Her shoulders heaved.
I went over and stood next to her. She edged away, placed the pillow atop a dresser. 'They said it was drugs- my friends at church said it had to be that. But I never saw him take any drugs.'
'He changed,' I said.
She bent, cupped a hand over her eyes. I risked taking her by the elbow. Her skin was soft, gelatinous. I guided her onto a chair, handed her a tissue that she grabbed, crushed, finally used to wipe her face.
'Donny changed totally,' she said. 'Stopped taking care of himself. Grew long hair, a beard, got filthy. Like one of those homeless people. Only he's got a home, if he'd ever come back there.'
'How long has it been since you've seen him?'
'Two years.'
She sprang up, marched into the bathroom, closed the door. Water ran for a while, then she emerged announcing she was tired. 'When I'm ready to eat, where can I get some dinner around here?'
'Do you like Chinese, ma'am?' said Milo.
'Sure, anything.'
He phoned up a takeout place and asked them to deliver in two hours. When we left, she was consulting the cable TV channel guide.
Out in the car, Milo sat back in his seat and frowned. 'One happy family. And Junior's a homeless guy with mental problems, maybe a druggie. Someone with a reason to kill Mate-who might still want to be Mate. Maybe I was wrong to dismiss the street bum so quickly.'
'If Donny was intelligent to begin with, even with some sort of mental breakdown, he might've held on to enough smarts to be able to plan. Mate abandoned and rejected him in the worst kind of way. Exactly the kind of primal anger that leads to violence. Mate's getting famous wouldn't have helped things. Maybe Donny smoldered, seethed, decided to come back, take over the family business… Oedipus wrecks. Maybe Mate finally agreed to see him, arranged a talk up in Mulholland because he didn't want Donny in his apartment. He could've even had concerns about his safety, that's why he backed the van in. But he went through with it-guilt, or he enjoyed the danger.'
He made no comment, got on the phone, hooked up with NCIC, asked for a felony search on Eldon S. Mate. Nothing. But plugging in Eldon Salcido pulled up three convictions. All in California, and the vital statistics fit.
Driving under the influence six years ago, larceny two years after that, assault eighteen months ago. Jail time in Marin County. Release six months ago.
'A year and a half in jail and he doesn't call his mother,' I said. 'Socially isolated. And he progressed from DUI to assault. Getting more aggressive.'
'Family values,' he said. 'Be interesting to see what the grieving widow does when she finds out Mate left over three hundred grand in the bank. Wonder if Alice or anyone else will press a claim-that's really why old Willy came down here. It always boils down to anger and money-okay, I'll look into Donny, but in the meantime let's try to ferret out that goddamn lawyer.'
CHAPTER 11
ROY HAISELDEN WAS living better than his prime client, but he was no sultan.
His house was a peach-colored, one-story plain-wrap on Camden Avenue, west of Westwood, south of Wilshire. Mown lawn but no shrubs, empty driveway. Alarm-company sign staked in the grass. Milo rang the bell, knocked on the door-dead-bolted with a sturdy Quikset-pushed open the mail slot and sighted down.
'Just some throwaway flyers,' he said. 'No mail. So he left recently.'
He rang and knocked again. Tried to peer through the white drapes that sheathed the front windows, muttered that it just looked like a goddamn house. A check in back of the house revealed more grass and a small oval swimming pool set in a brick deck, the water starting to green, the gunite spotted with algae.
'If he had a pool man,' I said, 'looks like he canceled a while back. Maybe he's been gone for a while and put on a mail stop.'
'Korn and Demetri checked for that. And the gardener's been here.'
The garage was a double, locked. Milo managed to pry the door upward several inches and he peered in. 'No car, old bicycle, hoses, the usual junk.'
He inspected every side of the house. Most of the windows were barred and bolted and the back door was secured by an identical dead bolt. The kitchen window was undraped but narrow and high, and he boosted me up for a look.
'Dishes in the sink, but they look clean… no food… another alarm sticker high on the window, but I don't see any alarm leads.'
'Probably a fake-out job,' he said. 'One of those clever boys who thinks appearance is everything.'
'Overconfident,' I said. 'Just like Mate.'
He let me down. 'Okay, let's see what the neighbors have to offer.'
Both of the adjacent houses were empty. Milo scrawled requests to call on the back of his business cards and left them in the mailboxes. In the second house to the south, a young black man answered. Clean-shaven, full- faced, barefoot, wearing a gray athletic shirt with the U. logo and red cotton shorts. Under his arm was a book. A yellow underlining pen was clenched between his teeth. He removed it, shifted the book so I could see the title: Organizational Structure: An Advanced Text. The room behind him was set up with two bright-blue beanbag chairs and not much else. Soda cans, potato chip bags, an extra-large pizza box mottled with grease on the thin khaki rug.
He greeted Milo pleasantly, but the sight of the badge caused his face to tighten.
'Yes?' The unspoken overtone: What now? I wondered how many times he'd been stopped for driving in Westwood.
Milo stepped back, bent his knee in a relaxed pose. 'I was wondering, sir, if you've seen your neighbor Mr. Haiselden recently.'
'Who-oh him. No, not for a few days.
Could you say how many days, Mr…
Chambers,' said the young man. 'Curtis Chambers. I think I saw him drive away five, six days ago. Whether he's been back since, I can't say, 'cause I've been holed up here studying. Why?'
'Do you recall what time of day it was when you saw him, Mr. Chambers?'
'Morning. Before nine. I was going to meet with a prof and he needed to do it by nine. I think it was Tuesday. What's going on?'
Milo smiled and held up a delaying finger. 'What kind of car was Mr. Haiselden driving?'
'Some kind of van. Silver, with a blue stripe down the side.'
'That his only vehicle?
Only one I've seen him in.
Anyone else live there with him?
Not that I know,' said Curtis Chambers. 'Could you please tell me what's up?'
'We're trying to contact Mr. Haiselden about a case-'
'Dr. Death's murder?'
'You've seen him with Dr. Mate?'
'No, but everyone knew he was Dr. Death's lawyer. People in the neighborhood talk about it. He's a jerk, Haiselden. Last year, we had a party-there are four of us living here, grad students. Nothing wild, we're all grinds, all we had was that single party the entire year to celebrate semester-end. We tried to be considerate, even sent notes around to the neighbors. One woman -Mrs.Kaplan next door- sent us a bottle of wine. No one had a problem with it except Haiselden. He called the cops on us. Twenty after eleven and believe me, it was nothing wild, just some music, maybe it got a little loud. What an uptight hypocrite. After all the disruption he brought to the neighborhood.'
'What kind of disruption?'
'Reporters, media, all that garbage.'
