Chapter 8
Chapter
Despite Milo’s taste for isolation, there are times when the tiny office gets to him.
He shot upright without warning, said, “Walk?” and left before I could answer.
I followed him into the corridor and down the stairs. We exited the station and headed south, avoiding the businesses and traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard and entering a residential stretch of modest houses.
Bungalows, stucco cubes, mini Spanish Revivals. Not much different from the neighborhood where Martha Matthias had lost her life.
I said, “In terms of Sophie, Tulsa can be a tough town.”
“I know, meth,” he said.
“Maybe she left for more than the weather. Knew the wrong people back home, tried to distance herself but it caught up with her.”
“You see some vengeful speed-cooking freak taking the time to set up Heck with his own DNA? Those types break in, smash, slice and dice. And if she did hang with a bad Tulsa crowd, it never got her into any trouble I can find. Same for her ex. Firefighter, solid citizen, coupla citations for bravery. Killed in a car crash.”
“On the job?”
“Nope, wrong place, wrong time. Driving home from a convenience store and a wrong-way drunk got him on the highway.”
“You’ve talked to Sophie’s family.”
He nodded, jammed both hands into trouser pockets, and leaned into a nonexistent wind.
“Not much family, just a sister in Tulsa and a brother in Boise. He knew nothing about Sophie’s personal life but the sister suspected Heck because she met him once and didn’t like him. Too slick.” He laughed. “Her exact term was ‘too darned L.A.’ ”
I said, “Another mark against him at the outset.”
“Yup. And I wasn’t interested in being dissuaded.”
Half a block later, he said: “If it was only about Heck’s alibi, I’d still be on him because what’s to say he didn’t hire someone?
But with the planted cigarettes, it just feels like someone tried to set him up.
I know he could be pulling a double bluff like you said, Alex, but getting yourself booked into County for two days smells more like screenplay than reality.
Place is ganged up the wazz, once he was in there was no telling what could’ve happened. ”
I said, “Nothing interesting in his finances and his phone?”
“Nope. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“What’s the transgression?”
“Never saw his records because with the DNA handed to me I was concentrating on getting him locked up and didn’t jump on the warrants as quickly as I shoulda. Then all of a sudden he’s cleared and I lack grounds.”
“Have you spoken to Heck since he was freed?”
He stopped and looked at me. “I put this guy in jail for murder and he’s gonna help me?”
“Probably not,” I said, “but there’s an off chance he might want to come across helpful.”
“Why?”
“If he’s clean, he might actually care. If he’s dirty, nobility would be a great facade. Either way, he was Sophie’s ex and could know something relevant.”
“Sorry, I don’t see it.”
He resumed walking, picking up speed. Then halted again and looked down at his pocket. Tweed pulsated. As if a small animal had been caught there.
Out came the phone. “Hi, Basia…that was quick, jenkooyeh…okay…got it…sure…well, we can’t always be surprised.”
He clicked off.
I said, “Polish for thank you?”
“Close as I can get to pronouncing it, the actual word has all these Z’s and J’s.
Saint that she is, Basia came through and prioritized the autopsy.
COD is strangulation, amputation was postmortem.
TOD can’t be fixed beyond a week or less and the tool-mark guy kept working and confirmed a coping saw, a jigsaw, or something similar.
Probably not a jeweler’s saw, the teeth appear to be a bit larger but nothing he’d testify to.
We’re waiting on the tox screen but preliminary bloods show nothing. ”
He stared at the phone. “Welcome to the circus as I juggle two balls and drop both of them.”
Half a block later, he sighed and scrolled to a preset number. “Okay, Mr. Heck, let’s see if you’re noble.”
Six rings were followed by a resonant baritone. Salesman’s voice.
“This is Mike Heck, sorry I’m not free at the moment but I do want to hear what you have to say. Really. So please communicate.”
Milo said, “Mike, this is Milo Sturgis. I’m probably the last guy you want to talk to, but any help you could give me on Sophie’s murder would be deeply appreciated. That’s straight talk, not an attempt to hassle you.”
Click.
“Okay?” he said, sounding peeved.
Like a kid with no talent forced to practice violin.
