Mystery

“It’s not a fine point, it’s the crux, Lieutenant. There’s no genuine agency here, meaning SukRose is not a party to any transaction and as such—”

“They’re aiming to be the eBay of May–December romance,” said Milo. “I hope they make billions. Meanwhile, give me names for one particular May and any Decembers in her past so we can find out who turned her into hamburger. At the least, we’ll be able to notify her family so what’s left of her—her components—are not stacked indefinitely in a refrigerated closet—”

“I get you, Lieutenant Sturgis. But no, sorry, can’t help.”

Milo loomed. “Why not?”

“Why not? Because SukRose could conceivably end up incurring legal responsibility for any ensuing personal damage brought about by your investigation. Then there’s the general matter of privacy and—”

“I get you, Mr. Agajanian.”

“Meaning?”

“You were always a good student but the sight of blood grossed you out so instead of becoming a doctor where you might actually be able to help someone, you chose a profession where you get paid to turn simple things complicated by creating a foreign language called lawyer-speak that you can then charge poor suckers to translate.”

Arcing a thumb at the Boxster’s personalized plate, Milo winked. “Life is good, huh?”

Brian Agajanian’s jaw dropped, then slammed shut, tightening to compensate. “I’m not going to stand here and justify my profession. Some things are complicated and your situation falls into that category.”

Milo dropped the death photo into his case. “Suit yourself, Brian. Have you discussed with your sisters the fact that the less you tell us, the more public exposure their company’s going to get? But not the right type of exposure? As in tomorrow’s six o’clock news letting the world know that one of their Sweeties ended up murdered and they’ve refused to help furnish evidence?”

“That,” said Agajanian, “would incur consequences of its own.”

“You bet it would, Brian. If I’m a rich geezer looking for a nubile hard-body I’m not gonna turn to a website where a hard-body got turned nasty-mushy and the police are snooping around.”

“That’s my point! Your snooping is potentially deleterious to the survival of—”

“What’s deleterious, Brian, is your letting things get to the point where everything’s out in the open.”

“You’re the one ripping it wide open.”

“Business is business,” said Milo. “Mine is putting away bad guys and if your sisters are taking money from a murderer to whom they supply girls—directly or indirectly—you think that’s gonna help their business? It’s in their best interests to clear this up. One way or the other, I’m gonna find out who killed that poor girl and why. The only question is do Suki and Rosalynn end up part of the problem or part of the solution.”

Agajanian’s chest heaved. He stared at the sky.

“Brian?”

“They end up neither, because they’re not involved any more than the phone company’s involved when someone makes a crank call.”

“We subpoena phone records,” said Milo. “Have no problem getting compliance.”

“Then maybe you should subpoena us.”

“Suit yourself, Brian. Meanwhile, my Public Affairs Division tells me there’s a TV reporter doing a story on computer dating sites, real pushy type, chafing at the bit to learn more about your sisters.”

“My sisters have done nothing wrong.”

“If you say so. We’re finished, go enjoy your family.” Milo turned to leave.

Brian Agajanian said, “You’re telling me there’s been a specific request to cover SukRose.net?”

“What started out as general interest got specific when news of this poor girl’s murder got out.”

“You didn’t purposely direct this reporter to my sisters?”

“Nope.”

“But if I don’t comply, you will.”

“Brian, the less media contact I have, the better. But once the wheels start spinning, it’s hard to put the brakes on.”

“This is wrong. This is totally wrong.” Agajanian tapped a foot, looked out over the rooftops of houses beneath his. “Okay, I didn’t want to get into this but maybe it’ll prevent you from wasting your time and ours. Trust me, there is no possible connection between my sisters’ client and your victim’s murder. None, whatsoever.”

“One client,” said Milo. “You’re saying she only hooked up with one Daddy?”

“I’m saying you’re wasting your time looking at any client of my sisters. You have my personal assurance in that regard.”

“That so?”

“Cross my heart.” Agajanian’s smile was smug. The joy of regaining the upper hand.

Milo said, “Well, here’s my personal assurance, Brian: If you want your sisters’ business to thrive, you’re gonna need to cut the crap and stop dancing around and give me two names. Hers and her date’s. Once you do that, I’m out of your hair.”

“What if you decide to get back into my hair?”

“Then you’ll need one helluva comb.”

“Very funny—”

“It’s not funny, Brian. Nothing’s funny. A poor girl got her face blown off and even if I had a sense of humor to begin with, I lost it. You’ve got ten seconds to decide before those wheels start spinning.”

Agajanian’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. He licked his lips.

New smile. Tight, cold, focused.

Milo said, “Nice talking to you, Brian.”

Agajanian said, “Should SukRose choose to help your department in the pursuit of their investigation and should SukRose at some point require confirmation of that help, I need a guarantee that said confirmation will be forthcoming without undue delay or obfuscation. Furthermore, the police department must pledge to do its utmost to shield SukRose from unwarranted media exposure, excepting such exposure that SukRose solicits in pursuit of its own legitimate interests, not to exclude film, television, or printed media adaptation.”

“You want to write a screenplay?”

“Just buttoning down details, Lieutenant. Finally, it is imperative that SukRose not be identified as the source of the information you are seeking in any way that exposes the company or its principals to civil or criminal liability.”

That sounded like a motion he’d drafted and memorized. To my ear, meaningless, unenforcable pap.

Maybe he needed to face-save at the next family reunion.

Milo smiled. “You’re a good brother, Brian. And that all sounds fine to me.”

Brian Agajanian breathed in deeply, closed his eyes. “The name in our files is Tara Sly.”

“Sly as in—”

“Clever, tricky. And that’s all I know about her except for what she listed on her page. Women don’t pay a fee so we don’t collect personal data from them. Therefore I have no address or financial information to give you, only the email address she was using at the time, which is [email protected]. I tried to send an email there and it got kicked back as an inactive account. And yes, she did connect to only one client but as I told you he’s irrelevant.”

“Because he’s a saint?”

“Even better,” said Agajanian. “He’s deceased.”

“His email got kicked back, too?”

“I checked him out in public records, found the death certificate. Natural causes.”

“Thorough, Brian.”

“No need to thank me.”

“I’ll thank you once I get a copy of Tara Sly’s page as it was when she posted it on SukRose. Same for the late, lamented Sugar Daddy and his personal information.”