“There was just a...solitary flavor to him.” She touched a concave abdomen. “I trust this.”

“Is there anything else you can say about him?”

“At first, I just figured it for guy behavior— checking out the goods. After the Badge got stolen was when I started thinking he could’ve been up to no good. Was the phone used?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where’d they call? Outer Mongolia or some crazy place?”

“L.A.”

“Well,” said Angeline Wasserman, “that shows a lack of creativity. Maybe I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“Him being some high-level crime guy and not just a crook.”

“High level because he knew what a Badge was,” said Milo.

“The whole image— being at Barneys, driving a Rover.”

“A Range Rover?”

“A real pretty one, shiny and new-y.”

“What color?”

“Silver, mine’s anthracite. That’s why it didn’t bother me at first, his looking at me. Both of us with Rovers, parked near each other? Kind of a twinsie karma, you know?”

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 33

A new stack of rugs arrived. Angeline Wasserman inspected a fringe. “These knots are tangled.”

Milo muttered, “Story of my life.”

If she heard him, she didn’t indicate. “Darius, are these the best you’ve got?”

* * *

Driving to Butler Avenue, I said, “AmEx Black, never used.”

“I know, same as with the Gaidelases. But do you see them tooling around in a Range Rover that just happens to match Nora Dowd’s?”

No need to answer.

When we arrived at the station, Milo demanded his messages from the new receptionist, a terrified bald man in his forties named Tom, who said, “There’s nothing new, Lieutenant, I promise.”

I followed Milo’s chuffy climb up the stairs. When we reached his office, he unpacked his attaché, placed the autopsy file next to his computer, and requested a BOLO on the Range Rover, all before sitting down.

“How about this, Alex: Nora and Meserve have an 805 love nest and those brochures were a diversion. I’m thinking something on the beach because what’s a rich girl without a beach house? Could be right there in Camarillo, or farther north— Oxnard Harbor, Ventura, Carpinteria, Mussel Shoals, Santa Barbara, or points beyond.”

I said, “Could be points south, too. Maybe Meserve didn’t know Latigo because he’d hiked there.”

“Nora’s a Malibu gal,” he said. “Has a rural hideaway tucked in the mountains.”

“Something registered to her individually, not part of the BNB partnership.”

“Easy enough to find out what she pays property tax on.” He flipped the computer on. The screen flashed blue, then black, sparked a couple of times, and died. Several attempts to reboot were greeted by silence.

He said, “Expelling profanities is a waste of oxygen. Let me borrow someone else’s terminal.”

I used the time to leave another message for Robin. Read through Michaela’s autopsy findings again.

Playing with veins and arteries.

The PlayHouse.