“Doesn’t rule out rentals, but no way to uncover that. Or maybe ol’ Grant likes hotels. Where would you start? Four-star or easy-sleazy? Either way, unless he used his own name, forget it.”

I said, “If he over-plied his charm at work, perhaps a female employee complained about him.”

He logged onto the criminal court docket, found nothing and tried the civil suit roster. Sitting back heavily enough to make his chair wheeze, he pointed at the screen.

No one had complained about Grant Fellinger but just under a month ago, he’d filed harassment charges against a woman named Deirdre Mae Brand. No further details.

Milo looked Brand up. No driver’s license, no address. “He goes after a phantom?”

“If we’re right about Fellinger, his thing is controlling women. The fact that this woman threatened him enough for him to sue, could mean she managed to intimidate him.”

“Scary lady?”

“Scary enough. See if anyone else has ever filed on her and if that doesn’t work, check for a criminal history.”

Deirdre Mae Brand, age forty-nine, had an extensive multistate record for vagrancy, theft, larceny, and drug possession. The chronology of her arrests was as good as a road map: westward trajectory through Illinois, Missouri, New Mexico, Nevada.

Nothing violent, but people do things they never get caught for.

One way or the other, Fellinger and Brand had developed an explosive chemistry.

My bet was their clash had occurred at or close to Fellinger’s office building, because Deirdre Brand’s most recent arrest had been for attempted shoplifting at a nearby boutique in Century City. Two months before Fellinger lodged his complaint.

Milo searched for records on the lawsuit, found no trial date assigned, no settlement.

“He’s a lawyer and he just folds his tent?”

“The complaint could’ve been enough to scare her off,” I said. “Scroll back to Brand’s arrest record.”

That revealed a pattern: Brand had always been released with no charges or after spending a night or two in local jails. Not a single day in prison.

Milo said, “She’s got charm of her own?”

“Or she has reason to be pitied.”

“Such as?”

“Mental illness.”

Pulling up Deirdre Brand’s mug shots created a sad photo-tour.

At nineteen she’d been a fresh-faced towhead busted for marijuana. But even back then, she’d worn a numbed expression emphasized by flat, hostile eyes, with none of the fear you’d expect at a first arrest. Meaning she’d had previous run-ins with the law that never got to the point of arrest.

Or her affect was blunted by psychiatric disease.