then I come out to sweep, like always. I sweep early 'cause sometimes people leave shi— things on the yard. I don't want the kids they should see.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Liquor bottles, crack vials. Sometimes condoms, needles. Even used toilet paper. You know.”

  “So people get into the schoolyard at night.”

  “All the time.” Montez's voice rose. “They get in, do parties, do dope, shootings. Three months ago, three guys got shot dead. Last year, two guys. Terrible for the kids.”

  “Who got shot?” said Milo.

  “Gangsters, I dunno.”

  Hooks said, “Wallace and SanGiorgio's case. Drive-by, through the fence.” Turning back to Montez: “What do they usually do, cut through the lock?”

  “The chain. Or they just climb over. All the time.”

  “Any idea the last time the chain was cut?” said Milo.

  “Who knows,” said Montez. “We used to change the locks all the time. Now . . . the school they don't have money for books. My grandchildren go here.”

  “You live around here, sir?”

  “No, I live in Willowbrook. My daughter and her husband, they live here, on Thirty-fourth. The husband, he work over at the Sports Arena. They got three kids— the two here and one baby.”

  Milo nodded. “So you came out and started sweeping and saw her.”

  “Right away I see her,” said Montez. “Hanging there.” He shook his head and pain danced across his face. “The tongue . . .” Shaking his head again.

  “Did you realize she was dead right away?” said Milo.

  “That tongue? Sure, what else?”

  “So you cut her down.”

  “Sure, why not? I figure maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  Montez stared at him. Licked his lips, again. “Maybe it's stupid, but I dunno, maybe I figure I help her— I dunno, guess it was . . . the way she was hanging, I didn't want no kids to see it . . . my grandchildren. And she was always a nice kid, I wanted her to look nice.”

  “You knew her?” said Hooks.

  “Latvinia? Sure. Everyone know her, she crazy.”

  “She came round here a lot?”

  “Not inside, on the street.” He tapped his temple. “She live on Thirty-ninth, few blocks from my daughter. Everyone see her walking around, no clothes. A little . . . not right.”

  “No clothes at all?” said Hooks. When Montez looked confused, he added, “She walked around totally naked?”

  “No, no,” said Montez. “A little clothes but not enough, you know?” Another tap. “Not right— you know? But happy all the time.”

  “Happy?”

  “Yeah. Laughing.” Montez's eyes hardened. “I do something wrong, cutting her down?”

  “No, sir—”

  “I go out, I see her up there, think the kids see that. My grandchildren. Go get a knife from the supply closet.”

  He slashed empty space.

  “How long have you been working here, sir?” said Milo.

  “Nine years. Before that, I worked over at Dorsey High, twelve years. Used to be a good school, there. Same problems now.”

  Milo hooked a thumb at the body. “When you saw Latvinia hanging, were her clothes the way they are now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were her pants up when you saw her hanging?”

  “Yeah— what, you think I—”

  “No, sir, we're just trying to find out what she looked like when you saw her.”

  “The same,” said Montez, angrily. “ 'Zactly the same, pants up, the same. I get a knife, cut her down, and put her on the ground. Maybe a miracle, she not dead. But she dead. I call 911.”

  “The way you placed her,” said Milo.

  Montez's eyes were uncomprehending.

  “Arms at her side,” said Hooks. “Like you wanted her to look nice.”

  “Sure,” said Montez. “Why not? Why shouldn't she look nice?”

  Hooks let him go and we watched as he returned to the school's main building.

  “What do you think?” he asked Milo.

  “Any reason to doubt his story?”

  “Not really, but I'm going to do a background on him and if the girl was raped, I'll try to get some body fluids.” He smiled. “Some thanks for the good Samaritan, huh? But we've seen plenty of those turn out not so good, right? Thing is, though, if he's the bad guy, why would he do her right here where he works, focus attention on himself.”

  “Bloodshot eyes,” said Milo. “Maybe he was up late.”

  “Yeah,” said Hooks. “But no booze on his breath and he said he works two jobs. This during the day, part-time at a liquor store on Vermont at night. Says he was at the store last night, that should be checkable. Did he look hinky to you? If he's dirty, he's ready for the Oscar.”

  He gazed through the fence at Twenty-eighth Street, then took in the traffic on Western. “Somebody driving or walking by could very well have seen her swinging, but you heard what he said about all the crap goes down on the schoolyard. Unlike Mr. Montez, people around here don't volunteer much.”

  “If it was some dirt next door,” said Milo, “wonder why he'd take the trouble to hang her here.”

  “Who knows?” said Hooks. “Maybe they ran into each other around the corner, made a date, headed over here to consummate. Montez said he finds condoms all the time.”

  “Techs have any idea when the chain was cut?”

  “Just that it wasn't fresh, which is also consistent with Montez.”

  “The school keeps using a broken chain 'cause the minute they put a new one on, someone slices it.”

  “Yeah,” said Hooks. “Nothing like security for our youngsters.” He looked at the body again. “Maybe it does mean something, bringing her here, the bad guy making some kind of statement.”

  “Such as?”

  “I hate school.” Hooks smiled. “That narrows it down, huh? Pull in all the bad students.
”

  Milo gave a short, hard detective laugh and Hooks laughed, too, fleshy jowls undulating. The four wrinkles smoothed.