nd the male victim, Rodney Shipler, worked as a school janitor in L.A so he may have had a similar job up here.”
“Shipler,” she said, still looking at the house. “Whereabouts in L.A. do you practice?”
“Westside.”
“Child counseling?”
“I do mostly forensic work now. Custody evaluations, injury cases.”
“Custody–that can get mean.” She turned her earring again. “Well, we’ll go and look around in the house soon as the tech team and the coroner come and okay it.”
She gazed at the ocean some more, brought her eyes back to the redwood table, and lingered on the coffee cup.
“Having her breakfast,” she said. “The dregs still haven’t solidified, so my guess is this is from this morning.”
I nodded. “That’s why I thought she was home. But if she was eating out here and he surprised her, wouldn’t the house be open? Look how sealed up it looks.
And why didn’t anyone hear her scream?”
Holding up a finger, she slung her purse over her shoulder and went to the garage. She and Steen came out a few minutes later. He was holding a metal tape measure and a camera, listening to her and nodding.
She took something out of her purse. Surgical gloves. After shaking them out, she donned them and tried a rear door. It opened. She stuck her head inside for a moment, then drew it back.
Another conference with Steen.
Back to me.
“What’s in there?” I said.
“Total mess,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Another body?”
“Not that I can see so far…. Look, doctor, it’s going to take a long time to get things sorted out here. Why don’t you just try to relax until Detective Sturgis gets here? Sorry you can’t sit on these chairs, but if you don’t mind the grass, get yourself a place over on that side.” Indicating the south end of the yard. “I already checked it for footprints and it’s okay–ah, look, there’s another sea lion.
It’s real pretty up here, isn’t it?”
Milo made it by five forty-eight. I’d staked out a position in a corner of the yard, and he walked straight to it after talking to Grayson.
“Robin was still out when I checked,” he said. “Her truck and her purse were gone and so was the dog, and she’d written down something on the fridge pad about salad, so she probably went shopping. I saw absolutely nothing wrong.
Don’t worry.”
“Maybe she should stay with you.”
“Why?”
“I’m not safe to be around.”
He looked at me. “Okay, sure, if it helps your peace of mind. But we’ll keep you safe.”
He put a hand on my shoulder for a moment, then entered the garage and stayed there for twenty minutes or so. The coroner had come and gone and so had the body, and the technicians were still working, dusting and peeking and making casts. I watched them until Milo came out.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“Out of here.”
“They don’t need me anymore?”
“Did you tell Sally everything you know?”
“Yup.”
“Then let’s go.”
We left, passing the garage. Steen was on his knees by a chalk outline talking into a tape recorder. Sarah Grayson was standing near him, writing in a notepad. She saw me and waved, then returned to her work.
“Nice lady,” I said, as we walked away.
“She was one of Central Juvey’s best investigators, used to be married to one of the watch commanders–real asshole, mean drunk. Rumor had it he was rough on her and the kids.”
“Physically rough?”
He shrugged. “I never saw bruises, but he had a vicious temper.
Finally, they got divorced, and a couple of months later he came over to her place, raising a ruckus, and ended up shooting himself in the foot and losing a toe.” Smile.
“Whole big investigation. Afterward, Sally moved up here and the asshole retired on disability and packed out to Idaho.”
“In the foot,” I said. “Not exactly a marksman.”
He smiled again. “Actually, he was a crack shot, had once been a range instructor. A lot of people found it hard to believe he’d done it to himself, but you know how it is with chronic alcohol abuse. All that loss of muscle control. No telling.”