The vacuum idled like a hot rod. The woman pointed to the carpet. Jabber shook his head, glanced at a Rolex too huge and diamond-encrusted to be genuine. “El otro apartmente.”

The woman wheeled the machine out of the apartment.

Dylan Meserve had lived in a rectangular white room, maybe three hundred square feet. A single aluminum window set high on one of the long walls granted a view of gray stucco. The carpeting was coarse and oat-colored. The vest-pocket kitchenette sported orange Formica counters chipped white along various corners, prefab white cabinets smudged gray near the handles, a brown space-saver refrigerator left open.

Empty fridge. Bottles of Windex and Easy-Off and a generic brand of disinfectant sat on the counter. Scuff marks bottomed some of the walls. Little square indentations compressed the carpet where furniture had sat. From the number of dents, not much furniture.

Ralph Jabber’s clipboard lay flat against his thigh now. I wondered how he’d scored the scene.

“Three months back rent,” said Milo. “You guys are pretty flexible.”

“It’s business,” said Jabber, without enthusiasm.

“What is?”

“We don’t like evictions. Prefer to keep the vacancy rate low.”

“So you let him ride.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone talk to Mr. Meserve about it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How long would Mr. Meserve have had to go before you threw him out?”

Jabber frowned. “Every situation is different.”

“Mr. Meserve asked for an extension?”

“It’s possible. Like I said, I don’t know.”

“How come?”

“I don’t handle the rents. I’m the termination-transition manager,” said Jabber.

That sounded like a euphemism for mortician.

Milo said, “Meaning...”

“I fix the place up when it’s vacant, get it ready for the new tenant.”

“Got a new tenant for this one?”

Jabber shrugged. “It won’t take long. The place is high-demand.”

Milo looked around the small dismal room. “Location, location, location.”

“You got it. Close to everything, Lieutenant. The studios, the freeways, the beach, Beverly Hills.”

“I know it’s not your area of expertise, sir, but I’m trying to trace Mr. Meserve’s activities. If he hadn’t asked for an extension, would there be some reason you’d simply let him go for three months?”

Jabber’s eyelids half closed.

Milo moved closer, used his height and bulk to advantage. Jabber stepped back. “Off the record?”

“Is it a sensitive topic, Mr. Jabber?”

“No, no, not that...to be honest, this is a big building and we’ve got others even bigger. Sometimes things get...overlooked.”

“So maybe Meserve got lucky and just sneaked by.”

Jabber shrugged.

“But eventually,” said Milo, “his failure to pay rent would’ve caught up with him.”

“Of course, yeah. Anyway, we got at least his first month and damage deposit. He’s not getting nothing back ’cause he didn’t give notice.”

“How’d you find out he was gone?”