“Of sorts,” he said. “Bones buried in an old box under an older tree, from the size, a baby.”

“Of sorts?”

“Sounds like an old one so probably not much to do other than trace ownership of the property.” Tossing cash on the table, he got up. “Want me to drop you off?”

“Where’s the property?”

“Cheviot Hills.”

“No need to drive all the way to my place then circle back.”

“Up to you,” he said. “I probably won’t be that long.”

Back at the car, he tucked the aloha shirt into the khakis, retrieved a sad brown tweed sport coat from the trunk, ended up with a strange sartorial meld of Scottish Highlands and Oahu.

“A baby,” I said.

He said nothing.

CHAPTER
5

Seconds after Liz Wilkinson left with the bones, Moe Reed beeped in.

Milo muttered, “Two ships passing,” clicked his cell on conference.

Reed said, “Got all the deed holders, El Tee, should have a list for you by the time you get back. Anything else?”

“That’ll do it for now, Moses. Regards from your inamorata.”

“My what?”

“Your true love. She was just here.”

“Oh,” said Reed. “Yeah, of course, bones. She have anything to say?”

“Just that she thinks you’re dreamy.”

Reed laughed. “Let’s hope she holds that thought ’cause we’re going out tonight. Unless you need me to work late or something.”

“Not a chance,” said Milo. “This one won’t earn overtime for anyone.”

Reed was waiting outside Milo’s office, holding a sheaf of paper and sipping from a water bottle. His blond hair had grown out a couple of inches from the usual crew cut, his young face was pink and unlined, belying his old-soul approach to life. Massive muscles strained the sleeves of his blue blazer. His pants were creased, his shoes spit-shined. I’d never seen him dress any other way.

“Just got a call, El Tee, got to run. Blunt force trauma DB in a bar on Washington not far from Sony Studios.”

“Go detect.”

“Doesn’t sound like much detection,” said Reed. “Offender’s still at the scene, patrol found him standing on top of the bar yelling space demons made him do it. More like your department, Doc.”

“Not unless I’ve offended someone.”

He laughed, hurried off. Milo unlocked his door.

One of Milo’s lieutenant perks, negotiated years ago in a trade-off deal with a criminally vulnerable former chief of police, is his own space, separate from the big detective room. Another’s the ability to continue working cases, rather than push paper like most lieutenants do. The new chief could’ve abrogated the deal but he was smart enough to check out Milo’s solve stats and though he amuses himself with chronic abuse of “Mr. So-Called Hotshot” he doesn’t fix what isn’t broken.