Mystery_ An Alex Delaware Novel Part 37

Gorgeous spot, wide open and sunny. All that sweet air couldn't conquer the decomp reek. We reached the body just as the coroner's crew finished bagging.

Three techs, a woman and two men. They'd rolled down a snap-open gurney, looked unhappy about the prospect of getting it back up.

One of the men said, "Hey, Lieutenant."

"Walt. Could I have a look at him before you take him?"

Walt unzipped the bag to waist level. An abstractly humanoid ma.s.s, part leather, part oozing headcheese, caught light from the glorious sky. The eyes were gone, canapes for resourceful birds. Some kind of carnivore had feasted on the neck, extruding blood vessels and muscle fibers and tendons. The white shirt was shredded, the black tie turned to b.l.o.o.d.y ribbon. Splintered ribs protruded from a ma.s.sive exit wound. The rotted sponge of lung and the degraded rubber of heart littered the ravaged chest. Dead maggots dusted everything like a hideous toss of wedding rice.

Milo turned to me. "Any way that's remotely recognizable?"

I said, "The hair's the same. So are the clothes and the general size."

Walt said, "You bring witnesses to scenes now, Lieutenant?"

"This witness is authorized." He introduced me as a police consultant but didn't explain my link to Muhrmann. All three techs were puzzled but no one said anything.

The woman said, "If he's on record, we can verify the I.D. Printable left thumb and ring finger, the rest is gnawed to the bone."

Walt said, "Anything else you need, Lieutenant?"

Milo said, "No, thanks. Zip him up."

Walt did so without looking at the body.

The second man, younger, darker, said, "Now the fun part, shlepping him up there. We shouldn't have to do it but the drivers are stuck in traffic and Detective Palmberg wants transport A-sap."

Walt said, "This was TV, they'd send us a copter, do that flashy basket thing. A copter found him in the first place."

"TV," said the woman, "I'd get a makeup artist and fake b.o.o.bs out to here and talk like an idiot." She batted her lashes. "Cee Ess Eye at your disposable, let's do an ultrasonic magnetic cross-section of the left lateral dorsal fibrio-filamental inclusion. Then we'll know who his great-grandfather was, what he ate for Thanksgiving six years ago, and what his first cousin's schnauzer thinks about kibble."

Everyone smiled.

The younger man said, "You ask me, using the gurney's a bigger pain. You guys take the body, I can do the gurney."

The woman said, "Anything to avoid the corpus delecti, Pedro."

Pedro said, "You want to do the gurney, Gloria, I'll do the body."

"Kids, kids," said Walt. To Milo: "Can't take them anywhere."

Milo said, "If you can use two more sets of hands, we're at your service."

Pedro said, "That's okay, we're CSI studs, can handle it all by the first commercial."

Walt said, "Speak for yourself, action hero. As is, my back's gonna b.i.t.c.h for a week, they want to help, G.o.d bless 'em."

Milo scanned the slope. "Anything else down here other than him that I should be concerned about?"

"A little blood," said Walt, "but most of it's on the road and the first ten feet of the drop. We tagged and bagged skin fragments but all you're going to get is more of this guy, there was no struggle."

Milo checked the area anyway, nostrils flaring, then compressing. "How about two of you do the gurney, the rest of us will form the funeral procession."

"It's a plan," said Walt.

We began the climb.

Pedro said, "The Lord is my shepherd. Too bad this this ain't a sheep." ain't a sheep."

*didn't hear from Milo the following day and my call to Gretchen asking how Chad was doing went unanswered.

Robin and I went out to dinner at an Italian place she'd heard about. Little Santa Monica Boulevard on the western edge of the Beverly Hills business district. Family-run, the wife cooking, the husband hosting, two teenage girls serving. Homemade everything, good wine.

Garlic breath for both of us, which is as good a definition of diplomacy as any.

When we got home and took Blanche out of her crate, she licked my hand with special enthusiasm. Did the same for Robin and belched. Now we had a consensus.

The doorbell rang.

Blanche raced to the front of the house and sat there, tail-stub wagging.

Robin said, "Someone she's eager to see."

A voice on the other side bellowed, "Must be my looks."

She let Milo in. "Hope I'm not interrupting, kids."

A cheek peck caused him to grimace. "Spaghetti con olio y mucho garlicko."

"Master detective. I'll go use mouthwash."

"I was just thinking we could all go out. Alas."

"We're happy to feed you."

He threw up his hands. "The sacrifices I make for friendship."

