Before I could tell him, Robin came through the door, holding a grocery bag and Spike’s leash. Her color was high and she was smiling as she waved. She put the bag down and kissed me.
I mouthed, “Milo.”
“Say hi.” She left to change.
I relayed the message, then told him all of it: the conversations with Julia Steinberger and Casey Locking, Tessa Bowlby’s panic, Patrick Huang’s anger and alleged alibi, Reed Muscadine dropping out to take the acting job.
“Bottom line: Hope made a strong impression on everyone. Though if it is a traveling serial, that’s probably no longer relevant.”
“The Bowlby girl—was she really scared?”
“Petrified. Pale and skinny and weak-looking, too, so I wondered if Muscadine’s AIDS test might have come back positive. And if he dropped out ’cause he’s sick. Or maybe it was just because he got the acting job. But what’s the difference?”
“Don’t go around feeling useless, yet. Mandy Wright changes things but I can’t afford to eliminate anyone or anything, at this point. Just because it looks like a psycho, doesn’t mean it was a stranger. Maybe Hope and Mandy knew the same psycho.”
“A call girl and a professor?”
“This professor may turn out to be different,” he said. “So I’m still gonna talk to Kenny Storm and I’m sure as hell gonna verify the Huang boy’s alibi. And if you don’t mind talking to the other two girls, I’d appreciate it. Something else: Before Vegas called I was looking into Lawyer Barone’s recent cases and Hope’s name doesn’t come up in any of them. So what did he pay Hope for?”
“Something she didn’t want publicized?”
“That’s the only thing I can think of. Now, Barone does lots of porno defense, mostly out of his San Francisco office, and porno’s something a call girl like Mandy could get involved with. But as to Hope’s role, I just can’t put it together.”
“Barone could have been looking for academic and feminist credentials to shore up the defense,” I said.
“Then why no record of her on the cases?”
“Maybe Barone hired her to write a report but didn’t like the end product. It’s happened to me.”
“Could be. Whatever. I’m just about to put in my tenth call to the good barrister. And I’d still like to learn more about Dr. Cruvic. The whole consulting thing is interesting—all that money.”
Robin returned to the kitchen and began heating water.
I said, “In terms of Cruvic, I can check out the Women’s Health Center in Santa Monica. Got an address?”
“No, sorry. Okay, thanks, Alex. Off to Burbank airport.”
“Have a good trip. Maybe you can get in some gambling.”
“On the taxpayers’ time? Tsk-tsk. Anyway, games of chance aren’t my thing. Randomness scares me.”
When I put down the phone Robin was slicing onions, tomatoes, and celery, and a pot of spaghetti approached a boil on the stove.
“Gambling?” she said.
“Milo’s going to Vegas. He found a murder there that matches Hope’s.”
I told her the details. The knife stopped.
“If it’s a nut,” she said, “there could be others.”
“He’s checking around the country.”
“So ugly,” she said. “That Women’s Health Center you mentioned. Holly Bondurant used to be involved in a place in Santa Monica. I know because she did a benefit concert a few years ago and I set up her twelve-string. What’s the connection between the center and the murder?”
“Probably nothing, but Milo got interested because Hope met a Beverly Hills gynecologist named Cruvic there. She ended up consulting to Cruvic’s private practice—counseling patients undergoing fertility procedures. We went over to see him this morning and Milo wondered if there was something going on between him and Hope.”
“Why?”
“Because he spoke of her with such passion. And her marriage seems somewhat passionless, so the obvious question came up. You know how thorough Milo is. Even with this new lead, he wants to clear everything.”
She put the knife down, went to the phone, and punched numbers.
“Holly? It’s Robin Castagna. Hi. Yes, it has been. Fine, great. And with you? Good. How’s Joaquin, he must be what—fourteen . . . you’re kidding! Listen, Holly, I don’t know if you can help me, but . . .”