Two women entered the Quigg condo. First through the door was a tall buxom redhead with short, feathered hair, wearing a green sweater over a black unitard and red Chinese slippers. She announced herself as Letty, identified her shorter, sweats-attired companion as “Sally Ritter, she’s also a friend.”
Belle Quigg didn’t react. Her eyes were open but they’d been blank for the last quarter hour. One hand continued to grip Milo’s wrist. The other rested on his chest.
Letty Pomeroy said, “Oh, honey!” and surged forward.
Milo manage to extricate himself and stretch.
Sally Ritter said, “So what exactly happened?”
I said, “I’ve explained to Ms. Pomeroy.”
“From what she told me on the way over, that’s not much.”
Milo said, “We don’t know much, that’s why we need to investigate. Thanks, ladies.” He headed for the door.
Belle Quigg said, “Wait.”
Everyone looked at her.
“You’ve remembered something, ma’am?”
She shook her head. “But everyone should stay.”
Milo started up the engine before closing the driver’s door, sped onto Sunset. Crossing the next intersection on an iffy amber evoked honks and curses. He said, “Sue me,” and steered with one finger as he celled Moe Reed.
“Any shoe prints out front?”
Reed’s voice came on speaker, grainy but audible. “A few closer to the gate like you suggested. Techies arrived just after you left and I had them cast. Unfortunately, nothing was clear enough, all they got is an approximation of shoe size.”
“Which is?”
“We’re talking at least five different sets, ranging from small to big.”
“What about tire tracks?”
“I really have to be the one to tell you, huh?”
“That bad?”
“No tracks whatsoever, Loo. Whoever sliced that poor guy up either walked in and out or he parked somewhere in the surrounding neighborhood. Street parking is illegal after eight p.m., any vehicle would’ve stood out and the locals would’ve probably complained. I checked with Traffic. No one called in anything and no tickets were issued last night.”
“Have the uniforms canvass the entire grounds again.”
“Uniforms just finished canvassing a second time. Nothing.”
“Do it a third time. You supervise. Have Sean participate, sometimes he notices things.”
“Sean’s doing a door-to-door with the nearest neighbors.”
“You, then. Make sure it’s done right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not only talking juicy obvious evidence, Moses. I’m talking random trash, a bottle, a candy wrapper. Anything but the damn trees and shrubs and rocks that God put there.”
“Only different thing that came up the second time was a dead snake near an empty garbage can. California king, a baby, pretty little thing, with blue and yellow and red stripes. And I’m not sure you can call that out of place.”
“Didn’t know you watched Animal Planet, kid. Bring me a cobra and I’ll be impressed.”
Reed laughed. “Really was a nice snake, poor thing.”
Milo ended the call; a second later it beeped Brahms. “Sturgis… oh, hi. Thanks for calling back… sure… actually I understand the whole schedule thing, a good friend of mine’s a physician… Richard Silverman, he’s also at Cedars… you do? Yes, he is. So when can I speak to both of you? Sooner’s better than later… I see. Well, that’s fine, just give me your room number. Great, see you in twenty.”
He accelerated, zoomed around curves. The unmarked’s loose suspension griped. He kept racing, zipping past the tree-shrouded northern border of the U.’s massive campus.
I said, “Vita’s downstairs neighbors?”
“The Drs. Feldman. That was the male half. They both just got off call, found out about Vita, and are too freaked out to return home. So they’re staying at the Sofitel across from Cedars.”
I said, “Freaked out because they know something or just general anxiety?”
“We’ll find out soon enough, I’m headed straight there. Any thoughts about poor Mr. Quigg?”
I repeated what Letty Pomeroy had told me.
“Mr. Nice Guy,” he growled, as if that was the gravest personality flaw of all. “Maybe too trusting?”
“Sounds like Louie sure was. No protective instinct at all.”
“And now he’s probably lying in a ditch with his own guts churned up. What the hell’s going on, Alex? One victim’s the most hated woman in Southern California, the other’s ready to be sainted. There’s a rational pattern for you.”
I said, “Only thing I can see in common is they were about the same age.”
“A psycho who targets aging boomers? Now all I have to do is keep a close watch on a few million potential carvees. Hell, Alex, maybe I sic AARP on the damn case. Here I’d convinced myself this had something to do with Vita specifically. Now I’m picking up that random stench. Or something so crazy it might as well be random. Please tell me I’m wrong.”
“Too much planning went into the killings for a random strike. Same goes for the cleanup and sitting by the bodies until they were safely dead before mutilating.”
“So something nuts. Wonderful.”
“Calculated evil, not insanity. My bet is Vita and Quigg were both stalked. Vita was a stay-at-home who went out to shop and eat. Quigg took the same walk with his dog every night.”
“Creatures of habit,” he said. “Fine, but what made them targets? Vita pissing off some psycho I can see. But mild-mannered Marlon? So maybe Quigg’s not as perfect as his wife made out. You have time to revisit her? Maybe she’ll give something up.”
“I have time, but she sure seemed to like your big manly chest.”
“Hate to deprive her but you’ll be an excellent second choice.”
A mile later, he said: “The dog bothers me. So he’s no pit bull. But standing around while Quigg got butchered?”
I said, “All the killer needed to do was incapacitate Quigg then tie the dog’s leash to a branch or pin it under a rock. If Louie did react to seeing his master die horribly, that could’ve heightened the pleasure.”
“A sadist.”
“With a captive audience.”
“Think the dog’s dead or a live trophy?”
“Could go either way.”
“Either,” he said. “God, I hate that word.”
CHAPTER
16
Dr. David Feldman sat on the edge of the hotel bed. Dr. Sondra Feldman sat so close the two of them looked glued together. The room was compact, tidy, air-conditioned frigid.
He was thirty or so, tall, thin, and long-limbed as an egret, with wavy black hair and the anxious nobility of a Velasquez prince. His wife, pretty and grave with nervous hands and straight black hair, could’ve been mistaken for his sib.
They’d insisted that Milo slip I.D. under the door before unlatching. The chain had remained in place while
