“Another victim.”
“Oh,” said Bauer. “Well I’m sorry for that and it’s certainly a disgrace the way we let people live wretchedly. But I don’t see Benny developing a relationship with any of those people.”
“Why’s that?”
“Benny was trained in proper behavior. As are all our Level Ones. I’ve reviewed our procedures and they’re totally appropriate. The residents wouldn’t want me to tighten up. They wish to be treated like functional adults. Hope your luck improves, Lieutenant. And thanks for keeping things quiet.”
—
Milo said, “Every time I talk to her I start off thinking maybe there’s a heart of gold buried somewhere beneath the cashmere. Then she throws in an ulterior motive.”
I said, “Can’t think of one that would cause her to call about McGann.”
“Hmph.”
He found Marcella McGann’s social network page, learned the surname of chubby boyfriend Steve: Vollmann.
At the Hacienda Del Sol Resort and Spa in Cabo San Lucas he was met with the same stonewall Andrea Bauer had described. Unlike Bauer he had police credentials and the persistence of a retrovirus.
Three transfers later, a manager named Umberto Iglesias confirmed, in unaccented English, that the reservation had been made in Stephen W. Vollmann’s name and had not been “honored by the customer.”
“Meaning?” said Milo.
“By no-showing, they canceled a package deal,” said Iglesias. “Nonrefundable, nontransferable. We gave the room to someone else.”
“Did you try to contact Mr. Vollmann?”
“Wecallhim?” said Iglesias. As if Milo had suggested he amputate his own nose. “Package deals are the customer’s responsibility.”
“What was the package?”
“Discounted room rate, full breakfast, tour of a tequila factory, ride on a dolphin.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“People enjoy it,” said Iglesias. “The police calling from L.A.? Is this guy a criminal?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“So why didn’t he show up?”
Milo said, “Why, indeed,” and hung up.
CHAPTER
20
Further research on Stephen Wayne Vollmann revealed a thirty-one-year-old Iraqi war vet employed as a pool maintenance man for a Granada Hills company named Agua Fresca, Ltd. No priors, wants, or warrants, good driving record. A six-year-old blue Camaro was registered at an address on Cochran Avenue in mid-city that matched Marcella McGann’s.
A call to Agua Fresca, Ltd., earned him an earful from the owner, a hoarse-voiced man named Lachlan Lindley.
“Him? Totally flaked on me.”
“Since when?”
“Since Wednesday when he was supposed to be here. Why are the cops after him?”
“He and his girlfriend were scheduled to go to Mexico but never showed up. We’re looking at them as missing persons.”
