He explained why.
Reed said, “Blond is blond, huh? I’ll nab her as soon as I see her, Loo.”
A search using
Embedded among German-, French-, and Italian-language business sites was a single photo, dated six years ago. One of many snapped at a fund-raiser for the Kraeker Gallery’s exhibit of outsider art, featuring well-fed, well-groomed people in black tie and gowns.
One thumbnail off to the right. Milo enlarged it two inches square: Banker George Gemein, his wife, Ilse, daughters Helga and Dahlia.
Both parents, bespectacled, ramrod-straight, unsmiling. Helga matched their stance, the obedient child. Even with a honey-colored schoolgirl bob and a baby-blue gown trimmed in lace, she came across grim, disapproving.
Dahlia Gemein appeared several years younger than her sister. Shorter and curvier than Helga, she sported a conspicuous tan, a headful of ash-blond waves, a saucy grin. Defying the family commitment to good posture, she cocked a hip and slouched forward, threatening to spill ample bosoms out of her blood-red, skintight sheath. Bejeweled fingers held the stem of a cobalt-blue cocktail.
The only Gemein caught drinking, she’d separated herself physically, standing half a foot apart.
The clan. The mutation.
Milo switched to NCIC, ran a search on
In that one, Dahlia Gemein wore a pink string bikini and stood flanked by two men in flowered bathing shorts: the guest of honor, obese and cornrowed, and a baby-faced, muscular Asian man identified as Teddy K-M.
Milo shot a fist into the air. Flipped through his pad and shouted, punched the air harder. “Dig this, Alex: K-M as in Tariq Ku’amah Majur. Something
He studied the shot. “Girl like this isn’t going to be a throwaway, someone’s bound to report her missing. So why isn’t she in the database?”
“Maybe someone forgot to enter it.”
“Human error? Oh, come now.”
A call to Missing Persons revealed that Dahlia Gemein’s disappearance had never been reported. Follow-ups everywhere else confirmed the same.
Milo slumped. “For all we know, she’s not missing. She and Teddy fell in love, she went back to Sranil with him, is living the life of a princess, and there goes Helga’s motive.”
He checked with Moe Reed. “Your source out yet?”
“Out and right here, Loo. See you in about twenty.”
CHAPTER 27
Ati Meneng was tiny, gorgeous, terrified.
She looked ten years younger than the twenty-nine listed on her driver’s license, took up so little space that Milo put her in his office and had room to spare.
Standard California license, no special consulate perks. She typed documents in the secretarial pool.
She had on a cinnamon-colored pantsuit that covered everything but hands and face. The office was warm but that didn’t stop her from shivering. Tilting her head, she created a glossy sheet of blue-black hair that masked her face. “I still don’t know why I’m here.”
Milo said, “Just what I told you, Ati. You’re helping us and we really appreciate it.”
“There’s nothing I can help you with.”
Milo wheeled his chair closer. “This doesn’t need to be stressful, Ati.”
I sat just inside the open door. Moe Reed stood behind me. Young guy with a fondness for Aqua Velva. My father had slapped it on religiously, cursing as the alcohol ignited booze-inspired shaving nicks.
If Reed was breathing, I couldn’t hear it.
Milo said, “Is it okay if I call you Ati?”
Murmurs from behind the hair curtain.
“What’s that?”
“Call me what you want.”
“Thanks, Ati. First off, we’re sorry we had to take you away in the middle of work but this is a murder investigation. If you have problems with your boss, I can talk to him.”
“No, don’t. I don’t know about murder.” Crystalline voice, no accent.
Milo said, “How long have you been living in L.A., Ati?”
Hair slithered away like glycerine on glass, revealing a flawless oval face, pouty-lipped, ruled by enormous black eyes. “All my life.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“ Downey.”
“How’d you come to work at the Indonesian consulate?”
“They advertised in an Indonesian paper. Needed someone who knew Dutch, my parents speak Dutch in the house.”
“How long have you been working there?”
“Like nine months.”
“And before that?”
“A bunch of places.”
“Such as?”
“Why is that important?”
“Just trying to get to know you, Ati.”
“Why?”
Milo rolled back a few inches. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Tell me about some of your previous jobs.”
“Mostly temps.”
“Don’t like to be tied down to anything long-term?”
“Temps are what I could get while I auditioned.”
“You’re an actress?”
“I thought I was.”
“No luck, huh?”
Black hair swung. “I did some commercials for Asian cable. I thought I could model downtown for petites, but they said I was too small for even that.”
“Tough gig, the audition circuit,” said Milo.
“Every stupid girl thinks she can do it.”
“That include Dahlia?”
Pouty lips separated on white teeth slick with saliva. Brown hands the size of a ten-year-old’s met each other and clenched hard.
