Mystery_ An Alex Delaware Novel Part 2

Milo said, "You just turned a really bad color. Sorry."

"Any idea what time she was killed?"

"Best guess is midnight to four and the old guy was there by three fifteen, so that narrows it."

"I saw her from nine to nine thirty. She was young-twenty-five or so, sat ten feet from Robin and me. Extremely pretty, big dark eyes, but I can't tell you about her hair because it was completely covered by the scarf. She was wearing a diamond watch, carried a white silk clutch, smoked a cigarette in an ivory holder and used a matching lighter. A few minutes in, she put on rhinestone-framed sungla.s.ses. She seemed to be waiting for someone. There was a theatrical aspect to her behavior. Robin thought she was channeling Audrey Hepburn. No need to show Robin these pictures."

He inhaled deeply, placed his hands flat on the table. "Where. Did. This. Happen?"

I described the Fauborg's final night.

"Hotel swan song," he said. "Hers, too. Oh, man...so maybe she was staying there and I'll get a name from the register."

"Good luck but doubtful, no one was working the desk and the place looked cleaned out."

"Someone'll have a record." He scratched the side of his nose. Sweat stained the table where his paw had rested. "This is weird, Alex."

"All the cases we've worked, maybe it was due."

"Anything else you want to tell me?"

"There was a guy out in front with a Secret Service thing going on-black suit, white s.h.i.+rt, black tie, two-way radio, what looked like a gun bulge. Robin and I a.s.sumed it was for her benefit because no one else in the bar looked like they needed protection."

"Why'd you figure she did?"

"We didn't, she was just the most likely candidate. It's not that she projected vulnerability-maybe she did. She also looked like someone who should be famous but neither of us could place her. She kept checking her watch but when we left no one had showed up. And Mr. Black Suit was gone so maybe his gig had nothing to do with her."

He pulled out his pad. "What'd this guy look like?"

I told him and he scrawled. "The waiter might know if anyone showed up. He was paying pretty close attention to her. Some temp named Neil. She vamped for him and he bought it pretty hard."

"When was closing time?"

"I don't know. You're wondering if they were both there till the end and he tried to pick her up and something went bad?"

"Her clothes and the watch say she was way out of his league but some guys don't convince easily. Give me a detailed physical on this amateur."

*ead people don't answer questions. Sometimes the same goes for dead businesses.

Milo's attempts to get info from the former owners of the Fauborg Hotel proved fruitless. Marcel Jabotinsky's heirs had relocated to Zurich and New York and London and Boulder, Colorado. The hotel had been unoccupied for two months with most of the fixtures sold at auction and the records dumped. No one knew a thing about the temporary staff who'd worked the bar's final night.

A niece in Colorado thought the evening had been coordinated by her cousin in Scarsdale. That woman denied any involvement but believed that an uncle in Switzerland had hired an event-planning outfit.

"Waste of money far as I'm concerned, but Hermann's senile and sentimental."

Hermann didn't answer his phone. Cold calls to local event coordinators pulled up nothing.

I said, "Neil said he got the gig through a temp agency."

Plenty of those on the Westside. Brite-Quick, the twelfth company Milo reached, admitted supplying two people to the Fauborg at the request of Madame Estelle Jabotinsky of Park Avenue.

"She sounded pretty old," said the owner. "If I'm remembering correctly, the deal was to honor the guy who built the place or something. But she didn't want to spend anything and all she'd go for was two people."

"Could I have those two names, please?"

"They in trouble?"

"Not at all."

"Let me emphasize," said the owner. "We background-check, they had to come up clean."

"That's great. The names?"

Sherree Desmond, 43, bartender, address in Mount Was.h.i.+ngton.

Nelson Neil Mutter, 22, waiter, Gower Street, Hollywood.

No criminal history for either. Sherree wasn't fond of paying parking tickets. Nelson who preferred Neil had just applied for a temporary license, requesting reciprocity from DMV Nebraska.

Nebraska said Mutter had been driving since the age of sixteen, maintained a clean record.

"Careful driver," said Milo. "Given the state of her face, that doesn't mean much."

We drove to Mutter's address on Gower. The building took up a third of the block, rising five off-white stories and shading its neighbors. Newish construction but already shabby, with rain streaks smirching the windowsills and stucco peeling at the corners. Potted plants, satellite dishes, and a.s.sorted junk filled narrow balconies. Nearly a hundred units behind the iron security gate. With no alphabetization, it took a while to find Mutter, N Mutter, N on the b.u.t.ton-studded panel. on the b.u.t.ton-studded panel.

