Evidence

“Sounds like a Woody Allen film,” I said.

“Sounds like a tragedy. I’ve already left two messages with those hooh-hah architects, still waiting to hear back. Let’s go see what the neighbors have to say.”

This time he drove. “In case the parking nazis return.”

“You’ve gotten yourself immunity?”

He produced the crumpled ticket. Tore it into shreds and dropped them in the trash. “I’m a scofflaw.”

But for the crime scene, Borodi Lane was stately and sun-splotched. He stopped to check the new chain. Snug.

“I still don’t get the point of a half-day patrol, nothing on the weekend.”

I said, “People capable of building houses like this rarely deal with the day-to-day. Being across the ocean would make it even harder to stay in touch. Some underling probably told a subordinate to order a plebe to maintain security but keep an eye on the budget. A peon lower down the ladder tried to earn brownie points by skimping. Besides, what was to steal? Rotten wood?”

“U

Six pushes of gate buzzers produced three no-answers and an equal number of Spanish housekeepers answering the intercom. Milo coaxed the maids outside, showed them Jane Doe’s picture.

Perplexed expressions, head shakes.

The seventh house was an unfenced brick Tudor, generous but not monumental, fronted by a cobbled motor court. Bentley, Benz, Range Rover, Audi. A young brunette in lavender velour sweats answered the door. Freckles struggled through matte foundation. Long silky hair was tied up carelessly. “Is this about the murder?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? I’m twenty-five.”

Milo smiled. “I vaguely remember being twenty-five.”

She extended a hand. “Amy Thal. This is my parents’ place. Before they left, they told me what happened. Mom didn’t even want me to stay but I told her to chill. I always house-sit the cats when they go to Paris.”

“When did your parents leave?”

“Early this morning.” Widening smile. “Don’t worry, they’re not fugitives from justice, the trip was pla

She giggled.

Milo didn’t.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it; to be honest, it’s a little scary. Though I guess it’s not hugely surprising.”

“A murder?”

“Something creepy happening there.”

“There’ve been problems before?”

“That entire dump is a problem. Just sitting there, gathering mold, no security lights at night, the chain’s wide open, anyone can walk in. Everyone hates it. My dad wanted to sue whoever owns it.”

“Who owns it?”

“I’ve heard some Arab,” she said. “Or maybe a Persian. Some Mideast type, I’m not sure. No one seems to be able to find out. It’s not that we’re prejudiced, we’re certainly not. That place”-pointing up the block-”that big apricot thing, is owned by the Nazarians and they’re Persians and they’re great people. I just don’t see the point of framing up and not following through for two whole years. No one does.”

“Any neighborhood rumors about why it’s just sitting there?”

“Sure. Money. Isn’t it always about money? So why not sell? As in to someone who’ll actually build something tasteful.”

“Yeah, it is a little over-the-top,” said Milo.

“A little?” said Amy Thal. “It’s gross. I’m not talking size-wise, who’re we kidding, this isn’t South Central. But the style, no one can figure it out, that stupid third floor stuck up there like a wart. I’m a design student-fashion, not interior-but you don’t need design training to recognize awkward and ostentatious and plain old butt-ugly.”

“I don’t know design from badgers and chipmunks,” said Milo, “and even I can tell.”

Amy Thal smiled. “Badgers and chipmunks, that’s cute-coatis and raccoons, too? Anyway, that’s all I can tell you, Lieutenant. I’m just doing the parentals a favor because one of the felines is almost nineteen and we don’t want her stumbling into the pool.”

“Could I show you a picture?”

“Of who?”

“One of our victims.”

“There was more than one?”

“Two,” said Milo.

“Oh… you’re not saying it was some psycho Manson thing, are you?”

“Nothing like that.” Out came Jane Doe’s photo.

Amy Thal wrinkled her nose. “Oh, wow.”

“Ms. Thal?”

“I can’t be sure but I think I’ve seen her around. Not regularly, she doesn’t live here.”

“Could she work here?”

“I doubt it, everyone knows everyone else’s staff and I’ve only seen her twice and she just looked like she didn’t belong.” Taking another look. “It definitely could be her.”

“When and where did you see her?”

“When would that be… not recently. A month ago? I really can’t say. Where would be right there. Walking near that dump. That’s what caught my eye. No one walks here, there are no sidewalks.” Smile. “Which is the point, keep the riffraff out, God forbid it should be a real neighborhood. I didn’t grow up here, we used to live in Encino, my brothers and I had sidewalks for lemonade stands, rode our bikes. Once the parentals had empty nest they decided fourteen thousand square feet for two people was a nifty idea.” Shrug. “It’s their money.” Dropping her eyes to the photo, once more. “I’m really feeling it was her I saw. I remember thinking she was cute but her clothes weren’t.”

“You saw her twice.”

“But close together-like twice in the same week.”

“Walking,” said Milo.

“Not for exercise, she wasn’t dressed for that, had on heels. And a suit. Not a good one. A little tailoring would’ve improved it significantly.”

“What else can you remember?”

“Let me think… the suit was… gray. The way it didn’t move with her said it had a lot of poly in it.”

“Walking but not for exercise.”

“Strolling past, then stopping and strolling back. Like she was waiting for someone. You have no idea at all who she is?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Too bad,” she said. “No I.D. really messes you guys up, right? I TiVo C.S.I., Forensic Files, New Detectives.”

“Was there a car nearby?”

“Not that I noticed. Hmm, guess that’s another reason she stood out. What normal person doesn’t drive?”

We crossed the street, tried one more house. No one home.

Talking to four more maids, one genuine liveried butler, and two personal assistants on the next block produced no further recognition of Jane Doe.

Back in the unmarked, Milo gave Masterson and Associates another try, co

A minute passed. Two, three, six. Disco

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