He drove with one hand, phoned Binchy with the other. The young detective was still parked a few feet up from Reynold Peaty’s apartment. The janitor had come home at seven and had stayed inside.

“Three hours watching a building,” said Milo, hanging up. “I’d be out of my mind. Sean’s as happy as if he’s playing his bass.”

Sean Binchy was a former ska punk who’d embraced religion and law enforcement simultaneously.

“How is he at working his own cases?” I said.

“He’s great at the routine but it’s hard to get him to think independently.”

“Send him to Nora. Get him to open up his right side.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, my brain hurts. Gonna check for messages and call it a night.”

* * *

Two messages, no respite.

The expected call from Lou Giacomo and a request to phone Mister Albert Beamish.

“Maybe he wants compensation for his persimmons.” He punched the number, waited, clicked off. “No answer.” He sighed. “Okay, now for the fun.”

* * *

Lou Giacomo was staying at the Holiday Inn Milo had suggested. Milo was hoping for a brief condolence chat but Giacomo wanted to meet and Milo lacked the will to refuse him.

Giacomo was standing outside the hotel wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. When we pulled up, he said, “Can we go somewhere, maybe get a drink? This place is driving me up the wall.”

“The hotel?” said Milo.

“Your frickin’ city.”

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 19

Our second drinking hole tonight, this one a dank, would-be Irish tavern on Pico.

Lou Giacomo took in the décor. “This could be Queens.”

The three of us settled in a stiff-backed booth with Naugahyde cushions. Milo asked for a Diet Coke and I had coffee.

Giacomo said, “Bud, not Light, regular.”

This barmaid was young, with a lip-pierce. “I’d never take you for a Light guy.”

Giacomo ignored her. She shot him a sharp look and left.

He said, “You guys reformed drunks or something?”

Milo spread his shoulders and took up more space in the booth.

Giacomo massaged a thick wrist. “No offense intended, I’m not at my best, okay?”

“Sorry about Tori,” said Milo. “I mean that.”

“Like I told you the first time, I already knew. Now the wife claims she knew, too.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wants me home a-sap. Probably gonna greet me with another nervous breakdown. I ain’t going back until I’m sure Tori gets a proper burial.”

His eyes watered. “What a stupid thing to say, it’s a fuckin’ skull, how the fuck can it get a proper burial? I went over there, to your coroner. They didn’t wanna show it to me, gave me all this bullshit, it ain’t like TV, you don’t have to see it. I made ’em show it to me.”