“She wasn’t upset?”
“Sure she was, but it wasn’t any big hysterical scene, know what I mean? She cried a little, I told her we’d be friends, and that was that.”
I said, “Did you remain friends?”
“There was no… animosity.”
“Did you continue to see each other?”
“No,” said Nichols, regarding me with wariness now. He cupped his clean head with one big hand, scratched loose a flake of sun-baked skin. “I’d see her at my folks’. There was no bad feelings.”
Milo said, “Those lobster dinners. Any particular place?”
Nichols stared at him. “I can eat lobster anywhere, but Flora liked this place in the Marina, out by the harbor.”
“Bobby J’s.”
“That’s the one. Flora liked to look at the boats. But then one time I offered to arrange a cruise around the Marina, and she said she got seasick. That was Flora. All talk.”
“Flora was scheduled to go to Bobby J’s for brunch the morning after she got murdered. She and her new boyfriend.”
“So?”
Milo shrugged.
Nichols said, “New boyfriend? What, I’m supposed to know that? Don’t make like I was the old boyfriend and she threw me over and I gave a shit because that is total bullshit.”
“Roy,” said Milo, “Flora’s problems aside, I assume you and she did sleep together?”
“Tried is more like it. Flora could make like her legs were glued together. And it was always like you were hurting her. You wanna know my opinion, that is how she ran into trouble.” Nichols’s chin jutted defiantly. “What if she led some guy on, then wouldn’t come through? Some dude not as understanding as me. For all I know, that boyfriend of hers snapped. He seemed like a wimp, but isn’t it always the quiet ones?”
“You met him?”
“One time. Flora brought him by my folks’ house. Thanksgiving, it was evening, after we finished stuffing our pie-holes. I was mellowing out on the couch, like when I eat that way don’t make me move, man. Lisa and my mom were washing up and my dad and me were both blissed out watching the tube and boing goes the doorbell. In comes Flora all dressed up, arm in arm with this pale-faced wimp-ass dude with this wimp-ass mustache, and he’s looking uncomfortable, like what the fuck am I doing here? She claims she came by to visit my folks, but I know she’s there to show me she’s doing okay without me. That’s how women are.”
Nichols tapped his upper teeth on his lowers. “Like Mr. Teacher’s gonna impress me. You check him out?”
“You don’t think much of Van Dyne.”
“I got nothing against him, I was happy he had her, maybe he could deal with her.” Nichols smiled. “Or maybe he couldn’t. That’s your job to find out. Now can I go back and earn some bucks?”
“Where were you Monday night, say between 7 and 11 P.M.?”
“Monday? Why? What happened Monday?”
Milo stepped closer. He and Nichols were eye level, their noses inches apart. Nichols’s chin continued to jut, but his eyes flickered, and he flinched.
“Answer the question please, Roy.”
“Monday… I was at my parents’.” The admission made Nichols flush again. This time the color reached his brow. “I’m living there till I find a new place.”
“You’re sure you were there Monday night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m up every day at four-thirty in the morning so I have time to work out and shower and eat a good breakfast and be on the job at six-thirty. I work my ass off all day, come home, lift some more, eat, watch TV, go to sleep by eight-thirty. That’s my swinging life, and I’m cool with it, okay? What I’m not cool with is you coming by and hassling me for no reason. I’ve got no obligation to talk to you, so now I’m going back to work.”
We watched him swagger away.
I said, “And our first nominee in the Mr. Charm contest…”
Milo said, “On the edge.”
“Teetering.”
“You see him as our bad guy?”
“If his alibis don’t check out, I’d definitely be interested.”
“Flora was killed between midnight and two. He claims a buddy drove him home just after twelve, and his wife woke him at two. That sounds awfully cute, and I didn’t see any mention of it in the file.”
I said, “What if he came home a bit earlier and Lisa woke him up closer to one? She browbeat him, got everything off her chest, and hit the sack, left him furious and frustrated, unable to go back to sleep. He got out of bed, left the house, and drove over to someone else who’d frustrated him. High stress is a trigger for some sexual killers. And plenty of organized types maintain outwardly stable marriages while brutalizing other women.”
“Have a tiff with the wife, take it out on the ex.”
I said, “He seems under lots of stress now. A sexually charged fellow back to living with his parents.”
“Gavin and the blonde,” he said. “A couple about to get it on pushes his button because he’s all pent up sexually.”
“His alibi for Gavin and the blonde is even flimsier because he and his parents don’t share a room. He could’ve easily sneaked out without their knowing. Even if they claim otherwise, they’re his parents.”
Nichols continued toward the framework without looking back. We watched him climb up to the second floor, strap on his tool belt, stretch, and pick up his nail gun. He took another stretch- aiming for casual before pressing the gun to a crossbeam.
Snap snap snap.
Milo said, “Let’s get outta here,” and we returned to the car. He got back on Sepulveda and drove north, toward L.A. The boulevard was crammed and slow. The air- hot, unyielding- seemed to press upon the sides of the unmarked. Lots of stares. Everyone knew it was an unmarked. Even if we’d been in a VW, Milo’s restless eyes would have given him away.
He said, “What I’d like to know is why Lorraine and Al didn’t bother putting Nichols in the murder book.”
“You going to ask her?”
“That’s my way, bub. Open, honest, sincere.”
“That should be fun.”
“Hey,” he said, “I’ll be sensitive.”
He flipped on the police radio, listened to felony calls for a few moments, muttered, “I love this city,” and squelched the volume.
I said, “Even if Nichols is innocent, he gave us useful information.”
“Flora’s sexual problems?”
“Maybe the reason she went for therapy. That would explain her not telling Van Dyne. Now that I think about it, he also described her as not very passionate on the surface. The timing fits: She began treatment after getting dumped by Nichols and before meeting Van Dyne. Nichols claims he was gentlemanly, but I’m sure he was brutally clear about why he was ending the relationship.”
“Mr. Tactful,” he said. “ ‘Hey, bitch, unglue your legs or I’m outta here.’ ”
“Once Flora got over the hurt, maybe she decided she did have a problem. Seeking a woman therapist for a sexual issue makes sense.”
“Koppel does sex therapy, too?”
“There seems to be very little she doesn’t do.”
The light turned red, and he rolled to a stop. A jumbo jet swooped down low on its approach to LAX. When the noise cleared, I said, “Assuming Nichols’s alibis do check out, do you have the stomach for another theory?”
“At this point, I’ll take astrology.”
“As part of treatment, Koppel enouraged Flora to be more assertive and adventurous, and she began taking risks. It’s standard operating procedure in cases like hers.”
“What kind of risks?”
“Striking up conversations with strangers, maybe even getting picked up. And she picked up the wrong guy. Which could lead us right back to the parole office. What if Flora connected with a con? Someone aggressive and hypermacho- someone like Roy Nichols but with no boy-next-door history to rein him in. The murder could’ve been a sexual escapade taken too far. Or Flora changed her mind and paid for it horribly.”