ADMV check revealed no vehicles currently registered to Reynold Peaty. No California driver’slicense. Ever.
“Hard to transport a body without wheels,” I said.
Milo said, “Wonder how he gets to work.”
“The bus. Or a stretch limo.”
“Your attempt at humor is refreshing2. If he bears further watching, I’llcheck out the bus routes, see if he’s a regular.” He laughed.
I said, “What?”
“He comes across dumb and weird3 but think about it: He sweeps up at anacting school.”
“He was playing us?”
“The world’s a stage,” he said. “Sure be nice to have the script.”
“If he was performing, why would he put on a weird act?” I said.
“True…let’s head back.”
I drove toward the West L.A. station as hephoned the MTA and learned which buses Peaty would’ve taken from Pico-Robertsonto the PlayHouse. Transfers and the need to cover several blocks on footstretched a half-hour car trip to at least a ninety-minute journey.
I said, “Michaela’s Honda show up yet?”
“Nope…you’re thinking Peaty coulda jacked her?”
“The hoax5 might’ve given him ideas.”
“Life imitating art.” He punched numbers on his cell, talked briefly6, hungup. “No sign of it yet. But we’re not talking conspicuous7. A Civic8, black noless. If the plates are off or replaced, it could take a long time to spot it.”
“If Peaty is the bad guy,” I said, “maybe he decided9 to drive to work thismorning and ditched it within walking distance of the PlayHouse.”
“That would be pretty damned stupid.”
“Yes, it would.”
He chewed his cheek. “Mind turning around?”
We cruised the half-mile radius10 surrounding the acting4 school, peering upand down streets and alleys11, driveways and parking lots. Taking more than anhour, then expanding to another half mile and spending another hundred minutes.Spotting lots of Civics, three of them black, all with plates that checked out.
On the way back to the station, Milo tried the coroner’s office and learnedthat Michaela’s autopsy12 was scheduled in four days, maybe longer if the bodycount stayed high. “Any way to prioritize? Yeah, yeah, I know…but if there’sanything you can do. Appreciate it, this one could get complicated.”
I sat in the spare chair of Milo’s tiny,windowless office as he tried to plug Reynold Peaty into the data banks. Hiscomputer took a long time to sputter13 to life, even longer for icons14 to fill thescreen. Then they disappeared and the screen went black and he started all overagain.
Fourth PC in eight months, yet another hand-me-down, this one from a prepschool in Pacific Palisades. The last few donated machines had enjoyed theshelf life of raw milk. In between Clunkers Two and Three, Milohad paid for a high-priced laptop with his own money, only to see some glitchin the station’s electrical system fry his hard drive.
As the disk drives ground on, he sprang up, muttering about “advanced middleage” and “plumbing,” and left for a few minutes. Returning with two cups ofcoffee, he handed one to me, drank his, snatched a cheap cigarillo from hisdesk drawer, unwrapped it, and jammed the unlit cylinder15 between his incisors.Tapping his fingers as he stared at the screen, he bit down too hard,splintered the cigar, wiped tobacco shreds17 from his lips. Tossing theNicaraguan pacifier, he got himself another.
Smoking’s prohibited anywhere in the building. Sometimes he lights up,anyway. Today he was too antsy to enjoy the fruits of misdemeanor. As thecomputer struggled to resuscitate18, he sorted through his messages and Ireviewed the prelim on Michaela Brand, studied the crime scene photos.
Beautiful golden face turned a familiar green-gray.
Milo grimaced19 as the screen flashed anddimmed and flashed. “If you want to translate War and Peace, feel free to doso.”
I tasted the coffee, put it aside, closed my eyes, and tried to think ofnothing. Sound came through the walls, too murky20 to classify.
Milo’s space is at the end of a hall on thesecond floor, set well apart from the detectives’ room. Not an overcrowding issue;he’s set apart. Listed on the books as a lieutenant21, but he’s got noadministrative duties and continues to work cases.
It’s part of a deal he made with the former police chief, a cozy22 bit ofpolitics that allowed the chief to retire rich and unbothered by criminalcharges and Milo to remain in the department.
