Chapter 5
Chapter
We left Genevieve Winslow standing in her doorway.
When Alicia looked at her, she shut the door.
“What do you think of her, Doc?”
I said, “Unconventional.”
Milo said, “Not for L.A. Yeah, she’s an odd one but I don’t see an indication she had anything to do with it. And she doesn’t seem to actually know much.”
Alicia said, “It was pretty much dead-ending until you brought up the dog, Doc.”
Milo said, “Little growler hearing something four nights ago.”
“Which fits with the mail piling up. So maybe we’ve got time of death.”
A figure emerged from Martha Matthias’s backyard and hurried toward us.
Tom Blessingame holding up an index finger.
Milo said, “Got something?”
“Just the opposite. After taking a careful look we decided not to touch it. Too much risk without a pathologist on-scene. So we called for one and Dr. Lopatinski’s coming over.”
“Beautiful.”
Blessingame looked confused.
“She’s the best, Tom.”
“Oh. Good.”
“What’s her ETA?”
“Didn’t ask.”
Blessingame returned to the rear of the house and Milo speed-dialed.
“Hi, Basia,” he said. “Yeah, just found out…appreciate it…any idea when…great, see you then, bye.”
He clicked off. “Fifteen to twenty. She was at the U. lecturing.”
“Awesome,” said Alicia. “Basia rocks.”
“She’s also meticulous, meaning her evaluation’s gonna take time. Where are the techies?”
“Last I checked, on their way.”
“Why don’t you get the victim’s warrant so it’ll be in place when they arrive. Then see if Moe and Sean can help us scavenge.”
“Us? You’re going to participate?”
Milo grinned. “Man of the people. And you kids are my people.”
Alicia grinned back, produced her own phone, and stepped a few feet away.
I said, “What a dad.”
He said, “Closest I’m gonna come to parenting.”
A shouted “Sirs!” from the south swiveled us.
Katherine Santos jogged our way with the easy stride of a practiced runner. No heavy breathing but flush-faced.
Excitement.
“Got something, sir,” she said. “A neighbor says the victim has a daughter who’s a 5150.”
LAPD code for a mentally ill person eligible for a seventy-two-hour involuntary hold. The criterion: danger to self or others.
Milo said, “She’s caused problems?”
“Don’t know about that, sir,” said Santos. “I just meant she sounds pretty crazy.”
“Thanks. Where’s this neighbor?”
“Across the street, two down, the yellow one.”
“Name?”
“Hawkins. Mister.”
“Excellent, Officer. Keep going.”
Santos returned to the canvass and Alicia came over. “Warrant in the works. What was that all about?”
Milo told her.
She said, “A crazy person. That would fit with cutting Mommy’s arms off and deep-freezing her. The yellow house, huh?”
“Let’s go.”
—
Lionel Hawkins was eighty or so, Black, short and stocky and white-haired and dressed in a starched blue shirt, pleated khakis, and shiny black oxfords. From the decorations on his wall, a man with dual devotions: the marines and the Dodgers.
Evidence of the former included a Semper Fi banner, stock shots of Iwo Jima and attack helicopters, and a photo of a young man in full dress. From the picture’s faded pigment, probably Hawkins himself, but maybe a son.
No food prep on his coffee table, no theatrics to his dress or décor. A well-kept, unassuming house with a vague aroma of tomato soup filtering from the kitchen.
Milo made the introductions.
Hawkins said, “I figured you’d be here once I told that lady officer. Don’t know what I can add, though.”
Both Milo and Alicia had their pads and pens at the ready.
Milo said, “No problem, sir, but if you don’t mind repeating?”
“Sure, but there isn’t much to tell,” said Hawkins. “Basically what I said was I haven’t seen her a lot but there’s this strange-type gal who sometimes visited her. I’m assuming a daughter because the age is right, about fifty, same as my two sons.”
“Strange, how?”
“Weird. Walks stiff, doesn’t look at you. Once I said hi, and she didn’t answer. Like in her own world, you know? And she always goes over to—Don’t know her name, your victim.”
Alicia said, “Martha Matthias.”
“Martha Matthias,” said Lionel Hawkins. “All these years and I never knew that.”
Milo said, “How long have you been living here?”
“Ten years after I retired from the corps, which makes it eighteen years ago. She was already living here. Martha Matthias. Okay.”
“How did the woman we’re assuming is the daughter act?”
“She didn’t,” said Hawkins. “Just walked. Like you didn’t exist. Like she’d walk right through you. Her body posture was all wound up—knees, head bunched up.”
He demonstrated.
