Deception

Salvatore Fidella. Moderate fire damage to the interior left plenty of vinyl and metal to process for prints, fluids, and fibers. Same for the remnants of a partially burned blue cap already processed and found devoid of prints or DNA. A handful of scorched fibers with metallic content suggested brass or gold thread, maybe an insignia.

Milo reached Detective I Sean Binchy at the station, directed Binchy to run an image search on south el monte baseball team.

“When do you need it, Loot?”

“Now.”

“Sure… here we go, they’re called the Eagles… here’s a group picture, game they won from Temple City, they’re all smiling.”

“What color are their caps, Sean?”

“Navy blue.”

“Any insignia?”

“Looks like a snake—no, it’s an S, probably for ‘South.’”

“Gold?”

“Right on, Loot. Anything else you need?”

“Pray for world peace, Sean.”

“I already do that every morning, sir.”

¦

We drove back to L.A., stopping at a place on Colorado for take-out coffee that we drank while in motion. Just west was Pasadena and that got me thinking. But I didn’t have enough for sparkling conversation.

Milo said, “The kid pays girls to buy ice so he can ice Freeman in a dramatic way, then mops up Fidella for good measure, only question is why. With Elise’s proclivities and Fidella being a lowlife, maybe sex and education got jumbled up together in a particularly nasty way.”

I said, “Martin was careful enough to set Elise’s murder up with surgical precision and to wipe Fidella’s house clean amid a horrendous scene but left his hat in the car—and the car out in the open?”

“Teenagers, Alex. You’re the one always saying they’re unpredictable. Or maybe he’s reached that point: big drop in adrenaline, tired of running, and ready to get caught. We can discuss this till forever but right now he’s a good lead. The car gives up the same prints as Fidella’s garage, I’m going public.”

I said, “Prep school makes noble attempt at diversity but best intentions fail, the manor-born sail into their dream schools, Martin Mendoza ends up in jail. The chief—and Darwin—will be pleased.”

“Yeah, it stinks, but that doesn’t make it untrue.” He finished his coffee, chewed on a cold cigar, drove faster. A few freeway exits later, he said, “Life ain’t a surprise party. We both know that.”

No message from Darwin on his desk but the chief had left an unfamiliar number.

One ring then a familiar voice on conference. “Talk, Sturgis.”

Milo filled him in.

“Fool leaves his hat in the car. He’s that strong for the Italian, we’ll get him for Freeman.”

“It’s looking that way, sir.”

“Find those girls.”

“I’ve got a DVD of the South El Monte student body, about to show it to Chavez.”

“Should’ve done that before calling me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“You get verification on those little bitches, we’re pressing full-court.”

Loading the Eagle Pride DVD into his computer, he brought up pages of fresh faces, printed every one, and X’d out the boys with a sharpie. “Make Gilberto’s job easier.”

Back at the holding cell, Chavez was wide awake, jumpy, complaining about the food.

The guard said, “No more dope in his system, he’s getting grumpy.” He unlocked the door.

Milo said, “More pictures, Gilberto.”

“You kidding.” Chavez reached behind, scratched his back. Clawed hard. “I think you got bugs in here.”

“No, we’re clean, Gilberto. Start looking.”

Chavez flipped pages too quickly.

“Take your time.”

“I see, I know.”

Upon turning the final page: “Oh, shit.”

“You found them?”

“No, that’s the shit,” said Chavez. “They no here, now you gonna keep me!”

“Go through them again, Gilberto.”

“They no here!” Chavez shouted. Small, rough, workingman’s hands curled. “I want out!”

“Easy, Gilberto.”

“You lock me up, I do what you say and you still lock me up.”

“That weed locked you up.”

“That no mine.”

Milo flashed him a pitying look.

“Weed,” said Chavez, “is jus a ticket.”

“Not that much weed, Gilberto.”

Tears filmed Chavez’s eyes.

Milo said, “Do your best for me and I’ll help you.”

“Fine, fine, fine! You want me look say yes, I say yes.” Jabbing the first page. “This one. This one. And this one, I give you three, okay? You want four, five? Okay, this one and—”

“Settle down, Gilberto.”

“Madre de Dios—they no here!”

“Go through it one more time,” said Milo. But his heart wasn’t in it.

CHAPTER

27

 Milo slouched back to his office. Tried the lab again for prints in the Corvette.

The car had been wiped clean.

He knuckled both eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s that careful but leaves the damn hat out in plain view. Maybe it fell off his damn head when he lit the damn fire and he got scared and ran. Figured the damn blaze would get rid of damn everything.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t use that attitude with me, sonny.” He called San Antonio PD about the first drive-by of Gisella Mendoza’s place.

Been and gone, no sign of unusual activity.

“When in doubt, gluttony.”

At Cafe Moghul the bespectacled woman heaped his plate with every item on the buffet, added lobster just out of the tandoori.

“At least somebody loves me,” he muttered, tucking a napkin under his chins.

The woman beamed.

As he finished his third bowl of rice pudding, Sean Binchy entered the restaurant. “Wouldn’t bug you but some