As long as his clearance23 rate stays high, and he doesn’t flaunt24 his sexualpreferences, no one bothers him. But the new chief’s big on drastic change and Milo keeps waiting for the memo25 that will disrupt hislife.
Meanwhile, he works.
Whir-whir, burp, click-click. He sat up. “Okay, here we go…” He typed. “Nostate record, too bad…let’s try NCIC. C’mon baby, give it to Uncle Milo…yes!”
He pushed a button and the old dot-matrix printer near his feet beganscrolling paper. Yanking out the sheets, he tore on the perforated line, read,handed them to me.
Reynold Peaty had accumulated four felony convictions in Nevada. Burglary thirteen years ago in Reno,a Peeping Tom three years later in that same city pled down to publicintoxication/disturbing the peace, two drunk driving violations26 in Laughlin,seven and eight years ago.
“He’s still drinking,” I said. “Three beers he admits to. A long-standingalcohol problem would account for no driver’s license1.”
“Booze-hound peeper. You see those tattoos27?”
“Jailbird. But no felonies on record since he crossed the border five yearsago.”
“That impress you mightily28?”
“Nope.”
“What impresses me, ” he said, “is the combination of burglary andvoyeurism.”
“Breaking in for the sexual thrill,” I said. “All those DNA29 matches that endup turning burglars into rapists.”
“Booze to lower inhibitions, young sexy girls parading in and out. It’s alovely combination.”
We drove to Reynold Peaty’s place on Guthrie Avenue, clocking the route fromthe dump site along the way. In moderate traffic, only a seven-minute traverseof Beverlywood’s impeccable, tree-lined streets. After dark, even shorter.
On the first block east of Roberston the neighborhood was apartments and themaintenance was sketchier30. Peaty’s second-floor unit was one of ten in anash-colored two-story box. The live-in manager was a woman in her seventiesnamed Ertha Stadlbraun. Tall, thin, angular, with skin the color of bittersweetchocolate and marcelled gray hair, she said, “The crazy white fellow.”
She invited us into her ground-floor flat for tea and sat us on alemon-colored, pressed-velvet, camelback couch. The living room wascompulsively ordered, with olive carpeting, ceramic31 lamps, bric-a-brac on openshelves. A suite32 of what used to be called Mediterranean33 furniture crowded thespace. An airbrushed portrait of Martin Luther King dominated the wall over thecouch, flanked by school photos of a dozen or so smiling children.
Ertha Stadlbraun had come to the door wearing a housecoat. Excusing herself,she disappeared into a bedroom and came back wearing a blue shift patternedwith clocks, matching pumps with chunky heels. Her cologne evoked34 the cosmeticscounter at some midsized department store from my Midwestchildhood. What my mother used to call “toilet water.”
“Thanks for the tea, ma’am,” said Milo.
“Hot enough, gentlemen?”
“Perfect,” said Milo, sipping35 orange pekoeto demonstrate. He eyed the school pictures. “Grandchildren?”
“Grandchildren and godchildren,” said Ertha Stadlbraun. “And two neighborchildren I raised after their mother died young. Sure you don’t want sugar? Orfruit or cookies?”
“No, thanks, Mrs. Stadlbraun. Nice of you.”
“What is?”
“Taking in a neighbor’s kids.”
Ertha Stadlbraun waved away the praise and reached for the sugar bowl. “Myglucose level, I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to, anyway.” Two heapingteaspoons of white powder snowed into her cup. “So what is it you want to knowabout the crazy fellow?”
“How crazy is he, ma’am?”
Stadlbraun sat back, smoothed the shift over her knees. “Let me explain whyI pointed36 out he was white. It’s not because I resent him for that. It’sbecause he’s the only white person here.”
“Is that unusual?” said Milo.
“Are you familiar with this neighborhood?”
Milo nodded.
Ertha Stadlbraun said, “Then you know. Some of the single houses are goingwhite again but the rentals37 are Mexican. Once in a while you get a hippie typewith no credit rating wanting to rent. Mostly we’ve got the Mexicans coming in.Waves of them. Our building is me and Mrs. Lowery and Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,who’re really old, on the black side. The rest are Mexican. Except for him.”