Alicia said, “How was she dressed?”
“A dress,” said Hawkins. “I think. Don’t ask me colors. Not a pretty dress. A dress, that’s all I recall. Didn’t see her much. Either of them for that matter.”
“You figured this person was mentally ill.”
“Trust me, so would you if you saw her,” said Hawkins. “I mean you don’t need to be a psychiatrist.”
“Did she look homeless?”
“Was she dirty? No, can’t say that. Just weird. But maybe—and they’re all nuts. I don’t truck with that woke stuff about un-homed or whatever they’re calling it nowadays. They’re nuts plain and simple.”
A pained expression took hold of his face. He touched a cheek hard. As if he’d been clawed without warning.
“I’ve got a nephew like that. Drives my sister and brother-in-law crazy.” Feeble smile. “So to speak.”
Milo said, “So this woman…”
“That’s all of it,” said Lionel Hawkins.
“How many times have you seen her at Martha’s?”
“Actually there? Couldn’t tell you. Not often. Mostly I see her coming and going. Once in a while I happened to see her go in.”
“What time of day?”
“Normal time,” said Hawkins. “Daylight. Never paid attention.”
“Not at night?”
“I wouldn’t know if it was. Go to sleep at nine and get up at six to do my push-ups.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Not for a while,” said Hawkins.
“Weeks?”
“Maybe. Can’t say. Could be a month.”
“Nothing more recent.”
“All these questions, she the one who did it?”
“We’re not even close to that, sir,” said Alicia. “In fact, this is the first we’ve heard of her.”
Lionel Hawkins said, “Well, I can’t be the only one who noticed her, someone crazy like that. The way she walked was enough to figure it out.”
“Figure what out, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Stiff, not normal, the brain all scrambled up. Maybe on drugs, too.”
He made a churning motion.
Alicia said, “When you did see her enter Ms. Matthias’s house, was it through the front door?”
“Nope, always the back. And that’s all I can tell you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now I’ve got a question for you. Do I need to be keeping my .38 at the ready?”
“There’s no sign anyone’s in danger,” said Milo. “I’d just continue normal precautions.”
“Normal,” said Hawkins. “Too bad she wasn’t. Neither of them, actually.”
“She and Ms. Matthias.”
“I never saw her much, either. Which is kind of a symptom, right? Being a hermit? Shutting yourself in? The one time I tried to be friendly—shortly after I moved in—I’m taking out the garbage and see her doing the same.
I wave and shout out hello. She ignores me.
At first I’m thinking it’s, you know, my complexion, welcome to the neighborhood.
Then I thought, Hey, all the other neighbors are pretty friendly so she’s either a racist or weird.
Then when I saw how she lived I moved closer to weird.
Then I saw the daughter and said, You got that right, Lionel.
Making a kid like that, she’d have to be weird. ”
—
We returned to the sidewalk in front of Martha Matthias’s house.
Alicia said, “Interesting.”
Milo said, “When I get back I’ll get hold of Martha’s retirement docs and see if any dependents show up.”
“Dependent as in heir, L.T.? Oldest motive in the books.”
A silver Jaguar XE approached the cordon. A uniform went over and talked to the driver, allowed the car to nose in next to Alicia’s unmarked.
A petite woman with short blond hair got out and retrieved a good-sized roller bag from the rear. She had on a maroon knit dress and yellow pumps, smiled and waved at us. Wide smile enhanced by perfect teeth. On to a new adventure. Dr. Basia Lopatinski’s default approach to life.
When she got to us, Milo said, “Different one, Basia.”
“My guys told me.” Pleasant lilt to her voice. Faint Polish accent.
“Will you be able to determine TOD?”
“No way to tell without examining her, I’m talking down to the cellular level. Even with that it could be tough. If she was frozen shortly after death there’s likely no decomp or insect visitation and rigor’s certainly not going to be a factor.”
“Ah.”
Basia reached up and patted his shoulder.
“All is not lost, Milo. One positive aspect of a frozen body is cause of death is likely to be well preserved. Same for identifying factors though I understand that’s not an issue here.
And there are other variables that could possibly tell us something.
For example, if she was thawed and refrozen, there’ll likely be ruptured blood cells.
That’s what I meant by cellular. And of course, the arms. We’ll do tool-mark analysis and try to get you logical possibilities. ”
“We’ve got a possible TOD of around four days.”
“How so?”
He told her about the barking dog.
She looked unconvinced. “Well, we’ll see.”
Running her hands over her dress, she tapped the roller bag. “Time for impermeable and disposable. So much for fashion.”