Gone

Milo said, “Mr. Dowd?”

Shy smile. “I’m Billy.” The badge made him blink. His hand brushed the corner of shirttail and he stiffened. Zipped his fly. “Oops.”

Billy Dowd breathed into his hand. “Need my Altoids…where did I put them?”

Turning four pockets inside out, he produced nothing but lint that landed on thin, gray carpet. A check of his shirt pocket finally located the mints. Popping one in his mouth and chewing, he held out the tin. “Want some?”

“No, thanks, sir.”

Billy Dowd perched on the edge of his desk. Across the room was a larger, more substantial work station: carved oak replica of a rolltop, flat-screen computer monitor, the rest of the components tucked out of view.

Brown walls. The only thing hanging a Humane Society calendar. Trio of tabby kittens staking a claim on ultimate cute.

Billy Dowd chewed another mint. “So…what’s happening?”

“You don’t seem surprised we’re here, Mr. Dowd.”

Billy blinked some more. “It’s not the only time.”

“That you’ve spoken to police?”

“Yup.”

“When were the others?”

Billy’s brow creased. “The second I’d have to say was last year? One of the tenants- we’ve got a lot of tenants, my brother and sister and me, and last year one of them was stealing computer stuff. A policeman from Pasadena came over and talked to us. We said okay, arrest him, he pays late anyway.”

“Did they?”

“Uh-uh. He ran away and escaped. Took the lightbulbs, messed the place up, Brad was not happy. But then we got another tenant pretty soon and he got happy. Real nice people. Insurance agents, Mr. and Mrs. Rose, they pay on time.”

“What was the name of the dishonest tenant?”

“I’d have to say…” Slowly spreading smile. “I’d have to say I don’t know. You can ask my brother, he’ll be here soon.”

“What was the other time the police visited?” said Milo.

“Pardon me?”

“You said the second was last year. When was the first?”

“Oh. Right. The first was long ago, I’d have to say five years, could be even six?”

He waited for confirmation.

I said, “What happened a long time ago?”

“That was different,” he said. “Someone hit someone else in the hallway, so they called the police. Not tenants, two visitors, they got into a fight or something. So what happened this time?”

“A student of your sister’s was murdered and we’re looking into people who knew her.”

The word “murdered” drew Billy Dowd’s hand to his mouth. He held it there and his fingers muffled his voice. “That’s awful!” The hand dropped to his chin, clawed the stubbly surface. Nails gnawed short. “My sister, she’s okay?”

“She’s fine,” said Milo.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely, sir. The murder didn’t take place at the PlayHouse.”

“Phew.” Billy drew a hand across his brow. “You scared me, I nearly pissed my pants.” He laughed nervously. Looked down at his crotch, verifying continence.

A voice from the doorway said, “What’s going on?”

Billy Dowd said, “Hey, Brad, it’s the police again.”

The man who walked in was half a foot taller than Billy and solidly built. He wore a well-cut navy suit and a yellow shirt with a stiff spread collar, soft brown calfskin loafers.

Mid forties but his hair was snow-white. Dense and straight and clipped short.

Crinkly dark eyes, full lips, square chin, beak nose. Nora and Billy Dowd had been modeled from soft clay. Their brother was hewn from stone.

Bradley Dowd stood next to his brother and buttoned his jacket. “Again?”

“You remember,” said Billy. “That guy, the one who stole computers and took all the lights- what was his name, Brad? Was he Italian?”

“Polish,” said Brad Dowd. He looked at us. “Edgar Grabowski’s back in town?”

“It’s not about him, Brad,” said Billy. “I was just explaining why I was surprised but not totally surprised when they came in here, because it wasn’t the first- ”

“Got it,” said Brad, patting his brother’s shoulder. “What’s up, gentlemen?”

Milo said, “There’s been a murder…one of your sister’s students- ”

“My God, that’s horrible- Nora’s okay?”

Same protective reflex as Billy.

“I already asked him that, Brad. Nora’s good.”

Brad must’ve put some weight on Billy’s shoulder because the smaller man sagged.

“Where did this happen and who exactly did it happen to?”

“ West L.A. The victim’s a young woman named Michaela Brand.”

“The one who faked being kidnapped?” said Brad.

His brother stared up at him. “You never told me about that, Bra- ”

“It was in the news, Bill.” To us: “Did her murder have something to do with that?”

“Any reason it would?” said Milo.

“I’m not saying it did,” said Brad Dowd. “I’m just asking- it’s a natural question, don’t you think? Someone garners publicity, it has the potential to bring out the weirdos.”

“Did Nora talk about the hoax?”

Brad shook his head. “Murdered…terrible.” He frowned. “It must’ve hit Nora hard, I’d better call her.”

“She’s okay,” said Milo. “We just talked to her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Your sister’s fine. We’re here, sir, because we need to talk to anyone who might’ve had contact with Ms. Brand.”

“Of course,” said Brad Dowd. He smiled at his brother. “Billy, would you do me a favor and go down and get a sandwich from DiGiorgio’s- you know how I like it.”

Billy Dowd got off the desk and looked up at his brother. “Peppers, egg, eggplant, and tomato. A lot of pesto or just a medium amount?”

“A lot, bro.”

“You got it, bro. Nice to meet you guys.” Billy hurried off.

When the door closed, Brad Dowd said, “He doesn’t need to hear about this kind of thing. What else can I help you with?”

“Your janitor, Reynold Peaty. Anything to say about him?”

“You’re asking because of his arrests?”

Milo nodded.

“Well,” said Brad, “he was up-front about them when he applied for a job. I gave him points for honesty and he’s been a good worker. Why?”

“Just routine, sir. How’d you find him?”

“Agency. They weren’t up-front about his past, so we dropped them.”

“How long’s he been working for you?”

“Five years.”

“Not that long after his last arrest in Nevada.”

“He said he’d had a drinking problem and had gotten clean and sober. He doesn’t drive, so any DUI problems aren’t going to happen.”

Milo said, “Are you aware of his arrest for peeping through a window?”

“He told me about everything,” said Brad. “Claimed that was also the drinking. And the only time he’d done something like that.” He flexed his shoulders. “Many of our tenants are women and families with children, I’m not naive, keep my eyes out on all the employees. Now that the Megan’s Law database is up and operating, I check it regularly. I assume you do, too, so you know Reynold isn’t on there. Is there some reason you’re asking about him, other than routine?”

“No, sir.”

Brad Dowd inspected his fingertips. Unlike his brother’s, beautifully manicured. “Please be up-front, Detective. Do you have the slightest bit of evidence implicating Reynold? Because he circulates among lots of our buildings and as much as I’d like to trust him, I’d hate to incur any liability. Not to mention the human cost.”

“No evidence,” said Milo.

“You’re sure.”

“That’s the way it looks, so far.”

“So far,” said Brad Dowd. “Not exactly encouraging.”

“There’s no reason to suspect him, sir. If I hear otherwise, I’ll let you know.”

Dowd fiddled with a hand-stitched lapel. “There’s no subtext here, is there, Detective? You’re not suggesting I fire him?”

“I’d prefer that you don’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“No sense stirring things up, Mr. Dowd. If Peaty’s turned his life around, more power to him.”

“That’s how I feel…that poor girl. How was she killed?”

“Strangled and stabbed.”