“Well, I can’t explain that, Lieutenant. What she drove in Boise was Dwayne’s truck. His parents—my sister and brother-in-law—insisted Adriana have it. But when she left to take the job in Portland, she insisted on returning it to Nancy and Tom and left on Greyhound. Truth is, my sister never wanted to see the truck again. Dwayne’s high school sticker was still on the rear window and Adriana hadn’t cleaned out his personal effects from the glove compartment. But Adriana insisted.”

I said, “Why’d Adriana leave Boise?”

“She never told me,” said Goleman. “I assumed she’d had enough.”

“Of what?”

“Grief, memories. A life that needed changing.”

CHAPTER
24

Milo and Goleman exchanged cards and Goleman extracted a promise from Milo to let him know “once you’ve solved it.”

As we watched him barrel away, Milo said, “Optimism of the righteous.” We returned to his office, where he called Delano Hardy’s home number in Ladera Heights.

Milo’s initial partner at West L.A., Hardy had retired a few months ago. The department’s logic back then was a pairing of outsiders: gay D with black D. The partnership had worked well until Del’s wife pressured him not to spend his days with “someone like that.”

That same wife answered.

“Martha, it’s Milo. Del around?”

“Milo, how nice.” Her voice was Karo syrup. “He’s out gardening. How’ve you been doing?”

“Great, Martha.”

“Well, that’s good. Everything just coasting along?”

“The usual, Martha.”

“That’s really good, Milo. Hold on.”

Del came on. “What’s the occasion?”

“High intrigue in New Orleans. You garden?”

“Yeah, right. I’m weeding her flower beds, big-time fun,” said Hardy. “The old country, huh?” He’d moved to California as a teen but had grown up in one of the parishes swept away by Katrina. The division had passed around the hat for some of his relatives. I kicked in a couple hundred bucks, received a personal call from Del. I’m sure he did the same in response to Milo’s thousand-dollar donation.

“So what can I help you with, Big Guy?”

Milo explained about Qeesha D’Embo and a scary cop named Clyde.

Hardy said, “Only connection I might conceivably still have is Uncle Ray—not my real uncle, my godfather Ray Lhermitte, did patrol with Daddy, worked his way up to captain. But he’s a lot older than us kids, Milo. For all I know he’s passed.”

“This point, I’ll take anything, D.H. Got a number for him?”

“Hold on, I’ll go find it. You want, I can prime the pump by calling him first.”

“Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” said Hardy.

“For what?”

“Letting me pretend I’m half useful. This retirement business is like dying on your feet.”