“Spare me.”
“I mean it, I really like the shirt,” said Paige. “If you don’t like it you can donate it to the Ivy. The one at the beach. They’ve got Hawaiian shirts hanging on the wall.”
“Hoo-hah,” said Milo. “How do you know about such things, Detective Bandura?”
“Rich boyfriend.” She grinned, removed the black wig, and fluffed her clipped chestnut curls. “Need me for anything else, Milo?”
“Nope, thanks.”
“Hey, any time. Always wanted to act—how’d I do, Doctor?”
“From where I was sitting,” I said, “great.”
“Haven’t acted since high school. Pirates of Penzance. Wanted to be Mabel, but they made me a pirate.”
“You were terrific,” I lied.
It made her smile and she walked off with a spring in her step.
“What’s her usual detail?” I said.
“Car theft.” Milo sat down in the same chair he’d occupied as Brad.
Just the two of us in the room now. The empty space smelled of toxic sweat.
“Good work, Sig,” he said.
“Luckily.”
“Hey, you had a hypothesis. I always respect your hypotheses.”
A hypothesis.
About what Hope and Locking and Cruvic had in common.
Then back to square one: the conduct committee.
One particular case. Someone pressured to take a blood test.
I’d tested it out:
Confirmed Big Micky was on Imuran, the most commonly used antirejection drug. Meaning he was off dialysis. Had received yet another kidney transplant.
After that, the details had flooded my head: Reed Muscadine’s clothes the day I’d spoken to him in his apartment. Short shorts, which matched the heat of the day, but a heavy sweatshirt that didn’t. The sleeves cut off. Baring the arms, but covering his torso.
Mrs. Green the landlady telling me he’d been laid up with a bad back for over a month.
Muscadine telling me more: Tried for three-twenty on the bench press. It felt like a knife going through me.
A slip? Or playing with me?
Acting?
A good actor. Professor Dirkhoff’s prize student. Dirkhoff had been distressed because Muscadine had dropped out to take a job on a soap opera.
A job that sounded definite.
But Muscadine had lost the part.
I can practice Stanislavsky from now til tomorrow, but if the bod goes so does my marketability.
Not remembering the name of the soap opera. Unlikely. Starving actors attuned themselves to every detail.
But giving me enough to sound credible.
Something about spies and diplomats, foreign embassies.
That had narrowed it down enough for Suzette Band to come up with a name.
Embassy Row. She’d gotten me the number of the show’s casting director, a woman named Chloe Gold, and I’d called her posing as Muscadine’s new agent. Asking her if Reed could get another chance because the boy was really talented.
She’d looked him up in her files and said No, thanks, he was bumped ’cause of physical factors.
What physical factors?
You don’t know? You’re his agent.
We haven’t gotten into—
Ask him. Gotta go.
Physical factors.
The blood test, not just for HIV, but also for tissue compatibility. Hope with faculty clout, getting access to the sample.
It fit.
Not hard evidence but enough to hypothesize.
Cruvic’s real clinic was the house on Mulholland Drive.
Honor thy father . . .
Milo drank the rest of the water and looked up at the track lighting. “Maybe we should throw a wrap party. Maybe the department will even compensate me for the rental and the ad in Variety.”
“You paid for it yourself?”
“Department doesn’t authorize sting dough on the basis of hypotheses and I didn’t want to spend six goddamn months going through channels. And what other choice was there? The wimpo judge said no warrant on Muscadine’s medical records and apartment ’cause he doesn’t like hypotheses. Meaning if I’d just walked up to the asshole and yanked his shirt up it would be no grounds, illegal search, and the scar would be excluded from evidence. Let alone forcing him to take an X ray, see if his kidney’s missing.”
“And not much chance the surgeon kept records.”
“And as asshole Barone came to tell me, the asshole surgeon is out of the country. And, for the time being, with multiple murders on the agenda, busting Dr. Heelspur for malpractice isn’t going to be the D.A.’s priority. But eventually, when what he did gets out, he ain’t going to be working in Beverly Hills or anywhere else.”