Unit 105, shared with Adams, T Adams, T and and LaScola, B LaScola, B.

The door pickets offered a glimpse of a cramped lobby and a red-door elevator. A female voice answered Milo's b.u.t.ton-push. "Yes?"

"Nelson Mutter, please."

"Sorry, he's out."

"This is Lieutenant Sturgis, L.A. Police. Any idea when he'll be back?"

"Is Neil okay?"

"Far as I know, ma'am. I need to talk to him. Where is he?"

"Um...I think he went to the 7-Eleven to get some drinks. Or something."

"You're his roommate?"

"One of them."

"Could you come out for a second? Or you can beep us in."

A beat. "I'll come down."

The girl was black, gorgeous, with round gray eyes, apricot curls, and a slim body encased in a hot pink unitard. Sweatband just under the hairline. Sweat on her cute little b.u.t.ton nose. Her arm muscles glistened.

Milo flashed the badge and she opened the gate.

"Thanks," he said, "Ms...."

"Tasha Adams. I don't really know Neil, we've just been rooming together." Not a trace of irony.

"How long have you been roomies?"

"A little over two months. It's a one-bedroom, Brenda-my friend-and I share, Neil sleeps on the sofa bed in the living room. We don't charge him a full third. He's really neat, so it's been okay."

"How'd you guys get together?"

"Craigslist," said Tasha Adams, as if any other method was prehistoric. "Brenda and I are dancers, we came out from Chicago to audition for Rock On Rock On. We got hired then the show got canceled in preproduction but we already signed the lease and besides, we still wanted to try to break in somewhere. Brenda's got a job teaching little kids ballet but I'm living off what I earned last year teaching modern. Neil pays on time and he minds his own business. Why do you want to talk to him?"

"A temp job he did last night."

"That hotel."

"He told you about it."

"He said he finally got a gig through the temp agency but it was only one night, he might have to go back to McDonald's or something."

"When did he leave the apartment this morning?"

"Hmm," said Tasha Adams. "I'd have to say forty minutes ago?"

"Going to the 7-Eleven."

"That's where he usually buys his drinks."

"Beer?"

"No, soda. Neil's straight as they come."

"What time did he come home last night?"

"I'd have to say...eleven?"

"Could it have been later?" said Milo.

"Hmm...actually it was probably earlier...yeah, for sure, Teen Cribs Teen Cribs was still on-but almost over. So just before eleven." was still on-but almost over. So just before eleven."

Milo scrawled.

"Is there something you should be telling me?" said Tasha Adams. "He does live with us."

"A guest at that hotel ran into some trouble last night, Tasha. Neil's not a suspect, we're just gathering information."

"Trouble," she said. "Like someone-oh, there he is. Hey, Neil, these guys want to talk to you. They're the police."

Nelson Mutter in a T-s.h.i.+rt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops stopped short. He studied Milo, then me. Mouthed, Huh? Huh? In one hand was a plastic Dodgers' cup big enough to wash a family of parakeets. In one hand was a plastic Dodgers' cup big enough to wash a family of parakeets.

Milo waved him over, shook his hand. "Neil? Lieutenant Sturgis."

Mutter kept looking at me.

I said, "Nice to see you again, Neil."

"Chi-vash," he said, as if downloading a memory file on a balky computer. "Lots of ice. You're police?"

"I work with the police."

Tasha Adams said, "It's about your gig last night, Neil."

"Huh?"

Milo said, "Let's all go inside."

As promised, Mutter's personal s.p.a.ce-what there was of it-was spotless. The sofa bed was closed up, graced with three floral-print pillows. Mutter's wordly possessions filled two duffels placed to the left of the couch. A glimpse into the single bedroom offered a view of exuberant girl clutter.

Milo said, "Sorry to displace you, Tasha, but we need to talk to Neil alone."

"Oh. Okay." Pouting, she entered the bedroom but left the door open. Milo went over and closed it, motioned Mutter to the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable, Neil."

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Directing the question to me.

Milo said, "Sit, please," and when Mutter complied, settled next to him. "Last night you served a woman in a white dress-"

"The princess," said Mutter. He blushed scarlet. "I mean that's what I called her. I mean in my head, not out loud." To me: "You can see that, right? She was kind of like a princess?"

I said, "Sure."

"Yeah. She also talked like one-did you hear her talk?"

"I didn't."

"Just like Princess Di. Or someone like that."

"British?"

"Totally. Oh-right. Yes, of cawse. Aw-lihvs, please Oh-right. Yes, of cawse. Aw-lihvs, please. Like cla.s.s, you know? I couldn't believe someone that cla.s.s was getting flaked on."