He said, “Haven’t been there yet, no way I was going before cluing you guys in. Spoke to the uniform managing the scene, everything’s in place but I do need to go and I’m assuming someone else will want to.”
Milo said, “I’ll go with you, the rest of you can take care of the other business.”
Nods all around.
He turned to Sean. “Since everyone’s here, give us the basics.”
Sean studied his notepad, closed it, and began speaking softly. Picking up volume as he gained confidence.
“Victim is a retired schoolteacher named Emmanuel Rosales, fifty-five, lives near the border between West L.A. and Culver. Not far from here, actually. Rough estimate of TOD is twelve to fifteen hours ago but his body wasn’t discovered until two hours ago lying near his open rear gate. Gate leads to an alley and a garbage bag on the ground near him says he was taking the trash out when he got hit. Single shot through the neck, full metal jacket bullet lodged in the cushion of an outdoor chair behind him then splintering the wooden seatback and getting stuck.”
I said, “A careful shooter but he’s lax about discovery of his ammo.”
Milo said, “Meaning?”
“He doesn’t want to get caught but he does want to be noticed.”
Buxby shook his head. “Ex-schoolteacher?”
“At Hamilton High,” said Sean.
“Maybe he gave someone a bad grade.”
Silence.
Buxby said, “Sorry, it just seems so wrong, we’re not talking some scumbag sexual predator.”
Moe said, “Whitney Killeen was a solid citizen.”
“Yeah, true…I need to go and call Pacific, okay?”
“Sure, thanks, Buck.”
The old detective left muttering, “Thanks for what?”
When he was gone, Alicia said, “Does Rosales live with anyone?”
“Don’t know,” said Sean. “Don’t know anything except what I just told you.”
He shut his pad, pumped a Doc Marten boot up and down.
Milo said, “Let’s learn more.” He and Sean moved to the door.
I stayed in place. He stopped and looked at me. “You don’t have time?”
I said, “Didn’t know—”
“Now you do.” Wolf-grin. “Let’s get educated.”
Chapter
31
“Close to here” translated to a twelve-minute drive that began by traveling south of the station then switching to a westward swoop that led us just below the Santa Monica Freeway.
The neighborhood was the usual mix of original bungalows, many of them embraced by old, lush landscaping, and boxy, newer two-story houses bullying the lots they sat on and deprived of vegetation.
Milo’s unmarked arrived the same time as Sean’s.
