she had neither, the place has a static feel to it. Like she moved in years ago, didn’t add any newfangled stuff.”
“I didn’t see her purse.”
“On her nightstand.”
“You taped off the bedroom, didn’t want me in there?”
“I sure do, but that’ll wait until the techies are through. Can’t afford to jeopardize any aspect of this.”
“The front room was okay?”
“I knew you’d be careful.”
His logic seemed strained. Insufficient sleep and a bad surprise can do that.
I said, “Any indication she was heading to the bedroom before he jumped her?”
“No, it’s pristine. Why?”
I gave him the delivery tip scenario.
“Going for her purse,” he said. “Well, I don’t know how you’d prove that, Alex. Main thing is he confined himself to the front, didn’t move her into the bedroom for anything sexual.”
I said, “Those towels make me think of a stage. Or a picture frame.”
“Meaning?”
“Showing off his work.”
“Okay… what else to tell you… her wardrobe’s mostly sweats and sneakers, lots of books in her bedroom. Romances and the kinds of mysteries where people talk like Noel Coward twits and the cops are bumbling cretins.”
I wondered out loud about a killer with martial arts skills and when he didn’t respond, went on to describe the kill-scene still bouncing around my brain.
He said, “Sure, why not.”
Agreeable but distracted. Neither of us focusing on the big question.
Why would anyone do something like this to another human being?
Gloria exited the apartment, looking older and paler.
Milo said, “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “No, I’m lying, that was horrible.” Her forehead was moist. She dabbed it with a tissue. “My God, it’s grotesque.”
“Any off-the-cuff impressions?”
“Nothing you probably haven’t figured out yourself. Broken neck’s my bet for COD, the cutting looks postmortem. The incisions look clean so maybe some training in meat-cutting or a paramedical field but I wouldn’t put much stock in that, all kinds of folk can learn to slice. That pizza box mean something to you?”
“Don’t know,” said Milo. “No one admits delivering here.”
“A scam to get himself in?” she said. “Why would she open the door for a fake pizza guy?”
“Good question, Gloria.”
She shook her head. “I called for transport. Want me to ask for a priority autopsy?”
“Thanks.”
“You might actually get it because Dr. J seems to like you. Also with something this weird, she’s bound to be curious.”
A year ago, Milo had solved the murder of a coroner’s investigator. Since then Dr. Clarice Jernigan, a senior pathologist, had reciprocated with personalized attention when Milo asked for it.
He said, “Must be my charm and good looks.”
Gloria grinned and patted his shoulder again. “Anything else, guys? I’m on half-shift due to budgetary constraints, figure to finish my paperwork by one then go cleanse my head with a couple of martinis. Give or take.”
Milo said, “Make it a double for me.”
I said, “Was significant blood pooled inside the body cavity?”
Her look said I was being a spoilsport. “A lot of it was coagulated but yes, that’s where most of it was. You figured that because the scene was so clean?”
I nodded. “It was either that or he found out a way to take it with him.”
Milo said, “Buckets of blood, lovely.” To Gloria: “One more question: You recall anything remotely like this in your case files?”
“Nope,” she said. “But we just cover the county and they say it’s a globalized world, right? You could be looking at a traveler.”
Milo glared and trudged down the stairs.
Gloria said, “Whoa, someone’s in a mood.”
I said, “It’s likely to stay that way for a while.”
CHAPTER
3
Stanleigh Belleveaux’s house was as meticulous inside as out.
Cozy, plush-carpeted place set up with doily-protected too-small furniture. The dollhouse feel was heightened by a brass etagere filled with bisque figurines. Another case bore photos of two handsome young men in uniform and an American flag paperweight.
“My wife’s thing,” said Belleveaux, wringing his hands. “The dolls, they’re from Germany. She’s in Memphis, visiting my mother-in-law.”
He was black, fiftyish, thickset, dressed in a navy polo shirt, pressed khakis, and tan loafers. A fleece of white blanketed his scalp and the bottom half of his face. His nose had been broken a few times. His knuckles were scarred.
“Her mom,” said Milo.
“Pardon?”
“You called her your mother-in-law rather than her mom.”
“Because that’s how I think of her. Mother-in-law. Worst person I know. Like the Ernie K-Doe song, but you probably don’t remember that.”
Milo hummed a few bars.
Belleveaux smiled weakly. Turned grim and wrung his hands some more. “I still can’t believe what happened to Ms. Berlin. Still can’t believe I had to see it.” He closed his eyes, opened them. No booze on the table before him, just a can of Diet Coke.
Milo said, “Change your mind about the Dewar’s, huh?”
“It’s tempting,” said Belleveaux. “But a little early in the day, what if I get a call and have to drive?”
“Call from who?”
“A tenant. That’s my life, sir.”
“How many tenants do you have?”
“The Feldmans down below Ms. Berlin, the Soos and the Kims and the Parks and the other Parks in a triplex I own over near Korea Town. Then I’ve got a real problem rental down in Willowbrook, inherited from my dad, a nice family, the Rodriguezes, are there now but it’s been tough because of the gangster situation.” He rubbed his eyes. “This is my best neighborhood, I chose to live here, last place I thought I’d have… a problem. Still can’t believe what I saw, it’s like a movie, a bad one, a real horror movie. I want to switch to another channel but what I saw won’t budge out of here.” Placing a thumb-tip on his forehead.
“It’ll fade,” said Milo. “Takes time.”
“Guess you’d know about that,” said Belleveaux. “How much time?”
“Hard to say.”
“It’s probably easier for you, this being your job. My job, the worst thing I see is a bat in a garage, sewage leak, mice eating wires.” Frowning. “Gangsters in the Willowbrook place, but I keep my distance. This was way up
