“Not— it’s not that. I was real shy, okay? She helped me step out of myself. Sometimes it wasn’t fun. But it helped— can I go now?”
Milo nodded. “Reseda, huh? Valley girl?”
“Nebraska.”
“Flatlands,” said Milo.
“You know Nebraska?”
“Been to Omaha.”
“I’m from Lincoln but same difference,” said Briana Szemencic. “You stare at forever and there’s nothing at the end. Can I go now? I’m really tired.”
Milo stepped back. “Thanks for stepping out of that silent thing your friends were into.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“No?”
“No one’s anyone’s friend over there.” She glanced back at the PlayHouse. The empty porch looked gloomy. Staged for gloomy, like a movie set.
“Not a friendly atmosphere?” said Milo.
“We’re supposed to concentrate on the work.”
“So when Dylan and Michaela started hanging out they broke a rule.”
“There are no rules. Michaela was being stupid.”
“How so?”
“Hooking up with Dylan.”
“Because Nora liked him?”
“Because he’s totally shallow.”
“You don’t share Nora’s enthusiasm.”
A beat. “Not really.”
“How come?”
“He’s hanging with Michaela but he’s also been getting into Nora? Gimme a break.”
“But no jealousy on Nora’s part.”
Yellow curls shook violently. She reached for the Nissan’s door handle. Milo said, “What about Reynold Peaty?”
“Who?”
“The janitor.”
“The fat guy?” Her arm dropped. “What about him?”
“He ever bother you?”
“Like perve-bother? No. But he stares, it’s creepy. He’s sweeping, mopping, whatever, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him staring. If you look at him, he turns away fast, like he knows he shouldn’t be doing it.” She shuddered. “Is he, like, serious-creepy? Like America’s Most Wanted creepy?”
“I couldn’t say that.”
Briana Szemencic’s slender frame stiffened. “But you couldn’t say no?”
“I have no evidence he’s ever done something violent, Briana.”
“If he’s not a perve, how come you asked about him?”
“My job is asking questions, Briana. Most of them turn out to be useless but I can’t take chances. Guess it’s kinda like acting.”
“What do you mean?”
“A little improv, a lot of hard work. Does Peaty hang out at the PlayHouse a lot?”
“When he’s cleaning.”
“Days as well as nights?”
“I’m only there nights.”
“Anyone else drop by?”
“Just people applying for workshops. Mostly Nora turns them away but there can still be crowds.”
“No talent.”
Another lip bite. “Yeah.”
“Any other reason she turns them away?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
Milo said, “Well, thanks again— it’s a cool thing, Nora giving away her skills for free.”
“Very cool.”
“Guess she can do that because her brothers fund the PlayHouse.”
“Her brothers and her,” said Briana Szemencic. “It’s like a whole family thing. They’re filthy rich but they’re artistic and generous.”
“The brothers ever drop by to see how it’s spent?”
“I’ve seen them a few times.”
“Sitting in?”
“More like walking around. Dropping by to visit Nora.” She gripped her purse with both hands. “Tell me the truth about that fat guy.”
“I already have, Briana.”
“He’s not a perve? You can guarantee me that?”
“He really scares you.”
“Like I said, he’s staring all the time.”
“I told you the truth, Briana.”
“But you were punking me about the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“What you said about cop stuff being like acting. That was b.s., right?”
“You know a girl named Tori Giacomo?” said Milo.
“Who’s that?”
“Maybe a student here once.”
“I’ve only been here a year. You didn’t answer my question. That was total bullshit, right?”
“Nope, I meant it,” said Milo. “There are all kinds of similarities between cop work and acting. Like frustration. It’s a big part of my job just like it is for you.”
Big blue eyes filmed with confusion.
“I start off with a new case, Briana, all I can do is ask my questions, see if something takes shape. It’s just like reading a brand-new script.”
“Whatever.” She opened her car door.
“We both know one thing, Briana. It’s all about the work. You do your best, try to make it to the bottom of the funnel, but no guarantees.”
“I guess.”
Milo smiled. “Thanks for talking to us. Drive safely.”
As we began to walk away a high, tight voice from the Nissan said, “What’s the funnel?”
“A kitchen implement.”
* * *
She drove away. He pulled out his pad and jotted.
I said, “Off the record, huh?”
“She must’ve confused me for a reporter...guess Nora didn’t share the funnel analogy with her flock.”
