Obsession

money. Because of the E-factor. Know what that is?”

“No-”

“Enthusiasm. Every girl who walks in has the hair, the tits, the tongue. Some of them even fake you out at the audition. Then you put ’em in a scene and they generate as much enthusiasm as Hillary doing it with Bill. What I’m telling you is those two didn’t have to fake it. They were into each other. They were in love.”

“Do you know their real names?”

“Now you’re asking?”

“Better late than never.”

“Not when it comes to a money-shot, heh, heh…their real names? Brandee-with the two ee’s, that was my idea, to set her apart from the y’s and the i’s-Brandee was Brenda something. Rocksi was Renee something…don’t recall the last names. They were from Iowa. Or Idaho, something like that. One of those religious nut things.”

“A cult?”

“They told me they had to pray all day and dress up like Amishes or nuns. Which gave me the idea for the fourth picture we made-Nasty Habits.”

“Do you remember the name of the cult?”

“I don’t remember what I never knew. Why would I give a shit?”

“How old were they?”

“Legal. Don’t try to-”

“I’m just trying to get as many details as I can. What else did they tell you about their backgrounds?”

“That’s it,” said Baranelli. “That’s what happen when you exploit kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“Religious nuts, always pressuring. So what do the kids do? They rebel, right? Those two got off the bus from Iowa, a few weeks later they had fake tits and tongue-pierces and were ready to go.”

“Who paid for the surgery?”

“Listen to me carefully: They were of age and it’s no crime helping someone improve their self-esteem. That’s all I’m going to say. Good night, I’m turning off the phone, don’t bother me again.”

CHAPTER 37

Next day: division of labor.

Raul Biro continued to watch Mary Whitbread’s duplex. She shopped in the morning, lunched alone at Il Pastaio in Beverly Hills, seemed to know the waiters quite well. Arriving home at three, she stayed in. No sign of her son or Robert Fisk.

Petra’s fourth application for a subpoena of Mary’s phone records went through and she began the paperwork. Several tips had come in on the alerts for Blaise De Paine and Robert Fisk but each dead-ended. By seven p.m., she was ready for a sit-down with Captain Stu Bishop.

Milo drove to Tarzana and did a face-to-face with Benjamin Baranelli. The retired pornographer was a cranky eighty-year-old with poor hygiene who walked with two canes and refused to cooperate. Milo did a lot of listening and eventually Baranelli turned over a box of photo stills of Brandee Vixen and Rocksi Roll. By six, Milo was at his recalcitrant computer at the West L.A. station logging onto missing person databases and researching religious cults in Iowa and Idaho.

Dave Saunders and Kevin Bouleau’s search for Moses Grant’s kin bore fruit when a trace on Grant’s disability checks led to a Long Beach address. There the Central detectives found a great-aunt of Grant’s who’d been saving her nephew’s money. She collapsed when told of his demise.

I walked Blanche and fed the fish and bothered Robin at her shop a couple of times and thought about Patty Bigelow watching a man die. I phoned Tanya at noon, then at five. She assured me everything was fine and asked if I’d learned anything new.

I said no. The lie slid out of my mouth as easy as breath.

Petra called a nighttime sit-down at ten p.m. My attendance was optional. I exercised the option and drove to Hollywood.

Same conference room. Saunders and Bouleau wore gray suits, white shirts, and crisp ties undaunted by double shifts. Petra had on a black pantsuit and looked preoccupied. Milo wore a mud-colored mock turtle over navy poly slacks and desert boots. Fire in his green eyes but it was hard to figure out what that meant.

I was the last to arrive and this time, they’d started without me.

Petra said, “Welcome to show-and-tell. Dave and Kevin were just showing us what master sleuths they are.”

Bouleau said, “Just back from Grant’s great-aunt.” Pronouncing it “awnt.” “Maybelle Lemoyne. She didn’t take the news well, we actually called the paramedics but she’s okay.”

“Salt of the earth,” said Saunders. “Widow, raised seven kids of her own, churchgoing, the whole deal. Moses was her oldest sister’s son, both she and Moses’ father died a few years ago. The family has roots in Louisiana- Baton Rouge and Nawlins. Moses played football in high school, was thinking about Tulane, then the diabetes killed that.”

“Hence,” said Bouleau, “the disability checks.”

“The family house went down in Katrina,” said Saunders. “Moses’ brother and sister went to live in Texas but he came out here to make it as a deejay. He was living with his aunt part-time, got some party gigs with that broker, rented a dump single in the Valley, and drove back and forth in an old Toyota. Car’s still at the aunt’s, dead battery, hasn’t been started for months.”

Bouleau said, “Not since Moses quit the broker and started hanging with some people he told Aunt Maybelle were ‘big-time.’ He gave her check-cashing authority on the disability money, told her to keep it, he was going to make it big in the music biz. She cashed the checks, started a bank account in his name.”

“Salt of the earth,” Saunders repeated. “She says Moses was always a nice boy, went to church, obeyed his mama when she was alive. His appearance would scare people, then they’d talk to him, see he was soft.”

I recalled Grant exiting the Hummer, standing near Mary Whitbread as she waved to us. Hesitating, then lifting his own huge hand.

Bouleau said, “Maybelle’s never seen or heard of Blaise De Paine but she did I.D. Robert Fisk. He came by with Moses a couple of months ago, stayed in the car when Moses went in and got some clothes. Auntie thought that was unfriendly, especially after she waved to come in. Fisk just sat there, pretended not to notice. Auntie asked Moses why he was associating with impolite people. Moses said Robert-he used the name-was okay, just a little quiet. In terms of motive, Auntie says Moses was a law-abider who definitely would’ve freaked out after witnessing or getting involved in a murder.”

Saunders said, “Everyone thinks their kin is angelic. I’ve heard Crips’ mommies insisting no way Latif could’ve shot those five people, meanwhile we’ve got Latif at the scene with the Uzi in his hand. But this lady I believe. We got some phone numbers in New Orleans from her-Moses’ pastor, an ex-girlfriend, a teacher. Everyone says the guy looked like trouble but was a lamb chop.”

“Also,” said Bouleau, “no genius. De Paine spins him some yarn about making it big in music, he would’ve bought it.” Sitting back. “And that’s the whole deal, folks.”

Petra said, “Thanks, guys,” told them about the missing girls and Roger Bandini’s death.

Bouleau said, “So if anyone did this Bandini it was Patty. Right after De Paine and Roger did the girls.”

“That’s the working theory, assuming anyone did anyone. We don’t even have names for the girls.”

Milo said, “Ahem,” opened his attache case, and spread three photos in the center of the table.

The largest was an eight-by-ten still from Busty Babes Vol. XI, copyright Vivacious Videos. A pair of blondes reclining poolside, naked, splayed, flaunting inflated chests. Matching gigantic hairdos and tans suggested a twin fantasy. Brandee Vixen and Rocksi Roll grinned, fondled, and tongue-dueled.

The other two pictures were color faxes of what looked to be school photos.