Milo walked past him, circled the Corolla, squinted inside the car, returned.
“See it?” said Brad Dowd.
“Snow globe.”
“It’s the one I told you about. When Nora broke off with him she must’ve given it back. Don’t you think it’s a little weird that he kept it in his damned heap? And parked the heap in my space?” Dowd’s jaw trembled. “I called Nora yesterday, no answer. Same thing today. She doesn’t have to inform me of her comings and goings, but usually she returns calls. I’m going over to her house but first I wanted you to see this.”
Albert Beamish had spied Nora driving away four days ago. Milo said nothing about that. “Meserve ever leave his car here before, Mr. Dowd?”
“Hell, no. Nora uses the main building for the school but the garage is mine. I’m always in a space crunch.”
“Lots of cars?”
“A few. Sometimes I set aside slots in my buildings, but it’s not always enough. I used to keep a hangar at the airport, which was perfect because it’s right near the office. Then all the demand from the jet owners drove the rentals up.”
He jiggled the padlock. “What bothers me is that only Nora and I know the combination. I wanted her to have it in case of fire or some other disaster. She wouldn’t give it out to him.”
“You’re sure of that,” said Milo.
“What do you mean?”
“Nora’s an adult, sir. Maybe she chose to disregard your advice.”
“About Meserve? No way, Nora agreed with me about that lowlife.” Brad lowered his hand and swung the padlock. “What if he forced her to open up?”
“Why would he do that, sir?”
“To hide that thing,” said Dowd. He eyed the Toyota. “Leaving that stupid globe, there…there’s something off about it. What are you going to do about it?”
“Any idea how long the car’s been here?”
“No more than two weeks because that’s when I took the Stinger in for valve work.”
Milo circled the car again. “Doesn’t seem to be much in here other than the globe.”
“There isn’t,” said Dowd, wringing his hands. The padlock clicked. He hung it on the door hasp and returned, shaking his head. “I warned her about him.”
Milo said, “All we’ve got is his car.”
“I know, I know- think I’m overreacting?”
“It’s normal to worry about your sister but let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“What do I do with the heap?”
“We’ll have the heap towed to the police impound lot.”
“When?”
“I’ll phone right now.”
“Thanks.” Brad Dowd tapped his foot as Milo made the call.
“Within half an hour, Mr. Dowd.”
“Fine, fine- you know what else is bothering me? That girl- the Brand girl. She got mixed up with Meserve and look what happened to her. Nora’s too damned trusting, Lieutenant. What if he showed up and she let him in and he got violent?”
“We’ll check the car for signs of violence. Are you sure your sister and yourself are the only ones with the combination?”
“Damned sure.”
“No way Nora could’ve given it to Meserve? Back when she was still interested in him?”
“She was never interested in him- we’re talking a brief flirtation.” Dowd chewed his lip. “She’d never give him the combination. I explicitly forbade her to give it out. It’s not logical, anyway. If she wanted to open the garage, she could do it herself. Which she wouldn’t, because she knew the Stinger would be coming back.”
“Did she know when?”
“That’s what I was calling her about yesterday. To tell her I’d be driving it back. She didn’t answer.”
“So she didn’t know,” said Milo.
“Let me try her house again.” He produced a shiny black cell phone, punched a two-digit speed-dial code. “Still no answer.”
“Could Reynold Peaty have learned the combination, sir? From working here?”
Dowd’s eyes widened. “Reynold? Why would he want it? Is there something you haven’t told me about him?”
“Turns out he does drive. Has an unregistered vehicle.”
“What? Why the hell would he do that? I pay for a van pool to pick him up and take him to work.”
“He drove himself to a job in Pasadena today.” Milo read off the address from his pad.
“Yeah, that’s one of mine. Oh, Jesus- you’re sure- of course you are, you’ve obviously been watching him.” Dowd ran a thumb through his white hair. His other hand clenched. “I asked you the first time if I should worry about him. Now you’re telling me I should.” Brad shaded his eyes with a shaky hand. “He’s been alone with my sister. This is a nightmare- I can’t tell Billy.”
“Where is Billy?”
“Waiting for me at the office- the key is to find Nora. What the hell are you going to do about that, Lieutenant?”
Milo eyed the PlayHouse. “Have you checked in there?”
“There? No- oh, man!” Brad Dowd bolted toward the building, running around the porch rails with long, smooth strides, fumbling in his pockets as he vaulted steps two at a time. Milo went after him and when Dowd turned the key, Milo stilled his hand.
“Me first, sir.”
Dowd stiffened, then backed away. “Fine. Go. Hurry.”
He positioned himself on the east end of the porch where he leaned on the rail and stared at the garage. Sun peeked out from under the marine layer. Foliage was green again. Dowd’s red Corvette took on an orange sheen.
Six silent minutes passed before the door opened. Milo said, “Doesn’t appear to be any crime scene, but I’ll call the techs and have them take a look if you’d like.”
“What would that entail? Would they tear the place up?”
“There’d be fingerprint dust but no structural damage unless something came up.”
“Like what?”
“Signs of violence.”
“But you don’t see any?”
“No, sir.”
“You need my permission to bring in your people?”
“With no probable cause I do.”
“Then I don’t see the point. Let me go in, I’ll tell you right away if anything’s off.”
Polished oak, everywhere.
Paneled walls, broad-plank flooring, beamed ceilings, window casements. Vigorously grained, quarter-sawn wood milled a century ago, mellowed the color of old bourbon and held together by mortise and tenon joints. Darker wood- black walnut- had been used for the pegs. Fringed brown velvet drapes covered some of the windows.
Others had been left clear, revealing stained glass insets. Flowers and fruit and greenery, high-quality work, maybe Tiffany.
Not much natural light flowed in. The house was dim, silent, smaller than it appeared from the street with a modest entry hall centering two front rooms. What had once been the dining room was set up with old overstuffed thrift-shop chairs, vinyl beanbags, rolled up futons, rubber exercise pads. An open doorway offered a glimpse of a white kitchen.
A stage had been constructed at the rear of the former parlor. Ragged plywood affair on raw fir joists made even cruder by its contrast to the precision joinery and gleaming surfaces everywhere else. Three rows of folding chairs for the audience. Photos taped to the outer wall, many of them black-and-white. What looked to be stills from old movies.
Brad Dowd said, “Everything looks normal.” His eyes shifted to an open door, stage right. “Did you check in back?”
Milo nodded. “Yup, but feel free.”
Dowd went in there and I followed. A short, dark hallway led to two small rooms with an old lav between them. Once-upon-a-time bedrooms paneled with bead board below the chair rail, painted pea green above. One chamber was vacant, the other stored additional folding chairs and was decorated with more movie stills. Both closets were empty.