“She had plenty of psychotics at County,” I said. “She wanted madmen.”
“Why? To squeeze a few more syllables out of them? To hell with all that, Alex, I’m concentrating on the boring stuff for now. Located a safe-deposit box at her bank, actually managed to finagle my way in with the death certificate. No cash, no dope, no B&D videos, no drooling letters from psycho pen pals. Stone empty. So if she did have some secret life going, she kept it very well wrapped.”
“Maybe we should go back further-grad school, the years before she moved to L.A. I can try talking to someone at Case Western.”
“Sure, but tomorrow you’ll have a chance at something better. Her parents are arriving on the red-eye tonight. I have a date with them at eight A.M. down at the morgue. No need for them to view the body, tried to talk them out of it, but they insisted. After all that fun, I’ll try to sit down with them. I’ll give you a call where and when. Probably be late afternoon.”
Several young officers walked by. He watched them for a while, stared at the roof of the Seville, flicked dirt off the vinyl. “Reviewing Richard’s file was sobering. Not as much of a file as I remembered. The only people I spoke to were Richard’s landlady and parents and the staff at the restaurant where he worked. No listings in the ‘Known Associates’ column. Sound familiar? I made another try at locating the film outfit that Richard might’ve auditioned for-Thin Line. Still can’t find a trace of them. You’d think even a rinky-dink outfit would make a mark somewhere.”
“Something about the movie bothers you?”
“They’ve got carpenters on movie sets, right? All sorts of tools, including saws.”
“Plenty of knives in restaurants, too.”
“Maybe I’ll go back there.”
“One possible angle on Thin Line,” I said. “Even fly-by-nights need equipment. A small outfit would be likely to rent rather than own. Why not check some of the leasing companies?”
“Very good,” he said. “Thank you, sir.” He laughed. “Any other case I wouldn’t consider the film thing half a lead. But these two-you don’t wanna blame the victim,
Alex, but the least they could’ve done is relate to someone.”
I wanted another look at Claire’s resume, so the two of us crossed over to the station and walked upstairs to the detectives’ room. Milo retrieved the box of material he’d taken from Claire’s house. He hadn’t booked it into the evidence room, meaning he’d planned some review himself. He left to get a cup of coffee while I searched.
I found the resume near the middle, neatly typed and stapled. The Wite-Out in the
“Marital Status” slot was a chalky lozenge. She’d been born in Pittsburgh, lived there through college before moving to Cleveland to attend Case Western.
Thousands of miles from Richard Dada’s Arizona childhood, little chance of a connection there.
I scrounged until I found the first study she’d published- the student research that had impressed Myron Theobold.
Solo author, just as he’d said, but at the bottom of the first page, in very small print, were acknowledgments and thanks: “To the Case Western Graduate Fund for supplies and data analysis; to my parents, Ernestine and Robert Ray Argent, for their unwavering support throughout my education; and to my dissertation chairman,
Professor Harry I. Racano, for his thoughtful guidance.”
One P.M. in L.A. was four in Cleveland. Using Milo’s phone, I dialed
Information. None of the other detectives paid notice to a civilian using city equipment. Scrawling the number for Case Western’s psychology department, I called and asked for Professor Racano.
The woman at the other end said, “I’m sorry, but there’s no one here by that name.”
“He used to be on the faculty.”
“Let me check our faculty directory.” Several moments passed. “No, I’m sorry, sir, not in the current directory or the emeritus list.”
“Is there anyone around who worked in the department ten years ago?”
Silence. “Hold on, please.”
Another five minutes before another woman said, “May I ask what this is about?”
“I’m calling from the Los Angeles Police Department.” Literally. “Unfortunately, one of your alumnae, Dr. Claire Argent, was murdered, and we’re trying to locate anyone who might have known her back in Cleveland.”