Mystery

“You come barging in but won’t tell me?”

“At this point, we need to be discreet, Ms. Suss. What about Steven Muhrmann?”

“Who?”

“You don’t know Steven Muhrmann?”

She chuckled. “You guys are wasting your time, this must be a computer mixup.”

“How about Stefan Moore?”

“How about not,” said Connie Suss. “That sounds like a movie monster, one of those Japanese films.”

“Stefan?”

“Merman. Merman Invades Tokyo.” She laughed.

Milo didn’t.

“Sorry, I’m sure you’re doing your job,” she said, “but you have to admit it’s weird coming in here while I’m trying to have my dunch—that’s a made-up word I use for dinner and lunch. I get GERD—reflux disease. So I like to eat early. Like a senior citizen.”

She eyed the ghost of the stain on Milo’s jacket. “You come in and throw names at me, that’s pretty darn weird.”

She reached for her magazine.

Milo said, “Markham Suss.”

Her hand withdrew. “My father-in-law? What does he have to do with this?”

“Tiara Grundy knew him. Well.”

“Mark passed away a while back.”

“You don’t seem surprised by the relationship.”

“Of course I’m surprised.”

“Honestly, you didn’t seem surprised, ma’am.”

She exhaled. “Okay, you’re obviously talking about one of Mark’s sluts, but that has nothing to do with me. What, she got herself killed and she had my business card or something? Maybe Mark recommended my gallery to her. Though I can’t recall his ever having an interest in the gallery. Or bringing any of them in—I used to own a glass gallery not far from here but I closed it down because we got a terrific offer on the building and frankly I was tired of working.”

“One of his sluts,” said Milo. “So there were a lot of them.”

“Sluts were pretty much a fixture in Mark’s life, it’s no big secret, Officer—is it Detective?”

“Lieutenant.”

“Excuse me. Lieutenant. Once my husband and I got serious, before he took me to meet his parents, he warned me to expect some strange things.”

“Such as?”

“A little more … freedom of expression than some folk.”

“Extreme tolerance?”

“Mark might’ve called it that,” she said, “but to me it was extreme ostrich-in-the-sand-ness. The unspoken truth, you know?”

“Denial.”

“Denial implies pretending. Mark made no pretense—I’m sorry, I feel disloyal talking about this. Now could you please let me dunch in peace?”

I said, “Everyone was aware of Mark’s behavior but no one acknowledged it.”

“If Lee—my mother-in-law—could live with it, what was it my business?” She frowned. “Not that any of this is your business, Mark’s been gone for nearly a year so he obviously had nothing to do with anything happening to this Tiara person.”

Milo said, “And you’ve never heard of Steve or Stefan Muhrmann.”

“Asking me again won’t change the facts, Lieutenant.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm what?”

“Your name was associated with Muhrmann a little more directly.”

Connie Longellos-Suss’s blue eyes bugged. “What are you talking about?”

The chef in the corner looked up from her paper.

Milo said, “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry to upset you but a terrible crime’s taken place and when evidence surfaces I’m obligated to follow up.”

“I don’t know any Merman. Or Godzilla or Rodan. This is unreal.”

“You’re not curious about how your name came up with his?”

“No, because it’s ridiculous.” Sagging. “Oh, no, you’re kidding.”

“What?”

“Could this be another identity theft thing?”

“You’ve had identify theft problems?”

“A few years ago someone ran up bills on one of my credit cards. Idiots, they used a platinum card to buy fast food and computer games. I closed the account and there’ve been no problems since. But once stuff hits the Internet—are you saying this Merman is pretending to be me?”

“Steven Muhrmann used you as a reference to rent a house. And someone using your name actually sent a letter.”

“That’s psychotic.”

“The house is on Russell Avenue, in Los Feliz,” said Milo.

“You might as well be talking Greek. At least that I’d understand, my father was Greek.”

Milo paged through his pad, read off the P.O.B. in Pacific Palisades.

She said, “I’ve never owned a post office box in my life.”

“Ma’am, I have to ask you a somewhat … difficult question, so please don’t take offense. Have you ever been in rehab?”

She stared at him. Burst into laughter. “In rehab? What on earth for?”

“You do have a DUI.”

“That? Oh, man, you guys are like … that was totally stupid.”

“Stupid, how?”

“Don’t your police files give you details?” she said. “About what actually happens at arrests?”

“The file lists you with a DUI conviction.”

“Then let me give you the facts: It was one of those New Year’s Eve things. When you people do those random stops. The irony is my husband and I weren’t even partying, we decided to stay home, enjoy some peace and quiet.” Laughing softly. “We drank some wine. Riesling. I had two glasses and then I needed some … I got my …”

Peach-colored blush seeped into the corners of her tan face. “What the heck, you’ve already ruined my meal. I needed a feminine product and I’d run out, okay? Normally it’s Phil—my husband—who does nighttime runs to the pharmacy or the 7-Eleven or whatever, but that kind of thing makes him squeamish so I went. And got pulled over randomly about a half a minute later. And”—she sighed—“failed a stupid Breathalyzer. But like at one-tenth of a percent, the whole thing was ridiculous. I tried to explain to those morons—and yes, you people acted like morons—that I’d just gone out to get some darn tampons, all I’d had were two glasses of Riesling. They looked at me like I was a criminal, said I’d blown .09, which was more than the legal limit of .08. Then they arrested me. I went hysterical. So how did you geniuses handle that? Cuffed me and shoved me in the back of a police car. At that point, I totally lost it, started screaming, begged them to let me call Phil. They ignored me. The stress got me bleeding heavily and my hands were cuffed so I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Her eyes pooled with tears. “Just remembering it is utterly humiliating, but what the heck, you want details, I’ll give you details. I bled all over their stupid car and when they saw it they freaked out, thought I’d cut myself. If they’d taken the time to listen, all they needed to do was hand me a darn tampon, but no, that was too logical. Instead they called in the paramedics, who showed up and checked me out and ended giving me a stupid tampon. By that time, I’d been gone from the house for over an hour and Phil was worried. He got in his car, drove toward the drugstore, saw my car, pulled over. Guess what they did?”