Gone

“Could be one of those tax things, Alex. He takes a salary for managing all the shared buildings, has some IRS reason not to own.”

“On the contrary, property tax is deductible. So are depreciation and expenses on rentals.”

“Spoken like a true land baron.”

I’d made serious money buying and selling properties during a couple of booms. Had opted out of the game because I didn’t like being a landlord, put the profits in bonds and clipped coupons. Not too smart if net worth was your goal. I used to think my goal was serenity. Now, I had no idea.

I said, “Maybe Cousin Marcia can clue us in.”

He tilted his head toward the back of the room. “Yup, being a veteran detective, I’d say that’s her.”

The woman who stood to the right of the bar was six feet tall, forty or so, with curly dishwater hair and a piercing stare. She wore a black crewneck and slacks, carried a cream leather handbag.

Milo said, “She’s checking the premises like a cop,” and waved.

She waved back and approached. The purse was printed with a world-map design. A gold crucifix pendant was her only jewelry. Up close, her hair was wiry, combed in a way that obscured half her right eye. The iris and its mate were bright and searching and gray.

Narrow face, sharp nose, outdoor skin. No resemblance I could see to Reynold Peaty. Or to the Dowds.

“Lieutenant? Marcia Peaty.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Milo introduced me, minus my title.

I pictured Al Beamish scowling.

Marcia Peaty shook our hands and sat. “I remember this place as having great martinis.”

“You from L.A. originally?”

“Raised in Downey. My father was a chiropractor, had an office there and right here in Hollywood, on Edgemont. A good report card used to earn me lunch with him. We always came here, and when no one was looking, he let me try his martinis. I thought they tasted like swimming pool acid but never let on. Wanting to be mature, you know?” She smiled. “Now I like them all by myself.”

A waiter came over and she ordered the cocktail on the rocks, with olives and an onion. “My version of salad.”

The waiter said, “Another beer?”

Milo said, “No, thanks.”

“You?”

The memory of Beamish’s single malt leased space in my palate. “Coke.”

The waiter frowned and left.

Milo said, “What can I do for you, Ms. Peaty?”

“I’m trying to find out what happened to Reyn.”

“How’d you hear about it?”

“I’m a colleague- used to be.”

“Las Vegas PD?”

“Twelve years,” she said. “Mostly Vice and Auto and then I did some jail duty. I’m working private security now, big company, we handle some of the casinos.”

“No shortage of work in Sin City,” said Milo.

“You guys aren’t exactly sitting around.”

The drinks arrived.

Marcia Peaty tried her martini. “Better than I remembered.”

The waiter asked if we were ready to order.

Chicken potpie, sand dabs, sand dabs.

“Another memory,” said Marcia Peaty. “Can’t get them in Vegas.”

Milo said, “Can’t get ’em too often in L.A., either. Mostly it’s rex sole.”

She looked disappointed. “Cheap substitution?”

“Nope, they’re basically the same- little flatfish with lots of bones. One lives deeper, no one can tell the difference.”

“You into fishing?”

“I’m into eating.”

“Virtually the same, huh?” said Marcia Peaty. “More like twins than cousins.”

“Cousins can be real different.”

She removed an olive from her drink. Chewed, swallowed. “How I found out about Reyn was I’d been trying to call him for days and no one answered. It’s not like I call him regularly, but one of our great-aunts died and he inherited some money- no big deal, twelve hundred bucks. When I couldn’t get hold of him, I started calling around- hospitals, jails. Finally, I learned what happened from your coroner.”

“Calling jails and the crypt,” said Milo. “That’s a specific curiosity.”

Marcia Peaty nodded. “Reyn was high-risk for problems, always had been. I didn’t have any fantasies of turning him into a solid citizen, but every so often I’d feel protective. We grew up together in Downey, he was a few years younger, I’m an only child and he was, too, so kin was in short supply. Once upon a time I thought of him as a little brother.”

I said, “High-risk brother.”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat him but he wasn’t a psychopath, just not smart. One of those people who always make bad decisions, you know? Maybe it was genetic. Our fathers were brothers. My dad worked three jobs putting himself through Cleveland Chiropractic, cracked enough backs to go from trailer trash to respectable. Reyn’s dad was an alcoholic loser, never held down a steady job, in and out of jail for pe

Milo said, “How’d you both end up in Nevada?”

“Reyn ran away from home when he was fifteen- more like walked out and no one cared. I’m not sure what he did for ten years, I know he tried the marines, ended up in the brig, dishonorable discharge. I moved to Vegas because my dad died and my mom liked playing the slots. When you’re an only child, you feel responsible. My husband’s from a family of five kids, big old Mormon clan, totally different world.”

Milo nodded. “Ten years. Reyn showed up when he was twenty-five.”

“At my mother’s condo. Tattooed and drunk and he’d put on about sixty pounds. She wouldn’t let him in. He didn’t argue but he kept hanging around on her street. So Mom called Cop Daughter. When I saw him, I was shocked- believe it or not, he used to be a nice-looking guy. I gave him some cash, set him up at a motel, told him to sober up and move to another city. The last part he kept.”

“ Reno.”

“Next I heard from him was two years later, needing money for bail. I can’t tell you where he was in between.”

“Bad decisions,” I said.

“He’s never been violent,” said Marcia Peaty. “Just another one of those revolving-door dudes.”

Milo said, “His peeper bust could be thought of as scary.”

“Maybe I’m rationalizing but that seemed more like drunk and disorderly. He’d never done anything like that before, hasn’t since- right?”

“People say he stared a lot. Made ’em uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, he tends- tended to space out,” said Marcia Peaty. “Like I said, he was no Einstein, couldn’t add three-digit sums. I know it sounds like I’m giving a mope a free pass but he didn’t deserve to get shot by that banger. Can you fill me in on how it happened?”

Milo gave her the barest details of the murder, leaving out the whispering phone calls and Vasquez’s claim of harassment.

She said, “One of those stupid things,” and sipped a half inch of martini. “Banger going to pay?”

“He’ll get something.”

“Meaning?”

“Defense is go

“Reynold was a booze-soaked loser but he never bullied an ant.”

“He have any kind of love life?”

Marcia Peaty’s hazel eyes narrowed. Speed-trap gaze. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“D.A. wants a clear picture of what he was like. I can’t find evidence of any love life, just a collection of young girl videos.”

Marcia Peaty’s knuckles whitened around her glass. “How young?”

“Barely legal.”

“Why does any of that matter?”

“Reynold worked as a janitor at an acting school. A couple of female students were murdered.”

Marcia Peaty blanched. “Uh-uh. No way. I worked Vice long enough to know a sex criminal when I see one and Reynold wasn’t- and that ain’t family denial. Trust me on this, you’d best be looking elsewhere.”

“Speaking of family, let’s talk about your other cousins.”

“I mean it,” she said. “Reyn wasn’t wired that way.”

“The other cousins,” said Milo.

“Who?”

“The Dowds. You were at Nora Dowd’s house the other day, told a neighbor you were her cousin.”