“That could do it,” said Milo.
EmJay wheeled and faced the kitchen. “I’ll get it for you.”
Milo said, “Better I do.” He gloved up, removed and unfolded a paper evidence envelope from an inner jacket pocket.
EmJay Braun said, “It’s on the normal side of the kitchen, where it’s higher. Cabinet closest to the wall.”
He returned with the bag full and sealed.
“Hey,” she said, “isn’t fingerprints faster than DNA?”
If you’ve got hands to work with. Milo said, “This’ll be fine, ma’am. Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm Hal?”
“Just that guy at the McDonald’s but I have no idea who he is and that was years ago.”
I said, “How often did he go on adventures?”
“Two times, maybe, three times a year. Usually it was short, a day or two, he’d say he’d just camped out, being with nature—that was his thing, nature. Like the Chumash Indians, he liked the Chumash Indians, said he wished he had Indian blood but his family was originally from Austria.”
“Where’d he grow up?”
“Stockton, he said his family was gone, he was an only child, there wasn’t much to say about his parents, they didn’t live long, that’s why it was important to make every day count. He liked me to talk about my parents, they were great, I loved them. After they died, I got the house. Without that, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Hal didn’t work.”
“Not since rehab, we’re both on disability.” She laced her hands and stretched her arms. Strained and made as if to stand, got her buttocks an inch off the chair and plopped back down.
“Let me tell you what he was like. Once he went hiking over in Deer Creek and came back with his duffel full of dirty laundry plus a big plastic garbage bag that smelled of pizza. I’m like you camped and ordered pizza? He’s like no, I took it out of the trash. I’m like what for. He pokes the bag and it starts moving and I scream. He reaches in and pulls out a snake! I’m screaming my head off and he’s like honey, sorry for scaring you but no worries, it’s not poisonous. And ain’t it pretty? He said he found it off a trail, all by itself, where it could be stepped on. A baby snake. Once he put it back in the bag, I had to admit it was kind of pretty, bright colors, red, black, yellow, all striped. But it still creeped me out, I’m like get that out of here now. He’s like he already called Animal Control, they were coming over. I’m like I don’t care put it outside. He said, Em, I promise you it’s harmless and I’m worried it’s sick, I don’t want some cat attacking it. He calmed me down, he was always good at that. I let him keep it on condition he put it in two bags and tied off the top. He poked holes so it could breathe and some woman in a uniform came and told him he’d done a good deed, it was this rare kind of rare king snake, not supposed to be where he found it, really a cool discovery, the biologists were all excited to get it, they were going to make sure it was okay and find it a good home. There I was and she’s thanking Hal. Like he’s a hero. He was all about that. Doing good and feeling good about it.”
I said, “What’s the last adventure he went on before this one?”
“Hmm,” she said. “Like three weeks before, he spent a couple of nights in Santa Barbara but I’m not sure it was an adventure. He said he was hanging out there, enjoying the beach, he slept on the beach under a pier. But maybe. He did come home with that look in his eyes. Hot eyes, you know? Like he was planning something.”
Milo said, “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Any reason he’d be in L.A.?”
“I can’t see any. He used to live in L.A. but said he hated it, too much city. He liked nature—what was your—the guy you found, what was he wearing?”
Milo described the clothing.
EmJay Braun sank low. “Those stupid pants. I used to call them his grandpa jeans, he got them at a thrift shop—two pairs, the other could still be here if he didn’t pack it.”
She wheeled toward the doorway. “Got a photo of Hal, too. Of us. In the bedroom. Don’t hang anything out here, when stuff hangs crooked it drives me nuts, I don’t want to have to stand up and straighten.”
I said, “When Hal was around, did he straighten?”
“Ha. He couldn’t care less.” Smiling. “Maybe knights don’t straighten. C’mon, this way.”
The pseudo-jeans sat at the bottom of two drawers that held most of Hal Braun’s wardrobe. Same brand; Milo took them, along with a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. The only other garments in the closet were a navy peacoat and a corduroy jacket.
