confirmed by Juneau P.D. Five, Michael Penn, student at Cal State Northridge. Him we talk to.' He put Penn's file aside. 'Six, Lance Arthur Shattuck, short - order cook on the Cunard Line luxury cruiser Helena, verified by the Coast Guard to have been floating around in the middle of the Aegean Sea somewhere for the past six weeks. Seven, Maurice Bruno, sales representative for Presto Instant Print in Burbank - another interviewee.' Bruno's file went on top of Penn's.
'Eight, Roy Longstreth, pharmacist for Thrifty's Drug chain, Beverly Hills branch. Another one. And - last but not least - Gerard Paul Mendenhall, Corporal, United States Army, Tyler, Texas, presence verified.'
Beverly Hills was closer than either Northridge or Burbank, so we headed for Thrifty's. The Beverly Hills branch turned out to be a brick - and - glass cube on Canon Drive just north of Wilshire. It shared a block with trendy boutiques and a Haagen Dazs ice - cream parlor.
Milo showed his badge surreptitiously to the girl behind the liquor counter and got the manager, a light skinned middle - aged black, in seconds flat. The manager got nervous and wanted to know if Longstreth had done anything wrong. In classic cop style, Milo hedged.
'We just want to ask him a few questions.'
I had trouble keeping a straight face through that one, but the cliche seemed to satisfy the manager.
'He's not here now. He comes on at two - thirty, works the night shift.'
'We'll be back. Please don't tell him we were here.'
Milo gave him his card. When we left he was studying it like a map to buried treasure.
The ride to Northridge was a half - hour cruise on the Ventura Freeway West. When we got to the Cal
State campus, we headed straight for the registrar's office. Milo obtained a copy of Michael Penn's class schedule. Armed with that and his mug shot, we located him in twenty minutes, walking across a wide, grassy triangle accompanied by a girl.
'Mr. Penn?'
'Yes?' He was a good - looking fellow, medium height, with broad shoulders and long legs. His light brown hair was cut preppy short. He wore a light blue Izod shirt and blue jeans, penny loafers with no socks. I knew from his file that he was twenty - six but he looked five years younger. He had a pleasant, unlined face, a real All - American type. He didn't look like the kind of guy who'd try to run someone down with a Pontiac Firebird.
'Police.' Again, the badge. 'We'd like to talk to you for a few moments.'
'What about?' The hazel eyes narrowed and the mouth got tight.
'We'd prefer to talk to you in private.'
Penn looked at the girl. She was young, no more than nineteen, short, dark, with a Dorothy Hamill wedge cut.
'Give me a minute, Julie.' He chucked her under the chin.
'Mike…?'
'Just a minute.'
We left her standing there and walked to a concrete area furnished with stone tables and benches. Students moved by as if on a treadmill. There was little standing around. This was a commuter campus. Many of the students worked part - time jobs and squeezed classes in during their spare time. It was a good place to get your B.A. in computer science or business, a teaching credential or a master's in accounting. If you wanted fun or leisurely intellectual debates in the shade of an ivy - encrusted oak, forget it.
Michael Penn looked furious but he was working hard at concealing it.
'What do you want?'
'When's the last time you saw Dr. Morton Handler?'
Penn threw back his head and laughed. It was a disturbingly hollow sound.
'That asshole? I read about his death. No loss.'
'When did you see him last?'
Penn was smirking now.
'Years ago, officer.' He made the title sound like an insult. 'When I was in therapy.'
'I take it you didn't think much of him.'
'Handler? He was a shrink.' As if that explained it.
'You don't think much of psychiatrists.'
Penn held out his hands, palms up.
'Hey listen. That whole thing was a big mistake. I lost control of my car and some paranoid idiot claimed I tried to kill him with it. They busted me, railroaded me and then they offered me probation if I saw a shrink. Gave me all those garbage tests.'
Those garbage tests included the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory and a handful of project ives Though far from perfect, they were reliable enough when it came to someone like Penn. I had read his MMPI profile and psychopathy oozed from every index.
'You didn't like Dr. Handler?'
'Don't put words in my mouth.' Penn lowered his voice. He moved his eyes back and forth, restless, jumpy. Behind the handsome face was something dark and dangerous. Handler hadn't misdiagnosed this one.
'You did like him.' Milo played with him like a gaffed stingray.
'I didn't like him or dislike him. I had no use for him. I'm not crazy. And I didn't kill him.'
'You can account for your whereabouts the night he was murdered?'
'When was that?'
Milo gave him the date and time.
Penn cracked his knuckles and looked through us as if zeroing in on a distant target.
'Sure. That entire night I was with my girl.'
'Julie?'
Penn laughed.
'Her? No I've got a mature woman, officer. A woman of means.' His brow creased and his expression changed from smug to sour. 'You're going to have to talk to her, aren't you?'
Milo nodded his head.
'That'll screw things up for me.'
'Gee, Mike, that's really too bad.'
Penn threw him a hateful look, then changed it to bland innocence. He could play his face like a deck of cards, shuffling, palming from the bottom, coming up with a new number every second.
'Listen, officer, that whole incident is behind me. I'm holding down a job, going to school - I'm getting my degree in six months. I don't want to get messed up because my name's in Handler's files.'
He sounded like Wally on 'Leave It to Beaver' - all earnest innocence. Gosh, Beave… 'We'll have to verify your alibi, Mike.'
'Okay, okay, do it. Just don't tell her too much, okay? Keep it general.'
Keep it general so I can fabricate something. You could see the gears spinning behind the high, tan forehead.
'Sure, Mike.' Milo took his pencil out and tapped it on his lips.
'Sonya Magary. She owns the Puff 'n' Stuff Children's Boutique in the Plaza de Oro in Encino.'
'Have you got the number handy?' Milo asked pleasantly.
Penn clenched his jaws and gave it to him.
'We'll call her, Mike. Don't you call her first, okay? We treasure spontaneity.' Milo put away his pencil and closed his notepad. 'Have a nice day, now.'
Penn looked from me to Milo, then back to me, as if seeking an ally. Then he got up and walked away in long, muscular strides.
'Oh, Mike!' Milo called.
Penn turned around.
'What are you getting your degree in?'
'Marketing.'
As we left the campus we could see him walking with Julie. Her head was on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. He was smiling down on her and talking very fast.
'What do you think?' Milo asked as he settled behind the wheel.
