“Anything with sunshine,” she said.
“Working nights and sleeping days and doing things for Billy.”
“Work is good. Sometimes I do a double shift.”
“What are Billy’s needs?” I said.
“Very easy. If he wants takeout and it is a long time for the restaurant to deliver, I get him his dinner. There is Domino Pizza on Doheny near Olympic. Billy likes Thai food, there’s a nice place on La Cienega and Olympic. Sushi is also on Olympic. Nice place near Doheny. Very convenient, being near Olympic.”
“Billy’s a gourmet.”
“Billy eats anything,” said Annalise Holzer. “You must really think of him as a boy. A good boy.”
* * *
When I was back on Olympic, I celled Milo, expecting voice mail because he was with Armando Vasquez.
“Canceled,” he said. “Vasquez’s D.P.D. had other plans but didn’t bother to tell me. The prelim on Michaela’s autopsy finally came in. I woulda been there but they did it earlier than scheduled. Bottom line is no sign of sexual assault, cause of death was strangulation, the stab wounds on her chest were relatively superficial. The neck wound was a puncture, pathologist can’t say what caused it. Get to Billy’s place yet?”
“Just finished with that and you’re going to feel smart. The woman upstairs is a nurse on the night shift at Santa Monica Hospital, meaning she’s gone by ten fifteen or so. Plus, she thinks L.A.’s an exciting city, likes art, the beach, riding horses. Her tan says she’s out plenty during the day.”
“Not much supervision.”
“On top of that, Peaty came to Billy’s apartment several times. Claimed he was sent by Brad to return things Billy left at the office. Brad told us he thought Peaty wasn’t licensed to drive. Unless he lied about that, Peaty misrepresented his presence.”
“How many times is several?”
“The woman couldn’t quantify. Or wouldn’t. She said Billy lost his wallet a lot. Then she backtracked to ‘a few.’ ”
“What’s her name?”
“Annalise Holzer. She’s one of those people who gives you lots of details and ends up not telling you much. She considers Billy childlike, gracious, absolutely no problem. Some of that could be the rent-break Brad gives her. The building’s another Dowd property.”
“That so? Not on the BNB list.”
“Maybe the Dowds have another corporation or a holding company that doesn’t trace back to their names.”
“All that real estate,” he said. “These people have got to be hugely rich, and rich people get protected.”
“Holzer was protective, all right. But I wouldn’t trust her to know the details of Billy’s life.”
“Meaning Peaty coulda been a regular at Darling Billy’s. I’ve got to take a serious look at the guy. After I speak to Vasquez’s wife. That’s the change in plans. All of a sudden, I can’t have access to Armando until I talk to the missus.”
“About what?”
“P.D.’s being cryptic. It’ll probably turn out to be a stupid lawyer trick but the D.A. insists I check it out.”
“D.A.’s office has their own investigators.”
“Whom they pay. That’s why I’m figuring it for scut palmed off on me.”
“Where are you meeting the wife?”
“Right here in my office, half an hour.”
“I’m twenty minutes away.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER 29
Jacalyn Vasquez, minus three kids and makeup and jewelry, looked even younger than when I’d seen her on Sunday. Streaked hair was tied back in a somber ponytail. She wore a loose white blouse, blue jeans, and sneakers. Florid acne played havoc with her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes had regressed into sooty sockets.
A tall honey-haired woman in her twenties held Vasquez’s arm. The blonde’s locks were long and silky. She wore a tight black suit that showcased a bikini figure. A ruby stud in her left nostril fought the suit’s conservative cut. The pretty hair and tight body sparred with a monkeyish face the camera would savage.
She surveyed the tiny space and frowned. “How’re we all going to fit in here?”
Milo smiled. “And you are?”
“Brittany Chamfer, Public Defender’s Office.”
“I thought Mr. Vasquez’s attorney was Kevin Shuldiner.”
“I’m a third-year law student,” said Brittany Chamfer. “Working with the Exoneration Project.” She amplified her frown. “This is like a closet.”
“Well,” said Milo, “one less body should help. Enjoy the fresh air, Ms. Chamfer. Come on in, Ms. Vasquez.”
“My instruction was to stay with Jackie.”
“My instruction is that you enjoy the fresh air.” He stood and the chair squeaked. Silencing it with one hand, he offered the seat to Jacalyn Vasquez. “Right here, ma’am.”