EmJay lifted a standing frame from a nightstand. Casually dressed couple on the steps of a beautiful, cathedral-like structure.
“Ventura City Hall, the day we got married.”
Maria Josefina leaned against her new husband’s arm, smiling, strikingly pretty, her hair in an updo.
Hargis Braun’s grin livened the same moon-face in Mary Ellen’s photos and his driver’s license.
He wore the same clothes as the corpse in the Corvins’ den.
EmJay Braun said, “I don’t have to give this to you, do I?”
Milo said, “No, ma’am. Did Hal have a computer?”
“A laptop. He took it with him, he always did.”
We returned to the living room. Milo handed her his card. “If you think of anything.”
“And you’ll call me? Once you know?”
“Absolutely.”
She pinched her lower lip between index finger and thumb. Let go and revealed a crescent-shaped indentation just short of a wound. “You wouldn’t come all the way from L.A. if you weren’t pretty sure.”
“Ms. Braun, we honestly can’t say at this point.”
“Okay. But when you do know. I need to arrange things. Haven’t done that since my parents. They at least put away money for their funerals, I don’t know how I’m going to handle it.”
I said, “Is there anyone you’d like us to call for support?”
“The church folk are good, I’ll ask them what they think.”
We walked to the door.
She said, “Will I get into trouble if I cash Hal’s check? I mean if you don’t know for sure? I’ll probably get something anyway. Widow’s benefits. I think.”
“You’d best check with social services on that, ma’am.”
“I don’t want to do anything illegal but I could sure use both checks.”
“You won’t get into trouble because of us, ma’am.”
“That’s good. I need what I can get, it’s going to be different, now.” She blinked back tears. “What am I going to do without him?”
Milo stashed the evidence bags in the trunk of the unmarked, got behind the wheel, and studied the little gray house.
“At the risk of venturing into your territory,” he said, “Braun sounds a little nuts.”
I said, “I’m feeling more literary: How about quixotic?”
“Tilting at windmills?”
“And someone tilted back.”
“Idiot looks for trouble, there’s an army of people he could’ve pissed off. And the crime scene’s potentially anywhere he could drive. At least I’ve got a vehicle to BOLO, if it shows up maybe the location will say something.”
He got on the radio, put in the alert, hung up. “Nothing we heard from either Mary explains how he ended up on ol’ Chet’s parquet.”
“Mary Two said the adventures were infrequent. The Santa Barbara trip took place shortly before he ended up in L.A. Maybe it was part of the same adventure.”
“What, saving the whales and Ahab got irate?”
I laughed. “That does raise a question: Why drive forty miles for sand and surf when he lived in a beach town?”
“Maybe he liked high-priced sand better.” He turned the ignition key. “God, I hope you’re wrong about that. How am I gonna get a handle on something that started a hundred miles away?”
“Be good to know if the Corvins have any Santa Barbara connections.”
&n
bsp; “Sure, I’ll ask…saving snakes, wanting to be covert. Sir Lance-a-little.”
A man stepped out of the beige cottage two doors south.
Tall, Hispanic, wearing a powder-blue golf shirt, white slacks, and polished brown loafers. A deeply seamed bronze face was topped by thick white hair. A snowy mustache sprouted from beneath a strong nose.
Older man, easily seventy but solidly built with ramrod posture.
Pretending he was examining a bed of geraniums rather than checking us out.
I said, “We interest the neighbor.”
Milo swiveled. The movement caught the man’s eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and stared, as if inviting confrontation. When none occurred, he plucked a dead flower from the bed and went back inside.
“Beggars, choosers,” said Milo and got out of the car.
* * *
—
The beige cottage’s paint was fresh; same for the semisweet chocolate trim. A fake-grass lawn gleamed emerald. No Soliciting sign. No bell. Before Milo’s fist landed on the lacquered red door, it opened.
The white-haired man said, “Here I was thinking you were lazy. You’re obviously on the job. What happened with Braun?”