“Does that pose problems?”
“People think he’s strange. Not because he raves38 and rants39, because he’s tooquiet. You can’t communicate with the man.”
“Never talks at all?”
“Person won’t look another person in the eye,” said Ertha Stadlbraun, “makeseveryone nervous.”
“Antisocial,” I said.
“Someone walks your way, you say hello because when you were a child, youlearned proper manners from your mama. But this person didn’t learn and doesn’thave the courtesy to reply. He lurks41 around—that’s the word for it. Lurk40. Likethat butler on that old TV show. He reminds me of that fellow.”
“The Addams Family,” said Milo. “Lurch.”
“Lurch, lurk, same difference. The point is, he’s always got his head down,staring at the ground, like he’s looking for some treasure.” She pushed herhead forward, turtlelike, bent42 her neck sharply and gawked at her carpet. “Justlike this. How he sees where he’s going is a mystery to me.”
“He do anything else that makes you nervous, ma’am?”
“These questions of yours are making me nervous.”
“Routine, ma’am. Does he do—”
“It’s not what he does. He’s just an odd one.”
“Why’d you rent to him, ma’am?”
“I didn’t. He was already here before I moved in.”
“How long is that?”
“I arrived shortly after my husband died, which was four years ago. I usedto have my own house in Crenshaw, nice neighborhood, then it got bad, now it’sgetting nice again. After Walter passed on, I said who needs all this space, abig yard to take care of. A fast-talking real estate agent offered me what Ithought was a good price so I sold. Big mistake. At least I’ve got the moneyinvested, been thinking about getting another house. Maybe out in Riverside, where mydaughter lives, you get more for your money there.”
She patted her hair. “Meanwhile, I’m here, and what they pay me to managecovers my expenses and then some.”
“Who’s they?”
“The owners. Couple of brothers, rich kids, inherited the building fromtheir parents along with a whole lot of other buildings.”
“Does Mr. Peaty pay his rent on time?”
“That’s one thing he does do,” said Stadlbraun. “First day of the month,postal money order.”
“He go to work every day?”
Stadlbraun nodded.
“Where?”
“I have no idea.”
“Does he ever entertain visitors?”
“Him?” She laughed. “Where would he entertain? If I could show you hisplace, you’d see what I mean, teeny-weeny. Used to be a laundry room until theowners converted it to a single. There’s barely room for his bed and all he’sgot besides the bed is a hot plate and a little TV and a dresser.”
“When were you inside last?”
“Must’ve been a couple of years ago. His toilet backed up and I called arooter service to snake it. I was ready to blame it on him—you know,overstuffing the commode like some fools do?” Regret made her eyes droop43.“Turns out it was lint16. When they converted it, no one had the sense to cleanthe traps and somehow the lint got wadded up and moved round and caused agodawful mess. I remember thinking what a teeny little place, how can anyone livelike this.”
Milo said, “Sounds like a cell.”
“That’s exactly what it is.” Stadlbraun squinted44. Sat back. Folded her armsacross her chest. “You should’ve told me from the beginning, young man.”
“Told you what, ma’am?”
“Like a cell? He’s an ex-con, right? What’d he do that sent him to prison?More important, what’d he do to bring you around now?”
“Nothing, ma’am. We just need to ask a few questions.”
“Come on, now,” said Ertha Stadlbraun. “No shilly-shallying.”
“At this point—”
“Young man, you are not asking me questions because that one’s thinking ofrunning for president. What’d he do ?”
“Nothing that we know of. That’s the truth, Mrs. Stadlbraun.”
“You don’t know anything for certain, but you sure suspect something.”
“I really can’t say more, Mrs. Stadlbraun.”
“This is not right, sir. Your job is to protect citizens so you should say.He’s a crazy person and an ex-con living in the same building with normalfolks.”
“Ma’am, he’s done nothing. This is part of a preliminary investigation45 andhe’s one of several people we’re talking to.”
