voice. Like he was trying to whisper-to like stay in the background.”
“Not sociable.”
“Exactly. Just the opposite. Like I want to be in my own world. So I respected that, my job you have to be a shrink.”
“Anything else about him strike you as odd?”
“His clothes. It’s pretty warm inside Bijou, we don’t have the best A.C. and he’s wearing this fleece-lined shearling. I’ve got one of those in my closet from when I lived in Pittsburgh, haven’t used it once since I moved to L.A.”
“Was he sweating?”
“Hmm… I don’t think so-oh, yeah, one more thing, he had a scar. In the front of his neck, like at the bottom. Nothing gross, like a white line running across his neck.”
“Across the Adam’s apple?”
“Lower, in the soft part. Like someone cut him a long time ago but it healed up pretty good.”
“Any other marks?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Tattoos?”
“If he has ’em, they were covered up. He was pretty much covered up.”
“What else was he wearing besides the shearling?”
“You think he’s the one?” she said. “That kind of freaks me out. What if he comes in again?”
“No reason to worry, but if that happens just call this number.” I recited Milo’s extension.
Hedy said, “Got it. What else was he wearing? I guess he had a shirt on underneath but I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry, the shearling’s all I noticed. Because it was out of place. Mostly I was concentrating on getting the orders right. You want to know exactly what his order was, I can tell you: steak and scramble with onions and mushrooms, steak medium, no instructions on the scramble. He left like a ten percent tip, all coins, but I didn’t mind. Because it wasn’t like he was trying to be a jerk, you know.”
“More like he didn’t know better,” I said.
“Exactly,” she said. “A little out of it. You feel sorry for those people.”
I drove a mile north to a newspaper stand I knew on Robertson near Pico. The primary merchandise was a mix of fan mags and porn. Small selection of puzzle books in a corner.
Nothing with a question mark on the cover. I flashed my dubious consultant’s I.D. to the Sikh proprietor and described Shearling.
He said, “No, sir, I don’t know him.”
I gave him Milo’s card, anyway, asked him to call if Shearling showed up. “He might buy a puzzle book.”
He smiled as if it was a perfectly reasonable request. “Certainly, sir, anything to help.”
Good attitude, so I spent ten bucks on a glossy design magazine. Robin likes looking at dream houses.
I tried Milo again from the car, then Petra, and when she was also out I switched to Raul Biro. His voicemail answered but I left no message.
Was Shearling’s presence at Bijou evidence of long-term stalking, or had he happened upon the cafe, seen Vita torment Cerise Banforth, and decided she merited execution? If the latter, maybe he lived nearby. Reversing direction on Robertson, I gave Vita’s neighborhood another try, starting with her street.
Stanleigh Belleveaux was outside, watering his shrubs. A For Lease sign was staked on the lawn of the duplex. Two vacant units. I drove slowly enough for Belleveaux to notice but he didn’t look up and I continued south.
No sign of a man in a shearling and other than a young woman wheeling a baby in a stroller, all the activity was automotive: people pulling in and out of driveways. A door opened and a beanpole kid came out with a basketball, began shooting hoops.
Everything back to normal. People need to believe in normal.
It was close to eleven p.m. when Milo called.
“Still on the case and so is Petra.”
“Congratulations.”
“Or condolences. His Magnanimousness made it painfully clear I didn’t deserve it but starting from scratch ran the risk of ‘butt-fucking this one into oblivion.’ ”
I said, “Next Christmas, he’ll be Santa at the office party.”
He laughed. “Petra and I know the real reason he’s not shifting gears to Robbery-Homicide. Any hotshots who aren’t already on long-termers are being flown to Arizona courtesy the taxpayers for a confab on Mexican drug cartels, gonna be PowerPoint galore. What’s up?”
I told him about John Banforth, Shearling’s presence at Bijou hours after Vita’s murder, Hedy’s description. “A nutcase with a taste for steak.”
“Plus the way he ate-fixed on his food-smacks of an institutional background. Thirty-five to forty means that back when Quigg was working at V-State, he’d have been eleven to sixteen.”
“A kid,” he said. “But scary enough to be transferred to Specialized Care.”
“I’m also convinced of the thyroid angle. The waitress noticed a neck scar. So maybe a thyroid scan’s what brought him to North Hollywood Day. The most common reason for a thyroidectomy is cancer. There are also immune disorders that can justify it, like Hashimoto’s disease. Whatever the reason, he’d need to take a daily pill to regulate his metabolism. Sometimes dosages can be tricky and if he’s a street guy, he may not be getting optimal care. That could explain feeling cold and putting on a few pounds.”
“Cancer?” he said. “Now I’m dealing with a psycho with serious sympathy issues?”
“Thyroid cancer’s one of the most curable malignancies. He’d have the potential to live to a ripe old age.”
“Except his chemistry’s off.”
“Which would explain the scan. He needs his prescription renewed, would have to see a doctor at some point. A physician who picked up on his symptoms and found out he hadn’t been followed up regularly might want comprehensive data before adjusting his dosage. North Hollywood Day is an insurance mill but no doubt they see lots of Medi-Cal patients, so a referral there makes sense.”
“He comes in to get nuked, gets on Glenda Usfel’s bad side, she boots his ass out.”
“Wrong guy to boot.”
“ ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, yes my client’s a bit touchy but not only is he certifiably loony, his glands are out of whack and he endured the big C.’ ”
“Cart before the horse, Big Guy.”
“Yeah, yeah, find him first. Before someone else gets on his bad side. So where do I go with this thyroid stuff, Alex? Call every endocrinologist in town?”
“They’re unlikely to talk to you but the general public won’t have those compunctions. Have John Banforth sit down with Shimoff and work up a better likeness. If Banforth can’t give enough details, I’ll try to fill them in because I got a decent look at the guy. That and the scar, the coat, and the puzzle book could tweak someone’s memory. Even if he’s underground, he’s got to surface occasionally. Assuming he’s got an institutional background, I’d also check health clinics, welfare offices, halfway houses, and aftercare facilities near each of the murder sites. He paid for his meal with coins, I doubt that’s interest from a brokerage account.”
“On the dole,” he said. “Or he panhandles. Like Eccles. Hell, maybe that’s why he did Eccles: The two of them got into a competitive thing and Shearling decided to engage in unfair business practices… okay, I’ll get Banforth and Shimoff together. This is helpful, amigo.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Check out newsstands, see if anyone sells a puzzle book with a question mark on the cover. The one near Vita’s scene doesn’t but there are plenty of others.”
“There’s a big one off Hollywood Boulevard, not that far from where Lem Eccles got it. Speaking of which, Jernigan called on Eccles’s autopsy. The bruise on Eccles’s lip was from a hard blow or a kick, most likely a kick from a blunt-toed shoe. Not severe enough to be lethal but it could’ve stunned him. Other than that, the details are like the others. Eccles’s son’s trip to L.A. is tomorrow. Want to be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
