solidity but once you looked closely, a house of cards.” He winked. “I sued their outside accountant. Brought the lot of them to their knees.”
“So the Camerons never lost money.”
“Preventive medicine, boys. The rascals tried to claim that the original terms of the trust gave them lifetime control. I put the lie to that notion.”
The left side of Leventhal’s mouth rose. “And now the Camerons remain free to avoid honest labor.”
“Congratulations,” said Milo.
“Virtue is its own reward, young man. No, actually a fat contingency commission is far better recompense. So. Who murdered poor Mr. Parnell? Whom I’ve never met.”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Well, you won’t find out here. Was the wife involved?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because she was a battle-ax. I say that because when we served Parnell, she was abusive to the server. He described her with the B word but I’ll stick with ‘battle-ax’ because memories of my mother washing my mouth out with soap still linger.”
“The process server told you this?”
“He’s my great-grandson, of course he told me.”
“We’d like to speak with him.”
“Suit yourselves,” said Leventhal, rattling off an international number. “That’s England, Brian’s international cell phone. Brian Cohn, no e. Cambridge University, he’s on fellowship. International relations, whatever that is. Jesus College. Brian Cohn at Jesus College. Heh. Tell him he owes me ten hours of work. You’re thinking the wife was involved?”
“She was definitely involved,” said Milo. “She’s also dead.”
“I see… did her death occur within the same approximate time frame as Mr. Parnell’s?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Both bodies at the scene?”
“Sir-”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Leventhal. “Wouldn’t the obvious answer be murder-suicide?”
“Why would you think that, sir?”
“Because when a couple expires in a near-simultaneous manner, we always zeroed in on the murder-suicide angle and we were almost invariably correct. I’m referring to back in the day. When I did criminal prosecution at the Brooklyn D.A. Two bodies, weapon on the scene, first thing we’d look for was one party going berserk and victimizing the alleged loved one. You could put money on it. Sometimes we did. Office pools and such.”
“That didn’t happen here, Mr. Leventhal.”
“You’re certain.”
“We are.”
“Okay, hmm… did the wife have a boyfriend? Did he have a girl friend? Was money taken? Jewelry, other valuables? Do acquaintances imply loss of mental control for one of the parties-some sort of personality disintegration? How were the two of them dispatched? Gun? Knife? Blunt object? None of the above?”
Milo said, “Sorry, we can’t-”
“Of course you can’t,” said Leventhal. “Because if you could you might stumble upon someone with half a brain, sixty-two years of legal experience, one-third of that prosecutorial. But why make your life easier?”
He sprang up and waved us to the door. “Despite your reticence, I’ll reiterate some sage advice, boys: Check out the wife. Even without a murder-suicide angle, we always hurt the one we love. And someone as short- tempered as her was bound to evoke hostility. Take a close look to see if she’d engaged in any sort of emotional dustup recently. If you find out she had a boyfriend to boot, we’re talking emotional TNT.”
“Thanks for the tip, sir.”
“No problem,” said Leventhal. “I won’t even bill you.”
Milo called Cambridge from the car. Brian Cohn picked up, sounding hung-over. “Yuh?”
Milo explained.
Cohn said, “This is England, man, you know what time it is?” He coughed, cleared his throat. Phlegm-laden laughter. “Oh, man, there he goes again.”
“Who?”
“Wild Bill. Aka Greatest-Grandpa. He gets up at four a.m. so we all have to.”
“He’s quite a guy. Says you owe him-”
“Ten hours of work, yada yada yada. By his calculation. Which was probably done on an abacus.” Cohn laughed again. A female voice sounded in the background. “One sec, babe.” Yawn. “Okay, I’m quasi-awake, what do you need to know about that crazy shrew?”
“Tell us about your encounter.”
“Why?”
“She’s dead.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. Even for someone like that.”
Milo said, “Like what?”
“Hostile. No one likes to be served but the worst you usually get is a sneer, some cursing. She came to the door wearing her white coat; I figured, good, a doctor, someone rational. Because plenty of times you’re dealing with Neanderthals. This was one of those deals where I didn’t need to hand it to Parnell personally, just ascertain his primary residence and verify that someone had accepted it. I used the flower ruse, bought some cheap ones at the supermarket. She came to the door, said, ‘Is this from Barry? Hold on, I’ll get you a tip.’ I said not necessary, handed her the papers, informed her she’d just accepted service, and split. She came after me, running into the street, screaming I’m a lowlife. Then she grabbed me by the shoulder, tried to force the paper back on me. First time anyone ever got physical other than one drunk guy and that time I was prepared, took a friend who played halfback at the U. From a woman, let alone a doctor, I wasn’t ready for it, I’m trying to peel her off me, her nails are digging in my arm, the papers are flying all over the place. Finally, I free myself and get the hell out of there. So what, she pissed someone off and they killed her?”
“Don’t know, yet.”
“Well,” said Brian Cohn. “I’d sure look into that possibility.”
As we drove away from Leventhal’s building, Milo said, “Another tough personality, shades of Vita. Without Quigg stuck between the two of them I’d say we had ourselves a nice little pattern: women with short fuses.”
“Be interesting to see if Glenda’s co-workers saw her that way.”
“Interesting would be okay,” he said. “Intriguing would be better.”
CHAPTER
21
North Hollywood Day Hospital was an off-white sugar cube on a marginal block of Lankershim Boulevard. Windows were barred. A bearish uniformed guard lurked near the front door, smoking.
Bordering the building were storefront offices catering to personal injury lawyers, physicians and chiropractors specializing in “Industrial Rehabilitation,” and medical equipment suppliers. The largest concern, double-wide and neon-lit, advertised walk-in occupational and physical therapy.
Welcome to Slip-and-Fall Heaven.
Milo said, “Lordy, my sacroiliac is a-throbbin’,” as he pulled into a loading zone and left a long-expired crime scene parking card on the dash.
The guard studied our approach above a smog-burst of tobacco. When we got close, he stepped in front of the door and folded his arms across his chest.
Milo said, “You’re kidding.”
“Huh?”
