Jonathan Kellerman - Survival Of The Fittest

“Advertising for business?” said McLaren.

“I always thought she was just acting stupid,” said Rinaldo.

“Whether or not she was advertising,” said Hooks, “going around like that, she probably got business.”

“I'm sure,” said Rinaldo.

“No boyfriend,” said McLaren.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“No gangsters in her social life at all?”

“The brother's all I know. You'd have to ask her grandmother.”

“We'll do that,” said Hooks. “What's the home address?”

“Don't know the exact number but it's on Thirty-ninth a couple of blocks east of here. Green house, old, one of those big wooden ones converted to rooms, chain-link fence in front and cement instead of grass. I know because I took her home one time when she had a short dress and no panties. The wind was blowing the dress up and I just wanted to get her inside.” She blinked. “Grandmother's on the second floor.”

“When Latvinia was busted,” said Hooks, “were you the arresting officer?”

“Me and my partner, Kretzer. We pulled her twice for soliciting. Both times she was out late, over on Hoover near the freeway on-ramp, getting in the way of traffic.”

“East ramp or west?”

“West.”

“Trying to snag a Beverly Hills guy, maybe,” said McLaren.

Rinaldo shrugged.

“When was this?” said Hooks.

“Last year. December, I think. It was cold and she had on a quilted jacket but no top underneath.”

Hooks wrote. “So I can get her personal info from the files.”

“Probably not, it was a juvey bust, sealed. She was just short of eighteen and I told her she was a lucky girl. If it's just the home address you need, I can take you there.”

“The address is a good place to start,” said Hooks. He looked at McLaren. “You want?”

The younger man said, “Sure.”

He and Rinaldo walked away, got into a black-and-white, and drove toward the south gate.

“See any dramatic parallels, yet?” Hooks asked Milo.

“Not really.”

“Yours was a diplomat's kid?”

“Israeli diplomat.”

“Nothing in the news on anything like that?”

“They hushed it up.” Milo told him Carmeli's rationale.

“Well,” said Hooks, “he could be right, but I don't know. Sounds like a fun one.”

“Yeah. Where you going with this, Willis?”

“The usual. If we get lucky it'll be some dirt lives next door. If not, who knows? She didn't exactly lead a sheltered life.”

Milo glanced across the yard. “Those kids are looking at the body.”

“Would have been worse if the janitor didn't get here and they saw it swinging.”

“Interesting reaction, his cutting her down.”

Four parallel lines in Hooks's forehead deepened. “Civic volunteerism. Maybe he listens to the mayor's speeches. Hold on.” He made his way halfway to the crowd in a quick, rolling gait, caught the eye of the man in the gray uniform, and motioned him over.

The janitor came over licking his lips.

“If you got a minute again, sir,” said Hooks. “This here is Mr. Montez.”

The custodian nodded. Up close, I saw he was closer to sixty with a prizefighter's battered face and a coarse gray beard. Five seven and broad-shouldered, with thick, stubby hands and oversized feet.

“Detective Sturgis,” said Milo, holding out his hand. Montez shook it. His eyes were bloodshot.

“I know you told your story, sir,” said Milo, “but if you don't mind, I'd like to hear it, again.”

Montez looked up at him and put his hands in his pockets. “I come to work at seven o'clock,” he said, in clear but accented English. “I clean the main building and bungalow B, like always, then I come out to sweep, like always. I sweep early 'cause sometimes people leave shi- things on the yard. I don't want the kids they should see.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Liquor bottles, crack vials. Sometimes condoms, needles. Even used toilet paper. You know.”

“So people get into the schoolyard at night.”

“All the time.” Montez's voice rose. “They get in, do parties, do dope, shootings. Three months ago, three guys got shot dead. Last year, two guys. Terrible for the kids.”

“Who got shot?” said Milo.

“Gangsters, I dunno.”

Hooks said, “Wallace and SanGiorgio's case. Drive-by, through the fence.” Turning back to Montez: “What do they usually do, cut through the lock?”

“The chain. Or they just climb over. All the time.”

“Any idea the last time the chain was cut?” said Milo.

“Who knows,” said Montez. “We used to change the locks all the time. Now… the school they don't have money for books. My grandchildren go here.”

“You live around here, sir?”

“No, I live in Willowbrook. My daughter and her husband, they live here, on Thirty-fourth. The husband, he work over at the Sports Arena. They got three kids- the two here and one baby.”

Milo nodded. “So you came out and started sweeping and saw her.”

“Right away I see her,” said Montez. “Hanging there.” He shook his head and pain danced across his face. “The tongue…” Shaking his head again.

“Did you realize she was dead right away?” said Milo.

“That tongue? Sure, what else?”

“So you cut her down.”

“Sure, why not? I figure maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

Montez stared at him. Licked his lips, again. “Maybe it's stupid, but I dunno, maybe I figure I help her- I dunno, guess it was… the way she was hanging, I didn't want no kids to see it… my grandchildren. And she was always a nice kid, I wanted her to look nice.”

“You knew her?” said Hooks.

“Latvinia? Sure. Everyone know her, she crazy.”

“She came round here a lot?”

“Not inside, on the street.” He tapped his temple. “She live on Thirty-ninth, few blocks from my daughter. Everyone see her walking around, no clothes. A little… not right.”

“No clothes at all?” said Hooks. When Montez looked confused, he added, “She walked around totally naked?”

“No, no,” said Montez. “A little clothes but not enough, you know?” Another tap. “Not right- you know? But happy all the time.”

“Happy?”

“Yeah. Laughing.” Montez's eyes hardened. “I do something wrong, cutting her down?”

“No, sir-”

“I go out, I see her up there, think the kids see that. My grandchildren. Go get a knife from the supply closet.”

He slashed empty space.

“How long have you been working here, sir?” said Milo.

“Nine years. Before that, I worked over at Dorsey High, twelve years. Used to be a good school, there. Same problems now.”

Milo hooked a thumb at the body. “When you saw Latvinia hanging, were her clothes the way they are now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were her pants up when you saw her hanging?”

“Yeah- what, you think I-”

“No, sir, we're just trying to find out what she looked like when you saw her.”

“The same,” said Montez, angrily. “ 'Zactly the same, pants up, the same. I get a knife, cut her down, and put her on the ground. Maybe a miracle, she not dead. But she dead. I call 911.”

“The way you placed her,” said Milo.

Montez's eyes were uncomprehending.

“Arms at her side,” said Hooks. “Like you wanted her to look nice.”

“Sure,” said Montez. “Why not? Why shouldn't she look nice?”

Hooks let him go and we watched as he returned to the school's main building.

“What do you think?” he asked Milo.

“Any reason to doubt his story?”

“Not really, but I'm going to do a background on him and if the girl was raped, I'll try to get some body fluids.” He smiled. “Some thanks for the good Samaritan, huh? But we've seen plenty of those turn out not so good, right? Thing is, though, if he's the bad guy, why would he do her right here where he works, focus attention on himself.”