I said, “There goes the neighborhood.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like the girls said, this is quiet suburbia. The tech van will attract attention. You ready to go public on a street where neighbors are used to complaining?”
He tapped a foot. “Let’s see if the lab can give me one tech in a low-profile car.”
“Peggy Cho might welcome the opportunity.”
He phoned Cho, hung up smiling.
“Inspired, Alex. She’s finishing up a robbery in Granada Hills, is thrilled to go quote unquote ‘longitudinal,’ can be here in twenty. Meanwhile, let’s see if I can do something about the A-H up on Loma Bruna.”
* * *
—
A phone chat with a North Hollywood lieutenant named Atkins elicited a promise to crack down on the party house.
I said, “That was easy.”
“Uniforms have been going out there for months. Each time, there’s immediate compliance so they don’t push it.”
“Now there’s a change in policy?”
“Now there’s a change in Ben Atkins’s consciousness. He just remembered a favor I did him, don’t ask.”
“The power and the glory.”
“The first is useful, the second is bullshit.”
* * *
—
We returned to the main house. Serena and Claire were back on the floor drinking apricot-colored smoothies.
Milo told them about Peggy Cho’s impending arrival.
Serena said, “CSI? Can we watch?”
Milo said, “Only one tech’s coming and she likes to work alone. We’d actually like to avoid being noticed, period. So no one else in the neighborhood will know.”
“A girl CSI, cool,” said Serena. “So only us is in on it.”
“If that’s okay.”
“Sure—Cee?”
Claire said, “I can keep secrets. Been doing it my whole life.”
* * *
—
We waited outside for Cho. When she arrived, a drape on a front window lifted and Serena gave a thumbs-up.
When we got inside, Cho’s nose wrinkled. “My brother rented something like this. Chemical john, not too hygienic.”
She began to work and we returned outside where Milo slim-jimmed the Honda and used an internal lever to pop the trunk.
Flares, a spare tire, a jack, a wrench.
He said, “And here I was expecting the Oxford English Dictionary.”
Back to the car’s interior. The clothing on the backseat was more casual than the duds in the garage. One pair of jeans; one pair of slim-cut sweats—black, not red; a red sports bra, a red baseball cap with no insignia, white athletic socks banded with red at the top, red-and-white Nikes.
I pictured Kimbee DaCosta taking a run. Exhilirated by a balmy evening breeze.
The glove compartment gave up a pair of Ray-Ban aviators in a soft case, a registration slip listing the same address, and one shred of possibility: proof of insurance, a company named BeSure.com.
Milo closed the car, googled, found the company had gone out of business last year. We returned to the garage.
Peggy Cho said, “Not much by way of prints, so far, just what look like the same set in the logical places. I can tell because the thumb’s distinctive and I remember it from Saturday.”
“My victim.”
Nod. “But not much of her,” said Cho. “Like she was here but she really wasn’t.”
* * *
—
We returned to the Seville. I said, “Where to?”
He said, “The world of ideas.”
CHAPTER
26
The nearest public library was the Studio City branch on Moorpark, white stucco under a swooping half dome of pale blue. Airy inside, gray carpeting and golden wood furniture and shelves.
We walked past a sandwich board advertising upcoming events.
L’Ecole French Conversation Group; Laughter Yoga; Rolfian Deep Tissue Massage as a Pathway to the Center of Consciousness; Baby & Toddler Story-Time.
Milo said, “Yoga can make you laugh? Yeah, probably, if you saw me in yoga pants.”
A sprinkle of people sat at tables working laptops and phones. One woman read a book: S&M porn for the middle-aged.
A single librarian, thin, brunette, around thirty, with sleeve tattoos and black, dime-sized gauges in her elongated earlobes. A slide-in sign in a slotted holder said Stevie L. Dent.
She’d watched us since we stepped in. When Milo introduced himself, her eyes narrowed. When he showed her Kimbee DaCosta’s photo she shook her head, primed to respond.
“We don’t give out information on patrons.”
“As well you shouldn’t. However, this patron is dead.”
Stevie Dent’s mouth dropped open. “You’re serious.”
“Nothing but serious. We’re trying to learn what we can about her.”
“I see…well, I guess you’ll need to prove she’s deceased, Officer. We’re a primary community data hub and our strict policy is guarding against unauthorized release of personal information.”
“Good policy,” said Milo. “And no problem proving it to you. How about we take you to the morgue? You won’t be allowed to view her body but you can examine her paperwork.”
Stevie Dent gulped. “Who murdered her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We’ve been told by her friends that she used the library. Was it here?”
Hesitation. Minimal nod. “She came here to read.” As if clarification was necessary. Maybe, in a world of deep tissue massage and hilarious Eastern exercise, it was.
“How often?”
“Maybe once a week,” said Dent. “Sometimes less, sometimes more? I really can’t say.”
“Any particular day or time?”
“The afternoon. I figured she had a flex job, maybe an actress. Because of how she looked and dressed. All in red.”
Milo said, “A little theatrical?”
Stevie Dent shifted in her chair. “That’s an adjective. I’m not judging. All I’m saying is she was possibly used to being noticed. I had a roommate in college who majored in theater and she was like that. Clothes you’d notice.”
I said, “Did you ever see anyone noticing her?”
“Never. She sat over there and read and minded her own business.” Pointing to the farthest corner of the main room. Close to the stacks but visible from the desk.
I said, “What contact did you have with her?”
“Just to see her come and go.”
I said, “She didn’t check out books?”
“No, she just took them from the stacks and put them back. We don’t encourage that, volumes get misfiled, but as far as I know she never caused problems.”
“What kind of books did she go for?”
Dent shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you.”
“Was she ever with someone?”
“Always by herself.”
“How long would she stay?”
“An hour, maybe two?” said Dent. “I wasn’t spying on her. She was upright.”
Milo said, “In what way?”
“Sometimes she’d bring her own books and she’d make sure to show them to me inside her backpack. So I’d know she wasn’t stealing.”
Milo said, “Books to the library, coals to Newcastle.”
“Pardon?”
“Did you find that unusual? Bringing her own reading material?”
“Not at all,” said Dent. “People come with laptops and devices, everyone’s welcome, we want to satisfy a diversity of needs—we just installed a charging station outside for hybrids and electrics.”
“Making yourselves relevant,” I said.
“We’ve always been relevant, sir. We just need to market our brand.”
“Got it. Anything else you can tell us about Kimbee?”
“That’s her name?”
“Suzanne Kimberlee DaCosta. Her friends call her Kimbee.”
“Cute name,” said Dent. “Sweet, fits. She seemed like a sweet girl.”
We waited.
She said, “That’s it.”
Milo said, “Thanks. How’s your Hardy Boys selection?”
“What’s that?” said Stevie Dent.
* * *
—
I took Moorpark to Van Nuys, headed south, and merged onto the Glen. As we began climbing, Milo sent a long text.
When he was finished, he said, “Today’s bucket list.”
“What comes after scaling Everest with no supplemental oxygen?”
“The really challenging stuff,” he said. “Looking for Kimbee’s relatives, following up with Homeland on Garrett, then, depending on what I find, maybe another chat with Garrett when his wife’s not around. That I could use you for. How’s your schedule?”