Sometimes he chooses shiny metal because it’s a better choice initially than the business card that specifies Homicide.
The man said, “What’s up with Ricky?”
“You’re his...”
“Roommate. Jay Briggs. What’s going on?”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Gurnsey’s deceased.”
Briggs’s eyes bugged. “What?”
“We’re really sorry to—”
“What?” A massive fist hammered Briggs’s right thigh, leading my gaze to knees clumped with surfer knots. “What the — what? This is totally fucked.”
“Could we come inside, Mr. Briggs?”
“You’re telling me Rick is — oh, shit, what happened?” Jay Briggs ran his hand through his hair.
Before Milo could answer, he said, “Whatever,” and stepped away from the door. It began to swing shut. I caught it and we stepped inside.
Small living room, more of the moldy sourness from the lobby. Décor was a brown corduroy couch worn bare in spots, a chipped black steamer trunk used as a coffee table, and three pine-and-burlap chairs — red, yellow, blue. The same blue carpeting as out in the hallway. On the table, crushed beer cans, empty beer bottles, a jar half filled with salsa, bags of corn chips. A paper Trader Joe’s bag crammed with more empties tilted precariously near the open entrance to a plywood kitchenette. Two surfboards stood propped in a corner. To the left, a hallway led to three open doorways.
Jay Briggs padded to the fridge, fished out a can of Heineken, popped the top, took a long deep swig, and sat cross-legged on the floor.
“What, some drunk hit him?”
Time to show him the card.
Briggs’s mouth dropped open. “Homicide? I don’t get it. Who? Where?”
“When’s the last time you saw Ricky?”
“I dunno,” said Briggs. “I guess Friday, but not for long, he was going out.”
“With who?”
“Some chick.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t say. He never said, it wasn’t like there was anyone regular.”
“Casual dating,” said Milo.
“You could call it that,” said Briggs. “More like going fishing. Ricky was always ready to fish. A lot of times he caught something.”
“Any details on his Friday night catch?”
“I don’t even know if he had anyone in mind, just that he was going out.” Briggs threw up his hands. “That was Ricky. It was like his... hobby.”
“Women.”
“He lived for ’em.” Briggs’s mouth sagged. “You’re saying he got into trouble ’cause of that?”
“We don’t know enough to say anything, yet. Was Ricky discriminating in his choices?”
“Was he a racist?” said Briggs. “No way, equal opportunity, he liked ’em all.”
I said, “Not picky.”
“About what? Looks? That depended on his HL.” Small smile. “Horniness level. Murdered? Jesus. Where did it happen?”
“Up near Benedict Canyon. You guys ever go up there?”
“We?” said Briggs. “We didn’t go places together anymore, we just roomed.”
“Anymore?”
“We knew each other in high school. I b-balled and ran the mile and Ricky covered sports for the paper.”
“Which high school?”
“Fontana High. We weren’t like tight bros but then we met up a couple years ago, bar at the beach — The Hungry Croc, now it’s called something else — had a few beers and started to conversate. I had just moved back from Tucson, had been looking for a place. Ricky said he had a two-bedroom near the beach, would never let go of it ’cause of the rent control but he didn’t need the second bedroom, I could have it cheap.”
Briggs sighed. “It’s been working out fine, he works days, I work nights. That’s what I mean by not talking much.”
He flexed big hands. “Oh, shit. I can’t handle the rent myself.”
“What do you do nights, Jay?”
“Take care of an old guy. Professor Van Ness, he’s like a hundred, can’t move but his brain’s still okay. I take care of him at night, mostly he sleeps so I can, too. Sometimes I have to change a diaper but it’s cool. I like helping people, used to assistant-coach middle school b-ball in Tucson, then the school, it was a private school, Christian school, had money problems so I decided to come back.”
“Ricky was a lawyer at Sony.”
“Um, not exactly,” said Briggs. “He went to some law school but didn’t pass the bar. To be honest, he was more of a paralegal.”
“Ah,” said Milo.
“He was pretty smart,” said Briggs, sounding uncertain. “Said he didn’t want the hassle of being a lawyer, the main thing was to make enough bank and have free time to party.”
Our eyes swept over the mess on the coffee table.
Briggs said, “That’s on me, Ricky was kind of a neat freak.”
I said, “When were you expecting him back?”
“When he didn’t come up Friday, I figured Saturday. When he didn’t come up Saturday, I figured maybe tonight. But there was no way to tell.”
Milo said, “Did Ricky know a guy named Benson Alvarez?”
“Uh-uh, who’s he? Some Mexican gangster?”
“Did Ricky do any charity work?”
“Like what?” said Briggs, as if the concept was absurd.
“Volunteering his time, helping the homeless, people with disabilities, stuff like that?”
Slow head shake. “Only thing I know is he gave twenty bucks to United Way at the office. Asked me if I wanted to also. I said when I have more, I will, dude. Ricky was cool with that. Ricky was always cool.”
“So not much into volunteering.”
“Not that he told me,” said Briggs. “To be honest, Ricky had time, he’d spend it on one thing.” Shaping an hourglass in the air.
I said, “Did he ever have a long-term relationship — girlfriend, ex-wife?”
Briggs said, “Not since I knew him.”
“He never mentioned a bad situation?”
“Never. But Ricky wasn’t much to bitch. Didn’t talk about his love life, period, just sometimes he’d come home looking happy and I’d say, ‘A hot one, huh?’ And he’d smile and give the thumbs-up.”
“Friendly guy.”
“He liked everyone,” said Briggs. “Sometimes I wondered if that would get him into trouble.”
“In what way?”
“I mean, it’s okay to be okay with people, right? But not all people are good people, right? I mean sometimes it pays to be a little... not paranoid, just a little suspicious. Watch your back, right? I had an ex-wife, right after high school. She lied and told me she was pregnant then she cheated on me, then she got to keep my truck.”
He frowned, remembering.
I said, “You’re careful but Ricky wasn’t.”
“Ricky liked everyone,” Briggs repeated. “Now look what happened.”
Milo said, “You’re thinking he got friendly with the wrong person.”
“It’s possible, no?” Briggs recrossed his legs. “I guess what I’m saying is the guy had no walls around him and sometimes you need walls.”
His hands clasped on his knees and he rocked a couple of times. “He was my friend, I don’t want talk smack about him.”
“Of course not,” said Milo. “But if you know something that helps find his killer, you need to tell us.”
“Yeah... it’s just, all this me-too shit going around. You know?”
“Ricky didn’t always treat women right.”
“He’d say he did. Because they had fun, too.”
We waited.
Look,” said Briggs, “I’m not saying he ever roofied anyone. Did a Harvey or a Cosby, that kind of thing.”
Long arms folded across his bare chest.
I said, “But...”
“But he... oh, man, don’t take this the wrong way. Okay?”