“Whatever you think is best, Eric.”
“Not that you’ll need us if it stays this quiet—totally dead. No pun intended. Or maybe yes, pun intended…a good thing, I guess. The quiet. No civilian pains in the ass, easier to preserve the scene. Not that the scene’s a big deal, no whodunit, you saw it…all those fake news calls…not going to lie, my friend, I’m glad it’s you and not us.”
“It’s definitely us, Eric.”
“It is. Definitely.” Fosburgh patted his shoulder the way Milo sometimes does when he’s feeling avuncular. Milo didn’t react.
Fosburgh, one eye twitching, resumed prating. “That’s the job, eh, Milo? Nothing happens then it does. Between us, when it happens to the bad guys, I say great, save on a trial, move on. In the end this might work out for you. Not being personally involved, I can say all that with some…perspective. Never did homicide, never wanted to…did some burglary and fraud, last few years it’s been traffic, that’s a big deal, here, traffic…guess it’s relevant right now, keep the street clear, what’s done is done.”
Milo nodded.
Fosburgh said, “Doesn’t get more done than this—all right, so I’ll leave all ten until someone gets called. Want me to also tell the fire studs you don’t need them?”
“Good to have them here, Eric. If you can ask them to move one truck and block Brighton.”
“Sure. Good idea. Box it in, keep it mellow. All right, I’m off, got to call my chief, she’s at a conference in Arizona. Tell her everything’s under control. Anything else I can do for you?”
Milo shook his head.
Fosburgh said, “Know what you mean. You’ve got yourself a situation. Good luck.”
Translation:You’re on your own, pal.
CHAPTER
53
By the time the coroner’s vans arrived, darkness had fallen. The fire trucks remained in place but three of the police cruisers had been called away.
The remaining four cops had resorted to working their phones. Looking up briefly as the bodies were loaded.
Sean had hung on the periphery, looking miserable. Milo handed him the search warrant on Medina Okash’s apartment. “Take your time, do every single inch. Landlady’s a peach, she may give you attitude.”
“I can handle that, Loot.”
“Exactly.”
Milo’s next call was to the LAPD Safe Detail, requesting locksmiths for entry to the Clearwater and Conrock houses and the gallery building on Hart. The last would take time, Central Division smiths tied up at a pair of ultra-high-tech-secured toy district warehouses suspected to be the storage facility for a violent home-invasion gang.
He assigned Alicia the houses.
When she was gone, Reed gave an expectant look.
“You and me, downtown, Moses. It’s a big space. If I can get Coolidge and Freeman, I’ll use them, too.”
Next communication: his captain. Who referred him to a deputy chief. Who told him to contact the Public Affairs office. Which was closed.
He texted a message, got a call two minutes later.
Dr. Basia Lopatinski said, “Just got your message.” I didn’t know he’d left one.
He said, “No mystery on cause and manner but any guesses about the poison pill?”
“What did it look like?”
“Little white square thing, came in a blue tin with Chinese lettering.”
“What were his symptoms and how long did he take to die?”
