Gone

He retrieved Wasserman’s number from his pad and punched it. “Ms. Wasserman? Lieutenant Sturgis, again…I know you are but just one more question, okay? There’s a gentleman who shops at the outlet regularly, mid-forties, nice-looking, white hair- you do…oh…no, it’s more…maybe…okay, thanks…no, that’s it.”

He hung up. “ ‘That’s Brad, I see him all the time. Did he have something stolen, too?’ ”

“Seeing him as a victim, not a suspect,” I said, “because he’s well-off and stylish.”

“You got it. ‘Great guy, terrific taste, you should see the gorgeous cars he drives, Lieutenant, each time a different one.’ Turns out Angeline and ol’ Brad ask each other’s opinions about outfits all the time. He’s always honest but he does it with ‘sensitivity.’ ”

“Charming fellow.”

“You think his driving Nora’s wheels means Nora and Meserve are in on it with him? Or tough luck for them.”

“Don’t know, but either way Brad had something to do with the calls to Vasquez.”

“Setting up his own cousin.”

“The same cousin he put to work as a janitor and housed in a dump. Given Brad’s background, blood ties could twist all sorts of ways. If Vasquez was telling the truth about getting calls the previous week, the setup was extremely well thought out.”

“Priming a murder,” he said. “How could Brad be sure Vasquez would blow and shoot Peaty?”

“He couldn’t, but he knew both parties and Mrs. Stadlbraun, played the odds. He told me he had bad feelings about Vasquez but rented to him anyway because there was no legal out. That’s nonsense. A landlord, especially one with Brad’s experience, can always find a reason.”

“Game of chance,” he said.

“Brad lived in Vegas. One table doesn’t work out, move to the next one.”

“Okay, let’s assume he set Peaty up. Why?”

“With Peaty’s police record and pattern of creepy behavior, he’d be a perfect scapegoat for Michaela and Tori and any other missing girls who turned up. Look what happened after the shooting: You got to search Peaty’s van, discovered the rape-kit stashed conveniently in back- no real effort to conceal. And, lo and behold, there was a snow globe in the toolbox. Just like the one left on the seat of Meserve’s Toyota. Which you knew about in the first place because Brad called you in a panic after finding the car in one of his own parking spaces. If Meserve cut town with Nora, why would he leave his wheels where they were sure to be discovered? At the very least, he could’ve put the Toyota in Nora’s garage- which, by the way, is empty- and avoided ticking off Brad.”

“By the way,” he said.

“Crowbar.”

He shook his head, drank.

I said, “Maybe Nora’s not the only one with theatrical interests. Only reason we knew about the snow globe in the first place was Brad brought it up when we talked to him at his house.”

“Painting Meserve as a gold digger. What was that? Another misdirect?”

“Or it was true and he had good reason to hate Meserve.”

He loosened his belt, crushed ice with his molars and swallowed it. Picked up the check.

“On you or the department?” I said.

“For your information, I’m trying out that bumper sticker wisdom, spontaneous acts of kindness blah blah blah. Maybe the Almighty will reward me with a close on this mess.”

“Never knew you to be religious.”

“There’s things that can get me praying.”

Walking to the parking lot, I said, “Three personal real estate parcels for Billy and Nora, none for Brad. Just like the birthday parties. His childhood was one big exclusion because the Dowds never stopped seeing him as anything but an imposition. Amelia recruited him for the Kolor Krew only because he could sing. When his behavior grew troublesome, she sent him away.”

“Used and discarded,” he said. “Persimmons.”

“I’d put money on a whole lot more antisocial behavior. The point is, the same pattern’s continued into adulthood: As long as Brad serves a purpose- taking care of Nora and Billy- he gets creature comforts. But at the root, he’s hired help. Doesn’t even own the house he lives in, legally he’s just another tenant. In a sense, it’s to his advantage, spending other people’s money and living large. But still, it has to grate.”

“Hired help passing himself off as the boss,” he said. “Wonder how he finagled himself into that position.”

“Probably by default- Nora and Billy are incapable. He’s the caretaker and the payoff is cars, clothes, properties that he palms off as his. Image. He pulls off the aw-shucks big-money thing beautifully. Angeline Wasserman’s part of that world and she bought it.”

“Good actor.”

“Good at impressing women,” I said. “Young, naive women would be no challenge. Tori’s ex-husband figured she’d been dating someone with money. A starving actress serving fish to make the rent on a North Hollywood dump and a guy with a Porsche? Same for Michaela.”

“Michaela never indicated to you that she was seeing anyone?”

“No, but it wouldn’t have come up. My consult focused on her legal problems. One thing she did make clear: Dylan was no longer her style. Maybe because she’d found someone better.”

“Mr. Hot Wheels,” he said. “Still doesn’t answer the question of how Brad got to pull the reins. Why would the Dowds hand over all that control?”

“Maybe they didn’t but once the parents were dead he wrangled his way in as a trustee of the estate. Cozying up to the lawyers, greasing someone’s palm, making the case that he was the best choice- someone with smarts who had Billy’s and Nora’s best interests at heart. If Nora and Billy agreed, why not? Once he was in, he was set. Trustees don’t come up for review unless someone complains about abuse of fiduciary responsibility. Nora and Billy get their needs met, everyone’s happy.”

“The PlayHouse and the family manse for her, takeout pizza and a wide-screen for Billy.”

“Meanwhile Brad collects the monthly rent checks.”

“Think he’s siphoning off cash?”

“Wouldn’t shock me.”

He strode to the parking attendant’s booth, paid for both our cars.

I said, “Now you’re veering into Mother Teresa territory.”

He gazed skyward and pressed his palms together. “Hear that? How about some evidentiary ma

“God helps those who help themselves,” I said. “Time to check the small print on BNB’s letters of incorporation.”

“First, I want to face Brad one-on-one.”

We sat in his unmarked talking about the best approach. The final decision was another chat about Reynold Peaty’s shooting, Milo talking, me scoping out the nonverbal cues. Mentioning the phone calls to Armando Vasquez if the timing seemed right.

We took separate cars to the strip mall on Ocean Park. The door to BNB Properties was locked and no one answered. As Milo turned to leave, the door at the end of the second-floor landing caught my eye.

Su