Jonathan Kellerman - Breakdown

Milo said, “How much notice does the family give before showing up?”

“Usually none,” said Stoeller. “Sometimes they let Jason know so he can stock the fridge and he texts me. Six months ago they wanted McDonald’s.”

“So they’re basically absentee.”

“But maintenance needs to be maintained constantly. The biggest chunk of my time is spent here, letting people in and out, handling service calls. I also look into the family’s commercial and industrial properties. Not the business end. Cleaning, repairs.”

“Got your hands full.”

“It’s like the Golden Gate Bridge. The moment they finish painting it, they need to start again. But no worries, I like my job, no two days are the same.”

I said, “A place this size needs a sizable crew. Who did Imelda Soriano work with?”

“Actually,” said Stoeller, “we only employ one cleaner at a time.”

Milo said, “How big is the house?”

“Thirty-two-thousand square feet, give or take, but our experience has been that one person’s enough. I know that sounds skimpy but the family prides itself on thrift.” He rolled his eyes. “Actually it works out okay. There’s an automatic vacuum system, HEPA filters and other advancements attached to the HVAC system, and most of the rooms are unused.”

“So no one we can talk to about Ms. Soriano?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Except you,” said Milo. “You’d see her regularly.”

Even white teeth bounced atop Stoeller’s lower lip. “I feel like I’m being tested. I’m cooperating, guys. But I can’t help you.”

“See it from our perspective, Man. A mother and a grandmother’s been gone for over a week and her family’s going through hell. She worked here, you still work here.”

“I remember an older woman who stopped showing up, guys. Apart from possibly ‘hello,’ we had no contact. I can tell you she was a good worker. If she hadn’t been, we’d have had contact, all right.”

Milo showed Stoeller the photo.

Stoeller nodded. “So she’s missing? How worrisome. When she didn’t show up on schedule, I assumed she’d flaked and complained to the agency.”

“How soon after she didn’t show up?”

“When she was two hours late.”

“A Detective Mendez spoke to Mr. Clegg and informed him Ms. Soriano was missing.”

“That may be true, but Jason never informed me,” said Stoeller. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

“Bear with us a bit longer,” said Milo. “How do people get admitted to the property?”

“The same way you did. I check them out and if they qualify, I push a button.”

“What about exiting?”

“There’s a button inside the gate that can be used. But policy is not to inform everyone so generally I’m in charge of egress.” From his pocket, he pulled a tiny white remote studded with red buttons.

“What about the gardeners?”

“Same process for everyone. And when operations are disrupted, as with Ms. Soriano’s discontinuation, I change the gate code.”

“Meticulous.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“So Ms. Soriano was able to leave at will but would have to beep in.”

Same setup as BrightMornings.

“Well, yes,” said Stoeller. “Unless I place the gate on hold-open. Which I do when trash bins are wheeled to the street or there’s a prolonged delivery.”

“I assume your cameras feed to a computer.”

“More than one computer.”

“Including your laptop.”

“No. To the house’s central system.”

“What about gate openings and closings? Are they coded separately?”

Head shake. “The movement of the gate isn’t programmed per se. Obviously when someone leaves, the camera will capture that image. Though I have to say the camera on the gate doesn’t pan widely, it just covers the drive.”

“Well, we appreciate your getting things moving for us.”

“Meaning?”

“It’ll be good to see your video feed so we get a handle on Ms. Soriano’s comings and goings.”

“There wouldn’t be much coming and going, guys. She was here to work.”

“She wasn’t allowed any breaks?”

“Of course she was. Two for coffee and half an hour for lunch.” Stoeller stroked his beard and took another look at the photo. “Did she leave the premises occasionally? I’m sure she did but she always returned promptly. I know all this sounds impersonal and elitist but you need to understand what it’s like for me here. I don’t sit around enjoying the ambience, I’m constantly dealing with issues — mostly with the rental properties — so when something goes smoothly, I ignore it. In terms of how often she left on break or where she went, all I can say is we’re not talking huge blocks of time and she didn’t have a car, none of them do, we’ve never had a single maid park here. So my guess is she took brief walks. You’re not thinking someone hurt her out there ?”

Gazing at the gate. As if the notion of violence in the vicinity was ludicrous.

Milo said, “We need to cover all bases, Man. Now if you could retrieve the last month of feed from the gate camera, that would be great.”

Stoeller clicked his tongue. “Wish I could help you but I can’t set that in motion without authorization.”

“From?”

“Jason. And he’ll probably need to ask someone above him.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You have no idea.”

“How long will it take?”

“Hopefully, not too long — I’m sorry, guys, it’s not my call. How about you give me your email and as soon as I’ve downloaded the file I’ll send it to you.”

“Thanks, Man.”

That sounded hipsterish. Stoeller probably liked it. He said, “My pleasure, guys.”

“Who’d the agency send to replace Imelda?”

Stoeller brightened. “That I can tell you right away — she’s here now, hold on.”

Darting behind the door, he closed it.

Milo said, “You find him hinky in any way?”

“Not really,” I said. “More like job anxiety.”

“My take, too. He doesn’t follow through on the security feed, I’ll change my mind.”

The door opened and Stoeller emerged with a woman around twenty wearing a pale-blue uniform and carrying a dust-cloth.

“This is Rosa Benitez,” he said, sounding as if he’d just learned a new fact.

Milo and I smiled at the young woman. Her eyes were huge, brown, terrified.

“Just a few questions, Rosa.”

No reaction.

Manfred Stoeller said, “She doesn’t speak much English but I do Spanish. Want me to translate?”

“Appreciate it.” He showed the photo to Rosa. “Ask her if she knows this woman.”

No need to translate. Rosa flinched and said, “Imelda.”

“Ask her how she knows Imelda.”

Stoeller rattled off rapid Spanish. Rosa replied haltingly. Stoeller said, “From the agency. They talked in the office a few times.”

“Why did looking at the photo make her upset?”

Same routine. Stoeller said, “She heard Imelda disappeared.”

“From who?”

“Other women at the agency.”

“Anyone have theories about what happened to Imelda?”

Rosa’s reply was rapid but quiet and Stoeller had to cant his ear closer. “No one has been told anything. That’s what makes it frightening. The unknown.”

Milo looked at me.

I said, “Ask her if she has any ideas about what might’ve happened to Imelda?”

Five hard head shakes. Saucer eyes.

I said, “Is there anything she can tell us about Imelda? What kind of person she was?”

Stoeller translated.

Rosa smoothed a strand of hair and looked off in the distance. Her eyes had moistened.

She said, “Muy amigable.”