“That’s what it smells like,” said Milo. Tap of the Volvo. “This one’s a ’96 850, just like you figured, Detective Freeman. Wanna I.D. the Rolls?”
Freeman walked to the board, put on glasses, returned to his seat. “Lower radiator, extended wheel base, got to be a Mark Three Silver Dawn. In terms of the year, about the same vintage as the Volvo: ’93 to ’96.”
“Impressive,” said Milo. “DMV says Heigur’s Rolls is a ’95.”
Reed said, “Rolls-Royce, a house in B.H., mega-money.”
Freeman said, “The house maybe, but not necessarily the car. Market’s soft as a baby’s butt, you could get one of these for twenty-five, thirty K.”
Binchy said, “You’re kidding.”
Alicia said, “Thinking of upgrading, Sean? Putting a surfboard on the roof?”
Binchy smiled. “Maybe, if there’s enough belts for the car seats.”
Coolidge said, “Both cars are from the nineties so maybe that’s when these Asian folk came to town. Meaning they could’ve bought the Rolls new and we are dealing with a big-bucks thing.”
Milo said, “So far, we’ve found no other vehicles registered to Heigur, so maybe. In terms of what that means for the case?” He shrugged.
Reed said, “What I was getting at is that with corporate types or Chinese gangsters, there could be lots of flying in and out. For all we know Vollmann and McGann got dumped near the airport because it was on the way to a fly-out.”
Al Freeman said, “Maybe they are jet-setters but here’s the thing: Cars can’t just sit there, they get garage rot, the engine freezes. So if both vehicles are operable, someone’s driving them on a semi-regular basis. And servicing them. There are plenty of places to handle the Volvo but the Roller’s more specialized. Besides a couple of dealers, there are like four guys in L.A. County you’d go to. It might narrow things down.”
Coolidge turned to regard his colleague. “You going on Jeopardy!? See why I brought him?”
Milo said, “Could you call the four, Al?”
“Sure, get me the VIN and I might be able to nail it, specifically.”
Milo grinned. “I didn’t know better, I’d think you owned one.”
Freeman shrugged.
Coolidge nudged him. “C’mon, give it up, man.”
Alicia whistled.
Freeman said, “Got a ’76 Shadow couple of years ago.”
Hoots all around followed by brief applause.
Freeman got up, bowed, sat down. “No big deal, picked it up for thirteen K.”
Coolidge said, “Bet you don’t tell the ladies that.”
Milo said, “Which of the four mechanics services your car? You could start there.”
“I do it myself.”
Coolidge stared at his friend. “That and college basketball? Where’s your cape, Ironman?”
Alicia looked at Freeman intently.
He said, “It’s not rocket science. Spent some time with a guy in Van Nuys, yeah I’ll start with him.”
“I’ll email the VIN,” said Milo. “Thanks.”
Alicia had loaded a photo of a ’76 Silver Shadow on her phone. “Nice. What color’s yours?”
Freeman said, “Shell gray, red interior.”
“Sounds gorgeous.”
“I take care of it.”
She smiled at him. He smiled back.
Milo said, “In terms of where to go from here, we just keep watching Okash’s places. Same rotation if that works for the three of you.”
Reed, Binchy, and Bogomil nodded.
I said, “Another canvass of Benedict Canyon might be a good idea. Neighbors who weren’t there the first time, people who remember something new.”
Milo said, “If we can fit it in, maybe.”
Alicia said, “What about that autistic kid? He claims he was actually out there when the killers left. Are you sure he told you everything?”
Milo said, “He’s a minor and his mother was pretty protective so I don’t see getting access.”
Alicia said, “We’ve got a psychologist.”
Everyone looked at me.
I said, “I’ll give it a try.”
CHAPTER
38
I drove home thinking about how to approach Crispin Moman. Then I backed up and remembered the job I’d been trained for and looked at the big picture: Ethically, should I approach him?
This was a boy who’d been dealt an unusual hand. I couldn’t see any benefit he’d get from getting more involved. And if his name found its way into the murder book, he could conceivably find himself on a witness list.
If he was my kid, I’d say no.
As someone licensed to take care of people, I said no.
At the next red light, I texted Milo, told him I’d changed my mind and why.
My phoned pinged immediately.
Yeah, thought about it, figured you might say that. No worries. M.
I continued to drive west on Sunset, veered north on Benedict, came to Clearwater Lane, and hooked a right.
Still no cars at the blue house. More mail, spillover from the now full box, piled haphazardly in front of the door. I sifted through it.
Occupant. Resident. Homeowner.
Maybe Reed was right and whoever lived here was on the other side of the planet. With or without Medina Okash.
I returned to the Seville. Just as I turned the key, another text came through.
When are you coming home?
Five, ten minutes. Everything ok?
I’m fine. Just come home.
* * *
—
Robin met me at the door, still in her work overalls, hands drumming her hips, bouncing on her feet.
Not like her, and Blanche was also keyed up, snorting and rotating her head.
I said, “What’s going on, girls?”
Robin took my hand, led me to my office, pointed at my computer. “Sent it to you from my laptop because your screen’s wide.”
Faded color and curvaceous form filled the monitor.
A painting, blurred, busy.
From a distance, the interior of what looked to be a Renaissance drawing room. Voluptuous folds of satin and velvet and embroidered cloth, intricate brocade, tides of sable and ermine fur. All that excess punctuated by gem-like dots of metallic trim.