Gone (40 page)

“Talk about a welcome,” said Nora. “Knock knock knock.”

“He always did like to hang out.”

Nora laughed.

Brad laughed.

She walked over and goosed him. “Is that a nuclear missile in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Atrocious Mae West rendition.

Brad kissed her and touched her and switched off the penlight.

“Let’s get your stuff out of there. I’m sure you’re tired of mole life.”

“I’m ready,” she said. “But it was fun.”

Brad sat on the rim of the entry. As he prepared to descend, Milo rushed him, threw a choke hold around his neck, yanked him back hard onto his back. Flipped him onto his belly just as quickly, did the arm twist and cuffed him.

Nora gave no struggle when I grabbed her and yanked her arms behind her.

Milo’s knee bore down on the center of Brad’s back. Brad gasped. “Can’t breathe.”

“If you can talk, you can breathe.”

I felt Nora tense up, was ready when she tried to break free. Soft arms, not much muscle tone and her wrists were so small I could grip both with one hand. I used two anyway, pulled her hard enough to arch her torso.

“You’re
hurting
me.”

“Leave her alone,” said Brad.

“Leave
him
alone,” said Nora.

“Family togetherness,” said Milo. “Touching.”

“It’s not what you think,” said Nora. “He’s not really my brother.”

“What is he?”

She laughed. Not a pretty sound.

Brad said, “Wait until you hear from our lawyer.”

“What’s the beef?” said Milo. “Taxidermus interruptus?”

The two of them shut up.

W
e marched them into the barn. Brad kept looking at Nora. She didn’t look back.

Milo said, “Hold on to her, Alex,” as he propelled Brad up the center path.

Choosing the ’59 Caddy, he stashed Brad in the front passenger seat.

“Looky here, an after-market seat belt.” The sash was drawn over Brad’s abdomen. The skin on the back of his neck had gone as white as his hair. He looked like a piece of marble statuary.

Nora focused straight ahead. Her wrists felt soft, as if bones had begun to melt. She smelled of French perfume and cannabis.

Milo made sure Brad was secured, then closed the Caddy’s door. As metal hit metal, I felt a shock of tension course from Nora’s shoulder to her hip. She said nothing but her breathing quickened.

Then she lifted her right foot and tried to drive a spike heel into my instep.

As I danced away she began twisting and spitting. I probably hurt her maintaining control, because she cried out. Or maybe that was acting.

Milo strode over and took her. “Check the workbench and see if you can find suitable bindings for Ms. Funnel here.”

Nora Dowd said, “Brad raped me, it was nonconsensual.”

“That’s redundant,” said Milo.

“Huh?”

“Nonconsensual rape.”

Confusion in the dope-ruddy eyes.

Milo said, “That’s some art project hanging from the door.”

Nora began sobbing tearlessly. “Dylan! I loved him
so
much, Brad got jealous and did that
horrible
thing! I tried to
stop
it, you’ve got to
believe
me!”

“How’d you try to stop it?”

“By reasoning with him.”

“Intellectual debate?” said Milo. “The merits of organic kapok versus polyurethane foam?”

Nora wailed. “Oh, my
God
! This is
terrible
!”

Still dry-eyed. An onion would’ve helped.

She sniffed. Looked up at Milo.

He said, “Your show’s closing due to bad reviews.”

In a workbench drawer, I found a roll of duct tape and two spools of heavy, white rope. Milo said, “Do it.”

He had Nora’s arms bent behind her back and she’d switched from crying to cursing. She swore louder as I bound her wrists, tried to head-butt Milo’s arm. By the time he managed to drag her across the barn from the Caddy and get her in the passenger seat of a white ’55 Thunderbird, she’d gone mute.

He said, “Fun, fun, fun, when Milo takes it away,” and belted her in, too.

The two of us stood there. Panting. His face was sweaty and I felt moisture trickle down the side of my head. My ribs hurt. The back of my neck felt as if I’d encountered a blunt guillotine.

Milo used his phone.

The sirens began as distant moans, enlarged to nuclear trombone slides.

I was working hard at not thinking and the noise was sweet music.

Eight sheriff’s squad cars, strobe-fest of blinking lights.

Milo had his badge out right away.

A slit-eyed, sunburned sergeant in body-conscious tans got out of the lead car.

“LAPD,” said Milo.

“Keep your hands where I can see ’em.”

Multiple weapons trained on us. We complied. The sergeant swaggered toward us with that mixture of fear and aggression cops display when they’re faced with uncertainty. His mustache was orange and bristly, big enough to nest hummingbirds.
M. Pedersohn
on his tag. Tight neck muscles. A squint at the small print on Milo’s shield didn’t warm the atmosphere.

Freckled hands slapped on tan hips. “Okay… you came up here for what?”

“Job-related,” said Milo. “Lemme show you—”

“The dispatcher said something about a body,” said Pedersohn.

“That’s partially accurate,” said Milo.

“What?”

