car, coming down to L.A. Any way you can see me?”
“Where are you?”
“The 101 Freeway, coming up on… Balboa. Traffic’s not looking great, but I can probably be in West L.A. within half an hour.”
“Christina Marsh is your sister?”
“She is… was… can you find time to see me? I’d really like to find out about her.”
“Sure,” said Milo. “Meet me at a restaurant near the station. Cafe Moghul.” He spelled the name and recited the address.
Cody Marsh thanked him and cut the connection.
We drove straight to the restaurant, arrived in twenty-five. Cody Marsh was already seated at a corner table drinking milk-laced chai.
Easy to spot; solitary patron.
By the time we stepped through the glass beads, he was on his feet. Looking exactly as if someone had died.
“Mr. Marsh.”
“Thanks for seeing me, Lieutenant. When will I be able to see my sister- to identify the body?”
“You’re sure you want to go through that, sir?”
“I thought I had to,” said Cody Marsh. “Christi has no one else.”
He looked to be around thirty, with long, wavy, brown hair parted in the middle, had on a gray shirt under a cracked, brown leather jacket rubbed white at the pressure points, rumpled beige cargo pants, white running shoes. Ruddy square face, thick lips, and tired blue eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. Five-ten with an incipient beer belly. The only hint of kinship to the dead girl, a dimpled chin.
“Actually, sir,” said Milo, “you don’t have to do it in person. You can look at a photo.”
“Oh,” said Marsh. “Okay. Where do I go to see a photo?”
“I’ve got one right here, sir, but I have to warn you-”
“I’ll look at it.”
Milo said, “How about we all sit down?”
Cody Marsh stared at the death shot. His eyes closed and opened; he folded his lips inward. “That’s Christi.” He raised his fist, as if to pound the table, but by the time the arc was completed, the hand had stopped short of contact.
The pleasant sari-draped woman who ran the cafe turned to stare. Milo never talked business to her, but she knew what he did.
He smiled at her, and she resumed folding napkins.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Christi,” said Cody Marsh. “What
Milo took the photo and put it away. “Your sister was shot while parked in a car on Mulholland Drive, along with a young man.”
“Was the young man a friend?”
“Seemed to be,” said Milo. “His name was Gavin Quick. Know him?”
Cody Marsh shook his head. “Any idea
“That’s what we’re looking into. So Christi never mentioned Gavin Quick.”
“No, but Christi and I weren’t… in close communication.”
The saried woman came over. Milo said, “Just chai, right now, please. I’ll probably see you tomorrow for lunch.”
“That would be lovely,” said the woman. “We’ll have the
When she was gone, Cody Marsh said, “Can the… can Christi be released? For a funeral?”
“That’s up to the coroner’s office,” said Milo.
“Do you have a number for them?”
“I’ll call for you. It’ll probably take a few days to get the papers in order.”
“Thanks.” Marsh
“Is there anything you could tell us about your sister that would be helpful, sir?”
“For starts, when did Christi move to L.A.?”
“I can’t say exactly, but she called me about a year ago to tell me she was here.”
“You guys hail from Minnesota?”
“Baudette, Minnesota,” said Marsh. “Walleye Capital of the World. People who somehow find themselves there get their picture taken with Willie Walleye.”
“A fish.”
“A forty-foot model of a fish. I got out as soon as I could. Did my undergrad at Oregon State, taught grade school for a few years in Portland so I could save up enough money to go to grad school and study history.”
“History,” Milo repeated.
“Those who forget the past are condemned, and all that.”
I said, “Did your being in Santa Barbara play a role in your sister’s coming out to California?”
“It would be nice to say yes,” said Marsh, “but I seriously doubt it. The entire year we’ve seen each other exactly twice. Spoke on the phone maybe three or four times. And we’d been out of contact for a long time well before Christi left Minnesota.”
“Those two times,” I said.
“Here, in L.A. I was attending symposia and called her. Actually, I called her three times, but once she was busy.”
“Busy doing what?” said Milo.
“She didn’t say.”
“Where’d you meet her?”
“We had dinner at my hotels.”
“Which hotels?”
“That’s important?” said Marsh.
“Anything could be important, sir.”
“You’re the expert… let’s see, one was a Holiday Inn in Pasadena, the other was a Holiday Inn in Westwood. Christi met me in the coffee shop and came dressed totally inappropriately. For an academic meeting, I mean. Not that she was attending meetings, but the… the place was teeming with academics.”
“And she didn’t look academic,” said Milo.
“Not hardly.”
“Inappropriate how?” I said.
“I really don’t want to talk ill of my sister.”
“I understand.”
Marsh pinged his cup some more. “Both times she wore halter tops with no backs, very, very short skirts, spike heels, lots of makeup.” Marsh sighed. “There was faculty all around, people were staring. The first time I let it go, figuring she didn’t know what to expect. The second time I said something to her and it was a very tense meal. She cut it short, announced she had to go, and just walked out without saying good-bye. I didn’t try to follow her. Afterward, I realized I’d been a prissy jerk, phoned her to apologize, but she didn’t return the call. I tried again but by that time her number was inactive. A month later I heard from her, and she didn’t mention a thing about walking out. I asked for her new number, but she said she was using prepaid cell phones- disposable, so there was no
