Gone (27 page)

I said, “Reynold Peaty came to see Billy.”

“No, no, not to see, to bring things back.”

“Things?”

“Things Billy forgets. At the office. Sometimes Mr. Dowd brings them himself, sometimes I guess he sends this man.”

“Reynold Peaty.”

“Billy didn’t kill him, that is for sure. Billy opens the windows to let flies out so he doesn’t have to hit them.”

“Gentle.”

“Gentle,” Annalise Holzer agreed. “Like a nice little boy.”

“But forgetful,” I said.

“Everyone forgets.”

“What does Billy forget?”

“The watch, the wallet. Lots of times the wallet.”

“Mr. Peaty came by and gave you the wallet?”

“No,” she said. “He tells me Billy lost the wallet and he is returning the wallet.”

“How many times did that happen?”

“A few,” she said. “I do not count.”

Lots of times the wallet.
I raised an eyebrow.

Annalise Holzer said, “A few times, that’s all.”

“Those times, did Mr. Peaty go inside Billy’s apartment?”

“I don’t know.”

“You watch him.”

“Nein,”
she said. “Not watching, not babysitting. Mr. Dowd asks me to help if Billy needs something.”

“Sounds like a good job.”

Shrug.

“Good salary?”

“No money, only less rent.”

“Mr. Dowd’s your landlord?”

“Very nice landlord, some of them are like… snakes.”

Milo hadn’t mentioned any Beverly Hills properties in the Dowds’ holdings.

I said, “So you get a discount on the rent in return for looking in on Billy.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What does that involve day to day?”

“Being here,” said Annalise Holzer. “If he needs something.”

“How does Billy get around?”

“Get around?”

“Go from place to place. He doesn’t drive.”

“He does not go out much,” said Annalise Holzer. “Sometimes I take him to a movie on Sunday. Century City, I drop him off, pick him up. Mostly I rent him DVDs from the video store on Olympic near Al-mont Drive. Billy has a big flat-screen TV, better than a movie theater, no?”

“Anyone else ever drive him?”

“Mr. Dowd picks him up in the morning and brings him home. Every day they work.”

Wide circuit from Santa Monica Canyon to Beverly Hills and back to the beach city. Brad’s unpaid job.

“Is there anyone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Taxi, car service?”

“Never do I see that.”

“So Billy doesn’t go out much.”

“Never by himself,” said Annalise Holzer. “Never do I see him go out, even to walk. I like to walk, when I ask him does he want to walk with me, he tells me, ‘Annalise, I did not like gym in school. I’m a big couch potato.’” She smiled. “I joke with him that he is lazy. He laughs.”

“Does he have any friends?”

“No —
but he is very friendly.”

“A homebody,” I said.

The word puzzled her.

“He comes home and stays here.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. Watching the flat screen, DVDs, eating —
I cook, sometimes. He likes some things… sauerbraten —
special veal meat. Spaetzle, it is a kind of noodle. I cook for two, bring it downstairs.” She looked over her shoulder. The room behind her was tidy and bright. White porcelain figurines crowded the ledge of an arched, tiled mantel.

In the current market, the rent would be three, four thousand a month. Steep on a nurse’s pay.

“You live alone, Ms. Holzer?”

“Yes.”

“You’re from Germany?”

“Lichtenstein.” She pinched thumb to forefinger. “It is a teeny tiny little country between—”

“Austria and Switzerland,” I said.

“You know Lichtenstein?”

“I’ve heard it’s pretty. Banking, castles, Alps.”

“It is pretty, yes,” she agreed. “But I like it here better.”

“L.A.’s more exciting.”

“More to do, the music, the horses, the beach.”

“You ride?”

“Anything with sunshine,” she said.

“Working nights and sleeping days and doing things for Billy.”

“Work is good. Sometimes I do a double shift.”

“What are Billy’s needs?” I said.

“Very easy. If he wants takeout and it is a long time for the restaurant to deliver, I get him his dinner. There is Domino Pizza on Doheny near Olympic. Billy likes Thai food, there’s a nice place on La Cienega and Olympic. Sushi is also on Olympic. Nice place near Doheny. Very convenient, being near Olympic.”

“Billy’s a gourmet.”

“Billy eats anything,” said Annalise Holzer. “You must really think of him as a boy. A good boy.”

