“Sadness over her daughter.”
“It cut her to the bone.” The cane wobbled, but Perdue managed to draw himself up.
“Any idea where she is, Mr. Perdue?”
“They took her right down the block—to MidTown Hospital. Tariana and I went to see her there. They had her in the intensive care and we couldn’t get in. She didn’t have insurance, so a while later they moved her to County Hospital for evaluation. That’s a far trip for me, so I just called her. She wasn’t in much of a state for talking, said they still didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she’d probably be moving out, she’d send someone for her things, sorry about the rent—she owed a month. I said not to worry and don’t be concerned about her things either— There wasn’t much, she rented the place furnished. I had everything packed up—two suitcases—and Tariana brought them over to County Hospital. That’s the last I heard from her. I know she was discharged from County, but no one would tell me where.”
“Mr. Perdue,” said Milo, “did she have any ideas about what happened to Shawna?”
“Sure did. She figured Shawna had been killed, probably by some man who lusted after her.”
“She used that word, sir? ‘Lusted’?”
Perdue pushed up the brim of his hat. “Yes, sir. She was a pretty religious woman, one of those with a strong sense of sin— Like I said, nodrinking or smoking, and once she got home from work, she sat and watched TV all night.”
“Lusted,” said Milo. “Did she tell you why she thought that?”
“It was just a feeling she had. Shawna meeting up with the wrong gent. She also said the police weren’t doing much—no offense. That the officer in charge didn’t communicate with her. One time I met her out back. We were both taking out the garbage and she was looking sad and I said what’s wrong, and she just started bawling. That’s when she told me. That Shawna had been a little difficult back home and that she’d tried her best but Shawna had a mind of her own.”
“Wild in what way?”
“I didn’t ask her, sir,” said Perdue, sounding offended. “Why would I pour salt in her wounds?”
“Of course,” said Milo. “But she didn’t give you any details?”
“She just said she regretted the fact that Shawna’s daddy died when Shawna was a baby. That Shawna never had any father, didn’t know how to relate to men properly. Then she started crying some more, talking about how she’d done the best she could, how when Shawna announced she was moving down here to go to college it had scared her ’cause Shawna was all she had. But she let her go, because you couldn’t say no to Shawna—she’d do what she pleased, like entering those beauty contests. Agnes never approved of that, but Shawna wouldn’t be refused. Agnes figured you had to cut the apron strings. ‘Now look what’s happened, William,’ she told me. Then she just cried some more. Pitiful.”
Perdue ran a finger over his upper lip. The nail was hardened, cross-grained like sandstone but carefully shaped. “I told her it wasn’t any of her fault, that things just happen. I lost a boy in Vietnam. Three years I spent fighting Hider’s war, and I came back without a scratch. My boy flies over to Vietnam, two weeks later he steps on a mine. Things happen, right?”
“They do, sir,” said Milo.
“They do, indeed.”
We drove to Crescent Heights, crossed Sunset as the street shifted to Laurel Canyon, and headed for die Valley.
“Woman with a heart condition,” said Milo. “I’m gonna kick her off the ledge?”
“What do you think about what she told Perdue?”
“About Shawna being wild?”
“Wild because she had no father in her life,” I said. “Wild in a specific way. I think her mother knew of Shawna’s attraction to older men. Meaning maybe Shawna had older boyfriends back home.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But that could also mean that Shawna’s story about heading home for the weekend was true. She got dolled up for some Santo Leon Lothario, it went bad, he killed her, dumped her somewhere out in the boonies. That’s why she’s never been found. If so, there goes the Lauren connection.”