8.
AT EIGHT P.M. Milo called. “Am I interrupting anything?”
He’d missed interrupting by an hour. Robin was reading in bed and I’d taken Spike for a short walk up the canyon. When the phone rang, I was sitting out on the terrace, trying to rid my mind of question marks, struggling to concentrate on the sound of the waterfall that fed the fishpond. Grateful because I couldn’t hear the
freeway.
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“Got the info on Claire and Stargill. Married two years, divorced nearly two, no kids. I reached Stargill. He says the split was amicable. He’s a partner in a ten-lawyer firm, remarried three months ago. He just learned about Claire. San Diego papers didn’t carry it, but one of his partners was up here, read about it.”
“What was his demeanor?”
“He sounded pretty upset over the phone, but what the hell does that mean? Said he doubted there was anything he could add but he’d talk to me. I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning at ten.”
“San Diego?”
“No, he’s driving up.”
“Very cooperative fellow.”
“He has business here anyway. Some commercial property closings-he’s a real estate lawyer.”
“So he comes up to L.A. regularly.”
“Yeah, I made note of that. Let’s see what he’s like face-to-face. We’re meeting at
Claire’s house. Which she owns. It was his bachelor place, but after the divorce he signed it over to her and agreed to pay the mortgage and taxes in lieu of alimony and her dipping into his stocks and bonds.”
“Who inherits the property now?”
“Good question. Stargill wasn’t aware of any will, and he claims neither of them took out insurance on the other. I never came across any policies; Claire was thirty-nine, probably wasn’t figuring on dying. I suppose a lawyer would know how to play the probate process-he might make a case for mortgage payment constituting partial ownership. But my guess her parents would come first. What do you think a place like that is worth?”
“Three hundred or so. How much is equity?”
“We’ll find that out tomorrow if Mr. Cooperative stays cooperative…. Maybe he got tired of paying her bills, huh?”
“It could chafe, especially now that he’s remarried. Especially if he’s got money problems. Be good to know what his finances are like.”
“If you want to meet him, be there at ten. I left a message with Heidi Ott’s machine, no callback yet. And the lab sent another report on the prints: definitely only Claire’s. Looks like she really did go it alone.”
The next morning I called Dr. Myron Theobold at County Hospital, left a voicemail message, and drove to Cape Horn Drive, arriving at 9:45. Milo’s unmarked was already there, parked at the curb. A deep-gray late-model BMW sedan sat in front of the garage, ski clamps on the roof.
The house’s front door was unlocked, and I entered. Milo had reassumed his position at the center of the empty living room. Near the kitchen counter stood a man in his forties wearing a blue suit, white shirt, yellow pin-dot tie. He was just shy of six feet, trim, with short, curly red hair and a matching beard streaked with gray.
Skinny gold watch on his left wrist, wedding band studded with small diamonds, shiny oxblood wingtips.
Milo said, “This is Dr. Delaware, our psychological consultant. Doctor, Mr.
Stargill.”
“Joe Stargill.” A hand extended. Dry palms but unsteady hazel eyes. His voice was slightly hoarse. He looked past me, into the empty room, and shook his head.
“Mr. Stargill was just saying the house looks pretty different.”
Stargill said, “This wasn’t the way we lived. We had wall-to-wall carpeting, furniture. Over there was a big leather sofa; that wall held a chrome cabinet-an etagere, I think it was called. Claire taught me that. I’d bought a few things when
I was single but Claire filled it in. Pottery, figurines, macrame, all that good stuff.” He shook his head again. “She must have gone through some major changes.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to her, sir?” said Milo.
“When I U-Hauled my things away. Maybe a half-year before the final decree.”
“So you were separated before the divorce.”