When I was back on Olympic, I celled Milo, expecting voice mail because he was with Armando Vasquez.

“Canceled,” he said. “Vasquez’s D.P.D. had other plans but didn’t bother to tell me. The prelim on Michaela’s autopsy finally came in. I woulda been there but they did it earlier than scheduled. Bottom line is no sign of sexual assault, cause of death was strangulation, the stab wounds on her chest were relatively superficial. The neck wound was a puncture, pathologist can’t say what caused it. Get to Billy’s place yet?”

“Just finished with that and you’re going to feel smart. The woman upstairs is a nurse on the night shift at Santa Monica Hospital, meaning she’s gone by ten fifteen or so. Plus, she thinks L.A.’s an exciting city, likes art, the beach, riding horses. Her tan says she’s out plenty during the day.”

“Not much supervision.”

“On top of that, Peaty came to Billy’s apartment several times. Claimed he was sent by Brad to return things Billy left at the office. Brad told us he thought Peaty wasn’t licensed to drive. Unless he lied about that, Peaty misrepresented his presence.”

“How many times is several?”

“The woman couldn’t quantify. Or wouldn’t. She said Billy lost his wallet a lot. Then she backtracked to ‘a few.’”

“What’s her name?”

“Annalise Holzer. She’s one of those people who gives you lots of details and ends up not telling you much. She considers Billy childlike, gracious, absolutely no problem. Some of that could be the rent-break Brad gives her. The building’s another Dowd property.”

“That so? Not on the BNB list.”

“Maybe the Dowds have another corporation or a holding company that doesn’t trace back to their names.”

“All that real estate,” he said. “These people have got to be hugely rich, and rich people get protected.”

“Holzer was protective, all right. But I wouldn’t trust her to know the details of Billy’s life.”

“Meaning Peaty coulda been a regular at Darling Billy’s. I’ve
got
to take a serious look at the guy. After I speak to Vasquez’s wife. That’s the change in plans. All of a sudden, I can’t have access to Armando until I talk to the missus.”

“About what?”

“P.D.’s being cryptic. It’ll probably turn out to be a stupid lawyer trick but the D.A. insists I check it out.”

“D.A.’s office has their own investigators.”

“Whom they pay. That’s why I’m figuring it for scut palmed off on me.”

“Where are you meeting the wife?”

“Right here in my office, half an hour.”

“I’m twenty minutes away.”

“Good.”

J
acalyn Vasquez, minus three kids and makeup and jewelry, looked even younger than when I’d seen her on Sunday. Streaked hair was tied back in a somber ponytail. She wore a loose white blouse, blue jeans, and sneakers. Florid acne played havoc with her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes had regressed into sooty sockets.

A tall honey-haired woman in her twenties held Vasquez’s arm. The blonde’s locks were long and silky. She wore a tight black suit that showcased a bikini figure. A ruby stud in her left nostril fought the suit’s conservative cut. The pretty hair and tight body sparred with a monkeyish face the camera would savage.

She surveyed the tiny space and frowned. “How’re we all going to fit in here?”

Milo smiled. “And you are?”

“Brittany Chamfer, Public Defender’s Office.”

“I thought Mr. Vasquez’s attorney was Kevin Shuldiner.”

“I’m a third-year law student,” said Brittany Chamfer. “Working with the Exoneration Project.” She amplified her frown. “This is like a closet.”

“Well,” said Milo, “one less body should help. Enjoy the fresh air, Ms. Chamfer. Come on in, Ms. Vasquez.”

“My instruction was to stay with Jackie.”

“My instruction is that you enjoy the fresh air.” He stood and the chair squeaked. Silencing it with one hand, he offered the seat to Jacalyn Vasquez. “Right here, ma’am.”

Brittany Chamfer said, “I’m
supposed
to stay.”

“You’re not an attorney and Ms. Vasquez hasn’t been charged with anything.”

“Still.”

Milo took one big step that brought him to the doorway. Brittany Chamfer had to step back to avoid collision, and the arm she’d used to support Jacalyn Vasquez pulled free.

Vasquez looked past me. The office could’ve been miles of glacier.

Brittany Chamfer said, “I’ll have to call the office.”

Milo ushered Vasquez in, closed the door.

By the time she sat down, Jacalyn Vasquez was crying.