Brittany Chamfer said, “I’m supposed to stay.”
“You’re not an attorney and Ms. Vasquez hasn’t been charged with anything.”
“Still.”
Milo took one big step that brought him to the doorway. Brittany Chamfer had to step back to avoid collision, and the arm she’d used to support Jacalyn Vasquez pulled free.
Vasquez looked past me. The office could’ve been miles of glacier.
Brittany Chamfer said, “I’ll have to call the office.”
Milo ushered Vasquez in, closed the door.
By the time she sat down, Jacalyn Vasquez was crying.
* * *
Milo gave her a tissue. When her eyes dried, he said, “You have something to tell me, Ms. Vasquez?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What is it, ma’am?”
“Armando was protecting us.”
“Protecting the family?”
“Uh-huh.”
“From...”
“Him.”
“Mr. Peaty?”
“The pervert.”
“You knew Mr. Peaty to be a pervert?”
Nod.
“How did you know that?”
“Everyone said.”
“Everyone in the building.”
“Yeah.”
“Like Mrs. Stadlbraun.”
“Yeah.”
“Who else?”
“Everyone.”
“Can you give me some names?”
Eyes down. “Everyone.”
“Did Mr. Peaty ever do anything perverted that you know about personally?”
“He looked.”
“At...”
Jacalyn Vasquez poked her left breast. Milo said, “He looked at you.”
“A lot.”
“He ever touch you?”
Head shake.
“His looks made you feel uncomfortable.”
“Yeah.”
“You tell Armando?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to make him mad.”
“Armando has a temper.”
Silence.
“So Peaty looked at you,” said Milo. “You figure that made it okay for Armando to shoot him?”
“Also the calls. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”
Milo’s eyes narrowed. “What calls, ma’am?”
“The night. Calling, hanging up, calling, hanging up. I figured it was him.”
“Peaty?”
“Yeah.”
“Because...”
“He was a pervert.” Her eyes dipped again.
“You figured it was Mr. Peaty harassing you,” said Milo.
“Yeah.”
“Had he done that before?”
Hesitation.
“Ms. Vasquez?”
“Uh-uh.”
“He hadn’t done it before but you suspected it was him. Did Mr. Shuldiner come up with that?”
“It coulda been him!”
Milo said, “Any other reason the calls bothered you?”
“They kept hanging up.”
“They,” said Milo. Stretching the word.
Milo said, “Maybe you were worried about a ‘they,’ Jackie.”
“Huh?”
“Armando’s old homeboys.”
“Armando don’t have no homeboys.”
“He used to, Jackie.”
Silence.
“Everyone knows he used to run with the 88s, Jackie.”
Vasquez sniffed.
“Everyone knows,” Milo repeated.
“That was, like, a long time ago,” said Vasquez. “Armando don’t bang no more.”
“Who’s they?”
“The calls. There was a bunch.”
“Any other calls last night?”
“My mother.”
“What time?”
“Like six.” Jacalyn Vasquez sat up straighter. “The other one wasn’t no homeboys.”
“What other one?”
“After the ones that hung up. Someone talked. Like a whisper, you know?”
“A whisper.”
“Yeah.”
“What’d they whisper about.”
“Him. They said he was dangerous, liked to hurt women.”
“Someone whispered that about Peaty?”
“Yeah.”
“You heard this.”
“They talked to Armando.”
“What time did this whispering call come in, Jackie?”
“Like...we were in bed with the TV. Armando answered and he was pissed off ’cause a the other calls hanging up. He’s, like, started yelling into the phone and then he’s, like, stopped, listened. I said what, he waved his hand, like, you know? He listened and his face got all red. That was the last time.”
“Armando got mad.”
“Real mad.”
“ ’Cause of the whispering.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did Armando tell you about the whispering after he hung up?”
Jacalyn Vasquez shook her head. “Later.”
“When, later?”
“Last night.”
“Calling from jail.”
“Yeah.”
“You never heard the whispering and Armando didn’t tell you about it at the time. Then, after Armando shot Peaty, he decided to tell you.”
“I ain’t lyin’.”
“I can understand your wanting to protect your husband— ”
“I ain’t lyin’.”
“Let’s say someone did whisper,” said Milo. “You figure that made it okay to shoot Peaty?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’s that, Jackie?”
“He was dangerous.”
“According to the whisperer.”
“I ain’t lyin’.”
