On the other hand:Slimy Valley.
An acrid, vicious appraisal, tossed out by someone training to be a therapist. Last I’d heard the appraiser was treating movie stars and trying to write a book.
None of which was relevant to the guilt or innocence of Walt Swanson.
I reached Milo while waiting to get on the 118 on-ramp and told him about my drive-by.
He said, “Talk about beyond the call of duty. Gracias. Yeah, a sick wife could exert financial pressure. Or like you said, he’s just a devoted husband. See any connection to Boykins being in a wheelchair? And, now that I think about it, to Keisha being sick. Maybe some kind of rapport between them?”
“Interesting question,” I said.
“You come up with an answer, let me know. Bottom line: Any gut feeling either way about Swanson?”
“Nope.”
“Honesty,” he said. “Don’t get to deal with that often. Okay, see you soon.”
Chapter
29
I walked into the meeting a few minutes late.
Same room, same whiteboards, different atmosphere.
The first time the aura had been anxiety tempered by the excitement of taking on a new case. Today the room felt deprived of air and the detectives looked dejected.
That included Buck Buxby, who looked surprised to be there. Probably invited as a courtesy. Or Milo hoping some old memory from the Parmenter case might surface.
Two long tables were occupied by him, Alicia, Moe, Petra, and Raul. Two empty seats: mine and Sean Binchy’s.
Milo looked at his Timex. Made a call. “Voicemail. Anyone seen Sean?”
Alicia said, “Not since yesterday.”
Moe Reed nodded assent.
Buck Buxby said, “Hey, maybe he solved the whole darn thing and is writing his report.”
The attempt at humor was met by sad smiles. Buxby flushed and looked down at the table.
Milo said, “Your mouth to God’s ears, Buck.” Throwing the old Da lifeline. He makes cracks about me never taking off my therapist hat but he sells himself short in that department.
Another glance at his watch. “Okay, let’s start. Obviously, I’d love to report progress but we’ll have to settle for pooling data. Petra?”
She said, “We pulled thirty-nine traffic tickets—mostly parking—within a mile of O’Brien’s murder scene that night. Eight offenders had felony records. I’ve spent the last few days tracing each of them and conducting face-to-faces. Unfortunately they could all account for their whereabouts during the murder.”
Buxby said, “Watching a Disney show at the Pantages?”
Petra said, “Actually one of them was, Buck, with two grandkids. Former armed robber turned gramps. My best candidate, a manslaughter parolee, was getting soused at Café Berlin and his presence is backed up by CCTV. The same goes for the remaining seven. That leaves me with thirty-one citizens I’ll need to talk to. Now that Raul’s free, we’ll split that lovely task.”
Raul said, “I’m free because all the pay parking lot stuff zeroed out, the only exception being one place where the chain was cut. But of course, there’s no surveillance there so no idea what that means. I did go back and search for anything that might be evidentiary. Unfortunately, the area was cleaned and cleared.”
Alicia said, “Sympathies, guys. What about Mr. Hoodie?”
“One additional sighting,” said Raul. “The informant would be in a position to actually observe something—he sleeps in several alleys pretty close to the crime scene. But he’s also homeless and conspicuously psychotic.”
I said, “Despite that, did he have any details to add?”
