Chapter 15
Chapter
I got a cup of coffee and texted Milo: Sophie unlikely related to Heck’s work for Alberts.
He called me moments later.
I said, “Got my text.”
“Haven’t checked. I’m calling because we I.D.ed Sophie’s girlfriends through her phone. Nothing juicy in her call-dump but it’s something. Any chance you can work late?”
—
That evening at nine, I pulled up to a four-story apartment building in Mar Vista. One of those cloudy nights where stars blur and the sky takes on the sheen of velour.
Nine p.m. had given me the chance for dinner with Robin. She’d been fine returning to her studio to work on rebinding an old Gibson Advanced Jumbo guitar. Late hour for Blanche, who’d sighed ambivalently, so I’d carried her over to the studio, kissed them both, and left.
I got there before Milo, was studying the building when he pulled up in the white Porsche 928 he shares with Rick Silverman.
Once derided by Porsche-heads because it’s front-engine, the model’s now desirable and pricey.
That means full-time garaging and limited use as a leisure-time driver. For two guys with rare leisure time.
“Going luxe?”
“Quality of life, every little bit counts. Or so I’ve been told…nice place.”
Hacienda Linda was different from the other complexes on the block.
Instead of space-hogging, hard-edged gray cement and glass cubes, this was cream-colored stucco with a Spanish tile roof, greenery in front, and wrought-iron balconies.
Full security glass doors and a card-entry subterranean parking lot.
The glass showcased a security guard behind a desk in the lobby.
As we headed to the entrance, I said, “You got the text.”
“Darren’s broccoli, thanks for checking.
We’ll be talking to Ashley Herrera and Maria Diffenbach.
Heck didn’t have it quite right. Ashley’s not a flight attendant, she helps run Southwest’s LAX office.
I guess Maria Diffenbach could be classified as industry if you include bookkeeper for a promotion company. ”
“Whose place is it?”
“Maria’s, Ashley lives in El Segundo. Neither of them has ever been in trouble and that’s all I know so far.”
He rang the bell. The security guard looked up but didn’t budge. After Milo’s second attempt, the guy waited another fifteen seconds before hoisting himself up and trudging over. By the time he got to the door, Milo’s badge was flashing at eye level.
That set the guard’s mouth twitching. He opened the door quickly and said, “Oh, hey, guys.”
Thirty or so, with a name tag that read L. Lemon, he was soft-bodied and puffy-faced with an unfortunate sprig of fuzz the color of wet sand sprouting from a discouraged chin.
Milo said, “L stand for Lou?”
“Lee. So, hey, what’s up?”
We walked past him to the elevator.
He said, “You know where you’re going?” in a voice strained by desperation.
Milo muttered, “Depends if we’re talking philosophy or geography.”
“Pardon?” said the guard.
“Better than parole,” said Milo as the elevator doors slid open soundlessly.
—
We rose up to 4. Maria Diffenbach’s apartment number put her toward the rear of a pale-pink hallway carpeted in deep-brown plush printed with whiskey-colored O-shapes that resembled smoke rings.
Milo had texted her during the rise up and by the time we got there, a woman stood framed in the open doorway, backed by another woman.
She said, “Lieutenant? Maria. This is Ashley.”
“Milo Sturgis, Alex Delaware.”
“Come in, guys.”
We followed her long stride into a subtly lit living room that smelled of lemon oil and some sort of designer perfume.
Maria Diffenbach joined Ashley Herrera, folding herself onto a taupe sectional with the ease of a professional dancer.
Milo and I took two facing easy chairs on the other side of a five-foot-square marble coffee table.
The walls were white, the floors bleached pine.
Art consisted of three oversized abstractions.
The place was open-layout but shutters blocked every window.
Ashley Herrera said, “So now Heck’s back on the street.”
“Crazy,” said Maria Diffenbach.
Both women were around forty, tall, trim, and brunette with tight faces under identical bob hairdos. Herrera wore a black top over black leggings and orange running shoes, Diffenbach a black top over gray leggings and peacock-blue running shoes. No facial resemblance but the gestalt was twin-like.
Diffenbach smiled. “No, we’re not sisters, it’s just one of those weird things, that’s how we met.”
“At the gym,” said Herrera. “People kept telling me my doppelg?nger had just been there and I finally saw her.” She turned serious. “The gym’s also where we met Sophie. The three of us speed-ellipticaled.”
Diffenbach said, “When Ashley told me what you told her I couldn’t believe it. We thought it was settled with his arrest. That made sense.”
Milo said, “Heck being guilty.”
“It’s always like that, right? Some sicko ex who can’t deal? My thankfully former husband stalked me for eight months before he found someone else to annoy. I actually bought a gun. A Glock like you guys use.”
Ashley Herrera leaned forward. “Lieutenant, was there some sort of procedural screwup that forced you to let him go?”
“No,” said Milo. “We’re no longer looking at Mr. Heck as a suspect. Is there some reason you suspected him other than his being Sophie’s ex?”
“Did Sophie tell us he was scary? No, but she did say he wasn’t very happy when she dumped him.”
Milo said, “Why’d she dump him?”
Maria Diffenbach said, “She kept hoping he’d turn interesting but he didn’t.”
“She found him boring.”