Milo motioned round the south side of the barn. Pedersohn stood in place, showing his men he couldn’t be bossed around. Milo disappeared from view. Pedersohn went after him.

A peek inside the hatch turned the sergeant’s sunburn to chalk.

“Jesus…” He grabbed his mustache, rubbed his teeth with the side of his index finger. “Is that…”

“It ain’t plastic,” said Milo.

“Jesus… oh, man… how long’s it
been
there?”

“One question of many rearing their nasty little heads, Sarge. Have you called your lab guys?”

“Um… not yet…” Another look down. “Our downtown guys are obviously going to need to deal with this.”

“Then you should call them, too.”

Pedersohn yanked his radio off his belt. Stopped. Squinted. “Where are the suspects?”

“Pretending to be taking a road trip.”

“What?” said Pedersohn.

Milo walked away from him again.

Pedersohn looked at me.

I said, “Multiple murder makes him cranky.”

A deputy coroner named Al Morden who lived in the Palisades was called to the scene. He descended the stairs, looked at the head, refused to go farther until the shelter was declared safe.

Lots of who-me? looks from the deputies. Sergeant Mitchell Pedersohn said, “Our downtown guys should be here soon.”

Milo said, “My offer vis-à-vis the lunch box stands, Alex.”

Pedersohn said,
“What?”

Milo climbed down in the hole.

He was back moments later. “Look, Ma, no booby traps.”

“What’s down there?” Pedersohn demanded.

“Three separate shelters linked by tunnels. Think of it as your basic paranoid triplex. One of them’s got women’s clothes and toiletries and a comfy bed, pictures of our suspects on the walls, kinda homey. The others aren’t homey at all.”

“I meant in terms of evidence.”

“That’s kinda complicated,” Milo said, addressing Dr. Morden.

Morden’s smile was grim. “My type of complicated?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Homicide Investigation Progress Report

SECTION VIII: EVIDENCE

I. FROM STORAGE BUILDING OWNED BY BNB PROPERTIES, 942
¹
⁄2 WEST WOODBURY ROAD, ALTADENA, CA, 91001:

1. 3 CARDBOARD CARTONS CONTAINING CLOTHING, SOME IDENTIFIED AS BELONGING TO VICTIMS BRAND, M, GAIDELAS, A, GAIDELAS, C, MESERVE, D, GIACOMO, V. VARIOUS FEMALE ATTIRE, IDENTIFICATION UNKNOWN.

2. 2 “MADE IN MEXICO” ONYX BOXES CONTAINING VARIOUS GOLD, SILVER, AND COSTUME JEWELRY, 3 PRS. EYEGLASSES, 1 BELONGING TO VICTIM GIACOMO, V, 2 UNATTRIBUTED, 1 SET SOFT CONTACT LENSES BELONGING TO VICTIM BRAND, M, 1 PARTIAL DENTAL BRIDGE BELONGING TO VICTIM GAIDELAS, A.

3. 3 POLYETHYLENE GARBAGE BAGS CONTAINING 53 BLEACHED HUMAN BONES, IDENTIFICATION IN PROGRESS PER THE CORONER’S OFFICE. (REF: PROFESSOR JESSICA SAMPLE, FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGIST.)

4. 1 CARDBOARD CARTON MARKED SEARS-KENMORE CONTAINING 10 JUMBO ZIPLOC SANDWICH BAGS EACH CONTAINING A CLUMP OF HUMAN HAIR BOUND BY TWO RUBBER BANDS. (REF: PROF. J. SAMPLE.)

II. FROM TRUNK OF 1989 LINCOLN TOWN CAR VIN 33893566, REGISTERED TO BRADLEY MILLARD DOWD, GARAGED BE HIND STORAGE BUILDING AT 942½ WEST WOODBURY ROAD:

1. 1 SONY DIGITAL CAMERA MODEL DSC 588.

2. 1 EXCISED SECTION OF BLACK CARPETING FROM LTC.

3. FRONT AND REAR BLACK LEATHER SEATS FROM LTC.

III. FROM TRIPLEX SUBTERRANEAN BOMB SHELTERS, 43885 LATIGO CANYON ROAD, MALIBU, CA, 90265:

FROM UNIT “A” (NORTHERNMOST, SEE DIAGRAM):

1. CLOTHING, COSMETICS, PERSONAL EFFECTS BELONGING TO SUSPECT DOWD, N.

2. COLLAPSIBLE TWIN BED AND BEDDING.

3. PHOTOGRAPHS OF SUSPECTS DOWD, B, AND DOWD, N.

4. 5 TEETH BELONGING TO VICTIM MESERVE, D. PIERCED AND STRUNG ON A SILVER CHAIN.

5. 1 TAXIDERMICALLY PRESERVED HUMAN HEAD BELONGING TO VICTIM MESERVE, D.

6. 2 SIMILAR PRESERVATIONS, VICTIMS GAIDELAS, A, GAIDE LAS, C.