Milo showed his badge.
The man squinted. “L.A.?” He eyed the unmarked. “Back when I was on the job we used wheels like that. You have A.C. in that thing? We didn’t.”
“Theoretically,” said Milo. “If you can spare a minute, sir—”
“Prieto, Enrique, everyone calls me Henry. Worked Oxnard patrol fifteen years, then Robbery, when I reached mandatory I went private and rousted bums around the harbor.”
“Know Frank Gonzales?”
“Francisco,” said Henry Prieto. “Loved food, always needed to watch his weight.”
“Yeah, he’s a gourmet.”
Prieto patted his own flat stomach, took a long look at Milo’s convexity. “How do you know Frank?”
“Worked a homicide case with him.”
“Homicide. You still that?”
“Still.”
Henry Prieto glanced at the Braun house. “You’re saying one of them got killed? Just saw her wheeling her chair up and down her driveway this morning so it has to be him.”
“Could be.”
“Could be?”
“We’ve got a body needs identifying.”
“What’s the holdup?” said Prieto.
“It’s in bad shape.”
“Decomp? Hated those. Once I saw a tarp at the harbor, inside was a drunk, the wharf rats had enjoyed him for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and another breakfast. You went to ask her questions, see if you could get an I.D.?”
“Yup. What can you tell us about the two of them?”
“Couple of waiters. Waiting around for the monthly check. Her I don’t mind, she’s been sick for a long time.” The mustache angled down. “Him? A little limp stops you from getting a job? All he does is loaf around all day, come to think about it, haven’t seen him in a while, must be…what, a week? Two? Where in L.A. did he show up? Watts, East L.A.?”
“Westside,” said Milo.
“That’s a switch.”
“What else can you tell us about them, Mr. Prieto?”
“Don’t count on her being a suspect. Don’t want to mess with your business, always hated when people did that to me. But I don’t see her as doing anything bad. She’s not too bright but she’s a sweet girl, always was. I knew her parents. Salt of the earth. Gustavo worked park maintenance for forty years, Dorothy cleaned offices. The older girl, Sophie, she had no looks but she was the smart one, went to college, works as a paralegal or something. Mary Jo was the looker but not much brain-wise. Maybe it was getting sick so young. Maybe that’s why she settled for him.”
“You don’t like Mr. Braun.”
“I don’t like idlers and loafers,” said Henry Prieto. “This country, it’s going down the tubes, people who work subsidizing loafers. What’s a limp? Nothing says you have to play defensive tackle. Do something, right?”
“You bet.”
“On top of being a loafer, he’s a weirdo. Always smiling, even when there’s no call for it. Like he’s buttering you up for something. My world, you earn your friendship, you don’t step into it like a pair of slippers. What happened to him in West L.A.?”
“Someone shot him.”
“Someone. You don’t know who.”
“We’re just starting out, Mr. Prieto. Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”
“Helpful…the only thing maybe out of the usual is a black Camaro that came by to see him a couple of weeks ago. Day or two before he took that duffel of his and loaded it up in his Jeep. One individual, the driver. Eighteen to twentyish, parked right where you are. Seven a.m., I’d just brought in the paper, was waiting for my coffee to perk, I hear an engine rev, look out and see it. Minute later, Braun comes out of his house and the driver gets out and they have a talk. The driver gets back into the Camaro and leaves. Couple of days later, Braun loads his duffel in his Jeep again and does the same. Made me wonder about a dope deal or something else shady.”
“Braun ever give you reason to wonder about that?”
“Someone doesn’t have a job, I wonder,” said Henry Prieto. “So the Camaro made me wonder. I never saw Braun before with anyone except Mary Jo and some church do-gooders who deliver free food. The two of them just yakked but the kid was a hippie-type so I paid attention. Nothing got bought or sold or paid for.” Disappointed.
Milo took out his pad. “Anything else you can say about the hippie?”