“To say the least,” said Herrera. “Sounded like he had the fascination level of drying paint. Sure, on the surface, he looked okay. Had a job, cute enough, and decent in the…physical department. But after a while it turned stale.” She tapped her temple.
“Guys like that, all ego, bye-bye brain cells,” said Diffenbach. “Sophie was a smart woman. She needed more than muscles and a BMW.”
I said, “How’d Heck express his unhappiness with the breakup?”
Herrera said, “Sophie didn’t go into details. I’m assuming he said things to her.”
“But no stalking or harassment.”
“Not as far as I know. You hear different, Mar?”
Diffenbach shook her head. “Can I ask you guys what was…done to Sophie? Because aren’t there differences in how people you know as opposed to strangers…do it?”
“Getting up close and personal,” said Herrera. “Strangulation, stabbing.”
“Or that terrible thing, overkill,” said Diffenbach.
“All the paper said was Sophie was murdered and they didn’t cover it extensively, just one paragraph in the beginning and after that, crickets.
Same with the internet until Heck was arrested and even then there wasn’t much.
A suspect’s been arrested, along with his name blah blah blah. ”
“Same old story,” said Herrera. “Sophie wasn’t famous enough to matter. Just a normal, great person.”
Diffenbach said, “We—actually me—called your station and tried to get details but the person I spoke to was really closemouthed. I told them I was a friend and would be happy to talk to a detective and they took my number. But no one ever got back to me.”
Milo’s jaw tightened. “Sorry about that.”
“So was it like that? Something terrible up close and personal?”
Milo said, “Sorry, we need to keep all that close to the vest.”
“Close to the vest,” said Herrera. “Haven’t heard that in a long time. My dad used to say it. He wore vests. Part of his three-piece suits, he was a banker. We’d bug him about stuff and he’d puff out his vest with his thumbs and say, ‘Nope, need to keep it close to the vest.’ ”
She blushed. “Sorry, that was irrelevant and inane.”
Diffenbach put her arm around Herrera’s shoulder. “No it wasn’t, it was charming and life could use some charming, Lord knows there’s so much freakin’ ugly out there.”
She began to cry softly, dabbed her eyes with her sleeve before Milo could produce one of the tissues he carries around.
Herrera studied her friend as if waiting for a cue. Her own eyes glossed but they stayed dry. She frowned, as if displeased by her limited grief.
I said, “Were there any other men in Sophie’s life?”
“Not that we know of,” said Herrera. “After Heck, Sophie decided to concentrate on Sophie.”
“How so?”
“More time in the gym, reading, taking hikes. She talked about learning to sew. About going to France, the Loire Valley. She’d even thought about switching from her condo to a house with a yard so she could get into gardening.”
Diffenbach said, “Between her marriage and losers like Heck, she decided to refocus.”
Milo said, “There were problems in her marriage?”
“Just the fact that it ended,” said Herrera. “Her husband—Bradley—was a great guy. She told us she really loved him. Then he got killed and it shattered her world.”
“Freakin’ drunk going the wrong way,” said Diffenbach. “You live your life and some bastard ends it. At least the drunk died, too.”
Herrera said, “Sophie said Bradley was interesting. Smart. Firefighter and EMT.”
“No way Heck could live up to that,” said Diffenbach. “He was, what, a paralegal?”
Milo said, “He manages a law office.”
“Whatever,” said Herrera. “It’s not rocket science.”
Diffenbach shifted uncomfortably. Thinking of her own job keeping the books?
Herrera said, “She needed more than someone she worked out with at the gym.”
Irony in short supply tonight.
Milo said, “Same gym you guys use?”
Ashley Herrera waved a dismissive hand. “We’re members at Platinum Bodies in Brentwood. Sophie joined after we did, after leaving that dump where she met him.”
“Which dump is that?” said Milo.
“Some place on Pico, couldn’t tell you the name. She left because it was super loud and smelly with all the weight lifting and the grunting. You know. Guys trying to prove something.”
“Sophie didn’t want bulges, she wanted to be toned,” said Maria Diffenbach. “She took care of herself. It’s not fair.”
She began crying again.
Ashley Herrera said, “I need to hydrate,” and hurried off to a well-appointed kitchen.
This time Milo was quick enough with one of his tissues and Maria Diffenbach had put it to good use by the time Herrera returned with four bottles of Dasani water. Three full, one half consumed.
She uncapped a bottle for her friend and put the other two in front of us. We watched as both women drank greedily.
Ashley Herrera finished hers and looked over. “You guys really should. A stressful job depletes cells.”
We obliged with a few sips.
“There you go.”
Milo said, “Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?”
Twin head shakes.
“Did Sophie meet anyone else at the dump gym?”
Ashley Herrera said, “You think there was another jerk before Heck?”
Milo said, “Just trying to get a feel for Sophie’s life.”
“It was a good life. And no, she never mentioned any other jerks.”
“Can you think of anyone else who might’ve wished her harm?”
Herrera said, “No. So maybe it was one of those crazy stranger things.” Looking at us, hoping to be contradicted.
When she wasn’t, she said, “Absolutely crazy.”
“Insane,” said Diffenbach. She stood and patted a flat tummy. “Fluids in, fluids out, excuse me.”
As she trotted off, Herrera touched her own abdomen. “Thank God she’s got two johns. I’ll see you guys to the door.”