I kept my mouth shut as we headed back for the station.
—
Rather than unlock his office door, he stood in the corridor. “No reason to keep you while I do grunt work on Sophie. Maybe Martha, too, if Alicia needs me for something.”
I said, “Call if something comes up.”
“Don’t I always?”
As I turned to leave, he said, “What’s that brain skill you’re always talking about—being able to organize a bunch of stuff effectively?”
“Executive function.”
“Can you get there from gofer function?”
More activity beneath the tweed, this time macerated Mozart.
He produced the phone, checked the number on the screen, grimaced, and switched to speaker.
“Hi, Bettina.”
A woman’s voice, tight, slightly nasal, said, “When did we get on first-name basis?”
“Hi, Ms. Bel Geddes.”
“Whatever. Michael has just informed me of your call. Are you serious?”
“I explained—”
“Unbelievable,” said Bettina Bel Geddes. “You trump up charges against my client, subject him to the horrors of incarceration, and now you expect him to help you?”
Milo said, “We’re not in court, Counselor. No need to orate.”
“That,” said Bettina Bel Geddes, “was downright rude.”
“You’re right, sorry,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“The thing is, I’m still trying to find out who strangled Sophie Barlow to death and seeing as your client was so adamant about being close to her once upon a time and about harboring nothing but good feelings toward her, I figured he might want to help. But up to you.”
“It’s up to Michael.”
“Of course. And I can certainly understand him refusing. On the other hand, seeing as he feels he was framed, he might want to find out who did that to him.”
“He doesn’t feel he was framed, he was,” said Bel Geddes.
“Even more to the point.”
A few seconds of dead air, then “I don’t like the tone of this, Mr. Sturgis, and to be frank, I don’t trust you.”
“Got it,” said Milo. “Sorry for bothering you and your client.”
“That said, I’m going to have a serious discussion with Michael because that’s what we’re about: the pursuit of truth.”
A second eye-roll was followed by spinning an index finger in circles. “Thanks very much.”
“Don’t thank me until there’s a reason for gratitude.”
Click.
Milo looked at his closed door as if it were impenetrable. “I’ll walk you to your car. Fresh air. And maybe that bakery—the Italian place—has humble pie.”
—
We took the stairs back down and were outside the station when Bettina Bel Geddes called back.
“Counselor—”
“I know what I am. Here’s the deal: Michael will meet with you under controlled circumstances.
Meaning I will be there and so will Michael’s therapist in order to ensure that Michael’s mental health will be protected during what could turn out to be a duplicitous renewal of the trauma of false arrest and imprisonment. ”
“No problem,” said Milo. “Who’s the therapist?”
“A noted clinical psychologist named Dr. Wendy Allemande.”
He looked at me. I grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
He said, “That’s absolutely fine. In fact, I’d planned to have our consulting psychologist present.”
“Who’s that and why?”
“Dr. Alex Delaware and for the same reason. We do not want Mr. Heck subjected to any more trauma.”
“That,” said Bettina Bel Geddes, “sounds like utter bullshit.”
“How about this, Counselor. Ask Dr. Allemande about Dr. Delaware. If she has bad things to say, he won’t be here.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Sturgis, this whole thing is bizarre. You wanting to rake it up again.”
“Just seeking the truth,” said Milo.
“Sure you are, just like the first time,” said Bettina Bel Geddes. “Well, let’s hope you’ve got a better grip on the concept. I’ll conduct my due diligence and inform you of my decision.”
The moment the connection was broken, he said, “Forget pie, I could use Prilosec. So you like this Allemande.”
I said, “Smart, ethical, and a former student.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Supervised her when she was a fourth-year grad student.”
His turn to grin. “Small world when it comes to shrinks. You buy that crap about safeguarding Heck’s mental health?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
“What then?”
“My bet is Bel Geddes is working up a civil suit for wrongful arrest and wants to document Heck’s reactions to further police contact.”
“Building up a case for PTSD.”
“And having her own expert there to document it.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll be gentle as a cuddly lamb on tranqs. If I can have my expert there. Meaning it’s probably not gonna happen.”
But it did.