Gone

I said, “Too anxiety-provoking. One thing Nora didn’t keep to herself was her attraction to Meserve. Past and present. Looks like Brad overestimated his control. Nora and Dylan still being together means when Dylan blamed the hoax on Michaela, Nora would’ve believed it. The question is, does that have anything to do with Michaela ending up in a pile of weeds.”

“No matter what that little genius just said, I think the jealousy thing’s worth looking into.”

“It does, but other scenarios come to mind. If Nora resented Michaela, Dylan might have taken it upon himself to keep Nora happy. Or Michaela became a threat to Dylan by threatening to go to Brad and telling him bad stuff about Dylan. Or to Nora herself- spinning some erotic details of her nights up in Latigo with Dylan.”

“Spin? The two of them were naked up there for two nights.”

“Michaela told me they never had intercourse.”

“You’re a trusting soul. Either way, why would Michaela threaten Dylan like that?”

“Maybe more trial strategy,” I said. “Pressuring him to shoulder all the blame for the hoax. In the end, the case settled. But if he stayed angry, he might’ve acted out.”

“And the motive for doing Tori is his just being a nasty guy?”

“That or he and Tori also had something going and it went bad.”

“He does her, finds it easier the second time around…he is gone as hell. And Nora knows where- or she’s hiding him. That would explain her getting squirrely when we brought him up. Okay, enough theory for one night.”

We walked to the car.

He said, “There’s still Peaty.”

“Stare at the girls and make them cry.”

“Got him in trouble before. Let’s see if Sean’s surveillance pulled up anything.”

***

He drove with one hand, phoned Binchy with the other. The young detective was still parked a few feet up from Reynold Peaty’s apartment. The janitor had come home at seven and had stayed inside.

“Three hours watching a building,” said Milo, hanging up. “I’d be out of my mind. Sean’s as happy as if he’s playing his bass.”

Sean Binchy was a former ska punk who’d embraced religion and law enforcement simultaneously.

“How is he at working his own cases?” I said.

“He’s great at the routine but it’s hard to get him to think independently.”

“Send him to Nora. Get him to open up his right side.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, my brain hurts. Gonna check for messages and call it a night.”

***

Two messages, no respite.

The expected call from Lou Giacomo and a request to phone Mister Albert Beamish.

“Maybe he wants compensation for his persimmons.” He punched the number, waited, clicked off. “No answer.” He sighed. “Okay, now for the fun.”

***

Lou Giacomo was staying at the Holiday Inn Milo had suggested. Milo was hoping for a brief condolence chat but Giacomo wanted to meet and Milo lacked the will to refuse him.

Giacomo was standing outside the hotel wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. When we pulled up, he said, “Can we go somewhere, maybe get a drink? This place is driving me up the wall.”

“The hotel?” said Milo.

“Your frickin’ city.”

CHAPTER 19

Our second drinking hole tonight, this one a dank, would-be Irish tavern on Pico.

Lou Giacomo took in the decor. “This could be Queens.”

The three of us settled in a stiff-backed booth with Naugahyde cushions. Milo asked for a Diet Coke and I had coffee.

Giacomo said, “Bud, not Light, regular.”

This barmaid was young, with a lip-pierce. “I’d never take you for a Light guy.”

Giacomo ignored her. She shot him a sharp look and left.

He said, “You guys reformed drunks or something?”

Milo spread his shoulders and took up more space in the booth.

Giacomo massaged a thick wrist. “No offense intended, I’m not at my best, okay?”

“Sorry about Tori,” said Milo. “I mean that.”

“Like I told you the first time, I already knew. Now the wife claims she knew, too.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wants me home a-sap. Probably gonna greet me with another nervous breakdown. I ain’t going back until I’m sure Tori gets a proper burial.”

His eyes watered. “What a stupid thing to say, it’s a fuckin’ skull, how the fuck can it get a proper burial? I went over there, to your coroner. They didn’t wanna show it to me, gave me all this bullshit, it ain’t like TV, you don’t have to see it. I made ’em show it to me.”

Spade-shaped hands shaped a shaky oval in the air. “Fuckin’ thing. Only reason they even had it was some lady was working with it, some fuckin’ science project, she’s putting holes in it, digging out the…”

His loss of composure was sudden as a stroke. Pale and sweating, he pressed himself against the seat, gasping as if he’d been sucker punched.

Milo said, “Mr. Giacomo?”

Giacomo clenched his eyes shut and waved him off.

When the young barmaid brought the drinks, he was still sobbing and she was mature enough to look the other way.

***

“Sorry about that faggy shit.”

“Don’t be,” said Milo.

“Well I fuckin’ am.” Giacomo rubbed his eyes, ran his jacket sleeve over the lids. The tweed left red trails across his cheeks. “What they told me is I gotta fill out forms so I can take it with me. After that, I’m outta here.”

He gazed at his beer as if it were a urine sample. Drank anyway.

“I got this to tell you: The few times Tori called, her mother bugged her- getting any parts, sleeping enough, dating anyone. I try to tell Arlene. Don’t bug her. She says ‘I do it ’cause I care.’ Meaning I don’t.”

Giacomo swallowed more beer. “Now all of a sudden, she’s telling me Tori was maybe dating someone. How does she know? Tori didn’t say so but she didn’t deny it.”