“Maybe Armando is.”
“Armando ain’t lyin’.”
“Did Armando say if this whisperer was a man or a woman?”
“Armando said the whispering made so you couldn’t tell.”
“Pretty good whispering.”
“I ain’t lyin’.” Jacalyn Vasquez folded her arms across her bosom and stared at Milo.
“You know, Jackie, that any calls to your apartment can be verified.”
“Huh?”
“We can check your phone records.”
“Fine,” she said.
“The problem is,” said Milo, “all we can know is that someone called you at a certain time. We can’t verify what was said.”
“It happened.”
“According to Armando.”
“Armando ain’t lyin’.”
“All those hang-ups,” said Milo. “Then all of a sudden, someone’s whispering about Peaty and Armando’s listening.”
Jacalyn Vasquez’s hands, still crossed, climbed to her face and pushed against her cheeks. Her features turned rubbery. When she spoke through compressed lips, the words came out slurred, like a kid goofing.
“It happened. Armando told me. It happened.”
* * *
Brittany Chamfer was waiting in the hall, playing with her nose stud. She whipped around, saw Jacalyn Vasquez dabbing her eyes. “You okay, Jackie?”
“He don’ believe me.”
Chamfer said, “What?”
Milo said, “Thanks for coming in.”
Chamfer said, “We’re looking for the truth.”
“Common goal.”
Chamfer considered her response. “What message should I give to Mr. Shuldiner?”
“Thank him for his civic duty.”
“Pardon?”
“Thank him for creativity, too.”
Brittany Chamfer said, “I’m not going to tell him that.”
“Have a nice day.”
“I will.” Chamfer flipped her long hair. “Will you?”
Renewing her grip, she propelled Jacalyn Vasquez up the corridor.
Milo said, “That’s why the D.A.’s office palmed it on me. What a crock.”
“You’re dismissing it out of hand?” I said.
“You’re not?”
“If Vasquez’s lying to exonerate himself, he could’ve picked something stronger. Like Peaty threatening him explicitly.”
“So he’s stupid.”
“Maybe that’s it,” I said.
He leaned against the wall, scuffed the baseboard. “Even if someone did call Vasquez to prime the pump against Peaty, the right suspect’s in jail. Let’s say Ertha Stadlbraun got things stoked up because Peaty had always creeped her out. My interview tipped her over and she stirred up the tenants. One of them was an incompletely reformed banger with a bad temper and boom boom boom.”
“If you’re comfortable not checking it out, so am I.”
He turned his back on me, imbedded both hands in his hair and turned it into a fright wig. Smoothing it down was a partial success. He stomped back into his office.
When I entered, he had the phone receiver in hand but wasn’t punching numbers. “Know what kept me up last night? Damned snow globe. Brad thought Meserve put it there but the one in the van says Peaty did. Would Peaty taunt Brad?”
“Maybe Peaty didn’t leave it.”
“What?”
“Meserve thinks he’s an actor,” I said. “Actors do voice-overs.”
“The Infernal Whisperer? I can’t get distracted by that kind of crap, Alex. Still have to check out all those buildings Peaty cleaned, stuff could be hidden anywhere. Can’t ignore Billy either, because he hung with Peaty and I was masochistic enough to find out.”
He passed the receiver from hand to hand. “What I’d love to do is get to Billy in his apartment, away from Brad, and gauge his reaction to Peaty’s death.” He huffed. “Let’s take care of this whispering bullshit.”
He called the phone company, talked to someone named Larry. “What I need is for you to tell me it’s crap so I can avoid the whole subpoena thing. Thanks, yeah...you, too. I’ll hold.”
Moments later, his faced flushed and he was scribbling furiously in his pad. “Okay, Lorenzo, thanko mucho...no, I mean it...we’ll forget this conversation took place and I’ll get you the damned paper a-sap.”
The receiver slammed down.
He ripped a page out of the pad and shoved it at me.
The first evening call to the Vasquez apartment had come in at five fifty-two p.m. and lasted thirty-two minutes. The caller’s mid-city number was registered to Guadalupe Maldonado. The call from Jackie Vasquez’s mom at “like six.”
Milo closed his eyes and pretended to doze as I read on.
Five more calls between seven and ten p.m., all from a 310 area code that Milo had notated as “stolen cell.” The first lasted eight seconds, the second, four. Then a trio of two-second entries that had to be hang-ups.
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