“I trade grain futures, Lieutenant. Trust isn’t a big part of my emotional repertoire. But no, she was never anything but neat and pleasant when she lived here and someone else was paying the bills. It was after the money ran out and she kept making excuses that I began to wonder. She claimed to be looking for a job but I never saw any sign of that. Not that I was paying attention to her comings and goings and half the time I’m out of town, anyway.”

“When did the money run out?”

“She owes for three months.”

A white shape larger than Haldeman drew our attention to the front of the house. FedEx truck pulling in behind the Mercedes.

He said, “One sec,” signed for the package, returned reading the label. “Great price on a Château Margaux premier cru from a dealer in Chicago, ten years old, should be ready pretty soon. Normally I don’t buy blind but I’m familiar with this bottling and John can be counted on to temperature-control.”

Milo said, “Cheers. So you carried Tara for three months.”

Haldeman shifted the package to one hand, grasping it between thumb and forefinger as if it were a bit of foam.

“Okay, come inside, I’m done making money for the day.”

Chapter 23

rno Haldeman lived in a small space set up for a big man. Any nonbearing walls had been eliminated and the ceiling had been lifted to the rafters. Floors were black granite glossy as fresh shoe polish, walls were high and white and bare. Scant furniture, all of it chrome and gray felt. A ten-foot slab of plate glass supported by three metal sawhorses hosted a bank of computers and modems and printers.

Haldeman placed his package on a white-marble kitchen counter.

“Why did I carry Tara for three months? I felt bad for her. And no, it wasn’t because of any personal relationship. I’m happily married and even if I wasn’t, pedophilia doesn’t appeal to me.”

I said, “You saw her as a child.”

“My wife’s an acoustical engineer, has two degrees from M.I.T. I went to Princeton. One gets used to a certain degree of intellectual stimulation. To me, Tara was a child.”

“Dumb blonde,” said Milo.

“Must be the neighborhood,” said Erno Haldeman. “Marilyn Monroe used to live around here when she was starting out.”

“Doheny and Cynthia.”

Haldeman blinked. “A cop versed in Hollywood lore?”

Milo said, “What surname did Tara give you?”

“Sly. Why? It’s bogus?”

“We can’t find anyone by that name.”

“Really,” said Haldeman. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve checked all the databases available on the Web.”

“Thanks for that, sir.” Milo sat down. I did the same.

Haldeman said, “Alias, huh? Well, no matter to me, she was a great tenant.”

“Until three months ago.”

“Nothing’s forever. What else do you need to know?”