I said, “Nothing makes sense.”
Milo said, “And here I was hoping for immediate wisdom.” But he didn’t sound surprised.
“Any I.D.s?”
“Let’s catch some fresh air, I’ll fill you in.”
CHAPTER
4
I followed him out of the tent, across a strip of cement and a wider belt of dirt, up the steps to the domed pavilion. The structure was impressive at a distance but tatty up close, brick floor cracked and buckling, cement columns crudely molded. The roof was rusting iron covered with dead vines that fought one another for space.
Vipers in a feeding frenzy.
Milo said, “Okay to sit, this area’s been gone over.” He plopped down on a flimsy-looking plastic chair and made it groan. “Lotta crap cleared away, most probably garbage from the party. Lovely stuff—condoms, cups, little baggies with remnants of granular stuff.”
The other chairs looked grubby. I stayed on my feet.
He said, “Any impression at all? I’ll take improv.”
I said, “To my eye, they’ve been dead for a while. I’d guess no more than twelve hours but maybe I’m missing something and they were partygoers from Friday night?”
“You’re not missing anything. The company that books venues swears the place was cleared out three a.m. Saturday. That wouldn’t mean much but every C.I. and tech says the condition of the bodies doesn’t match that long of a time period, even with cool weather, there’d have to be more decomp.”
“The car was moved here after three. How’d it gain access to the property?”
“Same way you and Mr. Walters did, open gate. Cleaning company asks for that, closes up when the job’s over. Nothing inside, anyway, just cheap rental furniture.”
He pulled a panatela from an inside jacket pocket. Rolled it between thick fingers but didn’t unwrap it.
I said, “Didn’t see any maggots on the bodies.”
“There weren’t any, just a few blowflies buzzing around the driver’s door when we arrived. Walters opened two doors then shut them. After he threw up. Looks like the closed car formed a sealed environment.”
“Any cameras on the property?”
“Not a one.”
“Who owns the place?”
“Don’t know yet, cleaning company punted to a rental agent and she hasn’t answered my call.”
He held up the cigar and squinted, as if close inspection would reveal secrets. “What’d you think about all that blood at the bottom?”
“Doesn’t fit the wounds,” I said. “As if it got poured on them postmortem.”
“Everything’swrong about this picture, Alex. Holes only in the driver and the little guy? Joe Stud groped by a woman old enough to be his mother, looks like a church lady? What the hellisthat, Alex? Something creepy-Oedipal? Or whatever you guys are calling it nowadays.”
I shook my head.
He said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, too early to expect wisdom.”
He looked over at the tent. “When the call came in, four bodies in a stretch, I was thinking, just what I need, a gang thing with a hip-hop angle. Or worse, some kids partying got wiped out by who-knows-who. Then I get here and it’s even crazier.”
He returned the panatela to his pocket. “Everyone’s weirded out, Alex. Even George Arredondo—the big tech—before he went scientific, he was on the job, patrol in the toughest part of Lancaster. Ten years of violent domestics, meth monsters, child murders. Nothing bothers him.Thisdoes.”
He got up, paced the pavilion, sat back down, rubbed his eyes. “Don’t hold back, I’ll settle for wild theory.”
