“Whoa,” he said. “That’s like … historical. Original engine?”
“Third.”
“Third,” he said. “Caddy?”
I nodded. “New old stock.”
“Wow wow wow, that’s like antique.”
Lisa Lefko tapped a stiletto heel on the pavement. A black-and-white drove past, entered the staff parking lot. She followed its trajectory. So did Efren.
“Cops,” he said. “They could use better wheels. Make ’em happier, they stop giving problems to everyone.”
Steel in his voice. Lisa Lefko cleared her throat, arched her back advertising her figure, dared anyone to make a comment.
Movie-star face, pinup body, the eyes of an IRS auditor. She reminded me of someone — Connie’s lawyer, Medea Wright, another looker with a J.D. not afraid to flaunt.
Lisa Lefko could be Wright’s taller, blonder sorority sister. Maybe law schools were looking for a type.
Efren said, “Okay, Doc, let’s do this.”
Lefko said, “He’s not part of it, E.C.”
“What you talking about?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you on the way over, E.C. Got a call from that lieutenant. Dr. Delaware’s not going to be part of your interview.”
“Why not?”
“Police procedure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means whatever they want it to mean, E.C. Bottom line: They don’t want him participating.”
He turned to me. “You know about that?”
I shook my head. “All I was told was you requested I show up.”
“Shit,” he said. “They wasting your time, they wasting my time.”
Lisa Lefko said, “Before you get too friendly with the doctor, consider that maybe he’s closer to them than he is to you, showed up as a sop to you.”
Efren said, “Sock?”
She sighed. “Sop. Throwing you a bone.”
“Huh?”
“Cops want you here, you wanted Dr. Delaware here. They probably figured you two would talk for a few minutes, then they’d corral you. But now you managed that on your own. So can we go in and get it over?” Turning to me, she continued to address him. “It’s not like you have anything to tell them, Efren.”
He blinked. “Yeah. True.” To me: “Good to see you, Doc. Just wanted to make sure you’re healthy.”
“I am. Thanks.”
He hooked a thumb at the station entrance. “Lisa says you work with the cops.”
Always did.
I said, “Sometimes.”
“Like what, getting inside bad guys’ heads?” Smiling.
“Basically.”
“You still seein’ sugar babies?”
“Once in a while.”
“Mostly it’s the cops?”
Lisa Lefko said, “E.C., we really need to—”
He waved her quiet, gripped my hand with both of his. “Been real, Doc. Stay healthy.”
I waited a couple of minutes before phoning Milo’s desk.
Moe Reed answered. “He just started talking to the suspect, Doc. You’re supposed to go to his office, video feed’s on his computer.”
“Right on the desktop?” I said. “New system?”
“Been operative for over a year,” said Reed. “This morning he let me show him how to use it.”
Clean, beige room. One table, three chairs, no water, no coffee. The table was pushed into a far corner. No physical barrier for psychological protection. Efren sat next to Lisa Lefko. Both of them faced Milo.
Milo said, “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Casagrande.”
Efren said, “Hey, my pleasure.”
“Okay, let’s start—”
Lisa Lefko said, “In this case, start equals finish. Mr. Casagrande has nothing to discuss about anything.”
She got up, hefted her briefcase.
Milo turned scarlet. “What the—”
“Mr. Casagrande has nothing probative to offer about any criminal or civil matters and upon advice of legal counsel, he will offer no replies to any questions whatsoever.”
Milo leaned toward Efren. “That the way you feel?”
Efren’s smile was gone. His shoulders were stiff as he turned to Lefko.
As surprised as Milo.
Lefko said, “That’s exactly the way he feels, Lieutenant.”
Milo said, “She talks for you, huh?”
Efren said, “Hey, Leese, we can talk about the Dodgers, no?”
Lefko’s face was stony.
Milo said, “If you intended this all along, Ms. Lefko, why did we waste time—”
“Good question, Lieutenant.”
Both men stared at her. She cocked a hip, tossed hair, switched her briefcase to the other hand. “Ready, Mr. Casagrande?”
Efren shifted in his chair. His laugh was strained.
Milo said, “Adios,” and stomped out of the room.
Once he was gone, Lisa Lefko smiled down at her client. First indication I’d seen that she was capable.
Efren sat there.
She said, “Don’t say anything, I’m sure the room is bugged.”
He didn’t move.
“Got some mail for you back at my office,” she said. “From out of town.”
Emphasis on town. Efren’s eyebrows climbed. She walked to the door. Held it open for him.
His turn to follow. He did. Moving like a much older man.
CHAPTER 18
Milo flung open his office door hard enough to propel the knob into the wall. Easy fit into the hole he’d established years ago. He yanked the knob out. Plaster snowed on linoleum.
Flicking a black lick of hair off his mottled forehead, he said, “What a fun job, that mouthy little lawyer …”
Dropping onto his chair, he set off a chorus of squeaks.
I said, “She’s Efren’s attorney of record but I doubt he’s her primary client.”
“Who, then?”
“The greater organization.”
“Barbie the Mob Mouthpiece?” He rolled his neck, loosened his tie. “What makes you say that?”
“Efren looked as surprised as you by her sandbag. And after you left, he sat there until she told him she had mail waiting for him from out of town. Sounded like code to me.”
Shuffling papers, he shoved them aside. “Probably … a total waste of time — at least you’re happy.”
“You’re not?”
“What do I have to be happy about?”
I smiled. “My continuing existence.”
He stretched his arms wide, crooked the right limb to avoid slamming a wall. Wriggling out of his jacket, he scrolled through email that made him glower.
His office is a cramped, stuffy, windowless closet far from the big detective room. Part of a deal he and a former police chief hammered out after Milo unearthed enough dirt to demolish the boss’s personal and professional lives. An urbane, enthusiastically corrupt man, the chief probably figured the room would serve as punishment. I believe Milo regards it as a perk. When it comes to LAPD, he’s always been a man apart.
In the old days, that resulted from being a gay detective when the department supposedly had none. It’s been years since his locker was stuffed with nasty porn and carved with swastikas. Nowadays the department has regulations that bar discrimination of anyone by anyone based on anything, anytime. What that does to internal attitude is anyone’s guess.
What distances Milo these days from his colleagues are an affection for solitude and an allergy to authority. The new chief keeps him on because he’s a statistics fan and Milo’s close rate is always at the top. But my friend will never rise above lieutenant.
To someone else that might be career stalemate. Milo likes it just fine because most lieutenants work the desk (“Just what the world needs, another pencil-pushing zombie”) while he’s got the title, the pay, and the promised pension, and can still detect.