“Bully for you, but I do not wish to discuss personal matters.”

“Homicide makes everything public, Mr. Rutger.”

“That does not concern me.” More chin calisthenics. Rutger’s eyes filled with tears. Ripping the pocket square loose, he dabbed. “Blasted dust.”

I said, “You came here because you felt your family’s memory was being sullied all over again.”

Rutger stared at me. “You’re Jewish, aren’t you? My father used to play golf with Rabbi Magnin. Now, there was a shrewd man, used family money to build that temple of his. Big money, from San Francisco. His brothers were haberdashers, knew how to turn a nice profit.”

Milo said, “Are you making an actual claim of ownership to this property, Mr. Rutger?”

“I would if I could find a knight errant willing to do battle.”

“A lawyer to take your case.”

“Cowards,” said Rutger.

“Okay, sir, you need to avoid any more confrontations—hold on, let me finish. Yes, it’s a free country but freedom means responsibility. You’re an educated man, you know that.”

Rutger humphed. “Last I heard, this was still a free country.”

“Sir, this is a crime scene. No unauthorized entry will be tolerated.”

“That’s what he said—that fool in a uniform. He was rude and uncouth and I was compelled to take action.” Holding up two fists. He refolded the handkerchief, repeated until he’d produced a perfect dimple. “I’m leaving now, Officer, but I will not accept any arbitrary pronouncements banning me from my—”

“I have no objection to your driving by, Mr. Rutger. But please don’t stop and try to enter for any reason. And if you do observe something out of the ordinary, call me. Here’s my number.”

Rutger regarded the business card as if it were tainted.

“Sir?” said Milo.

“Just like that?” Rutger snapped his fingers. “You command and I obey?”

“Mr. Rutger, I’m defining limits to avoid future misunderstanding. You may drive by to your heart’s content but do not try to enter the property.”

Charles Ellston Rutger drew himself up. Jacket buttons battled his belly. “At this time, I see no reason to return.”

“Good choice, sir.”

“This is America. I don’t need you to define my choices.”

CHAPTER

13

Rutger’s Town Car rumbled off, squeaking on bad bearings and belching exhaust.

Milo exhaled. “Well, that was different.”

He phoned in Rutger’s name. Several moving violations, nothing criminal. “Crazy old coot but for all his attachment to this heap, I don’t see him having the stamina to climb those stairs with a weapon, dominate, and double-murder.”

“Agreed,” I said. “And despite his age, he doesn’t sound like our tipster.”

We drove back to the station where he let Doyle Bryczinski simmer in an empty interview room and searched the county assessor for the Borodi property’s previous owners.