He rubbed his face. “He came back to celebrate?”
“And to leave his mark.”
He walked to the door, looked out at the bookcases in the front room, scowled. “I’ve been here twice since the murder and nothing else looks messed with….”
Talking to himself more than to me. Knowing full well that with thousands of volumes, there was no way to be sure. Knowing the yellow tape across the door was meaningless, anyone could’ve pried the lock.
I said, “The bum Mrs. Krohnfeld saw—”
“The bum walked up the stairs in plain sight and ran away when Mrs. Krohnfeld screamed at him. She said he was a mess. Wouldn’t you expect our boy to be a little better organized?”
“Like you said, some people delegate.”
“What, the killer hires a schizo to break in and stick a box in a drawer?”
“Why not?”
“If it was an attempt to piss on Mate’s grave, wouldn’t delegating lessen the thrill?”
“Probably, but at this point he’s being careful,” I said. “And delegating could offer its own thrill: being the boss, wielding power. It could’ve happened this way: the killer knows the neighborhood because he stalked Mate for a while. He cruises Hollywood, finds a street guy, gives him cash to deliver a package. Half up front, the rest upon completion. He could’ve even positioned himself up the street. To watch and get off and to make sure the street guy followed through. He picked someone disorganized specifically, because it added another layer of safety: If the bum gets caught there’s very little he can tell you. The killer used some sort of disguise for extra insurance.”
His cheeks bubbled as he filled them with air, bounced it around, blew it out silently. Out of his pocket came a sealed package of surgical gloves and an evidence bag.
“Dr. Milo’s in the house,” he said, working his hands into the latex. “You touched it, but I’ll vouch for you.” Fully gloved, he lifted the box, examined it on all sides.
“Someone who knows the neighborhood,” he said. “Hollywood Boulevard’s full of novelty shops, maybe I can find someone who remembers selling this recently.”
I said, “Maybe the choice of titles wasn’t a coincidence.”
“Beowulf?”
“Valiant hero slays the monster.”
We spent another hour in the apartment, going over the kitchen and the front rooms, searching cupboards, scanning the bookcases for other false volumes, coming up with nothing. In some of the books, I found bills of sale going back decades. Thrift shops in San Diego, Oakland, a few in L.A.
Outside on the landing, Milo retaped the door, locked up and brushed dust from his lapels. He looked shrunken. Across the street, a middle-aged Hispanic woman stood in the paltry shade of a wretched-looking magnolia, purse in hand, newspaper folded under her arm. No one else around, and like any midday pedestrian in L.A. she stood out. No bus stop; probably waiting for a ride. She saw me looking at her, stared back for a second, shifted the purse to the other shoulder, removed the paper and began to read.
“If the box is a ‘gift,'” I said, “it’s another point in favor of the confederate angle. Someone wanting to put himself in Mate’s place. Literally. Choosing the bedroom’s consistent with that: the most personal space in the apartment. Think of it as a rape of sorts. Which is consistent with the violation of Mate’s genitalia. Someone into power, domination. Playing God—a psychopathic monotheist, there can only be one deity, so he needs to eliminate any competition. On the competition’s home base. I can see him walking around, exhilarated by triumph. Enjoying the extra bit of thrill of sneaking into an official crime scene. Maybe he came at night to minimize the chance of discovery, but still he couldn’t be sure. If you or anyone else from the department had shown up, he’d have been trapped. The bedroom’s at the back of the apartment and there’s no rear exit. No place to hide except that bedroom closet, so to escape he’d have had to cross the front room, hide in that maze of bookshelves. I think he’s jazzed by the danger element. It’s the same first impression I had of the murder itself. Choosing an open road to perform surgery on Mate. Removing the cardboard so Mate’s body would be discovered. Cleaning up carefully but leaving the scene naked. The note. Extreme meticulousness combined with recklessness. A psychopath with an above-average IQ. He’s bright enough to plan precisely in the short term, but vulnerable in the long run because he gets off on danger.”