Evidence

specked with tiny wens.

South Pasadena address, not the fashionable part of that city, an apartment unit. The single vehicle registered in his name was a fifteen-year-old maroon Lincoln Town Car. The very same sedan parked haphazardly near the fence.

“Bit of a drive from South Pasadena, Mr. Rutger.”

“This is my homestead, I can get here in my sleep.” Plummy voice, vaguely mid-Atlantic, explicitly disapproving.

“You say you own this property?”

“I don’t say it, basic decency says it. When I heard about what happened, I rushed right over.”

“How’d you find out?”

“The news. Of course.” Charles Ellston Rutger tugged his lapels straight.

“The registered owner is a company named DSD.”

“Towelheads,” said Rutger. “And I won’t shrink from saying so. They bomb us and then we kowtow? Utter rubbish.”

“Arabs,” said Milo.

“Who else? Oil money, otherwise known as blood money, came into play, oh did it! In my day, they’d have been told what for.”

“Not allowed to buy property?”

“Covenants we called them, and a good thing they were.” Turning back toward the framework. “Monstrosity. This was a lovely neighborhood, put Beverly Hills and those people to shame.”

“Those people being…”

“ Beverly Hills people. Hollywood. Now it’s them with their oil.”

“Can you give us names of people associated with DS-”

“I can’t give you something I never knew,” said Rutger. “The entire transaction was manipulated by slick Jew lawyers. You’d think they’d avoid each other like the plague. Jews and towelheads. But when it comes to money, there’s common ground.”

“Sir,” said Milo, “we’re investigating a murder, so if there’s something you can-”

“I know what you’re investigating, I just told you I heard it on the news.”

“And rushed right over.”

“Absolutely.”

“Why, Mr. Rutger?”

“Why?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why not? Last I heard this was still a free country.”

“Mr. Rutger, this is a serious case and I don’t have time-”

“Neither do I, Officer. Why did I rush over? Because I’ve been violated. Again.”

“Again?”

“This place was mine, Officer. They took it from me. And now blood has spilled. Barbarians.”

“Tell me how they took it from you, sir.”

“Tell?” said Rutger. “I could write you a book. In fact, I’ve been thinking about doing just that. ‘Pillage of the Innocent.’ It could be a bestseller, given the way people feel about them.”

“How about a summary, Mr. Rutger?”

“Why would you want that?”

“So I can understand-”

“Fine, fine, here’s your summary: a tragedy that symbolizes everything vulgar this country has become. When I was a boy, a beautifully proportioned home sat here. A lovely Georgian Revival designed by Paul Williams. Not that you’d know who that is-”

“Top architect in the forties and fifties,” said Milo. “Black, so he couldn’t live in most of the neighborhoods where he worked.”

Rutger smoothed his tie. “Be that as it may, he knew how to design a home. My father paid for it with honest work, not by manipulating currency or money-changing or scheming.”

“What business was your father in?”

“Honest business. My sister and I grew up in bucolic splendor. Not that she cares… so what do they do? Demolish our lineage and put up that.” His chin quivered. “Visigoths.”

“You were opposed to selling DSD the property but your sister disagreed?”

Rutger glared. “Haven’t you been listening? They stole it from under me.”

“How?”

No answer.

“Sir?”

“No need to get into any of this, Officer.”

“I’d like to anyway.”

“Bully for you, but I do not wish to discuss personal matters.”

“Homicide makes everything public, Mr. Rutger.”

“That does not concern me.” More chin calisthenics. Rutger’s eyes filled with tears. Ripping the pocket square loose, he dabbed. “Blasted dust.”

I said, “You came here because you felt your family’s memory was being sullied all over again.”

Rutger stared at me. “You’re Jewish, aren’t you? My father used to play golf with Rabbi Magnin. Now, there was a shrewd man, used family money to build that temple of his. Big money, from San Francisco. His brothers were haberdashers, knew how to turn a nice profit.”

Milo said, “Are you making an actual claim of ownership to this property, Mr. Rutger?”

“I would if I could find a knight errant willing to do battle.”

“A lawyer to take your case.”

“Cowards,” said Rutger.

“Okay, sir, you need to avoid any more confrontations-hold on, let me finish. Yes, it’s a free country but freedom means responsibility. You’re an educated man, you know that.”

Rutger humphed. “Last I heard, this was still a free country.”

“Sir, this is a crime scene. No unauthorized entry will be tolerated.”

“That’s what he said-that fool in a uniform. He was rude and uncouth and I was compelled to take action.” Holding up two fists. He refolded the handkerchief, repeated until he’d produced a perfect dimple. “I’m leaving now, Officer, but I will not accept any arbitrary pronouncements banning me from my-”

“I have no objection to your driving by, Mr. Rutger. But please don’t stop and try to enter for any reason. And if you do observe something out of the ordinary, call me. Here’s my number.”

Rutger regarded the business card as if it were tainted.

“Sir?” said Milo.

“Just like that?” Rutger snapped his fingers. “You command and I obey?”

“Mr. Rutger, I’m defining limits to avoid future misunderstanding. You may drive by to your heart’s content but do not try to enter the property.”