I said, “Too anxiety-provoking. One thing Nora didn’t keep to herself was her attraction to Meserve. Past and present. Looks like Brad overestimated his control. Nora and Dylan still being together means when Dylan blamed the hoax on Michaela, Nora would’ve believed it. The question is, does that have anything to do with Michaela ending up in a pile of weeds.”
“No matter what that little genius just said, I think the jealousy thing’s worth looking into.”
“It does, but other scenarios come to mind. If Nora resented Michaela, Dylan might have taken it upon himself to keep Nora happy. Or Michaela became a threat to Dylan by threatening to go to Brad and telling him bad stuff about Dylan. Or to Nora herself— spinning some erotic details of her nights up in Latigo with Dylan.”
“Spin? The two of them were naked up there for two nights.”
“Michaela told me they never had intercourse.”
“You’re a trusting soul. Either way, why would Michaela threaten Dylan like that?”
“Maybe more trial strategy,” I said. “Pressuring him to shoulder all the blame for the hoax. In the end, the case settled. But if he stayed angry, he might’ve acted out.”
“And the motive for doing Tori is his just being a nasty guy?”
“That or he and Tori also had something going and it went bad.”
“He does her, finds it easier the second time around...he is gone as hell. And Nora knows where— or she’s hiding him. That would explain her getting squirrely when we brought him up. Okay, enough theory for one night.”
We walked to the car.
He said, “There’s still Peaty.”
“Stare at the girls and make them cry.”
“Got him in trouble before. Let’s see if Sean’s surveillance pulled up anything.”
* * *
He drove with one hand, phoned Binchy with the other. The young detective was still parked a few feet up from Reynold Peaty’s apartment. The janitor had come home at seven and had stayed inside.
“Three hours watching a building,” said Milo, hanging up. “I’d be out of my mind. Sean’s as happy as if he’s playing his bass.”
Sean Binchy was a former ska punk who’d embraced religion and law enforcement simultaneously.
“How is he at working his own cases?” I said.
“He’s great at the routine but it’s hard to get him to think independently.”
“Send him to Nora. Get him to
open up his right side.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, my brain hurts. Gonna check for messages and call it a night.”
* * *
Two messages, no respite.
The expected call from Lou Giacomo and a request to phone Mister Albert Beamish.
“Maybe he wants compensation for his persimmons.” He punched the number, waited, clicked off. “No answer.” He sighed. “Okay, now for the fun.”
* * *
Lou Giacomo was staying at the Holiday Inn Milo had suggested. Milo was hoping for a brief condolence chat but Giacomo wanted to meet and Milo lacked the will to refuse him.
Giacomo was standing outside the hotel wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. When we pulled up, he said, “Can we go somewhere, maybe get a drink? This place is driving me up the wall.”
“The hotel?” said Milo.
“Your frickin’ city.”
CHAPTER 19
Our second drinking hole tonight, this one a dank, would-be Irish tavern on Pico.
Lou Giacomo took in the décor. “This could be Queens.”
The three of us settled in a stiff-backed booth with Naugahyde cushions. Milo asked for a Diet Coke and I had coffee.
Giacomo said, “Bud, not Light, regular.”
This barmaid was young, with a lip-pierce. “I’d never take you for a Light guy.”
Giacomo ignored her. She shot him a sharp look and left.
He said, “You guys reformed drunks or something?”
Milo spread his shoulders and took up more space in the booth.
Giacomo massaged a thick wrist. “No offense intended, I’m not at my best, okay?”
“Sorry about Tori,” said Milo. “I mean that.”
“Like I told you the first time, I already knew. Now the wife claims she knew, too.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She wants me home a-sap. Probably gonna greet me with another nervous breakdown. I ain’t going back until I’m sure Tori gets a proper burial.”
His eyes watered. “What a stupid thing to say, it’s a fuckin’ skull, how the fuck can it get a proper burial? I went over there, to your coroner. They didn’t wanna show it to me, gave me all this bullshit, it ain’t like TV, you don’t have to see it. I made ’em show it to me.”
Spade-shaped hands shaped a shaky oval in the air. “Fuckin’ thing. Only reason they even had it was some lady was working with it, some fuckin’ science project, she’s putting holes in it, digging out the...”
His loss of composure was sudden as a stroke. Pale and sweating, he pressed himself against the seat, gasping as if he’d been sucker punched.
Milo said, “Mr. Giacomo?”
Giacomo clenched his eyes shut and waved him off.
When the young barmaid brought the drinks, he was still sobbing and she was mature enough to look the other way.
* * *
“Sorry about that faggy shit.”