7. 1 COMPACT DISK CONTAINING DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHIC IMAGES, MARKED “PARTY-TIME” CONTAINING PORNO GRAPHIC IMAGES OF:

A. SUSPECT DOWD, B, HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH V’S BRAND, M, GIACOMO, V, GAIDELAS, C, GAIDELAS, A, JANE DOES 1, 2, 3, 4. LAS VEGAS VICTIM, DUTCHEY, J.

B. SUSPECT DOWD, B, HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH SUSPECT DOWD, N.

C. SUSPECT DOWD, N, HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH VICTIM MESERVE, D.

D. SUSPECT DOWD, B, HAVING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH VICTIM MESERVE, D.

8. 4 DIGITAL VIDEO DISKS CONTAINING MOTION PICTURES, CONTENT SIMILAR TO 3.

FROM UNITS “B” AND “C”:

1. 2 250 MB COMPUTER ZIP DISKS MARKED “PT CLIMAX,” CONTENTS SCRAMBLED, POSSIBLY DAMAGED. (REF: LAPD TECHNICAL DIVISION, SGT. S. FUJIKAWA.)

2. 1 IBM CLONE PERSONAL COMPUTER, 1 APC BATTERY BACKUP, 1 MICROTEK 19" MONITOR, 1 HEWLETT-PACKARD LASERJET 4050 PRINTER.

3. 1 42" SONY FLAT-SCREEN TELEVISION.

4. 1 BRASS COAT HOOK.

5. 1 213 SQ. FT. EXCISED SECTION, BEIGE NYLON CARPETING. 1 215.5 SQ. FT. EXCISED SECTION, BEIGE NYLON CARPETING.

6. 12 BOXES OF DISASSEMBLED ACOUSTICAL CEILING TILES.

7. 2 SETS SMITH & WESSON DOUBLE LOCK POLICE-ISSUE HANDCUFFS AND KEYS.

8. 1 SET ANTIQUE “E.D. BEAN” LEG IRON RESTRAINTS, C. 1885. (REF: PROFESSOR ANDRE WASHINGTON, HISTORIAN.)

9. 3 WOODEN BOXES CONTAINING VARIOUS SURGICAL KNIVES, NEEDLES, SAWS, SCRAPERS, SHEARS, CANNULAS, FUNNELS.

10. 1 “TI-DEE” HEAVY-DUTY SUCTION PUMP, MODEL A-334C.

11. 1 KINGSLEY SECRETION ASPIRATOR, MODEL CSI-PG005.

12. 4 SPOOLS MEDIBOND NYLON MONOFILAMENT SURGICAL SUTURE MATERIAL, TWO 20 MM, TWO 24 MM.

13. 2 UNMARKED CARDBOARD CARTONS CONTAINING SEALED CLEAR PLASTIC BAGS OF COTTON STUFFING.

14. 4 PLASTIC GALLON CONTAINERS, HYDROGEN PEROXIDE.

15. 1 BOX “PLEASURE-RIB” LATEX CONDOMS.

16. 1 5-GAL. PLASTIC CONTAINER, FORMIC ACID PICKLING SOLUTION.

17. 5 SETS “SNUG-FIT” LATEX GLOVES.

18. 1 EPOXY “TAXI-FORM SCULPTING KIT.”

19. 1 QUART BOTTLE EATON SKIN DEGREASER AND PRESERVATIVE.

20. 1 5-LB. BAG “READI-TAN” DRY PRESERVATIVE.

21. 1 OAKES G-235C “MINOR SURGICAL PROCEDURE” TABLE WITH HEADREST AND DETACHABLE DRAIN…

Milo returned to his office and took the murder book from me.

“I wasn’t finished.”

He dropped the file in a drawer. “Michaela’s Honda finally showed up. Parking garage of a BNB building in Sierra Madre, towed to the motor lab as we speak.”

“Congratulations. As I was saying—”

“How’s my prose?”

“Eloquent,” I said. “Please don’t tell me you want to have lunch.”

“It’s way past lunchtime, have your people call my people and we’ll do dinner.”

He sank down hard enough to make the desk chair groan. “Enough with the glib macho posturing. I’m thrashed and not ashamed to admit it.”

“Get any sleep?”

“Around five hours,” he said. “Over five days.”

“Time for a break,” I said.

“It ain’t the workload that’s keeping me up, boy-o, it’s the reality. As long as you’ve perused, care to add any insights?”

“The PlayHouse was a talent pool in a much worse way than we imagined. For Nora, it served double duty. She got to feel omnipotent and she and Brad both enjoyed selecting victims.”

“Cold bitch,” he said. “Arrogant, too. That time we came to her house, she didn’t even pretend to care about Tori or Michaela.”

“I’m not sure she’s capable of pretending.”

“No acting chops? How’d she get so many people to believe in her?”

“By attracting a hungry crowd who thought they were getting a bargain. Emotionally needy people will swallow poisoned Kool-Aid.”