Jonathan Kellerman - Gone

“Like perve-bother? No. But he stares, it’s creepy. He’s sweeping, mopping, whatever, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him staring. If you look at him, he turns away fast, like he knows he shouldn’t be doing it.” She shuddered. “Is he, like, serious-creepy? Like America’s Most Wanted creepy?”

“I couldn’t say that.”

Briana Szemencic’s slender frame stiffened. “But you couldn’t say no?”

“I have no evidence he’s ever done something violent, Briana.”

“If he’s not a perve, how come you asked about him?”

“My job is asking questions, Briana. Most of them turn out to be useless but I can’t take chances. Guess it’s kinda like acting.”

“What do you mean?”

“A little improv, a lot of hard work. Does Peaty hang out at the PlayHouse a lot?”

“When he’s cleaning.”

“Days as well as nights?”

“I’m only there nights.”

“Anyone else drop by?”

“Just people applying for workshops. Mostly Nora turns them away but there can still be crowds.”

“No talent.”

Another lip bite. “Yeah.”

“Any other reason she turns them away?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

Milo said, “Well, thanks again- it’s a cool thing, Nora giving away her skills for free.”

“Very cool.”

“Guess she can do that because her brothers fund the PlayHouse.”

“Her brothers and her,” said Briana Szemencic. “It’s like a whole family thing. They’re filthy rich but they’re artistic and generous.”

“The brothers ever drop by to see how it’s spent?”

“I’ve seen them a few times.”

“Sitting in?”

“More like walking around. Dropping by to visit Nora.” She gripped her purse with both hands. “Tell me the truth about that fat guy.”

“I already have, Briana.”

“He’s not a perve? You can guarantee me that?”

“He really scares you.”

“Like I said, he’s staring all the time.”

“I told you the truth, Briana.”

“But you were punking me about the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“What you said about cop stuff being like acting. That was b.s., right?”

“You know a girl named Tori Giacomo?” said Milo.

“Who’s that?”

“Maybe a student here once.”

“I’ve only been here a year. You didn’t answer my question. That was total bullshit, right?”

“Nope, I meant it,” said Milo. “There are all kinds of similarities between cop work and acting. Like frustration. It’s a big part of my job just like it is for you.”

Big blue eyes filmed with confusion.

“I start off with a new case, Briana, all I can do is ask my questions, see if something takes shape. It’s just like reading a brand-new script.”

“Whatever.” She opened her car door.

“We both know one thing, Briana. It’s all about the work. You do your best, try to make it to the bottom of the funnel, but no guarantees.”

“I guess.”

Milo smiled. “Thanks for talking to us. Drive safely.”

As we began to walk away a high, tight voice from the Nissan said, “What’s the funnel?”

“A kitchen implement.”

She drove away. He pulled out his pad and jotted.

I said, “Off the record, huh?”

“She must’ve confused me for a reporter…guess Nora didn’t share the funnel analogy with her flock.”

I said, “Too anxiety-provoking. One thing Nora didn’t keep to herself was her attraction to Meserve. Past and present. Looks like Brad overestimated his control. Nora and Dylan still being together means when Dylan blamed the hoax on Michaela, Nora would’ve believed it. The question is, does that have anything to do with Michaela ending up in a pile of weeds.”

“No matter what that little genius just said, I think the jealousy thing’s worth looking into.”

“It does, but other scenarios come to mind. If Nora resented Michaela, Dylan might have taken it upon himself to keep Nora happy. Or Michaela became a threat to Dylan by threatening to go to Brad and telling him bad stuff about Dylan. Or to Nora herself- spinning some erotic details of her nights up in Latigo with Dylan.”

“Spin? The two of them were naked up there for two nights.”

“Michaela told me they never had intercourse.”

“You’re a trusting soul. Either way, why would Michaela threaten Dylan like that?”

“Maybe more trial strategy,” I said. “Pressuring him to shoulder all the blame for the hoax. In the end, the case settled. But if he stayed angry, he might’ve acted out.”

“And the motive for doing Tori is his just being a nasty guy?”

“That or he and Tori also had something going and it went bad.”

“He does her, finds it easier the second time around…he is gone as hell. And Nora knows where- or she’s hiding him. That would explain her getting squirrely when we brought him up. Okay, enough theory for one night.”

We walked to the car.

He said, “There’s still Peaty.”

“Stare at the girls and make them cry.”

“Got him in trouble before. Let’s see if Sean’s surveillance pulled up anything.”

He drove with one hand, phoned Binchy with the other. The young detective was still parked a few feet up from Reynold Peaty’s apartment. The janitor had come home at seven and had stayed inside.

“Three hours watching a building,” said Milo, hanging up. “I’d be out of my mind. Sean’s as happy as if he’s playing his bass.”

Sean Binchy was a former ska punk who’d embraced religion and law enforcement simultaneously.

“How is he at working his own cases?” I said.

“He’s great at the routine but it’s hard to get him to think independently.”

“Send him to Nora. Get him to open up his right side.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, my brain hurts. Gonna check for messages and call it a night.”

Two messages, no respite.

The expected call from Lou Giacomo and a request to phone Mister Albert Beamish.

“Maybe he wants compensation for his persimmons.” He punched the number, waited, clicked off. “No answer.” He sighed. “Okay, now for the fun.”

Lou Giacomo was staying at the Holiday Inn Milo had suggested. Milo was hoping for a brief condolence chat but Giacomo wanted to meet and Milo lacked the will to refuse him.

Giacomo was standing outside the hotel wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. When we pulled up, he said, “Can we go somewhere, maybe get a drink? This place is driving me up the wall.”

“The hotel?” said Milo.

“Your frickin’ city.”

Our second drinking hole tonight, this one a dank, would-be Irish tavern on Pico.

Lou Giacomo took in the décor. “This could be Queens.”

The three of us settled in a stiff-backed booth with Naugahyde cushions. Milo asked for a Diet Coke and I had coffee.

Giacomo said, “Bud, not Light, regular.”

This barmaid was young, with a lip-pierce. “I’d never take you for a Light guy.”

Giacomo ignored her. She shot him a sharp look and left.

He said, “You guys reformed drunks or something?”

Milo spread his shoulders and took up more space in the booth.

Giacomo massaged a thick wrist. “No offense intended, I’m not at my best, okay?”

“Sorry about Tori,” said Milo. “I mean that.”

“Like I told you the first time, I already knew. Now the wife claims she knew, too.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wants me home a-sap. Probably gonna greet me with another nervous breakdown. I ain’t going back until I’m sure Tori gets a proper burial.”