The home address Williams had given the law firm traced to a body shop in East Hollywood. The proprietor, one Armand Hagopian, had never heard of Williams nor had he ever worked on the six-year-old Ford van Williams had registered in Connecticut.

Learning all that turned Grant Fellinger a sickly shade of gray. “How the hell did we pay him?”

Milo said, “That was going to be my next question.”

A race-walk through the suite brought us to the desk of a woman in her sixties named Vivian who handled purchasing for the firm and doubled as the bursar. She said, “Oh, him. He picked up his check in person. Like clockwork.”

Fellinger said, “You didn’t find that odd, Viv?”

“I found him odd, Mr. F.”

I said, “How so?”

“I don’t know, just a little … removed? Like he was in another world? I didn’t mind the check, though. Saved us postage and an envelope, save some trees, huh, Mr. F.?”

Back in Fellinger’s office, the three of us remained standing. Fellinger kept eyeing the booze, grew fidgety, laced his hands together as if imposing external restraint.

I said, “How exactly did Williams react when you fired him?”

“At first he said nothing. Stared at me—glared at me. I kept waiting for him to say something but he didn’t so I asked him if he had anything to offer. He didn’t even shake his head, just kept glaring, like he was trying to bore into my brain with his eyes. I’ve been to court and seen enough mind-games, it didn’t bother me. But objectively, it was creepy. I really understood what our gals had been going through.”

“He had a way of being intrusive without actually doing anything.”

“Yes. But let me reiterate: This was a totally different person from the one I hired.”

Milo said, “So he just glared. That was it?”

“No,” said Fellinger. “That changed when I began walking away and he said, ‘Just deserts.’ Which I took as a threat so I faced him and gave him a bit of stink-eye and he slinked off.”

“Just deserts,” I said. “A chef using a food analogy.” Aiming that at Milo, not Fellinger.

Fellinger said, “Not even a full chef, he’s obviously a loser.”

Milo said, “How, specifically, did Meredith Santos say Williams bothered her?”

“Same as the others. Hanging around—she called it an incursion into her personal space. And one time she also found him loitering outside the bathroom. But the main head, so a men’s room next to a women’s wasn’t overtly weird. What really bothers me about Merry is she was one of the last to complain about Jens.”

I said, “Engaging him at his angriest.”

Nod. “And now he’s gone and no one can find her.”