He said, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” in the voice of a much younger man. “I’ve heard about you.”
I smiled.
“Some people call you a wizard,” said Villalobos. “There are a few who don’t trust shrinks but that’s their problem. There’s also some cussing because Milo’s got dibs.”
Milo said, “Well earned, Hector.”
“How?”
“Deep, abiding friendship.”
Villalobos laughed. “Guess homemade tamales wouldn’t do the trick. My mother’s are killer, Doctor.”
Milo said, “Forget it, he’s beyond temptation.”
“Well, if you change your mind. So. Crazy cases. Plus your other one. Planting DNA? C’mon, that’s TV bull-crap.”
“First time for me, Hector.”
“Hopefully the last.”
Milo said, “Amen. I’ll get the waiter.”
I said, “Don’t bother, had a big breakfast.”
“See what I mean, Hector? Earthly pleasures don’t distract him. That’s why he looks like he does and we don’t.”
Villalobos ran a finger around the interior of his collar. His eyes were soft brown and acute. “In high school I weighed one forty. My wife claims she still loves me but then she tries to get me on all kinds of diets.”
He eyed his plate. Twenty or so bits of raw and cooked fish. “This I can tell her about, no butter, no eggs.”
Milo said, “What’re you drinking, Alex?”
“Coffee would be great.”
He beckoned for the waiter, put the order in, specifying, “Black.” When the man left, he turned to Villalobos. “Why don’t you fill him in on Lynne, Hector.”
Villalobos said, “Milo gave you the basics so I won’t repeat. Only thing that’s new is we’ve narrowed the number of potential dumpsters from thirteen to nine but they cover a wide area—Olympic all the way to Sixth and Spring to Broadway. No cameras so far—businesses don’t care what happens to their trash. But we haven’t finished looking. We being me.”
I said, “You’re doing it solo?”
“I, me, and myself. Low-priority case according to my boss. He actually tried to palm it off on Robbery-Homicide and they turned it down.”
“Why?”
“They don’t need a reason,” said Villalobos. “His attitude is we’re not even sure if it was a Central murder, she could’ve been killed anywhere. The real reason? A body out in the Irwindale dump is a low-probability close and the department’s all about stats. And so far, can’t argue with that. Doing the camera thing is worse than surveillance—I’m going cross-eyed—but at least I can take bathroom breaks. And the truth is, Doctor, even if I find something it could just be a dark figure in a hoodie tossing a big bag in at night.”
He chopsticked a sliver of salmon, dipped it into some kind of sauce, and ate. “Any thoughts are appreciated.”
I said, “The weapon was cylindrical. Any wood fragments in her hair?”
“Nope, we’re thinking a metal bat or something along those lines.” Villalobos winced. “Where are the nice, small-caliber gunshot wounds when you want them? I mean, how many blunt forces do we get?”
Milo said, “Not many.”
“I see bums beating the crap out of each other on Skid Row regularly but it’s rarely fatal. The last homicidal BFI that I had was five years ago—bum-against-bum thing, the victim got sucker-punched,fell, and hit a wall. No whodunit, the puncher hung around next to the punchee sipping Night Train.”
Both of them ate.
