The Murder Book

Milo realized he was holding his breath, had been doing it since Schwi

Schwi

"What's the point, Pierce?"

"The point is you said I learned a lot, and I didn't learn dick."

"I was just-"

"Don't just anything," said Schwi

"Fuck that," said Milo, letting out breath and rage. "I've been-"

"You've been watching me, checking me out, from the minute you started-"

"I've been hoping to learn something."

"For what?" said Schwi

Milo felt himself using his bulk. Moving closer to Schwi

Schwi

"You're wrong," said Milo. "About me."

"Am I?" Knowing smile.

Ah, thought Milo. Here it comes. The crux.

But Schwi

Long silence. Then suddenly, as if someone had pulled the plug on him, the guy slumped heavily, looking defeated. "You have no idea what you're up against." He slipped the photos back in the envelope.

Milo thought: If you hate the job, retire, asshole. Grab your pension two years early and waste the rest of your life growing tomatoes in some loser trailer park.

Long, turgid moments passed.

Milo said, "Big whodunit, and we're sitting here?"

"What's the alternative, Sherlock?" said Schwi

CHAPTER 8

Just as quickly as his moods had shifted, Schwi

The guy was unstable, no question about it, Milo thought as he followed.

The front door was unlocked. Twelve mailboxes to the right. The layout was precisely as Milo had envisioned.

Screw you, expert.

Box Eleven was labeled Ingalls in smudged red ballpoint. They climbed the stairs, and Schwi

The man who answered was bleary-eyed and ski

All sharp bones and stick limbs and saggy sallow skin but with a melon gut. He wore a dirty yellow tank top and blue swim shorts. No hips or butt, and the shorts bagged under the swell of his pot. Not an ounce of extra flesh anywhere but his belly. But what he carried there was grotesque and Milo thought, Pregnant.

"Bowie Ingalls?" said Schwi

Two-second delay, then a small, squirrelly nod. Beery sweat poured out of the guy, and the sour smell wafted into the hallway.

Schwi

Ingalls studied their badges. The guy's timing was off, like a clock with damaged works. He flinched, then gri

"Can we come in?" said Schwi

Ingalls had opened the door halfway. Behind him was dirt-colored furniture, heaps of rumpled clothes, takeout Chinese cartons, Bud empties.

Lots of empties, some crushed, some intact. Even at a good clip, the number of cans added up to more than one day of serious drinking.

A multiday bender. Unless the guy had company. Even with company, a focused juice-a-thon.

Guy's daughter goes missing for four days, he doesn't report it, holes up instead, sucking suds. Milo found himself entertaining the worst-case scenario: Daddy did it. Began sca

But all he saw was confusion. Ingalls stood there, caught up in a booze-flummox.

"Sir," said Schwi

"Uh- yeah, sure- whu for?"

"Whu for your daughter."

Ingalls's eyes drooped. Not anxiety. Resignation. As in, here we go again. Preparing himself for a lecture on child-rearing.

"Whu, she cut school again? They call in the cops for that now?"

Schwi

Off-white walls, brown deepening to black in the cracks and the corners. The entire front space was maybe fifteen feet square, a living room-dining area-kitchen combo, the kitchen counters crowded with more take-out boxes, used paper plates, empty soup cans. Two miserly windows on the facing wall were shuttered by yellow plastic blinds. A scabrous brown-gray sofa and a red plastic chair were both heaped with unwashed clothes and crumpled paper. Next to the chair, a stack of records tilted precariously. The Mothers of Invention's Freak Out on top, a fifteen-year-old LP. Nearby was a cheap phonograph half-covered by a snot green bathrobe. An open doorway led to a dead-end wall.

A full-view of the front room revealed even more beer cans.

"Where does Janie go to school, sir?" said Schwi

"Hollywood High. What kinda hassle she get herself into now?" Bowie Ingalls scratched an armpit and drew himself up to his full height. Trying to produce some fatherly indignation.

"When's the last time you saw her, sir?"

"Um… she was- she slept over a friend's."

"When, sir?" said Schwi

Milo stood to the side, worked on his cool. His mind wanted to work, but his body wasn't giving up the anger planted by Schwi