“There’s no need to hold on to trash. I can tell you what she claimed, because I interviewed her personally. Guess I shouldn’t claim credit for that. But I’m not going to beat myself up, she came across bright, calm, articulate, eager to please. I don’t get deeply into personal data but I do like to get a feel for the person, so I asked her about her background, the basics of her social life. She said she was single and happy to be so. I took that as maybe she was recently divorced or out of a bad relationship. She said she grew up in the Pacific Northwest, claimed to work for one of Bill Gates’s top assistants, then said she moved to Los Gatos and spent some time at a tech venture capitalist, then on to eBay, where she did website organization. Her skills seemed perfect for what Elena claimed she needed.”

“Claimed?”

“Trust me, nothing will make that woman happy,” said Millan. “Truth is, she doesn’t want anyone else up there but her and Kotsos. Though, if you ask me, he’s gay.”

“Odd couple,” said Milo.

“Hey,” she said. “This is L.A.”

I said, “Masterson’s office seems pretty laid-back.”

“It’s a tomb,” said Jody Millan. “Once in a blue moon, you see someone, but the only two constants are Kotsos and Elena. The only business I’ve seen is rich foreigners out to lunch, kissing up shamelessly.”

Milo said, “What kind of rich people?”

“Mostly Arabs, sometimes they’re wearing those robes and headdresses. Like sheikhs. Maybe they are sheikhs.”

“Have you sent Kotsos any other people?”

“Temps,” she said. “Before Elena. Girl’s got a work ethic, I’ll grant you that.”

“So Brigid Ochs was the first post-Elena hire.”

“Elena said business had grown to the point where she needed backup. Because she and Kotsos were traveling more together.” Head shake. “I pride myself on reading people well but I really got taken. Everything Brigid told me turned out to be baloney, down to her Social Security number.” Brightening. “That I might still have. Not that it’s going to help you.”

“Why not?”

“After I found out I’d been conned, I ran a trace. The number matches a poor little girl born the same year Brigid claimed, in New Jersey. A kid who died at age five. Hold on.”

She entered a back office, returned with a Post-it. “Here you go, Sara Gonsalves.”

“Did you confront Brigid?”

“Would’ve liked to but the number she gave me was disconnected.”

“Where was her address?”

“Santa Monica, turned out to be a mail drop and she was long gone.”

“She died with another person. A man named Desmond Backer.”

“Don’t know him. Was Brigid involved in criminal activity?”

“There’s no evidence of that.”

“Well,” said Jody Millan, “she certainly wasn’t an upstanding citizen.”

We took the stairs to the sub-lot.