“I came down because Reynold’s dead and no one else is going to bury him. He’s all I’ve got left in terms of family.”
“Except Brad.”
“Brad’s your concern, not mine.”
“You don’t like him.”
“He was raised in another family,” she said.
Silence.
Finally, she said, “Julie the dancer. That bothered me big time. Now you’re showing me photos of other blond girls. Reynold was dumb and sloppy and a drunk but he was never cruel.”
“So far you haven’t told us anything Brad did that was cruel.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Marcia Peaty. “And I guess I can’t because, like I said, he and I haven’t exactly been hanging out.”
“But…”
“You know, guys,” she said, “this is real weird and I don’t think I like it.”
“Like what?”
“Being on the receiving end of what I used to dish out.”
“It’s for a good cause, Marcia,” said Milo. “In terms of Julie the Showgirl, did Harold Fordebrand’s gut say anything more about Brad than he was slick?”
“You’d have to ask Harold. Once he found out Brad was my cousin he kept me out of the loop.”
“How about your gut…”
“Brad’s demeanor bothered me. Like he was enjoying some private joke. You guys know what I mean.”
“Despite that, you got Reyn a job with him.”
“And now Reyn’s gone,” she said. Her face crumpled and she turned to hide it from us. When she faced us again, her voice was small. “You’re saying I screwed up big time.”
“No,” said Milo. “I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, far from it. All this stuff you’re telling us is beyond helpful. We’re just groping around here.”
“No case yet.”
“Not hardly.”
“I was hoping I was wrong,” she said.
“About what?”
“Brad being somehow involved with Reynold’s death.”
“No indication he is.”
“I know, an altercation. You’re saying that’s all there was to it?”
“So far.”
“The old stonewall,” said Marcia Peaty. “I’ve laid a few bricks myself. Let me ask you this: The way Brad treated Reyn, giving him scut work, the Dowds owning all those properties, and they stick Reyn in a hovel. That add up to the milk of human kindness? These people are just what Mom always said they were.”
“What’s that?”
“Poison palming itself off as perfume.”
CHAPTER 40
Marcia Peaty switched the subject and Milo didn’t stop her.
Procedural questions about how to take possession of her cousin’s body. His rundown wasn’t much different from the one he’d given Lou Giacomo.
She said, “Paperwork aerobics. Okay, thanks for your time. Am I wasting my time asking you to keep me informed?”
“Something resolves, we’ll let you know, Marcia.”
“If, not when? You have any serious leads?”
He smiled.
She said, “That’s why I never did Homicide. Too much effort getting the optimism meter up.”
“Vice can get sketchy, too.”
“That’s why I didn’t do Vice for long. Give me a nice boosted set of wheels.”
“Chrome don’t bleed,” said Milo.
“Ain’t that the truth.” She reached for the check. Milo placed his hand on it.
“Let me pay for my share.”
“On the house,” said Milo.
“You or the department?”
“The department.”
“Right.” She put down a twenty, slid out of the booth, shot us a tight smile, and hurried off.
Milo pocketed the cash and pushed crumbs around his plate. “Ol’ Brad’s been a baaad boy.”
“Young blondes,” I said. “Too bad Tori dyed her hair.”
“Amelia, the whole platinum bombshell thing. What, he’s killing Stepmommy over and over?”
“His own mother abandoned him, handed him over to someone who didn’t even pretend to care. He has lots of reasons to hate women.”
“He was in his thirties when Julie the Showgirl disappeared. Think she was his first?”
“Hard to say. The main thing was he got away with it, built up his confidence for the move back to L.A. After Amelia and the captain died, he managed to take over the family real estate empire. Cared well for Billy and Nora because happy sibs don’t complain. Maybe the PlayHouse is a tax dodge and a sop for Nora, but it was good for him, too. Start an acting school, who shows up?”
“Gorgeous mutants,” he said. “All those blonde auditions.”
“And rejects like the Gaidelases. Normally, Brad would ignore people like Cathy and Andy but they reminded him of Amelia and the captain, down to the captain’s effeminate manner. How’s this for a scenario: He ran into them leaving an audition. Or waiting for a tryout. Either way, it had to feel like destiny, he played nice guy, promised to help. Told them meanwhile enjoy your vacation. Do some hiking, I know a great spot.”
“Billy’s acreage in Latigo.” He folded and unfolded his napkin. Snatched up his phone, got Harold Fordebrand’s number from Vegas 411, called, left a message. “Guy sounds exactly like Ed.”
I said, “The Kolor Krew was a quartet.”
“Who?”
“The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market.” I described the publicity shot on the PlayHouse wall. “The Dowd kids plus one. Maybe there’s someone else who can fill us in about the good old days.”
He said, “You feel like researching the history of bubblegum music, be my guest. I need another face-to-face with the sib who really ain’t one. Starting with a drop-in at the BNB office. If Brad’s not there, it’s over to his house. Eventually, a day at the beach will be on the agenda.”
I said, “Think Billy even knows he owns the Latigo property?”
“Brad bought it and put it in Billy’s name?”
“Brad lives near the ocean, has surfed enough to grow knots on his knees. Meaning he knows Malibu. A nice, secluded oceanview lot on the land-side might appeal to him, especially if it was paid for with Billy’s money. Being in charge of family finances, Brad could get Billy to sign on the dotted line. Or just forge Billy’s name. Meanwhile, Billy pays the property tax and doesn’t have a clue.”
“The assessor says there are no structures on the lot. What would Brad use it for?”
“Meditation, planning a dream house, burying bodies.”
“Billy pays, Brad plays,” he says. “Nora’s no business type, either. Meaning Brad can basically do what he wants with all the money.” He rubbed his face. “All this time, I’ve been looking for Peaty’s stash spots, but Brad has access to dozens of buildings and garages all over the county.”
“He came right out and told us he stores his cars in some of the properties.”
“He did, indeed. What was that, playing mind games?”
“Or bragging about his collection. This is a guy who needs to feel important. I’m wondering if it could’ve been him watching Angeline Wasserman from that Range Rover.”
“Why would it be him?”
“Last time I saw him, he had on a nice linen suit. There were a bunch just like it hanging from a rack at the Barneys outlet.”
“Snappy dresser,” he said. “Maybe a regular, just like Wasserman. He observes her, knows she’s absentminded, lifts her purse.”
“The goal was to get her phone, he couldn’t’ve have cared less about the money or the credit cards,” I said. “The more I think about that, the better I like it: well-dressed middle-aged guy who shops there all the time, no reason to suspect him. Angeline might know his face but the Rover’s tinted windows would’ve prevented her from realizing it was him. It was his ride she concentrated on, anyway- ‘twinsie karma.’ ”
He retrieved Wasserman’s number from his pad and punched it. “Ms. Wasserman? Lieutenant Sturgis, again…I know you are but just one more question, okay? There’s a gentleman who shops at the outlet regularly, mid-forties, nice-looking, white hair- you do…oh…no, it’s more…maybe…okay, thanks…no, that’s it.”