Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

“She’s bad news, huh?”

“She interests us.”

“Hot Stuff, yeah, that’s her,” said Stan. He licked the back of his hand. Drew it back and said, “Sssssss.”

We left the bar.

Gottlieb said, “With DeGraw taken care of, why would she come back here?”

“Hope springs eternal, Len.”

“Maybe in your world. Anyway, at least we got the confirmation: DeGraw was in with your suspects and wanted out. She came here to discuss it, he shows her his passport, assures her he’ll be leaving pronto once he’s paid off. She says it’s a deal, they arrange a meet at his place, she distracts him, I don’t even want to know how. When he’s not paying attention, your other two walk in and off him.”

Milo said, “He becomes just like Swissair. No longer in business.”

“Tough shit for him,” said Gottlieb. “Do that to an old lady.” He lit up another cigarette. “So. We got confirmation of our theory but, again, I don’t see any clear path to my case until you close yours and maybe someone talks.”

“Agreed, Len, I’ll carry the ball. But if you do learn something — like you did today—”

“Sure,” said Gottlieb. “But the thing you need to know is I’ve got vacation time coming up. Assuming the Boss Wife can keep her schedule clear. So I may be out of commission for a couple weeks.”

“Where you headed to?”

“Mexico, maybe Cabo,” said Gottlieb. “Maybe Puerto V. Best-case scenario, a beach with Hot Stuffs in bikinis who don’t want to kill anyone.”

We watched him drive away. I said, “He just disconnected from the case.”

“That’s okay, he’s right, it does all depend on me.” Rubbing his face, Milo checked his phone. “Moe watched Ricki S. last night, she went home, stayed there. Sean’s on tonight, let’s see.”

“Keep that eternal hope going.”

“Thanks for not laughing, talk about a true friend.”

He slapped my back lightly, returned to his phone. “Let’s see if Maestro Shimoff has time to do a drawing.”

Detective II Alex Shimoff, a Russian-trained painter and the man Milo calls “the other Alexander,” was working a commercial burglary case in the toy district.

He said, “Culver City doesn’t have anyone who can do it?”

“Anyone else is at the stick-figure stage, you’re a master.”

“Right,” said Shimoff. “When do you need this?”

“Sooner would be better than later, kiddo.”

“Of course... okay, we just moved to Westchester, Culver’s basically on my way home. This bartender work late?”

“You could do it tonight?”

“Probably.”

“Lemme ask him.”

We returned to the Windjam. The pair of drinkers had added to their bottle collection and the bar-top remained splotched. The music had changed, though. Sammy Hagar, poor fidelity giving him a lisp.

Stan, eyelids drooping, sat fooling with his cuticles. When he saw us the lids remained lowered but the spheres behind them rolled upward.

Milo asked him.

He said, “Probably.”

“Any way you can switch that to a yes, Stan? If I have Detective Shimoff give you an hour’s notice?”

“Detective? He’s a cop, also draws?”

“Multitalented,” said Milo.

“Got a kid who draws. Does crap in school but makes these comic books, crazy stuff. They say he’s good. You think this detective could talk some sense into him?”

“Let’s aim for that, Stan.”

“Then, yeah. What time?”

Milo redialed Shimoff. To Stan: “Between eight and nine.”

“I’ll be here,” said the barkeep. “Get the kid over, maybe bring a comic book he done. He likes to stay in his room, I’ll drag him over.”

Back outside, Milo reached Shimoff again. “Appreciate it, Czar Alexei. Also, the witness might bring his kid to watch you work.” He explained.

Shimoff said, “So now I’m a career counselor?”

“You’ve always been good at multitasking.”

“Walk and chew gum, eh?”

“I owe you.”

“You always do.”

The following morning a screen shot of the drawing was in my email. Shimoff to Milo to me, no topic heading.

Beautifully rendered portrait of a generic gorgeous blonde. Monroe, if you squinted. A bit more angular if you didn’t.

I couldn’t see much value in it, kept that to myself and sent a text: Binchy see anything last night?

Instead of replying in kind, Milo phoned. “Nada. Speaking of Ricki S., the crime lab’s asking when I’m gonna get Thalia’s stuff out of storage and talk to her executor. They have it in an auto bay, someone crashes while shooting or being shot at, they’ll need the space. Given who the executor is, I obviously want to hold off. Meanwhile, I’m heading back to the hotel, see if anyone has a story to tell about the cute blonde.”

“Good luck.”

“I was figuring to bop by and pick you up.”

“Sure,” I said.

“No sandwiches necessary, had a big breakfast.”

Alicia Bogomil said, “Yup, that’s her. Probably. Only saw her a couple of times. With the dudes and then by herself. She was walking in front, that’s a switch. Had a bod, showed it off.” Forming two balloons on her own flattish chest.

I said, “Tight clothes?”

“Tight clothes and posture.” She stood up straight, arched her back, accentuated her torso. “Bod-confidence, you know? Like she liked being looked at.”

Milo said, “A performer.”

Bogomil said, “Hmm. Yeah. So maybe she’s an actress or something.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re saying she — they — definitely had something to do with it?”

“Not yet,” he lied. “You ever see her with DeGraw?”

“No, why?”

“He just got murdered.”

Her mouth dropped open. “No shit! Oh, man, so that’s why he hasn’t been around. You’re kidding — crap! How?”

“Can’t get into it, sorry.”

“Whoa,” said Bogomil. “Another one bites it. Rumors have been circulating that he got fired by the Arabs, the place is definitely closing down. Shit. It’s like this place is Heartbreak Hotel.”

Milo said, “Let me ask you something else. Thalia’s lawyer, she always show up alone?”

“The sad-looking, dumpy blonde? Yup, every time I saw her, she was flying solo.” Her face tightened. “You’re saying she’s also—”

“I’m not saying anything.”

Bogomil looked at him.

“I wish I could say, Alicia. This is a damn whodunit.”

“Got it. Sorry,” she said. “But the place is closing down, right? Like I told you before, no new guests, and now the snip tucks have tapered off.”

“I have no facts on that but it sounds logical.”

Her hands clenched. “Damn, I got to start looking. Probably have to settle for another boring private thing so I can pay bills. But that’s temporary, working with you showed me I need a real badge again. Preferably you guys. If I can’t get that, San Diego, Santa Barbara, something with a warm climate and real cases.”

“What I said holds true. Once you apply, let me know, Alicia.”

“You can count on it, Loo, thanks.” Her arms began what might’ve been a hug, but dropped down. “Meanwhile, I’ll stick around long as they pay me, keep my eyes open for you. Not that I expect anything, place is a tomb.”

Same temp at the desk — Kelli. No sense showing her the drawing. We found Refugia vacuuming the hallway of the original wing, pushing the machine around in slow arcs and looking defeated.

She studied the rendering. “Yes, that’s the one in Cinco.”

“What can you tell us about her?”

“She looks like this — maybe a little narrower, here.” Pointing to the left jawline. “She’s a bad person?”