Deception

Shifting to the left, he skirted the prints, checked the ground for other signs of disruption, inched his way toward the roll of cloth. Stooping, he held the flashlight in his teeth, peeled back a corner of sheeting.

“Bald head,” he announced. “Cracked like an egg, lots of blood.”

He got up, walked backward. “Can’t move anything until the C.I. gets here but anyone taking bets this ain’t Sal?”

I said, “No good odds on that one.”

¦

Three hours later, Fidella’s body had been taken to the crypt. Blood spatter freckled the kitchen of the house, including some fairly heavy ceiling castoff. A pool cue coated with skin and brain matter stood propped in a corner, bloody sneaker prints trailed through the hallway near the linen closet. Under strong light, red specks darkening the dirt outside grew visible.

Despite all the blood, no sign of a struggle. Milo’s working hypothesis was a blunt-force blitz near the kitchen sink, followed by wrapping of the body in a blanket and three fitted sheets taken from the linen closet and a dump in a corner of the yard. No argument from the C.I. or anyone else.

Techs dusted and processed. Van Nuys uniforms guarded the yellow tape out front. A gray-haired, stoop- shouldered Van Nuys detective named Wally Fishell showed up after the body was gone, looking sleepy and put- upon. After getting the facts from Milo, he said, “I’m happy to work with you, Lieutenant, but if you see this as fruit from the tree you planted, that’s fine with me.”

“Meaning farewell and good luck.”

“If that’s your preference,” said Fishell.

“Because you’re a pal.”

Fishell looked as if he’d been slapped. “I’m not dumping, I don’t want to get in your way is all.”

“No prob.”

“Look, whatever you want, Lieutenant. I been working like a dog, supposedly I’m off. The plan was to spend time with my granddaughter. She lives in San Mateo, I don’t get to see her often enough.”

“Go home, then.”

“Naw, it’s okay, I’m here already.”

“Forget it,” said Milo. “This is definitely gonna hook into mine.”

“You have an idea who killed him?”

“Probably the same person who killed my vic.”

Fishell waited.

Milo said, “That’s as far as it’s gotten. Go home and enjoy the granddaughter. How old is she?”

“Five.”

“Great age.”

“You bet. We were watching Dora the Explorer,” said Fishell. “That’s a cartoon show—you got kids?”

“Nope.”

“Oh,” said Fishell. “Well, thanks, I get back now I can finish Dora.”

We waited around longer, in case the crime scene crew came up with anything dramatic.

No signs of forced entry. Fidella’s slippers and three empty beer bottles with Fidella’s prints were found in the living room.

No prints on the pool cue, probably wiped clean. Same for a bloodstained leather case. Screening the house for physical evidence would stretch until morning. No sign of any computers, but clear space on a bedroom desk and an old laser printer in the closet suggested a linkup had once existed.

Fidella’s cell phone lay on the bed. Milo checked recent calls. Nothing since morning. He returned the phone to a tech admiring the murder weapon.

“Look at this, Lieutenant. Ivory handle, probably genuine. And this is real cute.” Eyeing a middle section of rosewood imprinted with silver hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds.

“This cost some serious bucks, Lieutenant. No table in the house so he probably took it with him to bars, pool halls, whatever.”

“Or the killer brought the cue with him.”

“And risk damaging something so cool?” said the tech.

“Depends on the payoff.”

“For what?”

“Bashing in Mr. Fidella’s skull.”

“Oh. I guess, maybe.”

We left the scene.

Roland Staubach observed, accompanied by Rufus and a fair-haired woman also in shorts and a tee. Neighbors drifted out of their homes and stayed to watch.

Milo waved.

Staubach returned the gesture woodenly before looking away.

Milo drove on. “All of a sudden it’s a block doesn’t want to know too much.”

Midway up Beverly Glen, he said, “Martin Mendoza’s looking better and better. Bashing Fidella’s skull then stealing the car is exactly the kind of poor-impulse crap a kid like him would do.”

“What’s the motive?” I said.

He had no answer for that and ignorance didn’t sit well with him. Hunching over the wheel, he switched on the police radio, pretended to be interested in misdemeanors and traffic violations. By the time he dropped me at my house we hadn’t spoken for ten minutes.

“Night,” I said.

“Guess who I’m calling soon as you’re out of the car?” Cursing under his breath. “Don’t suppose he’ll take the news well, seeing as he just lost his favorite suspect and this puts it right back at the school… why would Martin go after Fidella?”

“Don’t know.”

“Hey,” he said, “that’s my mantra. Be sure to tell Robin where the flores came from, I forgot a card.”

He drove off as I climbed the stairs to my front door. Moments after I was inside, settled next to Robin, a familiar knock sounded at the front door.

Milo stood there, looking like a shy kid at the prom.

Robin stood on tiptoes and bussed his cheek. “Thanks for the bouquet, darling. What have you brought me now?”

“I should bring you something. Same reason, abuse of privacy.”

“C’mon in, darling.”

“Love to, but I’ve been summoned by the boss. As in now. Unfortunately, so has Alex. If you can spare him, I’ll send you three dozen roses tomorrow.”

“He’s worth more than vegetative matter, but sure.”

I said, “I’m re-invited?”

“Better. You’re the guest of honor.”

CHAPTER

24

 The freeway at one a.m. was slick black tape.

I said, “Chief’s in his office this late?”

“He’s home.”

“You do house calls?”