City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(55)
Suddenly pugnacious. An argument he’d been compelled to offer often.
Milo said, “So just the blonde.”
Aguirre slipped his smile back on like a comfortable shoe. “Yup, only her and trust me, she’s someone you’d notice.”
Milo showed him Cordi Gannett’s internet photo.
Aguirre’s pupils dilated. “That’s her, all right. Who is she?”
“A friend,” said Milo.
“Just like I said,” said Aguirre. “You do this job long enough, you get a feel for people.”
I said, “So what’s going to happen to Joey with Charlie no longer paying the overage?”
Aguirre shrugged. “We’ll work it out. One way or the other.”
* * *
—
We left the conference room and headed for the entry with Aguirre just ahead of us.
Milo said, “Could we have a look at Joey?”
“You already have,” said Aguirre. He pointed to one of the wheelchairs lined up near the front door.
A shrunken form of indeterminate age was strapped in at mid-chest and waist-level. Withered legs were propped straight out on slide-out rests and similarly belted. Sunken cheeks, gray stubble, toothless mouth, and the collapsed jawline caused by a toothless mouth. Static eyes were mere suggestions within dark hollows. An oxygen mask dangled from the back of the chair.
Milo said, “Joey?”
Hector Aguirre said, “He’s blind and deaf so you probably don’t want to waste your time.”
* * *
—
We left Tudor Palms and Milo checked out the neighbors. Foreign car mechanic to the north, tire dealer to the south. The air on the sidewalk was thick with auto fumes but my lungs felt liberated getting out of there.
I said, “That was cheerful.”
Milo said, “Dante would be proud. I ever get like that, pal, shoot me with my service revolver and set it up like a suicide. By now, you know how.”
“What’s in it for me?”
He laughed. “Reciprocity? Maybe push you over a cliff in the Seville?”
“Let me think about it.”
We got in the car, he swung a U-ey on Palms Boulevard and sped north.
I said, “Cordi knew Caspian was footing a big bill for Joseph but she still took a discount.”
He shook his head. “Like I said, complex. Which, in my business, is a filthy word.”
* * *
—
Milo’s office computer revealed that Amalia Beniste, the source of Caspian Delage’s headache meds, had no criminal record and that while her hair color changed frequently, her “major passion” never wavered.
Self-labeled as a member of “the migraine community” the twenty-four-year-old advocated for all headache medicines shifting to over-the-counter status and expressed a clear intent to “give anyone and everyone anything and everything I have in my vascular-hell repertoire. NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER NEEDLESSLY. NO FUCKING ONE!!!! HEAR THAT FUCKING FDA?”
Milo said, “Sounds like she could give herself a headache. But unlike Cordi, she actually gave the poor guy something, can’t see any reason to show up at the studio and terrify her.”
He checked with Reed. Still no sighting of Tyler Hoffgarden, no results from the BOLO on Hoffgarden’s Mini.
He hung up. “Another day of Mr. Muscle flewing the coop, how’s that for evidence of guilt? Do me a favor and call Hoffgarden’s ex, on the off chance she’s seen him.”
“Not a good idea,” I said.
“Why not? Divorces are public records, you’re not breaking any rules.”
“Gray area.”
“Meaning?”
“Drawing a patient into a homicide investigation. Sorry.”
“Fine.” He pulled out his pad. “What’s her name?”
“Like you said, public record.”
He stared at me. “You’re kidding.”
I shrugged.
“Unbelievable—do you ever break rules?”
“I’ve driven your unmarked twice.”
“What? How do you get two?”
“The Swoboda case. You wanted to do some phone research and then some napping so you asked me—”
“That? We’re talking what, half a minute?”
More like thirty.
I said, “That I’d be happy to do again.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Patients are vulnerable. You’re not.”
“Shows how much you know.”
His face had reddened at the corners. “So when do you come up for beatification?”
“Nothing from Rome yet, but a guy can hope.”
“Fine, no big deal, I’ll look her up. And yeah, yeah, if I meet with her you won’t be coming with, got it. Is there anything you can tell me about her before I talk to her?”
“Nice woman.”
“Another one who hooked up with a bum. Okay, tell me why that happens, oh sage of Beverly Glen.”
I said, “If I knew, I’d write a book.”
“People who don’t know write plenty of books.”
“Exactly.”