As we walked to the kitchen, Robin said, "How's Rick?"

"Meaning how come I'm dining solo?"

"No, darling. Meaning how's Rick."

"Busy," he said. "On call and probably honing his scalpel as we speak. I'm busy, too, only difference is he's going to actually accomplish something." He stopped. "But don't let me destroy your happy, wholesome domestic ambience. In fact, I should probably take leave before my mope-virus infects anyone."

"Don't be silly," said Robin. "What can I get you? Hopefully something with garlic so we can all be social."

Three hastily snarfed mixed-meat sandwiches and an equal number of cold Grolsches later, he let out his belt a couple of notches and beamed up at her. "You're a ministering angel-who needs Prozac?"

"Bad day, Big Guy?"

"Nothing day."

I said, "No go on Dr. Isabel?"

"If she was any sweeter, I'd need insulin. She sat down with me for over half an hour, took a careful medical history, looked at my hide and pretended it wasn't so bad, then spelled out the pros and cons of dermal abrasion and a whole bunch of alternative treatments. By the end I was feeling so guilty about scamming her, I nearly signed up."

Robin said, "We're talking about one of the daughters-in-law?"

"Yup. The other one wasn't as friendly, but considering the way we barged in on her and dredged up unpleasant memories, she was d.a.m.n near saintly. Bottom line: They both come across as honest and solid and utterly un-criminal and there's nothing in their backgrounds to suggest anything nasty."

"How come you looked at them rather than their husbands?"

"Because someone used the first daughter-in-law's name to check into rehab, meaning another female."

"Dr. Isabel," she said. "What's the other one's name?"

"Connie Longellos."

Robin said, "Connie can be a man's name. Connie Mack used to manage the Yankees."

"How do you know stuff like that?"

"Daddy's girl." She dropped her eyes, the way she does when remembering her father.

"I'm impressed," he said. "Unfortunately, the landlord said it was a woman."

Robin said, "Did I just complicate your life, Big Guy?"

I said, "Actually."

They turned to me.

"The landlord may have a.s.sumed it was a woman from the name on the reference. He never spoke to anyone."

"Indeed," said Milo. He winced. "Maybe you prevented some serious tunnel vision. I'd thank you for thinking outside the box but anyone who blabs about outside the box has obviously never been there."

Robin patted his hand. "Would you like some dessert?"

*walked Milo down to his car.

"Thank Robin for the meal."

"You already did."

"Do it again. For dessert."

"We didn't have dessert."

"I sure did," he said. "Sweet insight." Shaking his head. "Connie Mack. Why the h.e.l.l not? Those brothers get looked at tomorrow."

I said, "Fake Connie's P.O.B. was in Pacific Palisades, which isn't that far from both murders. En route, actually, if you're coming from B.H."

"Gotta be some kind of tie-in...okay, brace yourselves, Phil and Frank. If I can get backup, I'll have them both watched. If not, I'll start with Phil because his hours are more flexible. Plus, he's married to the real Connie and I can see some disgruntled husband pulling something like that."

"No DUIs on Phil's record."

"None on Frank's, either, but big deal, could be luck. Like Phil's the night he pa.s.sed the Breathalyzer." He laughed. "Luck on top of the sperm club. Okay, sweet dreams, if there's something to clue you in on I will."

The call that came through at eleven a.m. wasn't from him. Blocked number, straight to my private line.

"Doc, this is Moe Reed. L.T. asked me to tell you he got called downtown, doesn't know for how long."

"Trouble?"

"If you call a statistics meeting trouble."

"He's been avoiding that for a while."

"Chief calls you personally and...expresses his opinion, you don't avoid."

"Thanks, Moe. Anything else?"

"Chief woke him at six a.m.," said Reed. "Some way to start your day."

I plugged each Suss twin's name into several search engines, cross-referencing with Topanga, Pacific Palisades, Malibu, a couple of West Valley towns. Nothing.

At noon, I walked down the kitchen stairs, crossed the garden to Robin's studio, stopped to feed the fish. She was studying the same guitar top, holding it to the light, tapping at various spots, running a finger along the outer contours. To my eye, she hadn't done much to it. Ten feet away, Blanche snoozed on her doggy bed.

"What's up, honey?"

"Milo's tied up, I thought I'd take another look at Philip Suss's house."

She picked up a chisel, wiped the blade, set it down. "I'll keep you company-don't be so shocked. Why not?"

"For one, it'll be boring."