“Doesn’t say much, guess they checked out okay. We don’t rent without proper documentation … looks like it was initially a two-week rental, then they renewed for a month … then three … then another three then—whoa, after that was a whole year—that’s super-long for us.” He scanned the fine print. “Looks like they asked for the long-term preferred rate, looks like they got it … whoa, they got it retroactive, big rebate for the first six months.”
“How was payment made?”
“Corporate Amex.”
“Signed by who?”
“Says here M. Suss.”
“Card number, please.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
Milo leaned forward. “Trust me, you can.”
The clerk deliberated.
Milo said, “M. Suss is dead, therefore he has no right to confidentiality.”
The clerk’s fingernail pinged his keyboard. “It’s your responsibility.”
Milo copied the number. “Anyone else co-sign the lease?”
“Um … doesn’t appear to be.”
“If Mr. Suss was renting the car for someone else would you need the driver’s signature?”
“Not for the rent part if he was the only one paying. We would need a valid driver’s license for the operator’s part.”
“Do you have one on file?”
“Hold on.”
Crossing the reception area to a bank of steel cabinets, he opened and shut several drawers, finally stood away, examining a piece of paper smiling. “Not bad.”
New Mexico license photo.
Tiara Melisse Grundy, five four, 105, brown and brown.
Long, dark, lank hair, no discernible makeup. But the lovely face above the white scooped neckline matched the girl who’d sold herself as Mystery.
She’d told SukRose the truth about her physical stats but had lied about her age: The DOB put her at one month shy of thirty.
Needing to be twenty-four because Leona Suss was being psychically cloned.
Even minimally groomed and wearing the borderline-sullen expression that comes from standing hours in line, Tiara Grundy looked young and fresh enough to pull it off.
Milo said, “Why’d you smile?”
“Guy renting for his chick.”
“You get a lot of that?”
“Enough,” said the clerk. “Costs a lot more than just leasing from a leasing company but they can go short- term and there’s no down payment.”
“We talking married guys?”
Smirk. “We don’t ask about their home situation.”
We left the office with Milo muttering, “Tiara Grundy,” as if he’d identified a new species.
I said, “Mark Suss eased in with a two-week rental, she built up his trust, he stretched it to a month, kept stretching, finally sprang for a full year. At that point, a conventional lease would’ve been cheaper but this was easier to hide, so he asked for a rebate.”
“Mr. Operator.”
“Even with a discount we’re talking serious money on top of the six thousand a month. Plus jewelry. There were probably additional supplements—money Leona Suss never knew about. That says Suss took the relationship seriously. Maybe Tiara did, too.”
“Love blossomed out of the mulch of sin?”
“Poetic.”
“Catholic,” he said. “Transgression’s always lurking in the shadows.”
His index finger stabbed the address on the license.
Post office box on Cerrillos Road, Santa Fe. He was on the phone before we reached the car.
The first call was to the crime lab, where he requested a go-over of the unit on Lloyd. His next quarry was Detective Darrell Two Moons of the Santa Fe Police Department.
Two Moons said, “Hey, L.A., long time. Bet you haven’t had decent Christmas chili since you were here.”
“Nothing close,” said Milo. “How’s everything, Darrell?”
“Kids are growing,” said Two Moons. “So’s my belly, unfortunately. Katz’s, too, we’re starting to look like your typical waddling detectives on one of those true-crime shows.”
“Try Pilates,” said Milo. “Tones up the core, improves posture, dissolves the body fat.”
“You do that stuff?”
“I’d rather drink battery acid.”
Two Moons laughed. “What’s up?”
“Got a New Mexico ID on a victim and a box address.” He gave Two Moons the barest essentials of the case, recited the info.
Two Moons said, “Don’t know her by name, so she’s probably not one of our chronic troublemaking hookers. I do know the address, shopping center just south of St. Michael’s. Could be the Mailbox Incorporated or the office supplies store or maybe there’re still renting P.O.B.’s at the organic pharmacy. You want me to, I’ll have a uniform stop by to find out.”
“That would be great, Darrell.”
“How’d she die?”
“Shot in the face.”
“Not nice,” said Two Moons. “Someone didn’t like her technique, huh?”
“Something like that.”
We headed back to the station.
Milo said, “Tiara Grundy,” as if the name imparted wisdom. “Grundy can’t be that common of a name. If I find a local relative, I’ll let you know where and when the notification’s gonna be.”
I said, “I’m tied up tomorrow until the afternoon.”
“Court?”
“Nope.”
“Changed your mind about picking up new therapy cases?” I smiled.
He said, “Mona Lisa, again? What’s the big deal, I’m not asking for clinical details.”
“Good.”
“Oh, man, if I ever had secrets worth keeping, I’d leave them with you. Okay, fine, you’re gonna heal some maladjusted type and it has nothing to do with me so I need to keep my mouth shut and concentrate on doing my own damn job.”
I said, “There’s a plan.”
he following morning at eleven I was pushing Gretchen Stengel’s call button. A female voice, too upholstered around the edges to be Gretchen’s, said, “One moment,” and buzzed me in.
The condo door was open by the time I got there. A chubby gray-haired woman in a loose floral dress smiled then held a finger to her lips.
When I got close enough, she whispered, “Sleeping. Finally.”
She motioned me to the edge of the landing, held out a hand. “I’m her sister, Bunny Rodriguez.”
“Alex Delaware. Bad night?”
“It was tough. Thanks for being here for Chad.”