Milo gave her a tissue. When her eyes dried, he said, “You have something to tell me, Ms. Vasquez?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“Armando was protecting us.”

“Protecting the family?”

“Uh-huh.”

“From…”

“Him.”

“Mr. Peaty?”

“The pervert.”

“You knew Mr. Peaty to be a pervert?”

Nod.

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone said.”

“Everyone in the building.”

“Yeah.”

“Like Mrs. Stadlbraun.”

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

“Everyone.”

“Can you give me some names?”

Eyes down. “Everyone.”

“Did Mr. Peaty ever do anything perverted that you know about personally?”

“He looked.”

“At…”

Jacalyn Vasquez poked her left breast. Milo said, “He looked at you.”

“A lot.”

“He ever touch you?”

Head shake.

“His looks made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.”

“You tell Armando?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to make him mad.”

“Armando has a temper.”

Silence.

“So Peaty looked at you,” said Milo. “You figure that made it okay for Armando to shoot him?”

“Also the calls. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. “What calls, ma’am?”

“The night. Calling, hanging up, calling, hanging up. I figured it was him.”

“Peaty?”

“Yeah.”

“Because…”

“He was a pervert.” Her eyes dipped again.

“You figured it was Mr. Peaty harassing you,” said Milo.

“Yeah.”

“Had he done that before?”

Hesitation.

“Ms. Vasquez?”

“Uh-uh.”

“He hadn’t done it before but you suspected it was him. Did Mr. Shuldiner come up with that?”

“It coulda
been
him!”

Milo said, “Any other reason the calls bothered you?”

“They kept hanging up.”

“They,” said Milo. Stretching the word.

Vasquez looked up, confused.

Milo said, “Maybe you were worried about a ‘they,’ Jackie.”

“Huh?”

“Armando’s old homeboys.”

“Armando don’t have no homeboys.”

“He used to, Jackie.”

Silence.

“Everyone knows he used to run with the 88s, Jackie.”

Vasquez sniffed.

“Everyone knows,” Milo repeated.

“That was, like, a long time ago,” said Vasquez. “Armando don’t bang no more.”

“Who’s they?”

“The calls. There was a bunch.”

“Any other calls last night?”

“My mother.”

“What time?”

“Like six.” Jacalyn Vasquez sat up straighter. “The other one wasn’t no homeboys.”

“What other one?”

“After the ones that hung up. Someone talked. Like a whisper, you know?”

“A whisper.”

“Yeah.”

“What’d they whisper about.”

“
Him.
They said he was dangerous, liked to hurt women.”

“Someone whispered that about Peaty?”

“Yeah.”

“You heard this.”

“They talked to Armando.”

“What time did this whispering call come in, Jackie?”

“Like… we were in bed with the TV. Armando answered and he was pissed off ’cause a the other calls hanging up. He’s, like, started yelling into the phone and then he’s, like, stopped, listened. I said what, he waved his hand, like, you know? He listened and his face got all red. That was the last time.”

“Armando got mad.”

“Real mad.”

“ ’Cause of the whispering.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Armando tell you about the whispering after he hung up?”

Jacalyn Vasquez shook her head. “Later.”

“When, later?”

“Last night.”

“Calling from jail.”

“Yeah.”

“You never heard the whispering and Armando didn’t tell you about it at the time. Then, after Armando shot Peaty, he decided to tell you.”

“I ain’t lyin’.”

“I can understand your wanting to protect your husband—”

“I ain’t lyin’.”

“Let’s say someone did whisper,” said Milo. “You figure that made it okay to shoot Peaty?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that, Jackie?”

“He was dangerous.”

“According to the whisperer.”

“I ain’t lyin’.”

“Maybe Armando is.”

“Armando ain’t lyin’.”

“Did Armando say if this whisperer was a man or a woman?”

“Armando said the whispering made so you couldn’t tell.”

“Pretty good whispering.”

“I ain’t lyin’.” Jacalyn Vasquez folded her arms across her bosom and stared at Milo.

“You know, Jackie, that any calls to your apartment can be verified.”

“Huh?”

“We can check your phone records.”

“Fine,” she said.

“The problem is,” said Milo, “all we can know is that someone called you at a certain time. We can’t verify what was said.”

“It happened.”

“According to Armando.”