“Don’t be,” said Milo.
“Well I fuckin’ am.” Giacomo rubbed his eyes, ran his jacket sleeve over the lids. The tweed left red trails across his cheeks. “What they told me is I gotta fill out forms so I can take it with me. After that, I’m outta here.”
He gazed at his beer as if it were a urine sample. Drank anyway.
“I got this to tell you: The few times Tori called, her mother bugged her— getting any parts, sleeping enough, dating anyone. I try to tell Arlene. Don’t bug her. She says ‘I do it ’cause I care.’ Meaning I don’t.”
Giacomo swallowed more beer. “Now all of a sudden, she’s telling me Tori was maybe dating someone. How does she know? Tori didn’t say so but she didn’t deny it.”
“Any details?”
Giacomo’s lip curled. “Mother’s intuition.” He rotated his mug. “That place stinks. Your coroner’s. Smells like garbage left out for a month. Any way you can use what I just told you?”
“Not without some kind of evidence.”
“Figures— I’m not trying to bust your balls, but what I got to look forward to when I get home ain’t no picnic. Dealing with the church, who knows what the pope’s position is on burying— my sister’s gonna talk to the monsignor, we’ll see.”
Milo sipped his Diet Coke.
Lou Giacomo said, “I keep telling myself Tori’s in a better place. If I can’t convince myself of that, I might as well...”
Milo said, “If I call your wife, is it possible she can tell me more?”
Giacomo shook his head. “But suit yourself. She was always bugging Tori— are you eating, are you exercising, how’re your teeth. What she never got was Tori finally wanted to grow up. So what do you think, is Tori connected to that other girl?”
Milo’s lie was smooth. “I can’t say that, Mr. Giacomo.”
“But you’re not not saying it.”
“Everything’s an open issue at this point.”
“Meaning you don’t know shit.”
“That’s a pretty accurate appraisal.”
Giacomo’s smile was queasy. “You’re probably gonna get pissed but I did something.”
“What’s that?”
“I went over there. To Tori’s apartment. Knocked on all the doors and asked if they remembered Tori, or seen any guy hanging around. What a dump. Mostly you got Mexicans living there, I’m gettin’ all these confused looks, no speaky English. You could get hold of the landlords and ask ’em to pull their rental records.”
“Seeing as you already tried and they said no?”
“Hey— ”
Milo said, “Don’t worry about it, just tell me what they said.”
“They said diddly.” Giacomo handed over a scrap of paper. Holiday Inn stationery. A name and a 323 number.
Milo said, “Home-Rite Management.”
Giacomo said, “Bunch of Chinese, I talked to some woman with an accent. She claimed they didn’t own the building two years ago. I try to explain to her this is important but I got nowhere.” He ran his hands along the sides of his head. “Stupid bitch— it’s like my brain’s gonna explode. I’m bringing Tori back home in a fuckin’ carry-on.”
* * *
We drove him back to the Holiday Inn, let the engine idle, and walked him to the hotel’s glass doors.
“I’m sorry about that alkie crack, okay? That other time, that Indian place, you guys had tea, I was just...” He shrugged. “Out of line, none of my business.”
Milo placed a hand on his shoulder. “No apologies necessary. What you’ve gone through, I couldn’t hope to understand.”
Giacomo didn’t repel the contact. “Be straight with me: Would you consider this a bad one? Compared to most of them that you get?”
“They’re all bad.”
“Yeah, of course, sure. Like someone else’s kid ain’t as important as mine. But my kid’s what I’m thinking about— think I’ll ever be able to not think about it?”
Milo said, “People tell me it gets easier.”
“Hope so. You find anything, you’ll let me know?”
“Of course.”
Giacomo nodded and shook Milo’s hand. “You guys are all right.”
We watched him enter the hotel lobby, pass the desk without word, and stand fidgeting in front of the elevator without touching the button. Thirty seconds later, he slapped his temple and pushed. Turned around, saw us, and mouthed the word “stooopid.”
Milo smiled. We got back in the car and drove off.
“ ‘People tell me it gets easier’,” said Milo. “Pretty therapeutic, huh? Speaking of lies, I need to get to the office, chart all that stuff Little Brie thought was off the record. Don’t wanna bore you.”
“Want me to meet you at Michaela’s apartment tomorrow morning?”
“Nah, that could be boring, too. But how about you phone Tori’s mom, see if a Ph.D. helps. The ex-husband, too. Here’s the numbers.”
* * *
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