Milo said, “Our rookie C.I., Lara whatshername.”
I said, “Helpful Ms. Rieffen.”
Carlo Scoppio lifted three bags, left Lara Rieffen to carry two. No pleasantries exchanged between the two. No talk, at all.
They entered the house. The door closed.
Milo said, “This changes everything.”
During the drive back to the station, he reached Dave McClellan, the head coroner’s investigator, asked if Lara Rieffen’s assignment to the turret murders had been scheduled routine.
McClellan said, “She screwed up?”
“No, I just need to know, Dave.”
“Don’t have the schedule in front of me, I’m at City Hall trying to impress city council members. Why do you need to know?”
“Who do I talk to about the schedule, Dave?”
“Now you’re scaring me-tell me the truth, did Rieffen screw up in some major way?”
“Is she a screwup?”
“She’s new, tends to be a little lazy.”
“She gave the opposite impression at Borodi, Dave. Made herself out to be Eager Annie.”
“Maybe she likes you.”
“The burden of charm, story of my life. Where can I get hold of the schedule?”
“You’re not going to tell me why? All of a sudden, my gut’s churning.”
“It could be nothing, Dave.”
“Now my bowels are loosening,” said McClellan. “Call Irma, my administrative aide. She knows everything. Wish I did, too.”
Irma Melendez took thirty seconds to come up with the answer: A C.I. named Daniel Paillard had been next up for the Borodi call.
“He didn’t take it, Lieutenant Sturgis? My record says he did.”
“Lara Rieffen did.”
“Her?” said Melendez. “How come?”
“I thought you might know.”
“I have no idea, Lieutenant. The two of them must’ve worked something out-maybe Dan had an emergency. She doesn’t volunteer for anything.”
“Not a workaholic?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Where can I find Paillard?”
“He’s off today.”
“Give me his cell and his home landline, please.”
“Dan did something wrong?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” said Melendez. “Him, I like.”
Daniel Paillard was at Universal Studios with his girlfriend.
“This is a big deal?”
“Probably not,” said Milo, “but tell me about it.”
“Nothing to tell,” said Paillard. “She came to me the day before, said she needed time off next week, was I willing to swap. I said sure, why not.”
“What day did she need time off?”
“She never said.”
“She never collected on the trade?”
Silence.
“Dan?”
“I guess she didn’t,” said Paillard. “I guess I forgot-looking a gift horse, you know? Am I in trouble? I mean it was between the two of us.”
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I mean, I’d been working my ass off for weeks, all those gang shootings,” said Paillard. “When she came to me, I didn’t see any problem long as the job got done-did she screw up?”
“Is she a screwup?”
“She’s green,” said Paillard.
“Do me a favor, Dan. Don’t tell her about this conversation.”
“She’s in some other kind of trouble?”
“Not yet,” said Milo. “Be discreet, Dan, and I will be, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said Paillard. “She’s green, maybe a little lazy, that’s really all I can say about her.”
Milo swung his desk chair around, faced me. “Lazy rookie but she makes herself out as gung- ho. A faker like Scoppio. She processed the bodies, made comments about Doreen’s clothes being cheap. That takes on a whole new flavor now.”
I said, “Rieffen trading shifts the day before the murder says she knew Backer and Doreen would be up in that turret. Doreen lived with her and Scoppio, so that’s no mystery. If Scoppio’s our Port Angeles hoodie, we’ve got fifty grand of motive. But the scene’s always reeked of personal to me, so it could’ve gone beyond the money. Kaplan said the three of them looked grim when they were together. Maybe the gloss was off the relationship.”
“Threesome gone bad.”
“Possibly because threesome had turned to twosome.”
“Doreen threw her roommies over for Backer,” he said. “Old flame reignited. So to speak.”
“Backer and Doreen were paid by Helga to blow up Teddy’s palace, scoped the scene and found the turret a fun place. Ned Holman saw them use it two months before the murders, they could very well have turned it into their private party spot, could’ve even taken Rieffen and Monte up there. Either way they’d be easy to track. The scene’s always pointed to two killers. Now we’ve got a new pair.”
“Rieffen’s involved in the murder, makes sure she’s assigned to the scene. Cute. The obvious reason is monkeying with evidence, as in concealing any record of her presence and Scoppio’s. She was up there before I arrived, Lord knows what she did during that time.”
I said, “One thing she
“Monte chokes out Doreen then abuses her corpse? Why would Rieffen point out the stain? And why not wipe it off right at the murder?”
“Maybe Monte didn’t want her to. Proud of himself, playing his own head game. On her own, Rieffen might’ve been more cautious. Or she thought it was fun, too. In either case, she knew the stain would be gone by the time the body got to Jernigan. That’s exactly the kind of high-risk adrenaline rush psychopaths crave. Rieffen takes control of the evidence, making herself look sharp-eyed in the process. Then she finds a quiet moment at the crypt and destroys the evidence, making the rest of the coroner’s staff look incompetent.”
“It’s not enough that I succeed,” he said. “You have to fail.”
“Antisocial, self-aggrandizing puffery at its finest, Big Guy.”
“One speck of DNA could’ve screwed the deal-if anyone would bother to analyze the stain. But she’s a goddamn C.I., would know how to do it right.”
“No reason to analyze DNA,” I said. “The way the bodies were posed, the obvious donor was Backer.”