She folded her arms across her dress. “Is he dangerous? Tell me yes or no.”
“There’s no reason to think that—”
“That’s a lawyer answer. What if he’s one of those ticking time bombs youhear about on the news, real quiet until he explodes? Some of the Mexicans havekids. What if he’s one of those perverts46 and you didn’t tell me?”
“Why would you think that, ma’am?”
“He is?” said Stadlbraun. “A pervert47 ?That’s what this is about?”
“No, ma’am, and it would be a real bad idea—”
“It’s in the news every day, all these perverts. It wasn’t like that in myday. Where did they all come from?”
Milo didn’t answer.
Ertha Stadlbraun shook her head. “He gives me the willies. And now you’retelling me he’s an ex-con child molester48.”
Milo leaned in closer. “I am definitely nottelling you that, ma’am. It would be a terrible idea to spread those kinds ofrumors.”
“You’re saying he could sue me?”
“I’m saying that Mr. Peaty is not suspected of anything. He may be amaterial witness and we’re not even sure of that. This is what we call abackground check. We do it all the time to be thorough. Mostly it ends up goingnowhere.”
Ertha Stadlbraun considered that. “Some job you’ve got.”
Milo suppressed a smile. “If you were indanger, I’d tell you. I promise, ma’am.”
Another hair pat. “Well, I’ve got nothing more to tell you. Wouldn’t want tobe careless and spread rumors49. ”
She stood.
Milo said, “May I ask a few morequestions?”
“Such as?”
“When he comes home from work, does he ever leave again?”
Her chest heaved. “He’s an innocent lamb but you want to know about hisschedule…oh, never mind, you’re clearly not going to tell me the truth.”
She turned her back on us.
“Does he ever leave once he’s home?” said Milo.
“Not that I’ve seen but I don’t keep tabs.”
“What about last night?”
She faced us again, shot a disgusted look. “Last night I was busy cooking.Three whole chickens, green beans with onions, yams, coleslaw with baconshreds, four pies. I freeze early in the week so I can relax on Sunday when thekids come to visit. That way I can defrost Sunday morning before church, getback and heat up and we have a real dinner, not that greasy50 fast food.”
“So you didn’t notice what time Mr. Peaty came in.”
“I never notice,” she said.
“Never?”
“I might see him come in occasionally.”
“What time does he usually get here from work?”
“Six, seven.”
“And weekends?”
“Far as I can tell, weekends he stays inside all day. But I’m not going topromise you he never leaves. It’s not like he’d stop by to say hello, him withthose eyes aiming down like he’s counting ants on a hill. I certainly can’ttell you about last night. While I cooked, I had music on, then I watched thenews, then I watched the Essence Awards, then I did a crossword51 and went tosleep. So if you’re looking for me to alibi52 that nut, forget it.”
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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icons
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| n.偶像( icon的名词复数 )；（计算机屏幕上表示命令、程序的）符号，图像 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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resuscitate
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| v.使复活，使苏醒 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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clearance
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| n.净空；许可(证)；清算；清除，清理 | |
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flaunt
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| vt.夸耀，夸饰 | |
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memo
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| n.照会，备忘录；便笺；通知书；规章 | |
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violations
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| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
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tattoos
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| n.文身( tattoo的名词复数 )；归营鼓；军队夜间表演操；连续有节奏的敲击声v.刺青，文身( tattoo的第三人称单数 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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DNA
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| (缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
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sketchier
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| adj.概要的，不完全的，粗略的( sketchy的比较级 ) | |
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ceramic
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| n.制陶业，陶器，陶瓷工艺 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rentals
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| n.租费，租金额( rental的名词复数 ) | |
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raves
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| n.狂欢晚会( rave的名词复数 )v.胡言乱语( rave的第三人称单数 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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rants
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| n.夸夸其谈( rant的名词复数 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨v.夸夸其谈( rant的第三人称单数 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
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lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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perverts
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| n.性变态者( pervert的名词复数 )v.滥用( pervert的第三人称单数 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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pervert
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| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
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molester
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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crossword
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| n.纵横字谜，纵横填字游戏 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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