“Got it,” said Brad, patting his brother’s shoulder. “What’s up, gentlemen?”
Milo said, “There’s been a murder…one of your sister’s students- ”
“My God, that’s horrible- Nora’s okay?”
Same protective reflex as Billy.
“I already asked him that, Brad. Nora’s good.”
Brad must’ve put some weight on Billy’s shoulder because the smaller man sagged.
“Where did this happen and who exactly did it happen to?”
“ West L.A. The victim’s a young woman named Michaela Brand.”
“The one who faked being kidnapped?” said Brad.
His brother stared up at him. “You never told me about that, Bra- ”
“It was in the news, Bill.” To us: “Did her murder have something to do with that?”
“Any reason it would?” said Milo.
“I’m not saying it did,” said Brad Dowd. “I’m just asking- it’s a natural question, don’t you think? Someone garners publicity, it has the potential to bring out the weirdos.”
“Did Nora talk about the hoax?”
Brad shook his head. “Murdered…terrible.” He frowned. “It must’ve hit Nora hard, I’d better call her.”
“She’s okay,” said Milo. “We just talked to her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Your sister’s fine. We’re here, sir, because we need to talk to anyone who might’ve had contact with Ms. Brand.”
“Of course,” said Brad Dowd. He smiled at his brother. “Billy, would you do me a favor and go down and get a sandwich from DiGiorgio’s- you know how I like it.”
Billy Dowd got off the desk and looked up at his brother. “Peppers, egg, eggplant, and tomato. A lot of pesto or just a medium amount?”
“A lot, bro.”
“You got it, bro. Nice to meet you guys.” Billy hurried off.
When the door closed, Brad Dowd said, “He doesn’t need to hear about this kind of thing. What else can I help you with?”
“Your janitor, Reynold Peaty. Anything to say about him?”
“You’re asking because of his arrests?”
Milo nodded.
“Well,” said Brad, “he was up-front about them when he applied for a job. I gave him points for honesty and he’s been a good worker. Why?”
“Just routine, sir. How’d you find him?”
“Agency. They weren’t up-front about his past, so we dropped them.”
“How long’s he been working for you?”
“Five years.”
“Not that long after his last arrest in Nevada.”
“He said he’d had a drinking problem and had gotten clean and sober. He doesn’t drive, so any DUI problems aren’t going to happen.”
Milo said, “Are you aware of his arrest for peeping through a window?”
“He told me about everything,” said Brad. “Claimed that was also the drinking. And the only time he’d done something like that.” He flexed his shoulders. “Many of our tenants are women and families with children, I’m not naive, keep my eyes out on all the employees. Now that the Megan’s Law database is up and operating, I check it regularly. I assume you do, too, so you know Reynold isn’t on there. Is there some reason you’re asking about him, other than routine?”
“No, sir.”
Brad Dowd inspected his fingertips. Unlike his brother’s, beautifully manicured. “Please be up-front, Detective. Do you have the slightest bit of evidence implicating Reynold? Because he circulates among lots of our buildings and as much as I’d like to trust him, I’d hate to incur any liability. Not to mention the human cost.”
“No evidence,” said Milo.
“You’re sure.”
“That’s the way it looks, so far.”
“So far,” said Brad Dowd. “Not exactly encouraging.”
“There’s no reason to suspect him, sir. If I hear otherwise, I’ll let you know.”
Dowd fiddled with a hand-stitched lapel. “There’s no subtext here, is there, Detective? You’re not suggesting I fire him?”
“I’d prefer that you don’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“No sense stirring things up, Mr. Dowd. If Peaty’s turned his life around, more power to him.”
“That’s how I feel…that poor girl. How was she killed?”
“Strangled and stabbed.”
Dowd winced. “Any idea by who?”
“No, sir. Here’s another routine question: Do you know Dylan Meserve?”
“I’m aware of who he is. Is there any sense asking why he’s part of your routine?”
“He hasn’t been seen for a while and when we tried to talk to your sister about him, she ended the conversation.”
“Nora,” said Brad wearily. His eyes shot to the doorway. “Hey, bro. Smells good, thanks.”
Billy Dowd toted an open cardboard carton, using both hands, as if his cargo was precious. Inside was a hero-sized sandwich wrapped in orange paper. Aromas of tomato paste, oregano, and basil filled the office.
Brad turned so his brother couldn’t see and slipped Milo a yellow business card. Perfect match to his shirt. “Anything I can do to help, Detective. Feel free to call me if you have any further questions- that smells fantastic, Billy. You’re the man.”
“You’re the man,” said Billy gravely.
“You, too, Bill.”
Billy Dowd’s mouth screwed up.
Brad said, “Hey, we can both be the man.” He took the sandwich and cuffed his brother’s shoulder lightly. “Right?”
Billy considered that. “Okay.”
CHAPTER 16
By the time we made it to the door, Brad Dowd had his dinner unwrapped and was saying, “This hits the spot, Bill.”
As we climbed down to the strip mall’s first level, Milo said, “That sandwich smelled good.”
We parked near the far west end of the airport. The coffee from Café DiGiorgio was dark and strong. Milo pushed the seat back as far as it would go and got to work on his meatball and pepper sandwich.
After four ferocious bites, he stopped to breathe. “Looks like ol’ Bradley watches out for his sibs.”
“Looks like they both bear watching.”
“What’s your diagnosis on Billy?”
“The best word’s probably ‘simple.’ ”
“And Nora’s a spacey doper.”
“You’re ready to take the state boards,” I said.
He scanned blue sky. No sleek white jets to feed his fantasies. He fished out Brad Dowd’s yellow business card and handed it over.
Crisp, substantial paper. Bradley Dowd’s name embossed in chocolate italics, above a phone number with an 825 prefix.
“Gentleman’s calling card,” I said. “You don’t see that too often.”
“Once a rich kid, always a rich kid. I’ll call him tonight, find out what he didn’t want to talk about in front of his brother.”
I got home at six, cleared a tapeful of junk messages, listened to one from Robin that had come in ten minutes ago.
“I could tell you this is about shared grief for our late pooch but it’s really…a booty call. I guess. Hopefully, you’re the only one listening to this. Please erase it. Bye.”
I called her back. “I erased it.”
“I’m lonely,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“Should we do something about it?”
“I think so.”
“That’s not exactly rabid desire, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I was at her house in Venice by seven. We spent the next hour in bed, the rest of the evening reading the paper and watching the last third of Humoresque on The Movie Channel.
When the film was over, she got up without a word and left for her studio.
I tried to sleep, didn’t have much success until she returned to bed. I was up just after seven when western light streaming through her curtains couldn’t be denied.