she was in and out a lot-more than the others. And he’s playing around with other chicks when she’s not here.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Hmm … maybe a half year ago? It was a while.”
“You ever see any conflict between them?”
Sommers said, “You know, one time, guess it was the last time, I heard the door slam and I looked out the blinds and saw her leaving, she’s walking real fast. But he didn’t go after her and I didn’t hear them hassling, so I don’t know, is that conflict-is that like from a mug shot?”
Milo said, “It is, Robert.”
“She’s a criminal type? Her and Clark are doing car scams together?”
“She was here more than the others?”
“Definitely. Most of the chicks you saw them once, twice.” Sommers twirled a dread. “The black chick I saw maybe … six times, seven times?”
I said, “He’s into one-night stands.”
“Guess so.” He snorted. “Playah Clark.”
Milo showed him a picture of Adriana Betts.
“Her I never saw. She part of the scam gang? Looks kinda shady.” His hand gathered up several clumps of hair. “More I think about it, more I’m pretty sure she was pissed at him-the black chick. Walking fast, like she couldn’t wait to get away from him. Maybe it was hormones, you know? Baby hormones. That happened to my girlfriend when she was with child. The bigger she got, the grumpier she turned, kind of hellish.”
“You have a kid?”
“Nope, she terminated. Her decision, she’d rather go to law school.” Sommers shrugged. “I thought it might be cool. Being a daddy. But she had to do what she had to do.”
CHAPTER 27
Milo gave his card to Sommers, asked him to call if Wedd showed up.
Sommer said, “Sure, but like I said, he’s not here too much.”
We tried the remaining four apartments in Wedd’s building. No answers at the first three units. A woman came to the fourth door towing an I.V. line on wheels. Something clear and viscous dripped into her veins. Her hair was a gray tangle, one shade darker than her face.
“Sorry …” She paused for breath. “I never leave … don’t know anyone.”
“He lives downstairs in Three,” said Milo. “Had his car stolen a while back.”
“Oh … that.” Her jaws worked. She could’ve been any age from fifty to eighty. “People were … surprised.”
“Why’s that, ma’am?”
She inhaled twice, braced herself in the doorway. “At nights … the lights are … super-bright.”
“Anyone trying to break into a car would be conspicuous.”
“Yes … funny.”
She labored to smile. Succeeded and hinted at the beautiful woman she’d once been. “It … happens.”
We returned to the unmarked. Milo put the key in the ignition but didn’t start up.
“Groot’s instincts were good, the Bimmer’s a likely scam and Clark Kent’s shaping up like a bad boy with a second pad. Think he’s the daddy?”
I said, “He’s got women coming in and out constantly, but Qeesha’s the only one seen more than once or twice. That says beyond casual and the last time Sommers saw her, she was conspicuously pregnant and looked angry. Maybe because Wedd wanted her to terminate? If she was pressing Wedd for money, it could’ve motivated the car scam: He finds her wheels, gets her temporarily out of his hair, uses the insurance money for his own new drive. A pimped-up SUV just like Heather saw at the park that night.”
“At the park ’cause he’s doing advance work, taking care of business. Qeesha hassled him, he killed her and the baby. Ditto Adriana, because she knew too much. Clark’s sounding like a
“The timing works,” I said. “Qeesha left Idaho a couple of years ago, plenty of time to hook up with Wedd, get pregnant. What I find interesting is Adriana didn’t follow her to L.A. but she did leave home, right around the same time. Reverend Goleman suggested she needed a life change. Meeting Qeesha, seeing her independence, might’ve inspired Adriana. She’d run the day care at the church. She found child-care work with the Van Dynes, then the Changs. San Diego’s close to L.A. so it’s not illogical she and Qeesha would reconnect. Maybe that post office box of hers was her own bit of naughty intrigue, allowing the two of them to correspond in secrecy. Allowing her vicarious entry to Qeesha’s world without actually participating. But four, five months ago that changed when Qeesha called for help and Adriana went down to L.A. with the Changs-a break of her usual routine. That’s the same time Sommers saw Qeesha pregnant and unhappy. What if Qeesha sensed she was in danger-she’d seen something frightening in Wedd’s attitude-and wanted support? Or a witness?”
He looked over at the building. The painters had paused, were sitting at the curb eating burritos. “… Those bugs. Wax. If Wedd’s our guy, he’s something other than human.” Head shake. “All those women, he’s got some kind of charisma going.”
“Women who aren’t seen more than once or twice.”
He stared at me. “Oh, no, don’t get imaginative. Too early in the day.”
He started the car but kept it in Park. His left hand gripped the steering wheel. The fingers of his right hand clawed his knee. He rubbed his face.
I said, “Sorry.”
“No, no, now it’s
His normal pallor had leached to an unhealthy off-white. I felt my own skin go cold.
He said, “Dear God in Heaven, what if that poor little thing was
CHAPTER 28
A woman stood near the entrance to the division parking lot. Tall, lanky, long-legged with frizzy yellow hair, wearing a maroon pantsuit with shoulder pads a couple of decades too big, she consulted a piece of paper as she checked out entering vehicles. A badge was clipped to her lapel.
I said, “Department bean counter?”
Milo said, “Your tax dollars at work.” He rolled up behind a black-and-white and a blue Corvette that was someone’s civilian ride. Both cars passed the frizzy-haired woman’s scrutiny. When Milo pulled up to the keypad, she looked at him, waved the paper.
“Lieutenant Sturgis?” She approached the driver’s side.
Milo said, “Another survey? Not today,” began rolling the window up.
“Don’t do that!” Her protest was more screech than bellow. Her pantsuit was the color of pickled beets, some fabric that had never known soil or harvest. She wore glasses framed in pale blue plastic, rouge that was too bright, lipstick that wasn’t bright enough. Had one of those rawboned bodies that abhor body fat. Nothing masculine about her, but nothing feminine, either.
She pressed a hand on the half-rolled window. Picture on her badge; I was too far to read the small print. She showed Milo the paper in her hand: On it was a full-page, color photo of him.
He said, “Never seen the guy.”
“C’mon, Lieutenant.”
He rolled down the window. “What can I do for you?”