Henry Prieto looked at the ruled sheets. “Same pad we used…average height, skinny, long hair, dirty-blond, one of those fuzzy things here.” Touching his chin. “Someone who can’t grow a decent beard, shouldn’t.”
He smoothed his own ample lip hair. “You got that down?”
Milo’s pen lifted. “Yes, sir.”
“Next, clothing: black T-shirt, white writing on it, I couldn’t read what. Blue jeans, white sneakers. No visible tattoos or distinguishing marks but they put them everywhere nowadays. Eyeglasses. Not a tough-looking type, maybe a student or some other kind of wastrel.”
“With a Camaro—”
“If you know how to work the system, you can have a Mercedes,” said Prieto. “The car was third generation—’82 to ’92. I owned a ’70 and one of my sons customized a ’78 that he took to the track until the brakes boiled. Nothing custom on this one, regular wheels, no stripes or decals or bumper stickers.”
Prieto clacked his dentures. “Too far to see the tags.”
Milo said, “Did the conversation seem friendly?”
“Not friendly, not unfriendly. Lieutenant—why’s a man of your rank doing real police work?”
“Lucky situation.”
“Every lieutenant I knew was a desk-jockey. Anyway, not friendly, not unfriendly—neutral. A couple of minutes of neutral yakking. Maybe Braun has a wastrel son I didn’t know about. Right age, no?”
Milo nodded.
Prieto said, “I don’t need to teach you your business but that’s a lead, right? Someone gets killed, look at the family.”
“You bet. Anything else you can tell us about Braun?”
“No, it’s not like I was interested in him. I just know what I see when I see it.”
* * *
—
Milo headed back toward the freeway, on-ramped to the 101 South.
I said, “No lunch at the harbor?”
“All of a sudden you develop an appetite?”
“Just looking after your welfare.”
“Touched,” he said. “Nah, too much to think about. What do you think about Camaro Boy? Probably nothing but it’s the only contact for Braun we know about. Too bad it’s wasn’t a Ferrari or something else on a short list.”
I said, “Prieto’s point about a son was interesting but eighteen to twenty would also make the driver right for Chelsea Corvin’s boyfriend.”
“She’s
got a secret lover?”
“Maybe not so secret that her folks aren’t up in arms. And we know where that can lead.”
“Romeo-and-Juliet situation,” he said. “We talked about that and you said the crime was too organized for that.”
“Facts come in, I’m willing to change my mind. We know Braun liked seeing himself as a rescuing hero. What if that led to working for one of those deprogramming outfits? The kind parents turn to when they’re trying to save kids from drugs and cults and bad influences. Or he did it on his own, operating as a lone warrior. Either way it could explain adventures he didn’t tell his wife about.”
He tapped the steering wheel. “Limping Lancelot augments his welfare checks. You see Chet and Felice going for someone like that?”
“Desperation loosens standards.”
“Hmm.” A couple of miles later: “If Braun was hired to pry Romeo and Juliet apart, why wasn’t the conversation Prieto saw hostile?”
“Maybe a deal was cut,” I said. “The boyfriend got paid to stay away. But then something went wrong—a change of heart on Romeo’s part. Or Chelsea found out and freaked out and Romeo decided to redeem himself by dispatching the enemy. If so, the Corvins know more than they’re letting on and want to keep it that way for Chelsea’s sake. Meanwhile, she sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night.”
“Trysting with Romeo.” He chewed his cheek. “Young love gone mega-bad. It’s a theory.”
I said, “It fits your first impression. Something about this family.”
No reply until we neared the 405 turnoff. “You think Chet trying to get you involved with Chelsea was a backhanded way of dealing with the romance? Roping in someone with police connections?”
“Maybe. Meanwhile he’s driving to the airport.”
“Lighting a fuse and running from the scene,” he said. “For now, keep your distance from all of them, okay? I’m gonna drop you off and head to the crime lab. If there’s still time, I’ll pay the Corvins a visit, mention Braun’s name, see how they react.”
Night Moves Page 10