“Mostly what I saw was takeout,” said Belleveaux. “From the boxes she’d throw out in the garbage. I know because she’d miss, I’d have to pick them up. The automated trucks they use nowadays, it’s not in the can, it stays there and I don’t want rats.”
“What kind of takeout?”
“What I saw was pizza boxes. So I guess she liked pizza.”
“From where?”
“Where? I don’t know-I think Domino’s, they’re the ones in the blue hats, right? Maybe other places, I don’t know. It’s not like I was checking out her eating habits through the drapes. The less I had to do with her, the better.”
“Did she get pizza delivered last night?”
“Wouldn’t know,” said Belleveaux. “I was at Staples, watching the Lakers take one from Utah. Went with my boys, they’re both master sergeants in the army, had leave the same week, we did a basketball thing and later we went to Philippe’s for some grub.” He touched his belt buckle. “Overdid it with the French dip, but how many times do you get to go out with your kids, do guy stuff, everyone’s being a grown-up? Got home late, slept late till seven, got her message on the machine, why didn’t I come yesterday after the first call, the toilet’s busted, it’s her right to have a functional toilet, all the fixtures are old and cheap and lousy, if I’m not going to replace them the least I can do is repair them in a timely manner, I’d best be there no later than eight a.m. or she’s filing a complaint.”
Milo said, “What time did she call you?”
“I didn’t check.”
“Message still on the machine?”
“Nah, I erased it.”
“Can you narrow it down?”
“Hmm,” said Belleveaux. “Well, I left for the game around four, stopped by at the Soos’ apartment to look at an electrical outlet, so it had to be after that.”
“What time did you get home?”
“Close to midnight. Drove Anthony and Dmitri to where they parked their rental car in the Union Station lot, Anthony drove Dmitri to the airport then he drove himself to Fort Irwin.”
“When you got home were Vita Berlin’s lights on?”
“Let’s see… can’t rightly say. She paid her own electric, what she did with her lights was her own business.”
“Where can we find the Feldmans?”
“They’re good kids, still don’t know about this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Probably at work, they’re doctors-resident doctors. He’s at Cedars, she’s somewhere else, maybe the U., I’m not sure.”
“First names?”
“David and Sondra with an o. Trust me, they had nothing to do with this.”
“Doctors,” said Milo. Thinking: surgical cut.
Stanleigh Belleveaux said, “Exactly. Respectable.”
CHAPTER
4
By the time we left Belleveaux’s house a crime lab van was parked outside the tape. Two techs, both young men, were inside the apartment. Their kits rested out on the landing. The body remained in place.
Milo said, “Lance, Kenny.”
“Lieutenant,” said the taller man. L. Sakura on his tag. “This sure is disgusting.”
K. Flores didn’t react.
Milo said, “Keeps life interesting. Don’t let me stop you.”
Flores said, “How far do you want us to take this?”
“As far as you need to.”
“What I mean, Lieutenant, is there’s no sign of disruption in the room, it all seems centered on the body. Obviously we’ll print and look for fibers but do you see any reason to luminol?”
Sakura said, “Looks way too clean even for someone doing a mop-up. No bleach smell, either. We’ll check the drains, call in a forensic plumber if the fixtures give us a problem, but we don’t see much chance for significant blood evidence.”
“Other than her blood,” said Flores. “Which is probably the small spots on the towel. Even there, whoever did this was super-careful. Probably dabbed as he went and took whatever he used with him.”
“This is a freak,” said Sakura.
Milo said, “C.I. said most of the blood is pooled inside the body. Let’s see what you pull up print- and fiber- wise then we’ll talk about spraying.”
Flores said, “We pulled up one thing so far, probably no big deal.”
“What?”
“A note in the bedroom. We left it there.”
After donning new gloves and foot coverings, we followed Flores in while Sakura began fiddling with his kit.
Vita Berlin’s sleeping chamber was close, dim, spare, with walls also painted apartment-beige and linens of the same characterless hue. Double bed, no headboard or footboard, no personal touches. The books Milo had described were piled high on a white fiberboard nightstand. The surface of a three-door dresser was bare. Two more beehive lamps.
She hadn’t indulged others or herself.
Flores pointed to the foot of the bed where a rumpled scrap of white paper rested. “It was underneath, I took a photo of it there, then slid it out.”
We kneeled, read. In neat script someone had written:
Dr. B. Shacker
Below that, a 310 number. A diagonal line slashed the name. At the bottom of the page, a single word in larger, darker caps: QUACK!!!
Flores said, “There’s dust and maybe crumbs down there but nothing weird.”
Milo copied down the information. “Thanks, Kenny, bag it.”
Back on the landing, he said, “Might as well talk to this doctor.” Half smiling. “Maybe he’s a surgeon.”
He 411’d, got a listing.
“Bernhard Shacker, Ph. D. North Bedford Drive, Beverly Hills. A colleague, Alex: That makes it a bit more interesting, no? Vita obviously had what you guys call issues, maybe she decided to get some help, tried out therapy, changed her mind. What’s that phrase you use about screwed-up folk resisting the most?”
“Baloney afraid of the slicer.”
“But she got sliced anyway. Maybe Shacker can educate us on her personality. Know him?”
I shook my head.
“Bedford Drive,” he said. “That’s high-ticket Couch Row, seems a little froufrou for someone who lived like Vita did.” Phoning Shacker’s number, he listened, frowned, clicked off.
“Recorded spiel,” he said. “I like your way better.”
I still use an answering service because talking to human beings is at the core of my job. “You didn’t leave a message.”
“Didn’t want to scare him off, in case he gets all pissy about confidentiality. Also I figured maybe talking to him is something you could do. One mind-prober to another.”
“While we’re at it, we can figure out transmigration of the soul.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you, amigo. So you’ll do it?”
