Now she was flushed pink.
Milo smiled. “I’m not even going to ask.”
She smiled back. “High school. Anyway, got to run. Hope it helps.”
“I owe you, Petra.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to collect.” Shifting her bag to her other shoulder, she moved toward the stairs. “I wish I could tell you we’ll have our eyes peeled for Salcido, Milo, but you know how it is—sorry to run.”
“Good luck in court,” said Milo.
“Hopefully I won’t need luck. No-brainer shooting that got transferred to SM because downtown’s back-logged with potential three-strikers. Unattractive defendant, inexperienced public defender with a caseload as long as The English Patient. Today I will triumph! Nice to see you, Doctor—let’s keep rooting for Billy.”
Back to Milo’s desk. During the time we’d spent with Petra, a new message slip had been added to the stack.
“Special Agent Fusco again. The painting probably heated up his attention-seeking blood.” He tossed the slip, looked across the room.
Detectives Korn and Demetri were headed our way. They stopped at the desk, glaring, as if it were a barrier to freedom. Milo made the introductions. They nodded stiffly, didn’t offer their hands. Demetri’s eyeglasses were slightly askew and his bald head was sunburned and peeling.
“What’s up, gentlemen?”
“Nothing,” said Demetri. He had one of those voices so low it sounded electronically manipulated. “That’s the problem.”
Korn ran his finger under his collar. His blow-dried hair seemed an affront to his partner’s tonsure. “Nothing with whipped cream and a cherry,” he said. “We spent all morning at Haiselden’s neighborhood. Found the gardener, big deal. Haiselden’s paid up for the month, guy has no idea where senor is, couldn’t give a shit where senor went. Haiselden’s mail is piling up at the West-wood post office, but we can’t get hold of it without a warrant. You want us to do that?”
“Yes,” said Milo.
“Figures.”
“Problem, Steve?”
“No. No problem at all.” Korn played with his collar again. Demetri removed his glasses and wiped them on a corner of his sport coat.
“Don’t lose heart, boys,” said Milo. “Haiselden’s mail stop shows he definitely rabbited. So keep on him—who knows, you might solve this one.”
A glance passed between the two detectives. Demetri shifted his weight to his left leg. “That’s assuming Haiselden has anything to do with Mate. We discussed it and we’re not convinced he does.”
“Why’s that, Brad?”
“There’s sure no evidence in that direction. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. Haiselden made money from Mate. Why would he off his meal ticket? We figure he just went on a vacation—probably got depressed because he lost his meal ticket.”
“Taking some time off to reflect,” said Milo.
“Right.”
“Diagnosis of depression, he decided to deal with his feelings on some sunny beach.”
Demetri looked at Korn for support. Korn said, “Makes sense to me.” His jaw tightened. “With all the publicity over Mate, maybe Haiselden wants time to sort things out. Face it, you’ve got nothing on his being dirty.”
“Nothing at all,” said Milo. “Except for the fact that he was a damn publicity hound who rabbited during what has to be the most public moment of his life.”
Neither of the younger men spoke.
“Okay then,” said Milo. “So how about you write up that warrant for his mail, see if you can get hold of his
credit card bills, too. Maybe there’ll be a travel agent charge somewhere in there and you can verify your vacation hypothesis.”
Another passed glance. Demetri said, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say. We figured we’d hit the gym first. All the hours we’ve been puttin’ in, we haven’t had a chance to work out.”
“Sure. Get yourselves a coupla Jamba Juices afterward—make sure they put plenty of enzymes in them.”
“Something else,” said Demetri. “That painting, we just saw it. Real piece of shit, if you ask me.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” said Milo.
CHAPTER 18
“WHAT NOW?” I said.
“If those two manage to write a decent warrant application, I’ll have a look at Haiselden’s mail. More likely, I’ll be correcting their grammar. Meantime, I’m gonna check out art galleries, tattoo parlors, see if anyone else knows Donny, as himself or Tollrance. The fact that he chose a Santa Monica gallery might mean he left Hollywood and is squatting somewhere on the Westside. There are a few abandoned buildings in Venice I want to take a look at.”