“I’d really rather not.”
Milo stared at him.
“I don’t want to lose my job,” said Mustafa. “But the police help us… Just that day.”
Eight credit-card purchases of video equipment that day, two of them over a thousand dollars. No Crimmins, Wark, or Orson, or Argent. Nothing that brought to mind a scrambled director’s name. Milo copied down the names and the credit card numbers as
Mustafa looked on nervously.
“What about cash sales? Would you have records of those?”
“If the customer purchased me extended warranty. If he gave us his address so we could put him on the mailing list.”
Milo tapped the computer. “How about scrolling back a few days.”
Mustafa said, “This isn’t good,” but he complied.
Nothing for the entire week.
Mustafa pushed a button and the screen went blank. By the time Milo thanked him, he’d walked away.
32.
A FEW MORE detectives had returned to the Robbery-Homicide room. I pulled a chair up next to Mile’s desk and listened as he called Social Security and the Franchise Tax
Board. Two hits: tax refunds had been sent to George Orson. Place of employment:
Starkweather State Hospital.
“The checks were sent to an address on Pico-ten thousand five hundred. Commercial zone, ten to one a mail drop. Also, close to Richard’s dump site… Okay, okay, something’s happening here. I need to get more specific, find out if he still works at Starkweather.”
“What about Lindeen the receptionist?” I said. “She likes you. Must be that masculine cop musk.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I’m a musk ox…. Okay, why not?” He jabbed the phone. “Hello,
Lindeen? Hi, it’s Milo Sturgis. Right… Oh, muddling along, how ’bout you…. Well, that’s terrific, yeah I’ve heard about those, sounds like fun, at least you get to solve something…. Uh, well, I’m not sure I have anything to… Think so? Well, okay, if I can get some free time-after I clear Dr. Argent’s case…. No, wish I could say I was…. Speaking of which, does a psych tech named George Orson still work there?” He spelled the surname. “Nothing major, but I heard he might’ve been a friend of Dr. Argent’s…. I know she didn’t, but his name came up from another party, they said he worked at Starkweather and knew her…. No?” He frowned. “Could you? That’d be great.”
He lowered the mouthpiece. “The name’s a little familiar, but she can’t connect it to a face.”
“Hundred employees,” I said. “What’s the barter?” ,
He started to answer, moved the phone back under his mouth.” Yup, still here…. Did he? When was that? Any forwarding address?” His pen was poised, but he didn’t write.
“So how long was he actually on staff?” Scribble. “Any idea why he left? No, I
wouldn’t call him that, just checking every lead…. What’s that? That soon? I wish
I could say yes, but unless the case clears, I’m pretty- Pardon? Yeah, okay, I promise…. Yeah, it should be fun. Me, too. Thanks, Lin-deen. And listen, you don’t need to bother Mr. Swig about this. I’ve got everything I need. Thanks again.”
He hung up. “The barter is I come give a talk to some murder-mystery club she belongs to. They stage phony crimes, give out prizes for solving them, eat nachos.
She wanted me next month but I deferred to their big bash at Christmas.”
“Playing Santa?”
“Ho ho fucking ho.”
“I tell you it’s the musk.”
“Yeah, next time I’ll shower first…. The deal on Orson is, he joined Starkweather fifteen months ago, left after ten months of full-time employment.”
“Five months ago,” I said. “A month after Claire got there. So they had plenty of time to get acquainted.”
“The brunette in the car,” he said. “Itatani’s three-second observation isn’t much, but with this… maybe. Orson’s file says he worked primarily on the fifth floor, with the criminal fakers-how’s mat for a match made in hell? But he did do some overtime down on the regular wards, so that gives him access to Peake. No infractions, no problems, he quit voluntarily. His photo’s missing from me file, but
Lindeen thinks she might remember him-maybe he had light brown hair. Probably being overly helpful. Or the guy’s got a wig collection.”