LEONARD J. ITATANI, PRES.

"Named it after my kids. Tom, Beverly, Linda. So what did Orson do?"

"Sounds like you had problems with him, sir," said Milo.

"Nothing but," said Itatani. He glanced around the room. "Sorry there's no place to sit. There's some bottled water, if you're thirsty. Too hot to be cleaning up, but summer's prime rental time and I want to get this place squared away."

"No thanks," said Milo. "What did Orson do?"

Itatani pulled a square of tissue paper from his shirt pocket and dabbed a clear, broad forehead. No moisture on the bronze skin that I'd noticed. "Orson was a bum. Always late with his rent; then he stopped paying at all. Neighbor complained he was selling drugs, but I don't know about that, there was nothing I could do. She said all kinds of cars would show up at night, be here a short time, and leave. I told her to call the police."

"Did she?"

"You'd have to ask her."

"Which neighbor?"

"Right next door." Itatani pointed south.

Milo's pad was out. "So you never talked to Orson about selling drugs?"

"I was going to, eventually," said Itatani. "What I did try to talk to him about was the rent. Left messages under the door-he never gave me a phone listing, said he hadn't bothered to get one. That shouldI've warned me." Another swipe at the dry brow. "Didn't want to scare him off with any drug talk until he paid the rent he owed me. Was this close to posting notice. But he moved out, middle of the night. Stole furniture. I had his first and last and damage deposit in cash, but he trashed more than was covered by the deposit-cigarette burns on the nightstands, cracked tiles in the bathroom, gouges in the wood floors, probably from dragging cameras around."

"Cameras?"

"Movie cameras-big, heavy stuff. All sorts of stuff in boxes, too. I warned him about the floors; he said he'd be careful." He grimaced. "Had to refinish a hundred square feet of oak board, replace some of it totally. I told him no filming in the house, didn't want any funny business."

"Like what?"