Chapter 7
Chapter
7
The apartment’s single bedroom was twelve square feet carpeted in frayed navy blue and set up with a king-sized bed. Dull black sheets, glossy black duvet. The semicircular headboard, nightstand, and six-drawer dresser were imitation black lacquer chipped white.
Three posters hung on facing walls. Pink Floyd’s The Wall adorned by a hideous screaming face, a full-on shot of a scarlet Lamborghini Countach looking ready to loft airborne, and a promo for a film called Blood Warrior.
Petra said, “Reminds me of my brothers’ rooms.”
Milo said, “Living in the past. Maybe he was once a contender.”
“Or had delusions.”
I said, “Have you found his car?”
“Parked around the corner. Ten-year-old black Accord. Another fit to your video.”
Milo looked at the Countach. “Definitely delusions.”
Petra said, “Where’s Marissa’s car?”
“Don’t know yet. Hopefully near the party where she hung with O’Brien and the BOLO will snag it.”
I took a closer look at the movie poster, searching for O’Brien’s name in the small print and not finding it.
Milo had already shifted to the blue carpet. Near the edge of the bed was a jumbled pile. Red dress, panties, shoes, a black clutch purse.
Petra said, “Kate Spade. I’ve got the same one, how’s that for creepy? I was ready to send all of it along with the bullet, then I found out about Marissa and wanted to check with you first. Do you want your case number on it or mine?”
He said, “Hmm,” and took out a pair of gloves. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
Kneeling, he examined the contents of the purse, removing a wallet holding a driver’s license, five $20 bills that he fanned, and a pair of credit cards. Then: a vial of Princess Night perfume, a compact, an eyebrow pencil, and a tube of lipstick.
Putting everything back, he stood. “You have a preference on case numbers?”
Petra said, “Her stuff seems a whole lot more directly evidentiary for you. But I can’t ignore what happened to her, because it could end up relating to a motive on O’Brien.”
“A vigilante thing?”
“Probably a stretch but this early I hate ruling anything out.”
I said, “It could be a vigilante thing not related to Marissa.”
Petra said, “O’Brien’s done it before and made someone mad?”
“You don’t start hunting in middle age.” I took in the room. “Also, it’s not a décor that would impress a fully conscious woman.”
“Putting it mildly,” she said. “And we did find date-dope. You think some avenger’s been stalking O’Brien and just happened to nail him the night he O.D.’d Marissa?”
Milo said, “You know what they say about karma.”
“Yeah,” she said, “but I’ve been on the job too long to believe it.”
“Ditto. Okay, how about this: Tag Marissa’s stuff with both our numbers and I’ll give the lab prior notice to prevent a filing snafu.”
“Perfect. Now the larger question: Where do we take it all work-wise?”
He grinned. “You missed me that much?”
Petra placed her hand on her breast. “How could I not, be still my heart. Hey, if we collab, do I get to tap Alex’s brain at will?”
“After filling out the appropriate forms. What kind of dope did you find?”
Petra opened the nightstand drawer. Inside were miniature, fish-shaped plastic squeeze bottles filled with clear liquid and capped in red.
“GHB,” she said. “The fact they look cute makes them doubly repulsive, no?”
She pushed the vials aside and pointed. “The oblong pills are diazepam—generic Valium—and the weed speaks for itself. There’s also plenty of booze in a kitchen cabinet.”
I said, “Smorgasbord of depressants.”
Milo said, “Predator’s apothecary.”
“A couple of great band names,” said Petra. “Okay, I’ll get a techie up here and make sure everything is double-tagged.”
A voice from the doorway said, “Hi, guys.”
D II Raul Biro, typically resplendent in a gray silk blazer, razor-creased black slacks, tab-collared white shirt, yellow-and-black paisley tie, and paper booties over his shoes, gave a thumbs-up and stepped in. His thick black hair was brushed back and furrowed by comb tracks. His eyes were acute and searching.
“Loo, Doc. Petra filled me in. Bizarre.”
Petra said, “Yup, once again, it’s Hollyweird.” To us: “If there’s nothing more, I’d like to start trying to get in next door.” Back to her partner: “I’ll try the owners of this palace again, they’re based in Vegas. How about you see how many uniforms we can mobilize for the canvass.”
“Sounds good.”
“Sorry for breaking up your day.”
“Ha.” Raul saluted and left.
Petra said, “Technically it’s his day off. He was watching his kids so his wife could go out with her pals. Took a while to get his mom over to sub. Anything else you can think of?”
“Nope, thanks for saving her stuff for me to see.”
“Of course. I’ll bug my boss to authorize the collab.”
Milo said, “Same here.”
“Rank doesn’t have its privilege?”
“Depends on what you’re asking for.”
“Don’t see that working with us aces should be a problem.”
“Nothing should ever be a problem,” said Milo.
They both laughed as Petra walked us out of the apartment and over to the stairwell. She held the fire door open and remained on the landing.
Milo said, “See you, kid. Hopefully soon.”
Petra said, “I have to say, I’m kind of looking forward to it. The dream team and all that.”