Then I phoned Milo.
Chapter
26
Voicemail at his desk phone and his cell. I left call-me-backs at both and hungup.
The two-two pulsation going strong.
Not a musical earworm but the rhythmic equivalent. That brought back memories of the cheesy phony rumbas and sambas I’d played earning my way through college. Gigging on guitar with a wedding/bar mitzvah band of middle-aged alcoholics and druggies. Bones, Thumper, a bassist who called himself Rigor-Tony. Others whose nicknames I didn’t recall.
My tag had been bestowed the first time I showed up: Egghead.
The beat grew stronger, began to hurt again. Maybe real music could quiet it down. Unlatching the case of my old Martin, I strummed, finger-picked, flat-picked, concentrated on note-for-note renditions of challenging songs, and when that didn’t work, I tried to distract myself with improvisation.
Useless.
What I’d wondered about wouldn’t leave my brain.
Likely a question Milo, with his resources, could eventually answer. But he wasn’t answering.
I tried several search engines.
Total failure. Took a run up the Glen and back, returned home sweating with a clear head and snatched up my phone. Still nothing from Milo. I took a shower and as I was toweling off, he responded.
“Hey.” Sounding distant. “It’s been tough finding Martha’s old cases. The few bad guys I have found are dead. We must’ve inspired Villalobos because he hustled right over to Safe Place. He’s still there, taking pictures of Lynne’s room, but it’s not looking promising. Nothing weird there, and Le Gallee and all the other employees are alibied for the day Lynne left to visit Martha. Small staff, most of them women who’ve been there forever. A few rich ladies volunteer from time to time. Hector described the atmosphere as four-star bleeding heart, everyone’s torn up about Lynne. Any additional thoughts or did I guess right and you wanted an update?”
I said, “What if Sophie and Martha’s cases are related?”
Silence.
“Where’s this coming from, Alex?”
“You know the statistics on strangulation murders. What’s the probability of two unrelated strangulations turning up one right after the other?”
“What connection could there be?”
“Michael Heck.”
“Back to him?Hekilled both of them? Allthreeof them?”
“I’m not saying that but he could be the common factor. He gave you a possible motive for the planted DNA. Someone thinking he’d ratted out Darren Alberts was out for revenge. Martha transferred from Homicide to Fraud ten years ago. The investigation into Alberts began soon after. What if she worked on it?”
“She retired soon after, couldn’ta been on it long.”
“You said she was an effective detective. Maybe long enough to do some serious damage to someone.”
“Lotsa maybes, Alex. And Alberts is in no shape to get payback. Your own contact confirmed he’s green salad.”
“Doesn’t have to be him,” I said. “Someone else at the firm.”
“Someone else who waits seven years to get payback on a snitch and a cop?”
“Okay,” I said. “Just passing it along.”
“Passing it along.” His laughter was harsh. “That’s kinda like, hey, there’s a drunken, three-legged elephant staggering up Pico. But don’t look.”
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