Before he could punch in the chief’s speed-dial code, an incoming call was heralded by a few bars of
“Sturgis.”
A young male voice said, “You’re a policeman?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Oh … you’re sure?”
“This is Lieutenant Sturgis, what can I do for you?”
“My name is Brandon Caspar, my father said I should call you about a tenant at our property on Russell.”
“Steven Muhrmann,” said Milo.
“Yes, sir.”
“Appreciate the call, Brandon. What can you tell me about Mr. Muhrmann?”
“I only met him once,” said Brandon. “When I gave him the key. That was almost a year and a half ago so I don’t remember much, except he was a little … I don’t want to say scary, more like not friendly. Kind of … trying to act like a tough guy.”
“Act how, Brandon?”
“It’s nothing I can put into words, know what I mean? He just snatched the key out of my hand, didn’t want me to give him the information about the unit we usually give. Where the circuit breaker is, the water main, the meter. He said he’d figure it out. When I tried to tell him I always explained to new tenants he said, ‘Well, now you won’t.’ Not joking about it—like he could kick my butt if he wanted, you know?”
“Hostile,” said Milo.
“He
“Was he alone?”
“Yeah, in the house he was,” said Brandon Caspar. “But later, when I left him with the key, I saw a girl in a car, parked in front. I wasn’t sure she was with him but I thought maybe she was ’cause she seemed to be just waiting. So when I drove off I looked in my mirror and she got out and went into the house. Then I started wondering if we had something to worry about. The terms of his lease were pretty strict because it was a cash deal: solo residency, we didn’t want to get into a crash-pad situation.”
“Or a dope house.”
No answer.
Milo said, “Your father was concerned Muhrmann might be a drug dealer because Muhrmann paid eleven thou up front in cash.”
“I know, I’m the one took the money.”
“He handed it to you?”
“No, it got dropped off at the office. But I found it in the mailbox.”
“Dropped off by who?”
“We assumed him, I mean that kind of money you’d want to handle it yourself, right?”
“That kind of money I wouldn’t drop it in the mailbox.”
“It’s a locked box,” said Brandon. “Goes right into the office.”
“What kind of car was the girl sitting in?”
“Some little compact, didn’t notice the brand.”
“What did she look like?”
“Hot.”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“Long blond hair, great body. Kind of like Scarlett Johanssen. Or another one, an old one Dad likes. Brigitte something.”
“Bardot?”
“Yeah.”
“Scarlett or Brigitte.”
“Hot and blond,” said Brandon. “I only saw her from a distance.”
“But that was enough to know she was hot.”
“Some girls, you know, they’ve just got the look, you can spot it from far away.”
“If I fax you a picture would you be able to tell me if it’s a match?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there anything else you remember about this girl, Brandon?”
“Nope. Why?”
“We’re curious about her. Nothing.”
“Nope, sorry.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I did have an impression, though, sir. About both of them. You interested in impressions?”
“I sure am, Brandon.”
“With him being all pumped and her being hot what kind of flashed in my head was porn stars. We get that all the time. Offers for short-term rentals, mostly at vacant apartments out in the Valley. The money’s great, but Dad won’t go for it, too religious.”
“But Dad doesn’t pay much attention to the house on Russell.”
“You got that right,” said Brandon. “Calls it his albatross. To Mom it’s some kind of shrine, but she doesn’t have to deal with renting it or fixing it up.”
“You wondered if Muhrmann was renting the place for shoots, that’s why all the cash up front.”
“My dad would be pissed, so I drove by around a week later to see if anything weird was going on, but it wasn’t.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Lots of cars, vans, people going in and out, anything weird. I even asked Vlatek—the guy who owns the body shop. He said nothing different was going on since Muhrmann moved in, he never even saw Muhrmann.”
“Sounds like you did a little detection work,” said Milo.
“I was curious,” said Brandon. “Dad likes me to be curious.”
s we headed for Pasadena, I said, “Muhrmann told his mother he was trying out for a movie and C. Longellos had a P.O.B. in the Valley. Maybe the kid’s instincts were good.”
“Maybe it’s my day for insightful citizens. Let’s see if your fellow mental health pros are half as good. If they are, we celebrate with Thai.”
The address listed for Awakenings, A Healing Place, was a triad of whitewashed fifties ranch houses turned into a compound by vinyl picket fencing, not far from the Santa Anita Race Track. Deadbolt and buzzer on the gate, drought-friendly plants in the yard.
No signage. Milo double-checked the address. “The numbers match.”
We got out of the car. The drive had taken over an hour. Both of us stretched. Quiet block of well-tended apartment buildings and a few other single dwellings. Did the neighbors have any idea?
The faintest odor of equine sweat and waste spiced the cooling air.
I said, “Maybe they also treat compulsive gambling.”
“Drop your line where the fishies are swarming? Smart marketing. But with all the fancy outfits claiming to fix your head, you’d think Ms. C. Longellos would want something swankier.”
“Green acres, tai chi, therapeutic massage, past-lives regression?”
“Toss in vegan cuisine and I’m sold.”
I said, “On the other hand, a profile this low could be perfect for people with serious secrets.”
We waited to be buzzed through the picket gate, walked up a brick path that led to the center house, and entered a tight, uninhabited lobby backed by a pebble-glass reception window. The receptionist who’d let us in had
